#i can do it yeah.. if i studied the way i usually do….. not when my brain won’t work….

[xjulixred45x]

That's a good question @donanimee !

When the Baby of Yuu is Born

• If we're talking about the birth itself, I think it would have happened sometime between books 6 and 7. I already mentioned that when Yuu arrived in Twisted Wonderland, she was already a month or two pregnant, so by the time those events occurred, Yuu should have been around 8 months at most. Besides, with the stress of the situation, the baby probably came out prematurely.

• Obviously, I don't think Yuu would have participated in the same way in book 6 because of the pregnancy, but let's just say that once they reached dry land, her water broke, to everyone's horror and concern.

• Riddle was the only one who more or less kept his composure and sent the others to get things for Yuu while he and Adeuce took her to Ramshakle (and Grim brought Crewel, the closest thing they had to a doctor). Ace, being Ace, had Crowley give Yuu his hand so she could squeeze it with all her might (it was cathartic and extremely necessary, thanks Ace), and the other students were calling doctors, bringing things like healing potions in case things went wrong, etc.

• It was chaos in short. The labor lasted approximately 8 hours (with luck, it could be less or MORE hours), and Yuu ends up giving birth to a beautiful baby girl.

• All the panic finally dissipates when the students hear the baby cry for the first time—a loud cry of a healthy baby :,)

• Of course, as soon as everything calms down, Crewel and Trein kick everyone out of the dorm so Yuu can have a few quality days alone with her baby (the only one who can stay is Grim).

• The first few days of motherhood are quite pleasant, fortunately. The baby is healthy and strong, she doesn't wake up much at night, and when she does, the ghosts try to entertain her so Yuu can sleep (unless she has to be fed).

• Yuu also doesn't have to worry about bringing food; several students leave things at Ramshakle's door so as not to bother her with visitors (food, blankets, clothes, etc.).

• Grim is definitely quieter than usual when the baby is born. He's partly afraid that Yuu won't love him anymore or considers him dangerous to have around the baby. But when she offers to say hello and introduces him as a BIG BROTHER... yeah, you can bet Grim cried in Yuu's arms and the baby for a looooong time.

• Riddle is one of the first allowed to visit, and he brings a ton of gifts from the Heartslabyul students (Cater, Trey, and Adeuce). He's the most tense when it comes to interacting with the baby at first. Even though he's taken all the necessary sanitary measures, he's so afraid of doing something wrong. But when Yuu helps him carry her properly and the baby sits comfortably in his arms, he melts.

• He invites Yuu over for tea more often (either to catch up on studies or because he sees that Yuu is really stressed), with the baby, of course! The students in the dorm are happy to take turns watching her so Yuu can have some quiet time. I'd say Riddle still sees Yuu as a sort of maternal/older sister figure, only now his protective instincts also extend to the baby.

• Leona is probably the last one to realistically meet the baby. He doesn't have a good relationship with the children (he can barely stand Cheka), and even if he doesn't say it out loud, he doesn't want to feel left out now that the baby is finally born (mainly because he knows it's a shitty feeling for a shitty reason). Leona only gets to meet Yuu's baby when he stumbles upon her by chance at the botanical garden (not because Yuu was looking for him and Ruggie ratted him out, not at all).

• Leona isn't very patient, but he definitely makes sure the baby is in good hands if Yuu can't watch her for a couple of hours (probably making Ruggie do all the work), preventing the baby from doing stupid things once she starts crawling and putting things in her mouth (no herbivore, don't eat dirt—or toys! You almost look like Ruggie). he acts like he doesn't care, but he'll jump out of his seat if he sees the baby with something in her mouth that shouldn't be there.

• Azul, along with the twins, have probably never seen a human baby up close—they're so small! Floyd is probably one of the first people to visit Yuu and her baby—even Jade mentions it to him when they go to Monster Lounge—and they’re surprisingly careful with the baby, especially Azul, who holds her like she’s made of glass.

• I imagine that when the baby starts walking, Yuu gets so stressed out from taking care of her AND being Crowley’s errand girl that she forgets to eat. To solve this, Azul implements something new at Monster Lounge: a baby menu! The catch is that Yuu also has to order something to eat FOR HERSELF ;) no shrimp will go hungry in their watch.

• KALIM ABSOLUTELY LOVES THE BABY! Although sadly, he couldn't take her to Scarabia because she cried so loudly during the festivities. Kalim is an EXPERT at putting babies to sleep (again, this guy has 30 younger siblings) and can play with her for HOURS. Meanwhile, Yuu and Jamil get a much-needed break from their two hyperactive children.

• I'll just say that Yuu will be lucky if her baby doesn't have a whole festival dedicated to her birthday thanks to Kalim. That, and now her food stash is stocked to the brim thanks to Jamil and Kalim (and probably some money, but shhhhh). Kalim just wants to help in any way he can.

• I like the headcanon that Vil is good with kids; by extension, I think he finds Yuu's baby absolutely adorable. Sure, he keeps a certain distance from the baby and himself because of her clothes (and also because he doesn't know what effects makeup could have on such a young baby), but he's definitely not above bringing a few things for Yuu and the baby with Rook and Epel.

• Another great one is providing a space for Yuu to care for him, especially when the baby is already a few months old or if Yuu is dealing with any consequences of childbirth. I honestly don't think Vil brings up the topic of losing baby weight right away because I think it's common sense that it's a pretty sensitive topic for women; instead, he focuses on Yuu feeling good about herself.

• Ortho was probably one of the few students allowed to come to Ramshakle every day to check on the baby's health with his scanners. Thanks to that, Idia is probably the one who is most attentive to the health of both the baby and Yuu. She almost seems like a mother hen. Is Yuu eating things with iron? Is it beneficial for pregnant women? Or maybe she should send him food with vitamin D? Is he being too creepy by monitoring this kind of things?

• Idia definitely freezes every time the baby climbs on him, just accepting his fate of being this creature's new favorite fluorescent toy (Ortho has videos of this that he shows the first years).

• Malleus, OH MY GOD, MALLEUS, remember how I told you the baby was born shortly before his Overblot? You can bet everyone was super tense with him around Yuu and the baby after that, almost like a Protection Squad.

• Then again, Malleus had no idea how human birth worked, so he definitely got really distressed when he heard Ramshakle's screams of pain, or when they told him that if they didn't act quickly either Yuu or the baby could DIE. It was like a reminder that, even giving birth to another human being, they are very fragile. Malleus was so relieved when he learned that Yuu and her daughter were okay, but the scare never fade.

• He definitely acts like some kind of weird uncle. He even talks to the baby as if she were an adult, and they have full conversations. The baby just babbles or says random words, and Malleus nods as if he understands and makes up a conversation, much to Yuu's amusement and everyone's confusion. At least Malleus can still have his nightly chats with Yuu, given how little sleep babies get.

• Ace and Deuce try to be as careful as possible with the baby, almost seeming like other people due to the kindness they show the baby in contrast to their normal selves. Although of course, they still have their tricks. Ace especially wants to teach the baby how to say his name, and when that doesn't work, he makes her learn funny nicknames for the others (like calling Riddle "red dwarf," knowing he'd never get mad at the baby).

• Deuce tries to prevent this, but it's in vain. When Yuu and they go out on campus, the baby is usually carried on one of their shoulders (they constantly fight over who is the "favorite uncle," unaware that that position already belongs to Grim).

• BONUS: THE STAFF

• Crowley definitely gives Yuu more work now because she's "no longer incapacitated," but he doesn't give her maternity leave. That is, until a mob of angry teenagers comes to his office to complain about his lack of basic human decency, and he decides to give him a month off. Every time Crowley is near the baby, she cries, but not a normal cry, no, a HYSTERICAL cry. Yuu thinks the problem might be the mask, but you can see how the baby makes faces at Crowley's voice.

• Sam always has things in stock that the baby might like, things like toys, bibs, clothes, etc. While Yuu is shopping, the baby likes to play with Sam's shadow. He thinks it's very interesting that the baby isn't afraid of them and tells Yuu that his baby has a very unique personality.

• Vargas remains essentially the same, a stereotypical gentleman who makes his students also be proper gentlemen to the ladies. If Yuu wants to join the class but has to bring the baby with her, Vargas will happily carry her while yelling at the students to move, occasionally tickling the baby, or passing her some candy.

• Trein is the ultimate babysitter. Not only does he have the experience, but the baby automatically trusts him without hesitation; he's the opposite of Crowley. Trein and Yuu remain close friends (I'd say Trein sees a lot of his daughters in Yuu), and he's willing to lend a hand if she has trouble with the baby. He's also the best source of baby-related advice at the school.

• Crewel's first reaction when the baby was able to leave school was to go shopping for clothes with Yuu, mostly matching clothes—he thinks they're the cutest thing ever! He's definitely bought her Dalmatian onesies. He definitely takes every opportunity he gets when he visits Yuu for tea to see the baby (it's like that "move bitch" meme).

• Overall, a big, dysfunctional, happy family was formed.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

[inlovewithfionaapple]

quite literally anything w/ spencer agnew!! maybe like a friends to lovers kinda vibe? or whatever you feel inspired by im not picky! thanks!!!!

just friends...right?

warnings: fluff, friends/co workers to lovers

wc: 754

an: i've been meaning to write something for him, but i haven't figured out what to write! thank you!! hope you like it!

smosh hq was always buzzing — filled with choatic energy, constant filming, half-finished cold brews, and in the midst of it all was spencer agnew, twirling a nerf ball around his fingers as he waited for the next sketch shoot to start.

"hey, dude, you ready?" y/n stood in the doorway to the green room, a smile playing at her mouth. she wore a smosh crew hoodie she would steal from wardrobe, sleeves pushed up, a pen tucked behind her ear.

spencer grinned — that easy, toothy grin he had — and tossed the ball up lazily.

 "born ready," he said, catching it one-handed.

y/n rolled her eyes dramatically. "yeah, you were absolutely ready just then, fully memorizing your lines. by throwing a foam ball at the ceiling."

he shrugged. "hey, it's called multitasking. brain exercise."

she snorted. it was so easy with spencer — like breathing. they'd started at smosh around the same time, both a little lost, a little wide-eyed, clinging to each other as the weirdness and brilliance of the place swallowed them up. at first it had been late-night editing sessions, swapping bad jokes, surviving impossible deadlines. then came the inside jokes, the way they’d wordlessly team up during improv games, the way spencer could always, always make her laugh — even when she was stressed, tired, or just over it.

and somewhere along the way... something shifted.

not that she was admitting it.

not when he was still spencer, still the guy who wore mismatched socks and made dad jokes and sometimes looked at her for a second too long 

"you’re spacing out," spencer teased, walking over and bumping his shoulder into hers. "nervous? you should be. i'm about to absolutely crush this sketch."

"ha, sure you are," y/n said, nudging him back. she smiled, but there was a funny, warm pressure building in her chest — the kind that had been creeping up more and more lately whenever he stood too close, laughed too loud, or said her name like it meant something.

maybe it did mean something.

maybe she was in way more trouble than she thought.

ater that day, after a chaotic filming session involving fake blood, a wig that wouldn't stay on, and ian corpsing so hard they had to reset six times, y/n collapsed onto the worn couch in the lounge, groaning dramatically.

"i don't think my brain works anymore," she announced to no one in particular.

spencer dropped down beside her, flopping his head back dramatically. "same. it's just soup up there now. good soup."

"bad soup," y/n corrected him. "chunky, cursed soup."

he laughed, and the sound of it wrapped around her like a hug she didn’t know she needed.

for a moment, they just sat there — the late afternoon light streaming through the cracked blinds, the murmur of the rest of the team still packing up equipment.

 it should have been easy. comfortable. it always was.

but now y/n could feel every inch of space between them.

 and every inch that wasn’t.

"hey," spencer said, voice softer than usual. he shifted to look at her properly. "you doing okay?"

she blinked, thrown by the seriousness in his tone.

 "yeah, just tired. long day."

he studied her for a second — really looked at her, like he was trying to read something between the lines.

 "you know you can tell me if it's more than that, right?"

her throat tightened.

 god, he was so good.

 too good.

"i'm fine," she said, forcing a smile. "promise."

spencer hesitated, then nodded. but he didn’t look convinced.

and when his hand brushed lightly against hers, whether on purpose or by accident, y/n didn’t move away.

she couldn't.

something electric zipped up her arm — stupid, cliché, heart-racing electricity — and she hated how much she liked it.

or maybe she didn’t hate it at all.

that night, y/n found herself staring at her phone long after she should've been asleep.

a new text from spencer blinked up at her:

[spencer]

 i had fun today.

 even tho you almost got me killed w the fake blood slip lol

 you're my favorite person to film with

 just thought you should know 💙

the little blue heart almost wrecked her.

y/n buried her face in her pillow and screamed into it softly.

because somewhere deep down, a truth she'd been avoiding finally crashed into her.

she didn’t just like spencer.

she was in love with him.

and now she had no idea what to do about it.

[sirensslament]

UNREQUITED yeon sieun x reader

summary!: You’ve had a quiet crush on Yeon Sieun for what feels like forever, obvious to everyone, even him. Despite your popularity and his usual indifference, something shifts one ordinary school day. When bullies cross a line, and you're the one to defend him, your world and his unexpectedly collide. A late-night tutoring session turns into something much more, something neither of you can quite put into words.

Pairing: oblivious!sieun x pining!femalereader

Trope: academic rivals (ish), to reluctant crush

Genre: fluff, slice of life, school life, romance

Note: i needed to write something for sieun, he's been invading my mind. also, i feel the need to write something for suho and beomseok. yes even beomseok.

Word count: 4k

warnings !: none!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The fluorescent lights above buzz faintly, casting a soft white glow over the rows of students slouched at their desks. Outside the classroom windows, the sky is clear, just blue and clouds and the occasional rustle of wind. It’s one of those rare calm mornings, the kind where everything feels still, yet full of potential.

Your pen glides across the page with practiced rhythm, highlighting a line of notes in pink. You’re not really studying, you already read this chapter, twice even, but it’s something to do while waiting for the teacher.

Around you, the usual murmur of chaos unfolds: chairs scraping, laughter bubbling from random groups, the distant thump of someone playing music too loud through their earphones.

Suho is, unsurprisingly, dead asleep at his desk beside you. Face smooshed against his pink arm pilllow, hair a wild mess, mouth slightly open.

You narrow your eyes at him.

He’s been like that since first bell.

You reach down, grab a rubber ball from your pencil case, and flick it at his forehead.

Thunk.

He jerks up with a strangled grunt. “What the hell—?!”

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” you say sweetly, flipping your pen between your fingers. “Drooled a little, by the way.”

He wipes his cheek and glares at you. “I was in the middle of a dream.”

“Yeah? Dreaming about being a normal functioning student for once?”

He flips you off without looking. “You’re annoying.”

“You’re welcome.”

The two of you bicker like this every morning, a rhythm so natural it’s practically a warm-up for your brain. You’re close with Suho, not in a romantic way (which is something you two used to get mistaken for), but the kind of close that only comes from years of mutual trust, shared secrets, and stupid arguements.

You nudge him with your elbow. “You snored.”

“Liar.”

“Ask the class.”

“Ask your mom.”

You gasp. “Wow. You’re bold for someone who failed last month’s exam.”

“Bold for someone who’s still pining over Mr. Calculator up there,” he mutters.

You blink. “Excuse me?”

He jerks his chin toward the front row.

Yeon Sieun sits in his usual spot, upright and pristine. His desk is spotless, not a single pen out of line. He reads from a thick textbook like the rest of the room doesn’t exist.

You try not to look.

You fail.

His dark hair falls slightly over his forehead, just enough to soften the sharpness of his features. There’s something annoyingly elegant about him, even when he does nothing but sit and read.

“I’m not pining,” you say, a little too fast.

Suho smirks. “You literally sighed when you looked at him yesterday.”

“I was yawning.”

“You whispered ‘he’s so mysterious’ under your breath.”

“You have no proof.”

“I recorded it.”

You smack his arm. He snickers and slouches deeper into his chair.

The truth is: yeah, okay. You might be a little into Sieun.

Okay, a lot.

It’s not just the looks (though the looks are a problem). It’s the way he moves, like he’s too precise for this world. The way he’s smarter than every teacher but never brags. The way he somehow makes silence feel heavier than shouting.

But also? The way he doesn’t give a single shit about you.

It’s maddening.

He’s the only guy who’s never flirted, never smiled, never acknowledged your existence beyond the occasional polite nod. And for some reason? That makes you like him even more.

You sigh, quietly this time, and go back to pretending to study.

That’s when you hear it.

The slap of sneakers against the floor. The loud, lazy laughter of guys who think volume equals confidence.

Yeongbin and Jeongchan swagger into the classroom like they own it, already bumping into chairs and shouting inside jokes no one else fucking cares about.

“Here comes the circus,” Suho mutters under his breath.

You glance up just in time to see Jeongchan knock over someone’s water bottle with a flick of his foot. No apology. Of course not. He's the same guy who made a poor student record himself dancing to some k-pop song, the same guy who forced another student to eat their own shoe.

You tense. Watchful.

They don’t usually mess with Sieun. Not because they respect him, but because they’re scared of you.

Everyone knows. Everyone knows you’ve got it bad for him. Even the bullies. Especially the bullies. And up ‘til now, they’ve been smart enough to steer clear.

But something’s different today.

Yeongbin tosses a paper ball.

It lands right on Sieun’s desk.

You sit up straighter.

Sieun looks up. His movements are slow, deliberate. The kind of calm that feels dangerous. He doesn’t speak, just stares, those beautiful, dark eyes of his staring into yeongbin.

Yeongbin grins. “What, you got something to say?”

The class quiets.

You can feel it coming. That shift. That storm in the air.

Before Sieun can respond, you do.

You shove your chair back and stand, voice sharp.

“Hey!” The word cracks like a whip. “Why don’t you fuck off for once, huh? Or are you so bored you have to pick fights with someone ten times smarter than your dumbass?”

The entire class goes “Ooooohhhhhh—” like it’s a playground fight.

Yeongbin opens his mouth, but you stand up and walk past your desk.

“Say one more word and I’ll rearrange your face.”

He snorts. “Damn. Sieun’s bitch is barking now?”

You take the blow and smile sweetly. “I bite.”

The door slides open.

The teacher walks in.

Everyone snaps back into their seats.

But the air doesn’t go back to normal, not really.

You glance at Sieun.

He’s already turned back to his book, like nothing happened.

But you swear,

Just for a second,

His eyes flicked to you.

The classroom settles into something like silence, not the peaceful kind, but the awkward, tight-lipped kind that hangs in the air after something just barely avoided becoming a scene. You slide back into your seat, heart still beating a little fast from earlier. You’re not usually one to shout in class, but Yeongbin and his idiot minions had it coming.

Beside you, Suho lets out a low whistle, eyes wide. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

You huff, flick your pen at him again. “Should’ve been on that note weeks ago.”

He chuckles, stretching his arms behind his head with the casual smugness of someone who has no idea what’s about to hit him. “You’re so protective of him,” he says, nodding subtly toward the front.

You glance up, instinctively. Sieun’s still reading, his posture perfect, back straight, fingers curled neatly around a black pen. He hasn’t even looked back at you. Not once. No gratitude, no reaction, not even a single twitch of acknowledgement.

Your lips twist into something between a pout and a sigh.

Suho watches you like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. “Unrequited love is crazy.”

“I will break your nose.”

“You can try.”

Before you can retaliate, the teacher’s voice cuts through the room.

“Alright, everyone, settle down. Time to return your exams.”

A groan ripples through the class. People shift nervously in their seats, the bravado from a few minutes ago immediately melting into dread. Even Suho straightens a little, lips pressing together in quiet fear.

You swallow.

Right.

The exam.

You did study. Kind of. You had good intentions. But between school drama, watching late-night films, and… okay, maybe you spent too much time scrolling through study playlists and not enough actually studying.

Still. You’re usually solid. You’ll be fine.

The teacher begins handing out the papers, row by row, her voice a low mutter as she comments on the scores.

“Kim Haejo, 83… Not bad, but you rushed the last page.”

“Lee Da-in, 71. Need to revise the essay format.”

Then she reaches the front.

You catch it before it’s even announced, just a flicker of movement as the teacher places the paper down in front of Sieun.

A full page. Crisp red ink.

A perfect score. 100.

Your stomach twists.

Of course.

Of course he did.

He doesn’t react. Doesn’t smirk or even blink. He just takes the paper, places it neatly on the corner of his desk, and moves on like it’s no big deal. Like being flawless is just routine.

You look away quickly, biting the inside of your cheek.

Jealousy isn’t quite the right word. It’s more like… admiration mixed with frustration. You don’t want to be him, but you want to be near him. Want him to see you. Acknowledge you. Just once.

The teacher finally reaches your row.

You brace yourself.

And then,

“y/n. 61.”

…

You blink.

Sixty-what?

You take the paper with frozen fingers, eyes scanning the red marks. You did… that badly?

Suho leans over, peering at your score. His face splits into a grin so wide, you want to smack it off. “Ohhhh, damn. That’s tragic.”

You jab your elbow into his ribs. “Don’t speak to me.”

“Sixty-one? From the girl who color-codes her notes?”

“At least I didn’t fail,” you shoot back, flipping over his paper.

32.

You stare at it. Then stare at him.

He looks smug.

You burst out laughing.

“I knew you were stupid,” you manage between wheezes. “But this is a new record.”

He throws a pencil at you. “Betrayal in my own home.”

“This isn’t your home. This is a battlefield and you just died.” You stick your tongue up at him and throw up the middle finger just as the teacher turns around.

No one pays attention when you two go back to your silly banter, hitting each other with the now rolled up exam paper.

And you don’t see it, not right away, but he does glance.

Sieun.

A brief, subtle glance over his shoulder. No emotion, no expression. Just a quick flick of his eyes in your direction, as if cataloguing your laughter, the way your shoulders shake, the brightness of your grin.

Then he turns back around.

Not a word. Not a sound.

Just that single glance.

And for some reason?

Your heart skips.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The school bell rings with its usual shrill tone, sharp and final. The moment it does, chairs scrape against the floor and chatter explodes through the classroom like a shaken soda can. Students flood the hallway in clusters, some rushing for cram school, others heading to convenience stores or the bus stop. You take your time packing up, partly because you’re still mourning your exam score, partly because your stomach is doing backflips over what you’re about to do.

Suho’s long gone, he practically sprinted out as soon as the final bell rang, muttering something about street food and a nap.

Coward.

You, on the other hand, have a plan.

Well… "plan" might be generous. It’s more like a vague, impulsive idea wrapped in the thin tissue paper of hope.

You zip up your bag, sling it over your shoulder, and make your way out of class, your heart thudding just a little too hard.

You spot him a few meters ahead. Sieun. Walking alone, as always, head slightly bowed, backpack hanging neat and square on his shoulders. The hallway crowds shift and part around him like he’s not even there, like his existence doesn’t need space or sound. He moves like he’s got somewhere to be, even if it’s just home.

You follow.

Casually, of course.

Not like a creep.

You keep a few steps behind, pretending to scroll through your phone, eyes flicking up now and then to track his outline as he exits through the school gates.

The sun’s dipped low now, casting everything in that soft, honey-colored light that makes even cracked pavement look cinematic. Spring’s in the air, cool, but not cold, the breeze gentle against your skin. The sounds of traffic and distant conversations float through the open air.

He walks in a straight line, deliberate and quiet, like everything he does. There’s a certain rhythm to his movements, shoulders squared, steps even, gaze fixed ahead. You don’t think he’s noticed you.

Until he suddenly stops.

You freeze, nearly tripping over your own feet.

He turns around, slowly.

Your heart lurches into your throat.

You quickly look to the side, pretending to admire a particularly interesting patch of sidewalk cracks. Casual. Totally natural. Nothing weird here.

His gaze lingers for a second longer than it needs to, blank, unreadable.

Then, just like that, he turns back and continues walking.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Okay. That could’ve gone worse.

You pick up your pace just a bit. It’s not far now, you know he usually takes this route down past the old bookstore, then cuts across the quieter residential area. You’ve seen him do it before. Not that you were watching on purpose. That one time was purely coincidence. Probably.

After another few seconds, you decide to just do it. No more stalling.

You break into a few quick steps until you’re walking beside him, not too close, not too far. Just enough to feel the difference in your breathing. Just enough to hear the slight swish of his backpack straps when he walks.

He slows down a fraction. Looks at you out of the corner of his eye.

You stop right in front of him.

He stops too.

The breeze rustles your hair, brushing it into your face. You tuck it behind your ear, suddenly very aware of how loud your heartbeat is.

He doesn’t say anything.

Just stares.

His face is neutral. Impassive. A little tired around the eyes.

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, fingers tightening around the straps of your bag. You clear your throat.

“Um.”

Still nothing.

You press on. “So… I kinda sucked on the exam.”

Silence.

You glance up at him. He blinks. Slowly.

“I mean, I usually do okay, but this time I just…” You trail off, swallowing. “Anyway. I was wondering if...maybe, you could, I don’t know. Help me study? A little?”

He stares.

You smile, trying not to let it wobble. “I’m not asking for, like, full-time tutoring or anything. Just… a couple sessions. One? One session? A single hour of your genius brain?”

Still no response.

You shift your bag again. “I’ll pay you,” you add quickly. “With snacks. Or drinks. Or loyalty. Whatever currency you prefer.”

He blinks again.

Finally, after what feels like a century, he speaks. “…Why me?” His deep voice almost sends you into a coma.

You blink. “Why… you?”

He nods once. “You have other friends. Why me?”

You exhale a soft laugh, surprised. “Well, yeah, I do. But none of them got a hundred on the exam. You’re kind of the smartest person I know.”

He looks like he wants to deny it, but doesn’t.

Instead, he says, “You don’t even like me.”

Your brows shoot up. “Wait, what? Who told you that?”

He tilts his head, voice low. “Isn’t that what people like Suho always say? That you ‘pine’ for me?” His tone is unreadable. Not mocking, exactly. Just… dry.

Damn Suho, always getting in your way regardless of his presence.

You flush instantly. “That’s not--I don’t--okay, first of all, Suho’s an idiot.”

“Mm.”

“And second of all--” You pause. “Wait. You actually knew about that?”

He shrugs. “Everyone does.”

You stare at him, mortified. “That’s so embarrassing.”

He says nothing.

“Like, deeply, deeply embarrassing.”

Still nothing.

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “Okay, fine, yes. I have a crush on you. Had. Had a crush. Past tense. Ancient history. Practically prehistoric.”

“…Right.”

You squint at him. “Are you mocking me?”

He shrugs again.

You exhale, deflating slightly. “Look. Can we just skip the awkward and go straight to the part where you say yes?”

He looks at you for a long moment.

Then, softly, almost too quiet to hear, he says, “Fine.”

Your eyes widen. “Wait, really?”

He nods.

“Just like that?”

“…Don’t make me regret it.”

You grin. “Never.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The library is tucked into the corner of an older street, nestled between a stationery shop and a run-down tea house that’s been closed for as long as you can remember. The sign is a little faded, the glass door sticks when you pull it open, and the smell inside is a mix of paper, dust, and old wood polish. It’s not the kind of place most students bother with, too quiet, too slow, too analog in a world of glowing screens and digital flashcards.

But for some reason, it feels just right.

He holds the door open for you, wordless as ever. You step inside with a murmur of thanks, trying not to show how fast your heart is beating.

The place is nearly empty, just one older woman sitting at a table near the window, a stack of romance novels beside her, and a student asleep over his textbook in the far corner. The air is still, padded and soft, every sound muffled by the thick carpet and the shelves rising around you like wooden sentinels.

Sieun leads the way, moving with his usual precision. Not too fast, not too slow. Just a steady, even pace that seems immune to nerves or second-guessing. You wonder what that’s like.

You follow him to a back table, one of the smaller ones, pressed against a wall of korean history texts and outdated encyclopedias. The light overhead is warm, casting a soft halo on the table’s scratched surface.

You take a seat, pulling out your notebook. He sits opposite you, already unpacking a textbook and a pencil case so neat and minimal it could’ve come straight out of a study vlog.

You try to act casual, flipping open your notes. “So… where do we start?”

He glances up, then reaches for your exam paper, the one you reluctantly brought with you in your bag.

“Your structure’s fine,” he says, scanning it. “You lose points on clarity. You rush your conclusions. You don’t support your arguments.”

You blink. “Wow, okay. Go easy on me.”

“I am.”

You squint. “That was you being gentle?”

He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching, just a fraction. If you weren’t looking so closely, you might’ve missed it.

You grin to yourself. Progress.

He flips the exam to a specific paragraph and pushes it toward you. “Rewrite this. Just the ending.”

You oblige, biting your pen and focusing on the sentence. But your eyes keep drifting, over the paper, to his hands. Long fingers, pale knuckles, one thumbnail slightly chipped. His handwriting is ridiculously clean. You watch the way he taps his pencil against the page, once, twice, and then stops when you look up again.

“Are you going to do it,” he asks without looking up, “or are you going to keep staring at me like that?”

You freeze.

“…Huh?”

“You’ve been sighing every five minutes,” he says, voice flat but not unkind. “And leaning on your palm like we’re filming a drama.”

You jolt upright, yanking your hand away from your cheek. “Oh my god.”

His eyes flick up to you now. His expression is unreadable, but you swear his ears are a little red.

You sink slightly into your seat. “I wasn’t sighing that much.”

He doesn’t reply.

“…Okay, maybe I was. But I wasn’t daydreaming. I was just, resting my face.”

He looks back down at your exam. “Whatever you say.”

You groan, slumping back in your chair. “You’re so mean.”

“You asked me to help you.”

“I didn’t think tutoring came with constructive criticism.”

Another twitch of his mouth. That almost-smile again.

You let yourself smile too, just a little. There’s something weirdly comforting about his bluntness. Like it cuts through the chaos in your head. No fake politeness, no performance. Just him.

“Alright, fine,” you mutter, pulling your notebook closer. “Keep violating me. But only if it helps.”

He hands you another worksheet. “It does.”

You glare at him, but take it anyway.

The next half hour is quieter. More focused. He’s a good teacher, in his own awkward way, clear, patient, methodical. He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t roll his eyes when you ask dumb questions. Sometimes he pauses too long, searching for the right word, and you realize how carefully he chooses what to say, even if it’s just about sentence structure.

You steal glances when he’s not looking.

The way his lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks when he’s reading. The subtle crease between his brows when he’s thinking. The way he taps his fingers on the table in quiet, rhythmic patterns.

You realize, in that moment, that you really, really like him.

And not just because he’s smart or pretty or mysterious. But because of this. This quiet version of him. The one who sits across from you and treats you like someone worth teaching. The one who doesn't flinch when you ask dumb questions. The one who, though he pretends not to notice, does see you.

“You’re staring again.”

You jump, snapping back to reality. “I’m not!”

“You sighed.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You also smiled for no reason.”

You cross your arms. “Are you secretly a detective or something? How do you notice everything?”

He pauses. Then shrugs. “You’re easy to read.”

Your stomach flips.

“That’s rude,” you say.

“It’s not,” he replies. “You just… wear everything on your face.”

You blink.

He’s still looking at you, finally really looking, and for a moment, the space between you feels heavier. Like something unsaid is hovering in the air, thick and electric.

You don’t know what to say.

So you look away. Down at your paper. Up at the clock.

“Oh my god, it’s dark out.”

He glances at the window. He nods.

You both pack your things, slower than necessary. The library’s even emptier now. The romance novel lady is gone. So is the sleeping student. The silence is somehow louder, now that it’s just the two of you.

You walk out side by side, the door creaking behind you. The air is colder now, the sky a soft navy blue, stars barely visible through the haze of city lights. Street lamps flicker on, painting the sidewalk gold and orange.

You walk together in silence.

It’s not awkward, though.

It’s... comfortable.

Every few steps, your hands almost brush. But not quite.

You’re nearing your street when you slow down, then stop completely.

He pauses too.

You turn to face him, gripping the strap of your bag like it’s a lifeline.

“Thanks,” you say. “For today.”

He nods once. “It was fine.”

You laugh softly. “That’s your version of a compliment, huh?”

He looks at you, then away. Shrugs. “You improved.”

“Coming from you, that’s practically a declaration of love.”

He doesn’t respond to that.

So, naturally, your brain does something stupid.

Your heart’s racing. Your hands are sweaty. Your legs are jelly. But still, you lean forward, and before you can even think about how insane this is...

You press a quick, soft kiss to his lips.

Just a second. Barely more than a breath.

His lips are cold from the night air, and you can feel the faint, startled inhale he takes, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t flinch.

You realize what you just did.

You squeal, a sound that escapes before you can stop it, and stumble back like you’ve been electrocuted.

“I--oh my god--I didn’t mean--I mean I did, but not like that--I mean I didn’t plan it, it just--”

You’re already running.

“BYE,” you yell over your shoulder, clutching your backpack like it’s shielding you from divine judgment.

You don't look back.

You don't dare.

But if you had…

You might’ve seen him standing there, hand half-raised, eyes wide.

And the faintest, smallest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

a/n: huh.

[nox-in-a-box]

Hey hi hello so um this was gonna be a whole comic with multiple pages but thanks to this thing called exams I gave up after three pages because it was impacting my ability to study...I did continue the scene in prose form after the third page though. So um. Yeah. Under the cut. Based on this post.

"I mean, all that work, and yet they couldn't afford to be even a little bit nicer! Show some proper appreciation!" Greylock continued. "All I am is another way King Magnus can show himself up to the rest."

He grimaced as he took another long sip of his tea. "And no matter how much you enjoy something...when you're forced to perform all the time, only what the king wants? Ha! It takes all the joy out of the job, Kendrick."

"It's Cedric," came his friend's usual reply, which drew a chuckle out of him.

"Of course, Toothpick." He settled back now, wondering only now what had come over him. Honesty of this kind did not come to him easily. But perhaps it was the fact that he was glad to be reunited with an old friend, and perhaps it was also the comforting quietness of the workshop and the hot tea that Cedric had poured them. And so he did not regret spilling his heart out like this, at least not yet.

Cedric set his own teacup down on the floating saucer in front of him. "But you're right, yes. These bloody royalty simply do not appreciate us! And really, I think we should do something about it."

He smirked. "I mean, imagine if we took their thrones from them! And they were the ones to follow our orders! And maybe then they'd get a taste of their own potion, when they're forced to have to do everything we said and..." He faltered a bit at Greylock's widening stare as he realised, in a rare moment of foresightedness, that it may bot be the best idea to be revealing such plans as this during casual conversation, even to Greylock.

He cleared his throat. "Of course though, I'm not being serious. You know that, right?"

Greylock shook his head quickly. "No, no, of course you're not, Cedric. No proper sorcerer goes about taking the place of a king...his place is by their side. As miserable as it may be," he muttered.

His face broke out into a grin. "It reminds me of when we were at Hexley, though. You were always muttering about some silly little evil schemes..."

Cedric scoffed. "Well, they were less ridiculous than your tricks! At least my schemes didn't simply have the aim of blowing things up and ending up in the headmaster's office! They were more complex!"

And so their conversation drifted to topics unconcerned with acts of treachery. But Cedric's supposedly nonserious words constantly drifted back into Greylock's mind both during their conversation and afterwards, not leaving him alone for weeks after the jubilee, always showing up whenever he was feeling the same dissatisfaction again that he expressed that night. And eventually he decided to let those words stay and root themselves properly in his head.

Because he was getting rather tired of Magnus.

[stewpidcheescatarinabluu]

Sweet Like Caramel

Synopsis: Y/N always noticed Karina—the quiet, beautiful girl who lived in her books. What began as shared coffees and casual snacks turned into soft moments and quiet stares. One day, Y/N slips a simple confession into their usual conversation, not expecting much—only to find out she’d been waiting to hear it all along.

Word Count: 1,770

Karina X Male Reader

You had a crush on Karina—a bookworm who always seemed to live in the library. She was quiet, rarely spoke unless necessary, but somehow always carried herself like a princess. A serene beauty. Almost untouchable.

You’d catch yourself staring at her whenever you passed by—how she’d tuck her hair behind her ear while reading, the way she highlighted with precision, or how she’d softly chew the end of her pen when stuck on a problem.

Sometimes, just sometimes, you swore she’d glance back at you too. But you never thought much of it. Probably coincidence. Probably not.

One day, while lying back on a bench, staring at the ceiling, you muttered out loud,

“Yo bro… you know that one girl who always studies in the library?”

Your friend looked up from his phone. “Karina? From class 1-B? Yeah. My girlfriend said she’s insanely smart.”

“I like her.”

Your friend nearly choked on his gum. “What? I mean… okay, not surprising. You literally ignore me whenever we’re at the library just to stare at her.”

You snorted. “You think she has a boyfriend?”

“Nah, I doubt it. She’s got a lot of followers though. Even girls drool over her.”

“Not surprised,” you muttered. “She’s beautiful… and smart.”

Your friend nudged your shoulder. “Well, if you like her, it doesn’t hurt to try, right?”

You turned your head to him, smirking. “You’re right. What’s the plan?”

“Bookworms love caffeine, bro! Bring her coffee. Or an energy drink—wait no, energy drinks are bad. Coffee and chocolate. Trust me.”

“I kinda don’t have money for that right now, though…”

He looked at you. “You’re broke but in love. That’s powerful.”

You groaned. “Whatever. I’ll make it work.”

The next day, you scraped together just enough to buy a cup of coffee and a bar of milk chocolate. Your friend gave you the signal from the other side of the shelves.

There she was.

Karina, sitting at her usual spot. Head bent over her notes, highlighters lined like soldiers beside her, books cracked open with neat annotations in the margins. A quiet world she built for herself, and somehow, you were about to step into it.

You cleared your throat.

“H-hi.”

Her head lifted slowly, eyes calm and unreadable. “Do I know you?”

“Uh… no? Probably not. Maybe… kind of?”

She blinked.

You shoved the coffee and chocolate toward her. “I just wanted you to have this.”

She looked down at them, then back up at you. “Oh? That’s unusual.” A small pause. “But thanks, I guess?”

You opened your mouth to respond, and she added with the faintest smirk,

“…I don’t drink americano, though.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Wait—you don’t?”

She looked up at you properly this time, and damn, she was even prettier up close. Her voice was soft, unbothered, but her eyes had the tiniest spark of amusement. Like she was messing with you.

“Nope,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Too bitter. I like sweet things.”

You rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly. “Ah… noted. I’ll bring something sweeter next time, then.”

“Next time?” Her eyebrow raised.

You smiled, scratching your cheek. “I mean… if you let me.”

There was a pause. You were sure she was going to laugh you off or go back to studying—but instead, Karina glanced down at the coffee and chocolate again. Her fingers brushed the wrapper like it meant something more than it should.

“…You’re kind of weird,” she said, then gave you the smallest smile. A real one. The type that makes your chest flutter a bit too fast. “But I don’t hate it.”

“thanks!, next time i’ll bring something sweet, you can take the milk chocolate tho.”

“mhm thanks.” she smiled after you left she opened the chocolate bar and ate it while studying.

Days passed.

You worked extra shifts after school, skipped lunch a few times, and even sold your limited-edition keychain—just so you could afford what you had in your hands now: a caramel macchiato and a slice of strawberry cheesecake in a plastic box with a gold fork.

There she was again, in her usual spot. Same focused eyes. Same calm air. But something about her felt warmer now—maybe it was you, or maybe she was waiting for you too.

You approached with a grin. “Hey! I’m back. Like I told you.”

Karina glanced up, blinking slowly like she’d just come back from another world. “Didn’t expect that,” she said, setting her pen down. “What do you have today?”

“Caramel macchiato,” you said, carefully placing it in front of her, “and uh… strawberry cheesecake. I hope you like it.”

Her expression shifted, just slightly.

“I love strawberries,” she said, eyeing the slice. “And caramel.”

You chuckled, a little too proud. “Guess I made the right guess.”

She paused, then used her hand to push the chair across from her out with her foot. A gesture. An invitation. “Sit.”

You didn’t even hesitate.

She sipped her coffee slowly, flipping through pages, occasionally underlining with a yellow highlighter. You watched her in silence, content. Honestly, you could’ve done that for hours.

But she spoke. “Why do you bother bringing me food?”

You blinked. “Uh—nothing! I just figured you’d be hungry or thirsty from all the studying…”

She raised an eyebrow. “What a creep. You’ve been spying on me?”

Your eyes widened. “No, no! I just… always seem to look at you. You have this… I don’t know… allure or something.”

Karina set her pen down, turning slightly to face you, lips tugging into the smallest, teasing smile. “Wow, I’m flattered,” she said, dry and sarcastic—but not cold.

“Okay that came out wrong,” you laughed nervously. “I mean… you’re just… nice to look at.”

She shook her head, amused. “You’re weird.”

“But you let me sit.”

“I did.”

And that was how it began. Little by little, day by day, you’d bring her coffee and something sweet. She’d let you stay. Sometimes she’d ask you about your day. Other times she’d pass you a spare highlighter just so you had an excuse to pretend you were working too.

The silence between you stopped feeling awkward—it became comfortable. Like maybe, just maybe, this quiet library princess didn’t mind your presence at all.

Hey, Rina!”

She looked up, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re late today. What happened?”

You dropped your bag next to the seat across from her. “Just did some errands,” you said, a little breathless. “Also bought some snacks. Have you already eaten?”

She shook her head, eyes drifting back to her notes. “Nope. But you really don’t have to bring snacks or food all the time, you know?”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, setting the bag down. “It’s… my nice gesture to maybe change something…”

Your voice trailed off into a mumble.

“Hm? You said something?”

“N-no. Nothing. Here.” You handed her the caramel macchiato you knew she liked—extra caramel, just how she preferred.

Without hesitation, she took a sip. And just as she was about to set it down, she paused and held the drink out to you.

“Wanna try?” she asked casually.

The straw. She hadn’t wiped the straw.

Your brain short-circuited for a second.

She noticed your silence and began pulling it back. “Ah—sorry, I’ll wipe it—”

But you snatched it gently from her hand and took a sip without thinking.

It was sweet. The caramel clung to your tongue, but her smile hit you harder.

“Wow,” she chuckled softly. “What a weirdo.”

You coughed, setting the cup down with a scowl. “Shut up…”

Her laughter was soft, rare. But real. And you loved it more than you wanted to admit.

Soon, the two of you were deep in conversation. You asked about her dreams—what she wanted after all this studying, all this quiet grinding. She said she wanted to work in publishing, maybe write a book of her own someday.

“What about you?” she asked, looking at you with genuine curiosity. “You never study when you’re here. What are you chasing?”

You thought for a second. “I’m chasing something I didn’t even know I wanted until recently.”

She raised a brow. “That sounds vague.”

“Maybe,” you said, glancing at her. “But I’ll let you know when I catch it.”

Her eyes lingered on yours for a second longer than usual.

And for the first time, she closed her notebook—not because she was done studying, but maybe, just maybe… because she wanted to hear more.

It was just past five. The golden hour light filtered through the tall library windows, painting Karina in soft amber—like she didn’t belong to this world, like she was made of something gentler.

She was focused as always, fingers brushing over her notes, a caramel macchiato sitting quietly by her hand. You were across from her, half pretending to study, half watching her—like always.

She noticed.

“You’re staring again,” she said without looking up, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

You chuckled under your breath. “Can’t help it.”

That earned you a glance. Her eyes held yours, calm but curious. “Why?”

You shrugged, playing it off, tapping your pen against your paper. “You’re just easy to look at.”

She blinked, then looked back down, a quiet chuckle escaping her. “Smooth.”

Silence again. A few beats passed. The world felt still around her.

And then, you spoke again—so casually, so gently it almost didn’t sound like a confession at all.

“I think I’m falling for you.”

She froze.

Not dramatically. Not like in a movie. Just… paused. Like your words rewrote the sentence she was reading.

You kept your eyes on the desk, heart pounding now that it was out there. “Sorry,” you added, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

Karina didn’t respond immediately. She set her pen down, slowly, and looked at you.

Really looked at you.

“You didn’t,” she said softly. “You just made things… a little more real.”

You finally glanced up. Her eyes were warm—glowing almost, in the light—and for a second, you forgot how to breathe.

She reached out, fingers brushing yours across the table.

“I was hoping you’d say something first.”

Your lips parted. “You were?”

Karina nodded. “I’ve been falling too. Quietly. But you always notice the quiet things, don’t you?”

You smiled, heart full, hand curling around hers

[momo-de-avis]

Personal report after 12h with no electricity

At 11.30 am my partner's besting a boss' ass on some videogame while the power goes out. We think it's our power grid but turns out it's the whole building. Ok. We wait it out. Then I do what I usually do when shit like this happens, I log onto facebook to check the nastiest gossip group about my city and of course they've posted there already asking did the power go out? And comments start saying "yeah, it's the entire country and all of Spain"

At this point I go. What the fuck do you mean

Blissfully unaware that I have internet connection for just one hour, I frantically google and turns out... Yeah. An entire peninsula went to shit.

Now this shits scary cause what the fuck would cause such a massive blackout in TWO countries. Plus, information is coming out that parts of France were screwed as well as Morrocco and it keeps getting worse.

Meanwhile, it's my day off, and I'm going to preface the next events by saying that I worked all day saturday and sunday we were in another city, so we actually had no food in the house and intended to go out and buy stuff this monday. Also, our entire house is electrical: oven, stove, hot water---everything.

So, with this in mind, my boyfriend leaves for work while I try to go about my day. Not even thirty minutes in, he calls me and says "so, don't panic, but Civil Protection has announced that maybe perhaps this could last two-three days, worst case scenario" which, guess what happened. I'm in an all-electrical home with no food. Doesn't bode well for me.

This is when I decided to go out and buy something. Big mistake, maybe, but needed. First of all, it's hot as shit outside and I'm walking everywhere cause the surface metro went to shit. Every mercearia, every chinese warehouse (you know the ones), every store is packed full of people queuing outside. So I think, in a stroke of genius, I'm going to Lidl.

Listen, on one hand, good choice cause Lidl has generators. On the other, 30 minutes in line when all I had was bread, and some apples. In front of me is two young dudes with two whole chickens, some toilet paper (literally two rolls only) and a pack of pasta. Behind me is an old woman who's complaining that someone is gonna push her over the floor and decides to get into a spat with the Lidl worker who is just passing through and working on the faux apocalipse and who pretty much tells her "if you fall on the ground, you're falling alone" which lmao but around us is entire families with whole carts packed full of waters and toilet paper, and I'd love for someone to study humans' relationship with toilet paper when there's a crisis because what were you expecting? Shitting for power like a hamster on a wheel?

Anyway, thirty minutes and a cramp on my arm later, I manage to buy my tower of bread, sliced cheese and apples, get the fuck out of there, and on my way stop at an indian owner mercearia, and I am mentioning the nationality of the owners because if you're portuguese you know and also these dudes made bank on this day, and I grab a can of chickpeas and black eyes peas cause you know, canned goods for cold salads, and that is when it hits me that people are stocking on water and toilet paper but nobody's grabbing the canned goods? Meanwhile, a woman comes in and starts complaining that she wants her NIF number on the receipt (NIF is our VAT number) at which point the dude behind the register, who's been calculating everyone's total using his phone's calculations, literally lifts his finger, dumbfounded, at the blackened screen of his register and goes "ma'am, no energy" at which point you could see the shame on the woman's face developing as she realised "Oh, I am the bitch" and I mean, shit like this was starting to brighten my day.

It's when I get home that I realise I now have absolutely no service on my phone.

Boyfriend arrives back home as he and his coworkers have been told to just go and he tells me yep, service went to shit as well, nobody can call anyone at all, no messages, nothing---cellphone providers cut everything to avoid being overloaded. This is when we decide to go out and buy a radio and a couple of candles. I want to mention that I stopped at another mercearia and as everyone ran like nutjobs stacking on waters, I casually walked out with flavoured sparkling water (tangerine) because you people need to fucking chill.

Imagine if you will, a warehouse with a sliding doors only half open cause the power's out, and people lining up outside in the sun, a security guard ordering a few to go in and others to wait, and then you step inside and it's a massive warehouse full of literally everything you can imagine (to quote a friend, if Good Mart doesn't have it, it doesn't exist---if you know, you know), but everything is dark, there's a few people rummaging through some boxes using their phone's flashlight, and the most pissed off looking chinese guy grunting at you and ordering you to show you the items you picked so he can write the price on it. Honestly, incredible if you ask me, absolute best part of this whole shit.

Now imagine if you will as well, a bunch of families barging in and buying flashlights that, I don't think a single person realised this, are actually not battery-charged but usb-charged and it was just funny as fuck to watch the staff witness this, realise this, and say shit. There were people buying gas cookers and camping equipment which lmfao people were FREAKING OUT and mind you, they'd been communicating throughout the day that they would very likely restore power within the day (parts of Spain already had power by this point).

We leave with our radio, our ugly ass green candles and my cruzadex book because fuck me if this isn't the perfect opportunity for it, and that's when I see everyone around me on the street has the same exact radio which lmfao

And that's when things actually turned nice. We ate dinner at the balcony watching the sunset, roasting a chorizo and eating cheese, and as night fell the skies were amazing and we just enjoyed a perfectly nice summer night in the complete darkness. We played scrabble by the candlelights and fairylights. There were people on the streets dancing and having fun, there was people blasting their flashlights out the window, one guy across the street went fucking wild with green and white flashing lights, and people were just having fun.

And I think this event made all of us realise just how dependent we are on not just electricity but technology over all. People panicked but at the end of the day everything was pretty chill. Literally the only lights you could see from our home was the hospital, everything else was super dark. I now think we should do this once a year to decompress and disconnect.

It was 11.30PM, I was brushing my teeth and I hear people outside shouting and celebrating, and that's when I look and see lights everywhere.

Also, I really want to know what all those people buying gallons of water and camping gear are gonna do with all that shit lmao

Here's some pictures

[entropys]

going crazy i don’t think i’ll do well tomorrow T–T

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

one thing abt being disabled/chronically ill that some people don’t get is that sometimes body maintenance that ensures you have the absolute minimum amount of function can also be something that takes away a lot of control and autonomy. you can argue till the cows come home that making those decisions to try and help yourself (or realistically to try to make sure things aren’t worse than they already are) is something that exhibits control and autonomy and stuff, but they can be so limiting in practice because they’re things that take up so much time but have to be done to do anything else

[ohitslen]

Will always remain confused as to why people will fight over ships as if we weren’t all wrong about them, except for the incredibly rare occasions where the ship becomes canon, and even then you should just mind your damn business because in all seriousness. Why wouldn’t you.

[light-wrath-paradise]

Maybe I need to stop engaging with stories in times of great stress, I'm sensing a common factor here.

[yanderenightmare]

Yandere Seven Deadly Sins

♡ TW: a lot of different stuff today, NSFW, noncon/dubcon, yandere, stalking, gangbang, harsh language, sexual exploitation, bondage, zero holes safe, and more, read at your own risk

♡ FEM reader

Pride is an artist, and you, poor dear, are lucky enough to be his muse.

You’d caught his eye one day simply by coincidence while working your part-time job as a barista.

And though it had been a rather unorthodox request—between balancing school and work and constantly finding yourself both strapped for cash and strapped for time—you’d decided to quit and take him up on his offer—as what he was offering was about twice what you could make at the cafe anyway.

He’s not that much older than you, but he’s old money. And while you're stuck in community college, he goes to an elite art school—which he doesn’t even show up to, 'cause why would he? They can't afford to kick him out anyway, given his father’s donations make up half of their yearly budget.

And so he's free to self-study as much as he wants.

Yeah... he’s a little too used to getting what he wants—exactly how he wants it—without delay. So when you struggle to come to your sessions on time due to having to take the bus to the other side of town, he decides to solve it by buying you a car. And when he doesn’t feel like that’s sufficient enough, he buys you an apartment right above his own studio. And when you try to reject, he only has three concise words for you.

“Don’t be stupid.”

The way he says it leaves very little up for debate. In fact, it leaves you mute each and every time. 

It was nice in the beginning—you didn’t protest to anything other than his overpriced gifts. You were flattered and blushy and giddy and more than happy to sit pretty for him for hours at a time while he sketched and sculpted and painted and whatnot. It was essentially nothing in comparison to the luxuries he gave you in return.

But you think, at some point along the way, he must have forgotten that he only owns the artworks he makes of you—not you yourself.

“N-naked?” you stutter, looking at him wide-eyed where he stands in his usual apron—flecked with the proof of your countless sessions. Honestly, it was getting to be a little strange posing for him in a room stuffed with a myriad of sketches, paintings, and statues of yourself. Hadn’t he had enough?

“I can’t capture you correctly when you wear all these rags,” he says—clinically, though with a pinch of impatience just shy of vexation—eyeing you from head to toe, almost with a look of disgust while beholding your clothes, despite being the one who’d bought them. “They obscure everything. So take them off.”

You knew he’d probably had about a hundred models undress for him, and stand here—old, young, men, women—you knew it probably didn’t mean much to him. He probably regarded it the same way he does everything—without even batting an eye. However…

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can do that…” You fiddle with your fingers, standing there, still dressed despite him standing ready at his easel, foot-tapping while waiting for you, already with a stick of charcoal between his fingers. 

“Why are you making a fuss? You think I haven’t seen a naked body before?” he jokes, but without humor—no, rather strictness as if you’re wasting very precious time. “This is standard practice—don’t make it anything than what it is.”

There he goes again with those very final words that make you feel all in all kind of silly.

You bite your lip and mull it over before ever-so-begrudgingly uttering a weak little, “Okay…”

You suppose he was right. This is a job, and it’s just nudity—just another shape in the eyes of an artist—it doesn’t mean anything—is what you tell yourself while you undress. Still, you can’t help but feel flush—heart pounding in your chest as you fold your clothes all neatly for some other nervous reason. 

“Resume the pose,” he says—almost like a drill sergeant. And you jump into place, timidly rushing over to the chaise where you lie down like before.

This does feel like it would be a better painting, you admit. More reminiscent of Renaissance art and such. Not that you know much about it, but thinking back to field trips through the museum, you seem to remember having seen plenty of portraits of naked ladies lying on pretty but uncomfortable sofas just like this.

He seems very invested, at least. A deep furl between his brows, nearly scowling at you while he works—though you’ve come to learn that it’s just his concentration face.

After a while, he sets his charcoal down and wipes his blackened hands on his apron.

You sit up, asking, “Are you done?” All but ready to leap from your seat to your clothes and finally cover yourself again.

“No, keep still,” he all but reprimands—voice intense as he stalks across the floor over to you with determination written plainly across his face.

You draw back in place as he rests his knee on the chaise and leans forward. It wasn’t uncommon for him to come and correct your pose, but you couldn’t help but flinch this time around, feeling just a bit too exposed.

His hands are warm and overworked, both dry and a bit clammy all at the same time. You didn’t mind much when you wore clothes, but it felt a bit too intimate now as he touched your bare skin. But you bear with it despite that.

Eyes closed, you repeat that same line from before—it doesn’t mean anything, this is standard practice, it doesn’t mean anything.

It works in calming your breath for a moment, but then he grabs your tit.

You gasp, jolting back while stuttering, “Wha–what are you doing?”

And yet, he keeps his steal gaze just as fixed and unfazed as before, sighing at you as if you were overreacting, before stating rather simply, “Getting a better understanding of your body.” He then reaches toward you again, showing no concern for how you shrink away. “It’s easier to replicate when I know it by hand.”

Again, you let his voice silence you, and again, you closed your eyes and let his hands wander—around your chest, up your neck, down your belly, and then—

“Wait! That can’t be necessary—” you blurt out, this time with your arms and hands shooting forth to distance him.

“Oh, trust me—it is.” Again, he pays you no mind, simply bearing over you with his entitled hands roaming whatever place he so wishes and chooses. Only clicking his tongue at you when you squirm, “Don’t fuss.”

You don’t exactly push him away, though you don’t exactly make his pursuit easier for him—lying there beneath his touches, wiggling and whimpering, though not really protesting either as he feels your slit.

Your fingers curl into his arms, gripping his messy shirt streaked with paint and coal—as his fingers run through your lips, teasing your entrance and your clit. He twists his hand around and presses his thumb down on the pearl after it perks for attention, then enters you with his pointer finger—drawing out wetness before promptly feeding you another.

You bite your lip as they curl and spread within you, testing you out while rubbing firm circles into your clit.

Gingerly, your hips return it, starting to move in tune with his ministrations. Thighs trembling, keeping your eyes squeezed tightly shut as you start to pant—small moans leaving your lips with every breath, feeling it build within you—a small flame at first, nursed until it fills and all but fights for room within you before finally bursting.

“That’s it—that’s the expression,” he purrs—voice much softer than usual—cupping your face with his other hand, holding you steady while taking in those dopey eyes sparkling with pleasure and those parted lips that never dare speak up—eyeing you like he's the proud owner of a prized possession. “Perfect.”

He hums, sounding pleased, then gets off you shortly after, sauntering back to his easel.

“You can get dressed now. I got what I needed,” he states, picking the stick of charcoal up again, ripping the last sketch off for a fresh sheet before starting anew as if nothing had happened.

And you, still lying there, are left just as mute as usual.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shoto, Touya, Hawks, Shinso, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Megumi ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Oikawa, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin, Sae, Baro ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Muzan, Sanemi

Wrath is your ex-boyfriend who refuses to get it through his thick skull that the two of you are over.

Any time you talk to another guy, he beats him up—to a fucking pulp, no less. 

He’s always been that way, and still, it wasn’t always like this…

You started dating each other when you were young. He was rough around the edges, and you liked that about him—tattoos from his neck down to his ankles—the type your parents would have a heart attack if you ever brought home.

He was going to be a professional fighter, he’d say—mixed martial arts. He had all the rage and zero technique, but still, he’d land some of the best on their ass all through pure strength of will alone. 

He was near impossible to train, though—always too wired to be able to take any pointers. And that’s why he needed you. You were his reliever. He’d fuck you like it was his last day on earth, and suddenly he’d be able to do anything. Like an enhancement drug, everything would start moving in slow motion, and he could somehow see all the moves of his opponent before they ever made them.

You admit you liked hearing him preach about it. It made you feel important—made you feel as if half the win, or at least some of it, was yours. And when he started raking in the dough as the champion, winning multiple titles across several tournaments, you were more than happy to be his lucky charm and cheer him on from the sidelines.

But then, you had this awful and sudden feeling of being just that—a tool for his success and nothing else. Sure, he’d give you presents—pretty things he thought suited you well—but you hadn’t gone on a date since his career started, nor had you had a proper sit-down dinner together either. He’d stick to his diet regime, be out training at the gym all day, and you’d be home, going about your own business.

And while you were doing that, you’d think—about the nature of your relationship. And what you found is that all it really entails in the end is him demanding a fuck whenever he needed it—before a tournament, before training, before an interview. And then, after coming to that glum conclusion, you can’t help but feel like nothing more than another one of those items he keeps loose in his gym bag.

And those thoughts only got validated when you tried denying him sex for the first time…

You were just curious, really—curious to see what he’d do. If he’d beg, if he’d plead, if he’d say boo, don’t be that way while down on his hands and knees for you.

But of course... he can’t get anything else but angry.

“If you’re not gonna give me the one thing you're useful for, then what the fuck do I keep you around for?” is what he’d said—no, barked. “You think you’re special? If you’re not gonna put out, I might as well go out and find me someone who will.”

He’d fucked off to some other room with a huff and left you standing there. 

And you don’t know, amidst the shell shock and the ache of your heart coming undone... suddenly, you had no idea why you were there or with him or what you were supposed to do—and when you found no answer to any of those questions, it made no sense for you to stay. And so you went to your shared bedroom—or his bedroom, as a matter of fact, which you’d stayed in for the last months—quickly grabbed your things—your things specifically, and not all the other stuff he’d thrown at you—and stuffed it all haphazardly in your bag, then gone out to the entryway to put your shoes on.

That’s when he’d reared his head again with the gall of asking, “Where the fuck are you going?” 

He hadn’t had that same raised tone as before. No, this time it was lowered—frayed—with a touch of urgency and unease as if balancing on the edge of a knife—as if he knew he'd done something wrong and was reaping the consequences and yet still hadn't the balls to simply apologize and correct it.

And so, you hadn’t answered him.

“It’s the middle of the fucking night,” he’d stated then, coming closer, ready to grab your arm with that hint of alarm in his voice increased. “Hey, I asked you fucking a question—”

That’s when you’d twisted around and slapped him. You’d put all your might into it as well, though you doubt it compared to much of what he’d felt in the ring. 

And still, he’d looked at you as if he’d just lost all his titles. 

He hadn’t said anything else after that—just stood there with his mouth agape as you opened the door and slammed it shut behind you. In fact, you don't think he even dared do so much as take a breath.

You’d gone and crashed at a friend's and rethought your life. There was no way you could ever go back, after all—not after what he’d said. Treating you like a stay-at-home whore. Who the fuck does he think he is?

What an asshole—you'd tried convincing yourself as you cried yourself to sleep…

The days and weeks after were nothing if not fucked up and toxic, to say the least. You’d go out to have a fun time and try to forget about him, but he’d always show up out of the blue to ruin everything—being his usual douche self. 

Though… you can’t exactly claim to be any better than him—not after finding yourself in bed with his number-one up-and-coming rival.

Of course, it ends up all over the news—big headlines plastered on every gossip platform pushing your private affairs for all to see—a real media circus if there ever was one.

You end up back in his apartment. To talk, he’d said—a pretense you had a hard time believing in. He’s never been one to talk much. Honestly, you don’t know why you even bothered coming over when he asked. There might even be a chance he’ll kill you. This is how most homicides start, after all.

The two of you sit in silence for a couple of minutes. You look off to the side, waiting for him to speak because fuck knows you have nothing to say. 

Meanwhile, he just stares at you—his big, hulking body leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands braided before his face. It’s the type of posture he’ll have when sitting in the corner of the ring—he’s got that same look in his eyes, too, deadset on you.

It makes you a little nervous, actually—maybe he really does plan on killing you.

“Why’d you do it?” he asks suddenly.

You almost scoff—almost roll your eyes, but you end up simply returning his dead glare. “Is that really what you asked me here for?”

He doesn’t answer that question. He just keeps staring at you.

You huff out a sigh, “I don’t know, maybe I just wondered what it would be like to be fucked like a woman for once and not someone’s toy.” 

You don’t know why you decided to take it there when you both know why you’d done it. What other fucking reason would there be other than to get back at him? It’s a stupid question to begin with, and so you give it a stupid answer in return. And you won’t deny it feels fucking good—seeing him like this. Five o’clock shadow, eyebags, and uncut, disheveled hair. 

He looks like a wreck, and rightfully so. Fuck knows what a mess you’d been before you finally managed to drag yourself out of bed. Funny what the single simple thought of revenge can do for someone so lost.

He scrapes his thumb down his jawline, over his stubble—a deep sigh running through him as he leans back on the couch. Offering no other reaction as he says, “I can sit here and act threatened, but you and I both know he was shit compared to me.”

He throws his arms up against the headrest, chin tipped up. Thinking he can hide it, thinking you can’t see right through him—to how hard he’s fighting to upkeep the poker face. 

He’s forgetting who his opponent is.

“I know you, babe—I know your body. And there's no fucking way some shitstain you just met–”

“His dick was bigger,” you interrupt—face blank because two can play that silly game, and you do it better.

He’s shut up for a moment—you can see a vein pulse, but it’s quickly stifled, and he smirks instead, snickering despite his grit teeth, “Sorry, that must'a hurt given how much you cry with me.”

This time, you don’t refrain from scoffing and rolling your eyes, “That's all you have to say? Thought you were a fighter.”

“You want me to get jealous? Is that it?” he accuses then, starting to crack, throwing your scoff back at you, “Tch—should've fucked somebody important then.”

This time, you skip the eye-roll and flat-out laugh instead, “I'll keep that in mind. Next time, I'll call up your dad-”

That did it—got him out of his seat and everything. “Shut your mouth.” Standing big and hunched, all muscles and fury.

And you react in kind. Glad that you’re finally getting somewhere. “Make me.”

"You're fucking–" He clenched his fist in the air, scrunching his face in frustration, withholding a growl before releasing a heavy sigh instead.

Dropping his arms, shoulders slumping—hanging his head the same way whilst mumbling under his breath, “Fuck this… fuck this entire thing.” 

And just as quickly as he’d sprung to his feet, he flopped down on the couch again. 

“I don't wanna play games…” He looks up at you—now with the look of a starved and beaten dog. “I don’t want anyone but you.”

He reaches out slowly—big hands cradling your thighs, pulling you towards him gently, and you let him—put off by that strange new look in his eyes.

“You can fuck half the world, and I'd still only want you.”

It’s an odd confession. Unexpected coming from him. You’d anticipated more of a fight, not whatever this is. Looking at you with glossy eyes on the verge of tears. Suddenly, you feel kind of mean, struck with this sense of guilt for having reduced him to such a state.

“Don't take the high road. It doesn't suit you,” you declare, though without much bite.

And he just sighs, “Fuck that, we’re even now.” Pulling you even closer still—into his lap—he makes you straddle him. Forehead to forehead without kissing you yet. “So, are you gonna let me fuck you, or are you really gonna make me beg?”

And though you would kind of like to see what he’d look like on his knees, the sight of him like this was good enough proof that he’d learned his lesson despite it not being an apology.

Besides, he'd been all too right when he’d said the other guy couldn’t fuck you like him.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Kyotani, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Shido ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi ♡ HxH – Uvogin

Sloth is a street urchin.

You volunteer at the homeless shelter and can’t help but feel extra sorry for him. He’s only around your age—so young yet with no future to speak of.

This winter, given it’s going to be an especially harsh one, all volunteers have been asked if they have any spare room they can be so kind as to give to those less fortunate. And though you’re not that well off yourself, you still have an extra room you’ve only been using as storage.

So, unable to look the other way, you decide to clean it out, get a bed, and host him.

You took precautions first, naturally—just to be safe. But, from what you could tell, he’s neither a drug addict nor has any criminal record to speak of. No, he’s just another abandoned kid who'd society had failed.

This is the least you can do to correct its wrongs.

And, of course, he falls in love with you for it. Not only do you give him a place of rest—but you make him warm food, give him fresh clothes, do his laundry, draw his bath, watch movies with him every night, and always ask him if he has everything he needs. You even cut his long, shaggy hair for him and give him luxuries such as face-lotion. 

You’re a saint, too good for a filthy sinner like him, but he’ll never let you know that... No, your pity feels too nice—taking such good care of him—he’s going to leach off of you and your honeycomb heart for the rest of his life if he can help it.

He doesn't look too bad after he cleans up, and after a few more weeks of eating well and getting enough rest—he stops lurching and starts standing up straight, looking lanky and lean with muscle—at which point you can’t deny he’s even a little hot. You know… in that scrappy sort of way.

You feel weird about it, of course—guilty even. He’s a homeless guy you’re housing—you’d be nothing if not downright evil if you took advantage of him. But after a few weeks of settling in, he starts feeling like more of a normal roommate and not a stranger. And with that familiarity, you both lose the distance and become more lax and loose around each other—wearing less, talking casually, not afraid to brush up against each other, and before you even know it, you find yourself folded in half beneath him on the living room couch.

You don’t know what the fuck you’ve gotten yourself into—but his cock’s so big he’s pounding the sense right out of you with every thrust.

He’s not even going fast. No, rather slow, actually—taking his time as if savoring it. But that doesn't take away from the pleasure bubbling up inside of you where his strokes hit so heavy, resting deep within, so fulfilling that it all but replaces your better judgment with the sole need to squeeze him with all you've got.

“Mh, you’re pussy’s so nice and warm—I could stay inside you forever.”

You’re so wet it’s ridiculous—like never before—like you’re the one who’s been starved and neglected and not the other way around. Getting your breath all but knocked out of you, getting fucked so utterly full, he’s making you kick your feet and curl your toes in the air, bucking your hips back into him like you’re desperately begging for more.

He’s got your knees hooked over his arms, keeping you neatly pressed under him. “You’re so good to me—so, so sweet, you must be the sweetest girl in the whole entire world. My guardian angel.” 

All you’re able to do is babble and moan in return—misty- and cross-eyed with your dewy face cradled in his hands. 

You just hold onto his wrists while he speaks fondly against your lips, “You saved me when no one else even bothered looking. Let me return the favor—give this pretty pussy all the thanks it deserves.”

When he re-angles and hits you in a different spot, the switch in your lower belly is immediate—making your whole body seize up and shiver, breath shuddering in your throat, followed swiftly by a pulse migrating from your core all throughout your body, tasting oversweet on your tongue enough to make you drool. 

He locks lips with yours, slurping your spit up sloppily and keeping himself fully sleaved as you peak—feeling your wet, gummy walls tighten and flutter, rippling along his length like a rush of kisses. 

Then, right before it fully dies down, he picks up the pace again and rekindles it—because fuck knows he’s well-rested and over-due and the farthest thing from done with you just yet.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Denki, Shigaraki, Dabi, Hawks, Shinso ♡ JJK – Mahito, Gojo, Yuji, Megumi, Yuuta, Choso ♡ HQ – Kuro, Lev, Miya twins, Suna, Tendou ♡ CSM – Denji, Yoshida ♡ BLLK – Nagi ♡ DS – Zenitsu ♡ WB – Togame

Gluttony is a five-star chef. 

You start off as a waitress at his restaurant. And yet, he’s the one who developed an appetite—for you and your pleasing smile and that busy-bee swing you have in your hip as you hop around from table to table. 

He licks his lips at the sight of you more than he does the food he makes. He even had the uniforms altered in your image—made the skirts shorter and shirts tighter.

He's utterly shameless, but who can blame him? You’re such a little bite-sized treat—he just has to taste you.

And taste you, he most certainly does. 

For breakfast and for brunch and lunch and dinner and supper, as well as a midnight snack.

“Your pussy juice is my favorite,” he groans from between your legs.

Fat-muscled chef’s arms, tattooed with all types of silly patches, curled tightly around your thighs, keeping you close despite those times you try and push away when it gets to be a little too much—because fuck knows he doesn’t have the same reservations. Nose and tongue and chin deep in your slit, slurping you down while filling you up with his words, “I want to flavor every meal I make with you.”

You keep a hand over your face, kissing your knuckles, sometimes with a bite—whimpering pitifully, “Gross…”

Of course, you can’t help but cringe when he says things like that. He’s your boss, after all, not a porn actor. Still, you don’t say it with much conviction. It’s just that you get so embarrassed you don’t know what else to say.

He chuckles, still with his face buried. “Don’t be childish.” Words muffled as he doubles down on his efforts of sucking on your clit like a piece of candy.

“I’m not,” you whine. “You're just weird.”

He smacks off of you at that, a refreshing sigh leaving him rugged and raspy, a devilish look in his eyes as if he’s about to eat you for real. “I’m a world-renowned chef—are you implying I don’t know my flavors?”

Everything in your gut coils with anticipation, nearly rumbling with need, while he pulls your lower half up and even closer—face glossy with the way he’d gorged himself already—licking his teeth now as he refocuses on your clit alone.

Flattening his tongue on it while he speaks, sounding like some type of beast, “I’ve tasted everything the world has to offer. And I'm telling you, this pretty little thing between your legs is the best there is.”

You can’t stand looking up at him. Beyond embarrassed, you hide your face with both hands. Mumbling out a weak, “Pervert...”

Again, he snickers, shaking his head as if he’s ripping into flesh when he’s really just got his tongue out—straight motorboating your poor pussy.

When done, he drops you onto the bed again, grinning while replying to your insult, “Can’t argue with that,” before promptly kissing and licking up your belly—with fingers replacing his tongue, pumping you on his knuckles, getting you ready. 

He groans when his mouth reaches your chest, lips wrapped around a nipple, “If only these titties had milk. I could feast on you from every position.”

You don’t know if you should giggle or grumble—he’s such a baby—and a spoiled one at that. But really, his fingering is making it difficult to do anything but stammer and try and keep it together, “We talked about this—I’m not taking hormones just to breastfeed you, you weirdo.”

He whines then, “Please—it’s my only wish in the entire world—I need it.”

You struggle to argue, feeling like you’re under siege—an onslaught set out to make you breathless. “Well—” you pant, gritting your teeth and bearing it. “We can’t always get what we want.”

“Oh, I’ll see about that.” He takes it as a challenge, this time really locking his lips around your nipple and suckling—releasing just briefly to say, “I bet if I suck on these babies enough, they’ll give me what I want.”

He keeps his fingers working diligently while at it—used to multitasking—curling and spreading them out within you, pumping you so fast, you barely have the time to beg him to “Stop that—” before you’re already shaking and cumming for what must be the seventh time already.

He laughs breathily, kissing your teat goodbye as he lifts himself up again. Pulling his fingers out of you, he brings them to his lips and blithely sucks them off. 

“You know I can’t stop, dear. I’m so hungry—I’m ravenous.”

You watch him from over the tips of your fingers. So hot and mortified you think you’re soon to pass out. Breathing heavily behind your hands, muttering, “You’re a glutton—that’s what you are.”

Again, he just cheerfully snickers, bowing down to your halfway-hidden face with a smile. “I hardly see how it’s my fault I can’t get enough of you.” 

He spreads your legs again and finds his place between them.

“You’re the one who got me hooked—so you better take responsibility for it.”

♡ BNHA – Kirishima, Natsuo, Mirio ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Toji, Todo ♡ HQ – Bokuto, Ukai ♡ BLLK – Baro, Aiku ♡ AOT – Zeke ♡ DS – Doma ♡ HxH – Uvogin ♡ WB – Umemiya, Togame

Lust is your boss. He's the owner of the strip club where you work, your pimp when money’s tight, as well as the porndirector of all your lovely little films.

Yeah, you might as well have a tramp stamp of his name on your ass, the way he practically owns you…

He's around ten years older and has basically taught you all about sex from when you were only a fledgling in the industry. You live at his studio above the club since he keeps all your money in a bank account under his name, calling you his little sugarbaby and telling you you’ll get an allowance and that you can get more if and when you ask him nicely and tell him what it’s for. 

“Don’t be a brat, baby. You know how I hate it when you're a bad girl,” he says when you raise the topic of moving out, treating it as if you’re a child threatening to run away from home.

“I don’t belong to you. Give me what you owe me.”

Honestly, you have no idea where you got the courage. 

But is it courage? Or is it just plain stupidity? Because, though you’re increasingly more terrified as you quickly watch him lose his temper, it doesn’t exactly come as a surprise. And so, if you knew this is what was going to happen—why the fuck would you put yourself through it?

Must be madness.

“I give you everything, don't I? Food, clothes, a home,” he chastises, bearing over you while you’re down on scuffed knees, holding your wrist in a bruising grip and your face just as fiercely—nearly tearing the skin off your cheeks with the bite of his nails.

“And still, you have the fucking nerve to act like a goddamn bitch.”

You hiccup on sobs, spluttering out a desperate “Please—I’m sorry–”

"You and your entire slut body belong to me, you understand that?"

"Yes-yes—please—I'm sorry! You're right! I belong to you! I'm sorry!"

That seems to calm him just a bit—at least enough to take the bite away from his voice, now cooing at you in an ugly mocking attempt at sweetness, “Yeah, you do every single little thing I ask. ‘Cause if you’re not gonna behave like a good girl, I have no other choice but to treat you like a bad one.”

He lets your audience be rowdier than usual that night, allowing them to slap and grab, then forces you to have an extra rough shoot afterward—with tighter bondage, more toys, bigger guys making use of you like a piece of meat, smacking and choking you as they find out how many cocks your holes can fit, every last one finishing on your face.

Then, when you’re all done and all used up for the day, he brings you upstairs—home, sweet home—where he treats you to some much-unwanted after-care...

You shiver and shake despite the hot water. Sitting in the bathtub, laying back with your spine against his chest, feeling thin like a sheet of paper, all crumbled up and torn—sniffling and sniveling as the after-shock of the day still ricochets through you like wind through a hollow husk.

“The shoot today was rough, huh?” he drawls, washing you with his own hands. Stroking your poor sore cunt despite how it makes you whimper. “Yeah... was it a little too rough for you, hm?” 

You don’t do anything in return—but your body language says enough on its own, and he allows it to be your answer.

Sighing heavily, he wraps you up with both arms and squeezes you tighter, chin resting atop your head.

“You know… if you’d just be my good girl, I’d give you a good girl to-do list. Let you stay here all day, do some house chores while I’m gone, make love when I get home, hm? Doesn’t that sound better?”

He traces a welted bruise on the inside of your thigh, one you got from the shoot—roughly the shape of a hand, and a dozen more others layered on top of it. It makes you suck in a hiss.

“But if you’re gonna be a bad girl, then this is what you get.” 

He settles into the grove of your neck, purring against your ear. “Are you gonna be my good girl from now on? Hm?”

You bite your lip, breath shuddering while nodding pitifully.

And still, he insists, “Say it so I can hear it.”

The water’s gone cold around you—just like everything else, as you say, “I’ll be a good girl.”

He seems pleased, at least. Nuzzling against your cheek with chin stubble and a smirk, asking, “Yeah? Whose?”

Your voice is small and pathetic, nearly a wince, “Yours.”

He groans then, “That’s right. My good girl.” Lifting his hand from the water, he takes hold of your chin, fingers pressing into those designated sore spots as he angles your face toward him and gives you a heartless kiss before growling against your lips, “And don’t you ever fucking dare forget it again.”

After he’s finished washing you up, he carries you out to bed. It's one you fear much more than the one down in the studio.

Because in this bed, just like every night in this hellhole… he starts teaching every last one of your holes who they belong to.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shigaraki, Dabi, Hawks, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Toji ♡ BLLK – Reo, Shido, Aiku ♡ AOT – Zeke ♡ DS – Doma, Muzan, Sanemi

Envy is your enemy. 

Or, well, no, he’s not your enemy, but you’re most certainly his enemy. 

You’re just not aware of it because of what a ditzy and clueless airhead you are. 

But fuck, he can’t stand you—you and your fake personality, acting all bubbly and sweet, cheering him on, always telling him to do his best—condescending little bitch acting like everyone’s friend—like he doesn’t see through you right to your rotten core. You don’t fool him—he knows you’re as bad as the rest of them, so just quit pretending like you’re better or something.

You’re under the false impression that the two of you are friends. You just think he has a strange sense of humor, but you laugh politely even when you don’t always get the joke.

Well, maybe it’s not so much politeness, but the fact that you have a big fat hopeless crush on him.

It infuriates him. He throws your niceties back in your face as insults, and you just laugh. How low do you think of him? Honestly? How tall is that high horse of yours that you have your head constantly in the clouds?

Poor you… you just think he’s so cool—always saying what he feels like, not a lame people-pleasing goodie-two-shoes such as yourself. You can’t help but follow him around like a lost puppy all day long. You’re always making sure you sit next to him during lectures—heart almost beating out of your chest, holding back from squealing when your prayers are answered, and the two of you are finally paired for a project together. 

It really feels like the universe is on your side, and so you just can’t stop yourself from going the full mile—making chocolates and preparing him a hand-written love letter. You know he’ll think you’re a little silly, that he’ll make fun of you for it—but you can’t expect to get anywhere without putting your heart on the line, can you? For a chance at love, the risk must be worth it!

Yeah, you’re such a hopeless romantic—you feel it as he punches his fist through your ribs when he rips out your poor heart and stomps all over it. 

“I fucking get it already! You’re little miss pretty and popular. Would you quit rubbing it in my face, or do I really have to spell it out for you? I. Don’t. Fucking. Like. You,” he seethes through grit teeth. “Go pick another one of the hundreds dying to be your partner and leave me the fuck alone!”

You shrink where you stand, shocked doe-eyes rapidly welling up like a flood, lips wobbling as you choke on your words, “Oh… okay… I’m sorry… I just… I–”

“You-you-you what?” he barks at your stuttering. “Spit it out already! What the fuck do you want?”

“I just-I-I just always thought you were amazing. So…”

His face contorts, scrunches up in a grimace different from anger, though not without it, as he spits out, “What the fuck are you on about now?”

But his voice is a little diminished now, with confusion usurping the place of his hate, suddenly feeling a little out of sorts because… what did you actually just say?

“I just, I really like you–” you repeat, hanging your head, only barely able to mumble through the tears blocking your throat. “But I guess I’ve just annoyed you all this time—I’m sorry...” 

Only now does he notice you’re trying to hand him something—a flat little box with a pink note attached. 

“This is for you, but I understand if you don’t want it.” Unable to look up, you just stretch your arms out until it gently bumps into him. 

Baffled, he accepts without thinking.

“I’m sorry—I’ll leave you alone from now on.” And then you run off, disappearing with a sob that all but shoots him through the chest.

And slowly bleeding out, he remains standing there, eyes glued to where you'd left—mouthing the word what…

What did you just say? 

Like? Him?

Did he mishear you, or did you just confess? 

No way—that can’t be it, right? 

But what the fuck is this heart-shaped letter, then?

"What the fuck did I just do?"

You look like you’ve been crying your eyes out all night the next day—your usual bubbly personality reduced to a ghost in a shell, walking the hallways like a zombie, slowly and without purpose, eyes on the ground—letting everyone bump into you.

You don't even so much as bat an eye when someone runs straight over you, fully knocking all your books and folders onto the floor. 

You just get on your knees and start recollecting them.

A newfound hate flares up within him at the sight. “Hey, you!" He stomps over. "Watch where the fuck you’re going next time, dipshit.” 

You look up at the sound of his voice—flinching before you notice it’s not directed at you.

No, rather, he’s got a boy up against the lockers, lifted by his collar onto the tip of his toes. Face only a few inches from his, glaring at him harsher than he’d glared at you yesterday.

“Now apologize to the girl before I punch your ugly face in.”

You stare at the altercation with large eyes, only able to blink as the boy who’d bumped into you starts spluttering on the verge of tears, “I–I’m sorry–I didn’t see you! Sorry!”

You don’t answer. Shocked and speechless, you remain on the floor in confusion, asking yourself why’s he doing this? Didn’t he cuss you out yesterday, or was it all a bad dream like you'd hoped?

He throws the boy on his way, then gets on his knees down alongside you—proceeding to help you gather your things.

You only watch on in wordless bewilderment until he starts muttering something under his breath.

“I’m sorry I made you cry yesterday.” He stacks all your things in a neat pile next to you while continuing his apology. “And for being an asshole. You didn’t deserve that.”

He keeps his eyes fixed to the floor where his hands busily roam around until there was nothing more to retrieve.

He then hesitantly looks up at you—eyes flittering—a little too ashamed to hold your gaze as he says, “Your chocolates were really good.”

That’s when your heart starts fluttering again—as if new life was just breathed in and revived it.

He can see it as well—how you light up like a rekindled candle.

“They were?” you gush, shuffling closer on your knees all excitedly—face brighter than the sun on cloudfree summer day.

It blinds him—nearly stunts him, only able to utter a meager, almost shy, “Yeah.”

He then slings his bag in front of him and pulls something out.

A lunchbox. 

“I made you these..." he swallows thickly. "As an apology…”

He’s utterly red—from the tips of his ears to his neck and entire face, even his hands.

“For me?”

“Yeah..." He reaches it over stiffly. “They’re not as good as yours, though...”

You eagerly accept despite his nervousness, popping the lid off where the two of you sit—right there in the middle of the hallway floor, with other students walking around you like water passing two rocks in a stream.

His blush grows ever more intense as you pick one of his crudely made chocolates up, not even examining it before throwing one into your mouth.

It was his first time making anything that required a recipe. And they most certainly did not come out well, but he figured the embarrassment was part of his atonement.

He didn’t actually expect you to try them.

But there you are—lying through your teeth, saying, “I think they’re great!”

He can only scoff out a soft laugh. “Of course you would.” 

Turns out, you really are just a nice person after all. You don’t have the heart to be mean at all, do you? Yeah, you don’t even have it in you to feel any of the ugly things he keeps inside. In fact, he bets you don’t even have the means of knowing such ugly things exist.

That must be what he’s envied about you all this time…

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Shinso ♡ JJK – virgin Sukuna, Megumi ♡ HQ – Tsukishima ♡ BLLK – Rin, Sae ♡ DS – Genya

Greed is your clingy childhood friend. 

He doesn’t want to share you with anyone and gets viscerally jealous each time you hang out with others. It’s as if he feels boils rising beneath his skin, simmering with a violent need to kill anyone and everyone you ever come into contact with—even if it’s just a passerby who accidentally brushes against you.

He can’t stand other people—how they think they can just come along and be your friend when he’s been your friend since you both were in diapers. What? Do they really expect him to share you with them? Just like that? No way. You’re his best friend. They should all go find themselves their own.

Actually, the term best friend doesn’t even really cut it… It’s a little too childish. You’ve both grown out of it. And besides, it never really fully encompassed what the two of you actually are to each other. You’re so much more than just friends, after all. Yeah, what you really are is soulmates. Yeah, that sounds more right. Soulmates.

And the bond between soulmates is like the bond between an addict and their favorite drug. You wouldn’t ask an addict to share his favorite drug, now would you? No. Not unless you’re prepared to either kill or be killed.

But he can’t say he blames them for wanting you, either. Of course, they’d want you—anyone would.

He pities them, actually. And you make it no better for the poor suckers, stringing them all along—acting as if there’s enough of you to go around. Well, there just isn’t. And even if there was, he shouldn't have to share you with anyone.

Yeah, the problem here is you. You don’t get it, do you? You don’t understand that you’re his. 

Well… seems like he’ll just have to teach you once and for all, now, doesn’t it?

“What’s… this?” you mumble groggily once you wake, sluggishly tugging your bound wrists—not yet aware of what they are. Your eyes blow wide once you do—voice turning sharply frantic, “What’s happening?”

“We’re having a play date like we used to.” He comes into view just as the panic sets in—and though his face has all the familiarity to be a sign of comfort, his words evoke no such feeling within you.

“Remember? How we used to play house?" he says. "Granted, we're a little older now… so I thought I’d change it up a bit.”

He stands before the bed you’re currently lying tied down on. But he doesn’t look like himself. No, there’s something very wrong about all of him. Seeming way too at ease for the situation.

“Instead of making mud pies…” he continues. “I'm gonna fuck you and give you a creampie.”

Your heart lurches up into your throat at his words, and you choke. Your clothes from the day have been removed, leaving you naked. You spot them lying on the floor in a heap while you spastically look around for clues as to “What the fuck’s going on? This isn’t funny–”

“Shut up,” he says—his demeanor still as nonchalant as he climbs on top of you and pushes something past your lips, nudging it deep down in your throat.

Feeling it as it scrapes your tongue, you can tell it’s your lace panties, and you gag—shaking your head, trying to dislodge both it and his fingers, but he holds you steady.

“I have things to say. So, be a good friend and listen.”

You start crying then—brows cinched as you look up at him in terror, full-tremoring now while struggling under his weight and the all-too-intimate way he starts touching you.

“I'm glad you’re still a virgin…” he suddenly says, running his hands down your breasts, catching your nipples between his fingers.

You twist in disgust, halfway convinced you’re having some godawful fucked up dream—that this just can’t be happening—but somehow, at the same time, something deep in your gut that’s been lying there for a while ignored by your kind heart doesn't find it completely without warning, having felt how strange he'd been acting as of late—always looking at you a certain way and saying certain concerning things—certain concerning things he’s saying right now, “I’d kill all those little toy friends of yours if you were ever so stupid to let them have it.”

He glares at you—looking every bit angry, and yet you can’t describe it exactly. Something about that look in his eyes makes him seem like a complete stranger to you. Then he cracks a smile, and it makes it all the worse. Bowing down until his forehead presses clean against yours, noses rubbing against each other.

“But I think you knew. Didn’t you? Knew how it wouldn’t be right. Knew it was mine to take.”

He shuffles backward until he’s separating your thighs instead of straddling your waist. And you croak with an especially full-chested sob as his touches travel further down along with him—with savage goosebumps running rampant across your body once he rubs his thumb crassly over your slit.

“You see?” his breath shudders in his throat—thick with something mortifying that’s bound to ruin you forever. “It’s so happy to see me.”

You whine and scramble, trying to force your thighs shut—but he has the upper hand—keeping you spread with his body while two of his fingers slip through your lips and bully themselves inside.

He pumps them in and out with zero regard to how you recoil—only sneering at the way you worm in disgust, “At least your pussy understands where its loyalties lie.”

It’s not long before his ministrations draw wetness, and he pulls them out—inspecting them in the dim light he’s left on. Rubbing the digits together before putting them in his mouth.

You close your eyes with a whimper while listening to the sickening sounds of him sucking them clean.

He puts both hands around your neck next. He doesn't squeeze hard, but your breath stops nonetheless. Eyes stinging with both spent and still-welling tears.

“I’m upset with you,” he states, brushing his lips over your parted ones, still stuffed and silenced with your own underwear. “But I’ll forgive you if you apologize and swear to me that you meant it when you said we’d be friends forever.”

That look in his eyes—you still can’t explain it. Desperate, desolate, deranged, and enraged—something downright sick.

“But since you can’t talk right now, you’ll have to prove it some other way...”

One of the hands disappears, and you hear the following sounds of a zipper being undone, then the rustling of his pants being shoved down.

“Cum on my cock, and I’ll know.”

The room tastes of blood and something rotten as he frees his cock and graces your clit.

“Actions speak louder than words anyway, after all, don’t they? So cum on my cock, and I’ll cum in your pussy, so we can seal our friendship again—just like the time we married each other on the playground.” 

He enters you, and you think you might just die in the mix of horror and grief.

And yet you remain perfectly alive—even as he rips through you and splits both you and your heart apart.

“You can think of this as the honeymoon,” he whispers. “Always and forever, happily ever after, never apart.”

♡ BNHA – Deku ♡ JJK – Gojo, Yuuta ♡ HQ – Tendou ♡ BLLK – Bachira ♡ DS – Zenitsu ♡ WB – Nirei

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[holeforzenin]

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ASKING ROOMMATE TOJI IF YOU CAN TOUCH HIS ABS

It’s like 8 in the morning and he’s standing in the kitchen— half-dressed as usual with his shirt obviously nowhere in sight, just a pair of worn sweats hanging low on his hips and his abs on full display like it’s completely normal. Which at this point, it is. The man’s allergic to shirts in his own home. But that doesn’t mean you’ve gotten used to it, even during the months you’ve been living with him.

Not when he’s leaning back against the counter like that, one hand nursing a mug of coffee, the other casually scratching at his stomach like he doesn’t notice the way your eyes track the movement.

“You’re staring,” he says without looking up with an soft grin.

You blinked and scoffed. “What? No, I’m not”.

He snorts. “You want me to put a shirt on, sweetheart?”

“No!”, you say a little too fast then backpedal, heat rising in your face. “I mean—whatever. You can do what you want. It’s your apartment too”.

He finally lifts his head, cocking an eyebrow at you, a slow grin creeping onto his face. “You sure you’re not staring?”

You hesitate for a second. Then voice quieter, almost shy “…Can I?”

The smile he gives you is immediate and smug like he’s been waiting for you to ask. “Can you what, sweetheart?”

You swallow. “Touch them”.

His grin deepens. “My abs?”

You nod. You can’t look at him now because you know he’s enjoying this— how flustered you are, how serious you’re trying to sound while asking something that feels downright ridiculous coming out of your mouth. But you mean it. You’ve wanted to forever. They’re right there, in front of you.

For a moment, he says nothing.

Then you hear the mug set down on the counter with a quiet clink. You look up and he’s already stepped closer— way closer, standing right in front of you now. Big and warm, still smelling faintly like coffee and sleep and something else that you can’t quite name.

“If you wanna touch darling,” he says lowly, “you can touch”.

Your hand immediately lifts before you can think too much about it. Slowly, fingertips grazing the hard, defined ridges of his stomach, the faint line of happy trail leading down beneath the waistband of his sweats. His skin is warm under your palm— ridiculously warm and so firm you almost press harder just to see if it’s real.

He watches you with hooded eyes, his voice a little rougher now. “You always this polite about it?”

You glance up at him and he’s already looking down at you— focused, something sharp and quiet in the way he studies your face like he’s trying to commit it to memory.

“I just wanted to know what it felt like,” you whisper. “Yeah?” His voice dips lower. “And?”

Your fingers still against his skin, hand splayed over his abs. “…Unfair”.

He chuckles, low and full of amusement. “That’s what you get for living with a guy like me, sweetheart”.

And when he says it like that, you know he’s not just talking about his abs anymore.

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

❛ YOU AND RAFE TAKE HONEY PACKETS BUT HE CAVES FIRST ❜

girlfriend¡reader . . . rafe cameron

“Okay, but you guys have to hear this,” Mia said, swirling her wine before taking a dramatic sip. “Last weekend, Aiden and I tried those aphrodisiac honeypacks—you know, the ones they’re always hyping up on TikTok? Holy shit, it was insane.”

You raised an eyebrow, setting your glass down on the table with a soft clink. “Insane how?” you asked, curiosity piqued. Beside you, Lila, who’d been scrolling her phone absentmindedly, perked up, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

Mia grinned, leaning forward like she was about to spill a state secret. “Okay, so you know those little packets you can get at sketchy gas stations or online? They’re like honey mixed with some herbal stuff—supposedly gets your blood pumping or whatever. We each took one, and I swear to God, within twenty minutes, we were clawing at each other like animals. I don’t even know how to explain it. It’s like every touch felt electric, and I couldn’t think about anything except jumping him.”

Lila burst out laughing, her voice bright and sharp. “Oh my God, that’s fucking hot. Did you plan it, or just wing it?”

“Totally spontaneous,” Mia said, her cheeks flushing slightly—not from embarrassment, but from the memory. “We barely made it to the bedroom. I’m telling you, it’s like someone turned the dial up to eleven on every nerve in my body.”

You shifted in your seat, the wicker creaking beneath you, a slow heat creeping up your neck as you pictured it. Rafe flashed into your mind—his broad shoulders, the cocky tilt of his smirk, the way his hands felt when they gripped your hips.

You’d been dating him long enough to know he’d be game for something like this, but the thought of him losing control? That was a whole different level of intriguing.

“Wait,” you said, cutting through their giggles. “So it’s not just hype? It actually works?”

“Works?” Mia echoed, incredulous. “Babe, I’m saying it’s dangerous. Aiden was begging me to touch him by the end of the night, and he’s usually the one playing it cool. You should try it with Rafe. Bet he’d lose his mind.”

Lila nodded enthusiastically, her eyes gleaming. “Oh, he totally would. Rafe’s got that whole ‘I’m in charge’ vibe, but I bet you could break him with this. Make it a game or something—see who caves first.”

You chewed your lip, the idea taking root like a seed in fertile soil. The thought of Rafe—your Rafe, all sharp edges and simmering intensity—reduced to a needy mess because of you? It sent a shiver down your spine, one that had nothing to do with the cooling evening air. “Okay,” you said slowly, a grin tugging at your lips. “I’m in. Next weekend.”

Mia clapped her hands together, delighted. “Yes! Report back. I need details.”

. . .

“Hey,” you said casually, tilting your head to look up at him. His blue eyes flicked down to meet yours, a faint smirk already playing on his lips like he knew you were up to something.

“What’s up, princess?” he drawled, his voice low and rough, the kind that always made your stomach flip.

You shifted, sitting up a little straighter, your knee brushing against his thigh. “So, Mia was telling me about this thing she tried with Aiden. Those aphrodisiac honeypacks—you heard of ‘em?”

Rafe’s smirk deepened, his brows lifting slightly. “Those horny honey things? Yeah, I’ve seen ‘em around. Why? You wanna get freaky?” He chuckled, but there was a spark in his eyes, a flicker of interest that told you he was already hooked.

“Maybe,” you teased, running your fingers lightly over his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his T-shirt. “But I was thinking we make it fun. Like a game. We each take one, no touching allowed, and the first one to cave loses. Winner gets bragging rights—or whatever else they want.”

He tilted his head, studying you with that predatory glint he got when he was intrigued. “You think you can outlast me, huh?” His voice dropped an octave, thick with challenge. “Baby, I’m made of steel. You’re gonna be begging me to touch you in ten minutes flat.”

You laughed, the sound light but edged with defiance. “Oh, please. You’re the one who can’t keep your hands off me half the time. I give it five minutes before you’re on your knees.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, his smirk turning into something darker, hungrier. He leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “You’re on, sweetheart. Next weekend. But when I win, you’re gonna owe me big.”

The heat of his breath against your skin sent a thrill through you, but you pulled back, meeting his gaze with a wicked smile. “We’ll see about that.”

. . .

The following Saturday night, the air in Rafe’s bedroom was thick with anticipation. You sat cross-legged on his bed, the navy comforter rumpled beneath you, wearing nothing but one of his oversized T-shirts and a pair of lacy black panties. Rafe stood across the room, leaning against the dresser, shirtless in a pair of gray sweats that hung low on his hips. His chest was broad and tan, a faint sheen of sweat already glistening in the warm light.

On the nightstand sat two small golden packets, their shiny foil catching the glow of the lamp. You picked one up, turning it over in your hands, the weight of it surprisingly light for something that promised so much chaos. “Last chance to back out,” you said, smirking at him as you tore the corner open.

Rafe snorted, grabbing his own packet. “Not a chance. You’re going down, baby.” He ripped his open with his teeth, the gesture primal and a little too hot for your liking, and squeezed the thick, amber honey onto his tongue. You followed suit, the sweet, herbal taste coating your mouth, a faint warmth spreading down your throat as you swallowed.

For the first few minutes, it was all bravado. Rafe paced the room like a caged animal, cracking his knuckles, his smirk intact. “Feeling anything yet?” he asked, voice cocky as he flexed his arms, the muscles rippling under his skin.

You shrugged, playing it cool even as a subtle heat began to bloom in your chest. “Nope. You?”

He shook his head, but there was a tightness in his jaw, a slight flush creeping up his neck. “Nah.”

Ten minutes in, the air shifted. The warmth in your body intensified, sinking lower, pooling between your thighs. Your skin prickled, every brush of the T-shirt against your nipples sending a jolt through you. You shifted on the bed, pressing your legs together, trying to ignore the growing ache.

Across the room, Rafe stopped pacing. His breathing was heavier now, his chest rising and falling faster. He ran a hand through his hair, the strands sticking to his forehead, and when his eyes met yours, they were dark—pupils blown wide, a storm brewing behind them.

“Fuck,” he muttered, almost to himself. He leaned back against the dresser, gripping the edge so hard his knuckles whitened. “This shit’s no joke.”

You bit your lip, the sight of him unraveling doing dangerous things to you. “What’s wrong, Rafe? Cracking already?” Your voice was teasing, but it came out breathier than you intended, the need starting to seep through your composure.

He laughed, but it was strained, jagged. “You wish. I could bend you over right now and still win this.” But his hands stayed glued to the dresser, and his hips shifted—just a fraction, enough to tell you he was fighting the same war you were.

Fifteen minutes, and the room felt like a furnace. Your pulse hammered in your ears, your body screaming for contact. The air smelled of him—sweat and musk and that damn cologne—and it was driving you insane. You curled your fingers into the comforter, nails digging in as you watched Rafe.

He was a mess now, his sweats tented embarrassingly, his jaw clenched so tight you thought it might crack. His eyes raked over you, lingering on the way the T-shirt rode up your thighs, and he groaned—a low, guttural sound that hit you like a freight train.

“Goddamn it, baby,” he rasped, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re killing me. Just—fuck—just let me touch you. Please.”

You smirked, though it took everything in you to hold it together. “That sounds like caving, Rafe.”

He growled, stepping forward, then stopping himself, fists balled at his sides. “You’re such a fucking tease,” he panted, his voice raw, desperate. “Look at you, sitting there all smug. I bet you’re soaked, aren’t you? Bet you’re dying for it just as bad.”

He wasn’t wrong. Your thighs trembled, slickness pooling in your panties, but you weren’t about to admit it. “Guess you’ll never know unless you lose,” you shot back, voice shaking but defiant.

Twenty minutes, and Rafe snapped—or tried to. He crossed the room in two strides, dropping to his knees in front of you, his hands hovering an inch from your thighs. “Fuck it,” he breathed, his voice wrecked. “I lose. I fucking lose, okay? Just—please, baby, I need you. I’m going crazy here.”

You tilted your head, savoring the power, the way he looked up at you like a man unhinged. “Not yet,” you said, voice low and deliberate, your hand reaching out to graze his cheek—just a featherlight touch, enough to make him shudder. “You can wait a little longer.”

His eyes widened, a mix of shock and pure torment flashing across his face. “You’re kidding,” he choked out, his hands twitching, aching to close the distance. “Baby, I’m dying here. You can’t do this to me.”

“Oh, I can,” you replied, leaning back on your elbows, letting the T-shirt ride up higher, exposing more of your thighs, the edge of your panties just visible. His gaze dropped, and he let out a strangled sound, his whole body tensing like a coiled spring. “You said you’re made of steel, right? Prove it.”

Twenty-five minutes, and Rafe was a wreck. He’d slumped back onto his heels, hands dragging through his hair, sweat dripping down his chest. His cock strained against his sweats, a dark spot forming where he was leaking, and his breathing was so ragged it sounded like he’d run a marathon. “You’re evil,” he muttered, voice hoarse, his eyes locked on you with a mix of reverence and desperation. “Fucking evil, you know that?”

You shifted again, letting one leg fall open slightly, giving him a glimpse that made his jaw drop. “Maybe,” you said, smirking. “But you love it.”

Thirty minutes, and he was begging—really begging. “Please, baby,” he whispered, crawling closer, his hands trembling as they hovered over your knees. “I can’t—I can’t do this anymore. I’ll do anything you want, just let me touch you. I’m fucking losing it.”

You held his gaze, letting the tension stretch one agonizing second longer, then nodded. “Okay,” you said softly, victorious. “You lose.”

. . .

His mouth latched onto your nipple, sucking hard while his other hand kneaded the opposite side. The sensation—amplified by the honey packets still coursing through you—had you arching into him, a sharp cry escaping your lips as your nails dug into his scalp.

“Rafe—slow down,” you gasped, half-laughing, but he shook his head, his teeth grazing your skin as he moved lower, kissing and biting a frantic path down your stomach.

“No chance,” he growled, hooking his fingers into your panties and dragging them down your legs in one swift motion. He paused then, just for a second, staring at you—spread out, glistening, trembling—and the look in his eyes was feral, reverent, like he couldn’t believe you were real. “You’re so fucking wet,” he murmured, almost to himself, before diving in.

His mouth was relentless, tongue plunging into you, lapping up every drop like he’d been starved for it. You screamed, hips bucking, but he pinned you down with an arm across your waist, his other hand spreading you wider for him. He sucked at your clit, hard and fast, then slow and teasing, every movement driving you higher, the aphrodisiac making it all too much, too good.

Your hands twisted in his hair, pulling hard, and he moaned against you, the vibration sending you spiraling.

“Rafe—oh God—I’m gonna—” You couldn’t finish the sentence before it hit, a blinding orgasm that had you shaking, clenching around nothing as he kept going, drawing it out until you were whimpering, oversensitive and boneless.

He pulled back, lips shiny, chest heaving, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning like a man who’d just won the lottery. “You taste so fucking good,” he said, voice rough as he shoved his sweats down, freeing his cock—red, leaking, impossibly hard. He climbed onto the bed, grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your stomach with ease, pulling you up onto your knees.

“Been thinking about this for thirty fucking minutes,” he rasped, lining himself up and thrusting in deep in one brutal stroke. You cried out, the stretch overwhelming, perfect, your walls fluttering around him as he set a punishing pace. His hands gripped your hips so hard you knew you’d bruise, but you didn’t care—every slap of his skin against yours, every grunt and curse spilling from his lips, was worth it.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, one hand sliding up your back to fist in your hair, pulling your head back as he pounded into you. “So perfect—shit, I’m not gonna last.”

“Don’t,” you managed, pushing back against him, meeting every thrust. “Come for me, Rafe.”

He did—hard—his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep, spilling inside you with a broken moan, his fingers digging into your skin. The feel of him, hot and pulsing, tipped you over again, a second wave crashing through you as you clenched around him, milking him dry.

He collapsed beside you, both of you slick with sweat, breathing like you’d run a race. His arm snaked around you, pulling you close, and he pressed a lazy kiss to your temple. “You’re a fucking sadist,” he muttered, but there was a grin in his voice. “Making me wait like that.”

You laughed, breathless, nuzzling into his chest. “Worth it, though, right?” “Fuck yeah,” he said, already sounding half-ready for round two. “But next time, I’m winning.”

𓂅 notes ―

return home ⸝⸝

©RAFESGREASYCURTAINBANGS ꪆৎ est. 2025

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

sometimes katsuki gets really dramatic (but let’s be fr when isn’t he) and acts like you ghosted him when you don’t respond to his texts in thirty minutes. not in a creepy way, just in a dramatic, needy way.

he’s not worried or anything, he checks his phone every few minutes to see if any texts from you have come in. it’s a force of habit, because you usually respond pretty quickly but after a while it gets a little weird. and then he sends you a text and another one and unconsciously he starts spamming you a bit. again, not in a creepy way. just an annoying needy whiny dramatic baby, way.

“what’s up, bakubro ? you keep checking your phone.” katsuki doesn’t look at kirishima, eyes glued to his phone when he just grunts out an “‘m fine.”

and then kaminari just has to open his big mouth. his voice playful as he speaks “uh oh, trouble in paradiseee~?” katsuki scoffs, telling the blonde to fuck off.

and he isn’t worried..not at all. until he thinks about it and maybe there was trouble in paradise ?? were you maybe ignoring him ? what’d he do ?

you look up from your notebook at the sound of your phone vibrating. oh, it’s katsuki ! you smile just seeing his contact pop up.

“hi, katsu !”

silence, no response. you try again.

“…hello ?”

you hear a scoff from the other end, and some shuffling before your boyfriend graces you with an answer. “look at your phone, you idiot.”

“hello, katsu.” you snort. “yeah, yeah. hi.” you can practically hear the roll of his eyes through the phone, you giggle and your boyfriend huffs through the speaker.

it’s then that you see the wall of texts from him “oh, did you text me ? my bad i was studying.”

there’s a faint sigh of relief “‘s fine.”

“were you worried ?” you tease.

“fuck no. just—“ a sudden pause then katsuki grumbles “answer my texts next time, moron. bye. don’t overdo it while studying or i’ll kill you.”

“meanie !” you giggle, and when he hangs up you send him a text.

we can study together next time, just so you don’t flip out again 💗😚

katsuki scoffs a mean laugh, then sends you a middle finger.

[briefinquiries]

Tyler Owens x Reader: Where You Belong

Prompt: you're caught in the middle of a tornado, tyler's there in the aftermath.

Word count: 6k

Warnings: angst, blood mention

A/N: surprise surprise, & not what i usually write, but twisters has recently been consuming my entire life. so here's an angsty lil imagine of hurt reader being comforted by the wrangler himself.

You made it about fifteen minutes down the road before you realized that you’d forgotten your phone… Again. 

After patting down your pockets and digging through your tote bag the best you could without crashing the car– you straightened yourself in the driver’s seat and sighed defeatedly. 

Stupid, you thought. Although you weren’t really that surprised by your mistake. You’d never been particularly attached to your phone, and this certainly wasn’t the first time you’d left it behind. 

But you’d been trying to be more mindful about remembering it. And just like that, Tyler’s voice popped into your head– no doubt scolding you for your carelessness. ‘What if something happened and I had to get a hold of ya?’ 

Thanks to another wild storm system brewing all over the midwest, Tyler was out chasing again today. And although you’d checked in on him earlier in the day, you knew there was always the possibility that things changed. Storms shifted– gained power, sometimes his team (although rarely) got things wrong. A pang of guilt spread through your chest at the thought– what if something happened to him out there and he needed to reach you? 

You could turn back and get your phone, of course. But you were already so close to town. And all you needed was a bottle of shampoo and a birthday cake for Tyler. You could be in and out of Lawton in less than half an hour if you were quick– home before he even knew you’d left your phone behind again.

What could really go wrong?

…

“Talk to me, Dani– what do you see?” Tyler asked into the walkie. They’d been tracking a handful of storms for the past few hours– Tyler watching the clouds, and Dani studying the radar. Right now, there were two that had peaked his interest– One was formulating south, the other to the northeast. 

“The storm south has higher wind speeds, but I think it’ll fade if it shifts. The other one has a weaker wind shear, but higher pressure. Either one has the chance to form or go, so I say trust your gut,” they answered.  

Tyler shifted his grip on the steering wheel, studying the dark, circling motion in the distance. 

“What’re you thinkin’, T?” Boone asked, camera trained on Tyler. 

He sunk his teeth into his bottom lip– trying to focus.

“Less moisture, less potential for an updraft, but way higher winds if we go south. Northeast though… she’s already got the motion and momentum, she just needs the winds to shift...” 

Boone stayed quiet– he knew that when Tyler talked out loud, it was generally rhetorical. 

Tyler took his eyes off the sky to study the world around him for a moment. 

“No pressure, T,” Dani said through the walkie. 

“Yeah,” Lilly chimed in. “We just spent all damn day chasing these things–”

“South,” he said suddenly. “I say let’s chase south.”

…

Less than thirty minutes later, Tyler was standing in the middle of a wheat field with his hands on his hips and a frown on his face. 

The storm had fizzled with the shifting winds, leaving them with nothing but a few scattered showers that mixed in with the sweat already pooling on his skin. 

“S’alright, T,” Boone said encouragingly with a shrug. He clapped him on the back. “We can’t catch ‘em all.”

Tyler sighed before joining Dani where they sat on the edge of the truck, scanning for other potential storms in the area. 

“What’s that there?” Tyler asked, pointing to what appeared to be a storm system heading west. 

Dani frowned. “What the hell… I think that’s the storm from earlier– the one moving northeast.”

“So it shifted?” 

“Shifted?” Boone said, lowering his camera for a moment to glance towards Tyler. “Where to? Can we make it in time?”

Tyler frowned, studying the movement. 

“That’s strange,” Dani mumbled under their breath. With a few clicks, they expanded the screen, showing a wider radius.

“What’s strange?” Boone asked.

Ignoring him, Tyler scanned the system, trying to trace the path without actually calculating it. “You don’t think–” 

Dani glanced his way. “Holy shit–”

“Hello?” Boone said. “Y’all gonna share with the rest of the class?” 

“I think she’s headin’ for Lawton,” Dani finally whispered. 

And although he’d been thinking it, all the color drained from his face when it was actually spoken out loud.

“Lawton?” Dexter asked, voice laced with concern. 

“Oh shit-” Lilly whispered.  

Lawton was the closest city to where the two of you lived– if it hit there, thousands of people could be in danger. And if it shifted again, even the slightest bit– it could head right for your small town instead.  

Despite the humidity, everything inside of Tyler went cold as he imagined you at home– puttering around the garden, blissfully unaware of what might be coming. 

“Will you uh, pass me– pass me my phone, Boone?” Tyler stammered, standing up from the truck bed. 

Boone reached into the backpack scattered near his feet and handed over Tyler’s cell phone, placing it in his outstretched hand. Tyler muttered a quick thank you before walking a few strides away as he pulled up your contact information.  

The call rang five times before making it to voicemail– your sweet voice asking him to leave a message and you’d get back to him. 

“Hey, baby– it’s me. Call me back as soon as you can. Alright, love ya.”

He clicked the phone off before immediately trying again. 

“C’mon,” he muttered as the line continued to ring. “C’mon, baby, c’mon,” he hummed nervously, kicking the grass with his boots when he heard your voicemail. “Hey– me again. Listen, I’m not trying to scare ya, but there might be a storm comin’ and I just wanna make sure you’re safe. Give me a call please.”

He paced back towards the group, sending you a quick text just for good measure as he did. 

“Alright, what’s the plan here?” Dexter asked. 

But Tyler wasn’t paying much attention as he obsessively dialed you for a third time. 

“What’s wrong, T?” Boone wondered. 

Without looking up from his phone, Tyler exhaled a frustrated breath. “She’s never got her damn phone on her– that’s what’s wrong.” The second he heard your voicemail for a fourth time, he chucked his phone towards his bag. “Damnit!” 

Boone swallowed thickly. “I’m sure she’s fine–”

Tyler hung his head. After a moment, he nodded, although he wasn’t entirely convinced that would remain the case if he didn’t get in touch with you fast. He ran his hands through his hair and tried to breathe– 

You were fine, he told himself. You were home, you’d hear the alerts if they were necessary, you knew to get into the basement. 

Tyler took a long, steadying breath. “Dani, what’s the speed of this thing?” 

“Uh, it’s moving– thirty-five miles per hour directly west. I think she’s gaining speed, though.”

“Alright, she’s fast,” Tyler remarked. “We have to be faster. Let’s head home, ladies and gents, we can take cover at my place once I know everyone’s safe.”

“You got it, T,” Lilly said. 

“Stay safe everyone,” Dani replied as they all dispersed to their respective vehicles. 

Tyler and Boone climbed back into the truck, tires screeching as they sped west towards Lawton, and home towards you. 

…

You were inside the bakery on Lowell Street– Tyler’s favorite place for any and all pastries, when you heard the thunder. 

Although thunder in Oklahoma wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence, it was enough to make you turn your attention outside, just to see what kind of storm you might be up against on the drive home. 

“It’s gettin’ dark out there,” Gloria, the owner, said. She glanced at you over the counter and blew a strand of graying hair out of her face. 

You nodded in agreement, jumping slightly when another crack of thunder rang through the air. “Sounds like it’s getting closer,” you noticed. 

“I still can’t believe that boyfriend of yours goes out of his way to chase these storms. And his friends, too.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, me either. Bunch of adrenaline junkies.”

“Not me,” Gloria smirked. “We get enough chaos in this life, I don’t need to be chasin’ it.”

You returned her smile, recognizing that you might have more in common with the sixty-something year old baker in town than you did your own boyfriend. But you supposed that your differences were what drew you to Tyler. He was brave and thrilling and so alive. Although what he did scared the absolute shit out of you, there was nothing better than watching him exude excitement and just pure joy after he got home from a particularly powerful storm. 

“Was he and his crew trackin’ anything out here?” Gloria asked, using the tube of blue icing to write the birthday message you’d requested on top of Tyler’s cake. 

“Not here,” you replied. “He was south of OKC last I checked in.”

Which, you realized, had been far longer than you anticipated thanks to not having your phone. You mentally kicked yourself again for leaving it behind. If you’d brought it with you, you could have just given him a call now. Because unless he was smack dab in the middle of a goddamn tornado, he always answered your calls. Just a few reassurances from him could’ve calmed your fears about the storm brewing outside– told you that it was just a thunderstorm passing through. 

Not every thunderstorm means a tornado, he had said, you didn’t even know how many times by now. And each time allowed you to relax a little. Because unlike your boyfriend, you didn’t enjoy weather in quite the same way. In fact, after an EF4 had ripped through your home when you were just a child, you did your best to stay as far from tornadoes as Oklahoma allowed. 

“I’m sure it’s just thunder,” you began. 

But before you could finish your sentence, you heard the sudden pitter patter of hail beginning outside. Gloria lowered the icing tube while you took another step closer to the window to peer out. 

Dark, gloomy clouds swirled through the sky. 

That was when you heard the sirens. Loud and clear, they echoed through your ears in a terrifying, grim warning. 

…

As the storm tracked faster and faster the closer they got, Tyler’s first stop was your shared home just outside of Lawton. 

He didn’t even bother turning the truck off before he was hurling himself across the lawn, towards the front door. But before he even looked inside, his stomach dropped when he noticed your SUV wasn’t parked in its typical spot. 

Regardless, he practically ripped open the front door before running into the house, calling your name loudly into each room he searched, hoping that maybe you’d lent your car to your mom again– or magically parked it in the garage that was stuffed full of his gear. 

But it was no use– you weren’t there. 

He knew that for good as soon as he flung open the door to your shared bedroom. The bed was neatly made, pillows arranged perfectly– and your phone sitting on the nightstand table, plugged in and clearly far away from you. 

“Damnit!” he yelled, kicking the door frame frustratedly. Chest rising and falling rapidly, Tyler pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think. Frustration and anger brewed inside of him, but he knew that underneath all of that was fear– for you and your safety. All he wanted was to have you in his sights again– although preferably wrapped up in his embrace, the only spot he could ensure you were safe... Where you belonged.

Suddenly, an idea popped into his head. Tyler made his way across the room and picked your phone up from the nightstand. Your background– a picture of you and him taken during your trip to Texas last year, lit up the screen. Accompanying it were the slew of notifications you’d missed– the first was the severe weather alert, the next few were all the missed calls from him. But at the very bottom of your screen was a reminder notification– one that allowed him to finally exhale the breath he’d been holding since he burst into the house. 

Get Tyler a bday cake. 

Sliding your phone into his back pocket, he raced back down the stairs to find Boone standing on the front lawn. 

“She’s in town,” he said, rushing towards his truck. 

Boone followed close behind. “How do you know?”

“If nothing else,” Tyler said, climbing into his truck, “she follows her schedule.”

…

“Gloria, you gotta listen to me–” you pleaded, hurrying around the counter to grab her hand. “If the sirens are goin’ off, it means we don’t have much time. Does the bakery have a basement, or– or a shelter?”

Gloria’s watery eyes met yours. Your heart sank the moment she shook her head dreadfully. 

“Okay,” you said shakily, trying not to panic. What would Tyler do? You looked around the bakery– with its old walls and sagging roof, you knew it wasn’t safe to stay here. 

“Gloria, we gotta go,” you said urgently. “We gotta find somewhere safe to be.”

With that, you tugged her towards the exit. 

As soon as you were outside, you felt the fierce wind whip your face, along with a few staggering pieces of hail. There was debris– leaves and sticks flying around in every which way, making it hard to see past what was right in front of you. 

Although you were trying to be vigilant, you didn’t even see the scrap of metal fly by your face.  “Shit!” you exclaimed, feeling it graze your cheek. Ripped skin was quickly followed by the feeling of warm blood trickling across your skin. 

“Are you alright?” Gloria asked, grabbing your arm. 

You used your free hand to press against your cheek before nodding. “We gotta get out of here,” you said. 

But just as you turned to try and gauge your surroundings, hoping to come up with a shred of a plan, you froze at what was looming in the distance. 

Winds whipped rapidly, the sky boomed, and a dark, wide funnel had formed– it’s tip already touching down on the ground. And it was coming straight for you. 

“Gloria, we gotta go–” you cried. “Now!” 

…

Tyler drove as fast as he could– foot nearly pressed down on the ground. He drove like his life depended on it. Because yours did– 

The truth was– he’d never given much thought to losing you. He was generally too preoccupied with wondering what you’d do if you lost him. He was the one putting himself in danger all the time, he was the one forcing his way in the middle of these storms. 

He didn’t know what he’d do without you– except be a shell of who he was now. 

“Holy shit–” he heard Boone say from the passenger seat. 

Tyler refocused his attention ahead, his eyes widening the second he saw what Boone was fixated on. 

It was hard to miss the giant, fucking tornado barreling right for Lawton’s array of buildings. 

“We’re too late–” Tyler croaked. “We’re too fucking late–”

“She’s smart,” Boone assured Tyler. “She knows where to go and what to do.”

Tyler’s knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He pressed his foot down on the accelerator and drove faster. 

…

In retrospect, the laundromat probably wasn’t the best place for you to be. But there were few windows and the back room was lined with secure piping, all which jetted deeply into the ground, creating a solid anchoring point. 

There were a few other people huddled in the same room, already low on the ground and clutching onto one another. 

“Hold on to that!” you cried, practically pushing Gloria towards the corner of the room. She wound her frail arms around the piping before crouching down. You were right beside her, arms locked tightly on the piping as you felt the building start to shake. 

The storm outside was deafening. Winds whistled and boomed. You were pretty sure the woman beside you was screaming– but you couldn’t hear her above the noise of everything else. You tried to be brave– the way you knew Tyler would be if he were here. 

Once, about three years ago, an EF3 hit his parent’s ranch while the two of you were staying there for a long weekend. You remembered the way he stayed so calm, so collected through it all. After ushering everyone into the storm shelter, he wrapped his strong arms around you, anchoring you to him. The ranch didn’t shake like this though… And even though you’d been scared that night, it paled in comparison to what you felt now. 

This building was weak– the structure was unsound. You had no idea how close the tornado actually was, but you knew this thing wasn’t going to stay put. It was just a matter of if the pipes went deep enough into the ground and if you could hold on to them. Because you didn’t have Tyler holding on for you this time. 

You hoped he was somewhere safe– maybe tracking the storm that was about to kill you from a reasonable distance. 

“Everything’s going to be okay,” you told Gloria, sweaty palms making your grip slip. “Just hold on–” 

The building began to shake harder– the very foundation rocking beneath you. Shortly after, pieces of the roof began tearing off, exposing the thunderous storm raging above. 

“I don’t–” Gloria cried. “I don’t think I can hold on!”

You tried loosening your own grip– hoping you could wrap your arms around her like Tyler had done for you before, or do something to help. But then you heard another ear splitting roar, and suddenly, the entire roof was being ripped off from the building. There was nothing you could do. You weren’t strong enough– 

“Hold on!” you screamed, tucking your head into your elbow and squeezing your eyes shut. “Just a little longer!” 

But as the words left your lips, even you didn’t believe them. 

…

By the time they finally reached town, the tornado had already moved on. 

Part of the reason why Tyler loved tornados so much was their power and speed. In his eyes– it was nothing short of an act of God to see what damage a simple funnel of wind could do in just a matter of minutes, sometimes seconds. 

Until he was faced with the inevitable tragedy of it all. 

Because it was one thing to see trees uprooted, or tractors rolled over. It was another to see an entire town had succumbed to a pile of debris– vehicles thrown this way and that– metal and siding and bricks scattered over every inch of the flat land– To know that people, his friends, his neighbors, you could be buried underneath piles of rubble– bodies broken and bleeding and hurt if they were lucky enough to be alive at all.

Tyler brought his truck to a screeching halt, not even hesitating before he was ripping off his seatbelt and hurling himself out of his seat. The second his boots hit the mud, he screamed your name as loud as he could. 

Eyes whipping around, he tried to process the scene before him. But it was hard to gauge where anything used to be– there was practically nothing left. 

“Tyler!” he heard someone scream in the distance. Head whipping to the side, he saw Lilly, waving her arms frantically. 

For a moment, Tyler let himself get his hopes up. He raced across the distance between them as fast as he could, despite all the obstacles in his way. But when he finally reached her, he was devastated to see that you weren’t there at all. Instead, Lilly was staring at a vehicle, flipped over and crunched like it’d been hit head-on by an 18-wheeler. 

And although it was damaged beyond repair, Tyler recognized it as yours immediately. 

He felt his chest tighten. “Christ–” he stammered, unable to fight back the tears burning behind his eyes. He ran his hand through his hair before hunching over, hoping the motion would allow him to finally catch his breath.

“Oh God,” he panted. “God, no– please, no–”

“She might not have been in it,” Lilly said quickly. 

But Tyler barely heard her. He was too fixated on the pounding in his ears–  

A wave of hopelessness washed over him, flooding his insides. He was too late– he couldn’t save you– he was too fucking late. 

“We’re gonna find her, T,” Boone’s voice was suddenly peaking through the fog. 

“Yeah, we won’t stop until we do,” Dani added. 

Tyler forced himself to take a few, steadying breaths. When he could, he straightened his back and glanced around. 

His whole team hadn’t given up on you. 

Neither could he. 

…

When you finally gained the courage to open your eyes, you were met by a fierce brightness. You coughed– lungs heaving as you struggled to breathe. 

“Gloria?” you tried to speak. “Are you okay?” 

You were met by an eerie silence– the calm after the storm. Blinking harshly a few times, you tried to gather up enough strength to sit up. But as soon as you did, you had a chance to look around… And boy, do you wish you hadn’t. 

There was nothing left– the entire town was gone… destroyed, buried in rubble and debris. 

“Gloria?” you called, groaning as you pushed the thick layer of roofing off from your legs. You grimaced once you saw the deep gash down the side of your thigh, oozing blood. 

Breath shuddering, you continued to scan the area– trying to wrack your brain for what the hell you were supposed to do next. The second you moved to turn your head, you winced, vision blurring. Slowly, you grazed along your forehead with your fingertips. When you pulled them away, you grimaced to see them coated in crimson liquid. 

You stared at it for far too long– unsure what else to do. You were hurt– probably worse than it felt, too if adrenaline had anything to say about it. You didn’t know if you could walk on your leg, or if you’d pass out the second you tried to stand up. 

You felt hopeless– completely and utterly alone. 

Until you faintly heard the sound of your name being called in the distance. 

It was enough to make you snap out of your trance, head whipping around to see Boone throwing aside a piece of siding. He called out a second time before turning and locking eyes with you from across the way. 

“Boone,” you said under your breath, like you couldn’t quite believe he was real. Because if Boone was here– calling out for you, that meant Tyler couldn’t be far behind. 

Boone yelled your name again before turning. “I found her!” he screamed, waving his arms. “Over here!” 

You fought back the guilt you felt for still not finding Gloria and moved to stand on shaky legs. 

“I’ll come back for you,” you promised her. 

Wobbly and weak, you limped towards him, trying your best not to fall in the cracks and crevices beneath the debris. You looked down, intending to watch your step, but instead you caught a glimpse of your leg and all the blood now coating your entire thigh and calf. Just the sight of it made you lose your balance. 

“Shit,” you gasped, as you landed harshly on the ground. You looked back up and saw Boone heading your way– only fifty yards or so from you. But then– right behind Boone, was a sight that made everything else melt away. 

“Tyler,” you exhaled, like it was a prayer tumbling from your lips. 

His long legs moved fast– practically running despite everything in his way. 

He’d make it to you– he’d get you. But if you got up and kept moving… he’d get there sooner. So, with whatever you had left inside of you, you pushed yourself up. Ignoring the pounding in your head and the throbbing in your leg, you limped forward. 

“Tyler,” you said again– not loud enough for anyone else to hear. It was like you just needed a reminder that really was right there. “Tyler–” this time, when his name tumbled from your lips, it came out as a sob– every emotion inside of you bubbling to the surface of your skin. Tears slipped down your cheeks, your vision blurred. 

He was so close now– you could hear the rubble shift as he stepped on it. 

He called your name… and God, if his voice wasn’t the sweetest sound you’d ever heard. 

“Tyler–” you cried again, throat choked from dust and tears. 

And then, just like that, his body was colliding with yours. Arms winding tightly around your shoulders, a familiar scent enveloping you, he cradled the back of your head with his hand, anchoring you to his chest. You wrapped your arms around his middle, face buried in his button down shirt. 

“Oh, God,” he whispered above you, lips grazing the side of your head. “I got you,” he said. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out– only a guttural, uncontrollable sob that made him hold you tighter. 

“I got you, baby. I got you,” he whispered into your hair. 

“Tyler–” was all you managed to choke out. 

His thumb trailed up and down your hair, matted with mud and your own blood. “I’m here. I’m right here. I got you.” 

He held you tight, steadying your shaky frame. It was like he was the one thing keeping you from completely falling apart. Which was why your body almost recoiled when he finally pulled away. You needed him wrapped around you like that forever. 

You tried to resist, to pull him back, but you didn’t even have the energy for that. All you could do was stand there weakly while his wild, concerned eyes scanned the length of you. 

“I’m fine–” you tried to say. 

But he shook his head instantly. “You’re not fine. You’re hurt, we gotta get you out of here. Get an ambulance!” he yelled to Boone, who was lingering nearby, looking like he didn’t quite know how to help. Boone nodded instantly before hurrying off. 

“Tyler–” 

“Okay, I see the leg– what else?” he asked. “What else hurts?”

“My head,” you whimpered. “And my ribs–” you admitted, although you hadn’t quite managed to look at those yet. “But Tyler–” 

Before you could finish, Tyler’s hand gripped the hem of your tank top, pulling it up slightly. You winced as the fabric brushed over your ribs. But when Tyler pressed a hand on the bare skin, you almost screamed out in pain. “Sorry,” he said gently. “I gotta look though, baby. I gotta check it.”

You nodded, fingers squeezing the fabric of his shirt as he did. The pain was excruciating– enough to make your already-dizzy head start to spin. 

“I think they’re broken– at least a couple. Can’t say for certain.”

“Tyler,” you tried to repeat, tears still streaming steadily down your face. 

“It’s okay, you’re gonna be okay,” he said once he saw the shift on your face. 

“It’s Gloria,” you finally spit out. “She’s out here somewhere, Tyler. We have to find her–”

Tyler’s gaze softened at your words. He pulled his eyes away from you long enough to quickly scan the scene. 

“Did you see her? Or know where she went?”

You shook your head, more tears spilling down your cheeks. “No–” you cried. “No, I don’t know where she went. Tyler, I have to find her–”

“Easy,” he soothed, winding an arm around your middle so that he could brace the majority of your weight. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. We gotta get you checked out.”

“I can’t leave her–” you protested. 

“Listen to me,” he said, voice gentle but stern. “You bleeding out on a pile of rubble isn’t going to help her, okay? Let me get you somewhere safe, Boone and Dexter can search for Gloria, alright?” 

After a moment, you nodded solemnly. “You promise?”

“I promise, baby. Now c’mon.”

Before you could protest, you felt Tyler’s arm swoop around the backs of your legs, while the other supported your back. In an instant, your feet are lifted off from the ground. You didn’t have the energy to do anything but lay your head against his chest. 

“There we go,” he soothed. “I got you.”

His thumb trailed along your back gently as he began navigating the pile of rubble around you. 

You felt safe nestled against him– and for the first time since you’d emerged from the rubble, you felt safe enough to allow your eyes to fall shut. 

“Hey, stay awake now, okay? We’re just a short walk to the ambulances– keep lookin’ at me.”

You tried– honestly you did. You opened them up, despite everything inside of you that screamed to close them. And then you fought like hell to keep them trained on Tyler– to study the lining of his jaw and the tan shade of his skin. But Tyler’s embrace was so warm, and his voice was just so soft. And you were so, so tired. There was nothing you could do when they fell shut again. 

Tyler pleaded for you, but unconsciousness got there first. 

… 

Even after the doctors assured him you’d be okay– that it was just exhaustion and blood loss from the trauma you’d endured keeping you out for so long, he couldn’t settle down. 

You looked so goddamn frail– so broken in that hospital bed. He couldn’t stand it. 

It was nearly ten at night before the rest of his team packed up to head back home, making him promise to call them as soon as you woke up. 

“We can stay if you want,” Lilly offered. There was no hint of sarcasm or malice in her tone. She was being genuine. Which was how Tyler knew he must have been an absolute mess. 

“That’s alright,” he croaked, speaking for the first time in nearly an hour. Even he could hear the pain in his voice. 

Boone clapped him on the shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Love you, man.”

“Call us if you need anything,” Dani said. 

Tyler nodded, promised he would. But the only thing he needed was for you to wake up. 

…

His watch read midnight when you finally stirred. 

Tyler was sitting in a chair, pulled all the way up to your bedside, and was clutching your hand with both of his. He had his forehead resting against the hospital bed, but the second he felt movement, he shot up quickly, all the exhaustion fading instantly. 

Your face contorted into a frown as you squeezed your eyes shut once, twice, three times before they fluttered open. 

Scooting forward in his chair, he studied you as you glanced around– clearly trying to take in your surroundings and place where you were. The second you started to shift– like you were sitting up in bed in a panic, he squeezed your hand. 

“Hey, you’re okay,” he said. “You’re in the hospital. You’re okay.”

Your head turned towards him, confusion and fear plastered all over your cut up, bruised face. Just the sight made his chest ache. 

“You’re safe.”

You fell back against the pillow and nodded slowly. 

“Tyler–” you began shakily, he could already hear the sob lodged in your throat. “I– I’m…”

“You’re okay, baby,” he assured you. 

“No– I’m- I’m so sorry–”

He froze, brow furrowing in confusion. “Hey, what’s this? Stop- you got nothing to be sorry for, baby.” 

“I didn’t have my phone. I didn’t hear the alert until it was too late. It was stupid– I just–” your face crumpled as you struggled to find words. “You always tell me not to forget it and I forgot it.”

“It’s okay,” he soothed. “Don’t worry about that.”

“I just– I wanted to get you a birthday cake– I should have gotten it sooner, but I forgot– and…” your voice continued to crack and break with each breath you took. “I know you don’t love birthdays, but I love your birthday–” Tyler leaned forward in his seat, releasing your hand so that he could cup your cheek. He brushed a loose strand of hair from your face before his fingers traced your jawline delicately. 

“I think your cake got destroyed.”

He couldn’t help the soft smirk that spread across his face. “I’d say that’s probably a fair assumption.”

“I’m sorry–”

“Hey,” he soothed. “Fuck birthday cakes– I didn’t want one anyway. I was thinkin’ we could get a nice pie this year. What do ya think? Blueberry? Peach cobbler?”

“But Gloria made it–” 

Suddenly, your face fell and you were back to sitting up eagerly. “Oh my God, Tyler. Gloria– she–”

“She’s safe,” Tyler interjected quickly. “Thanks to you. Boone found her not far from where you wound up, clutching to some pipes. She had a few scratches, but that was it. She said the pipes were your idea.”

A rush of pride flowed through him as he beamed at you. His girl– getting people to safety in the middle of a tornado, despite how scared you must have been. 

Your watery eyes met his, lip quivering as you tried to speak. “Tyler– I didn’t think…” he could hear the tears in your throat before you even let them out. “I didn’t think we were going to make it. God, I don’t know how we made it.”

Your voice broke on the last word, a sob escaping your lips as you doubled over. Instantly, Tyler was out of his chair and sliding into the tiny, hospital bed beside you carefully avoiding your cracked ribs and stitched up thigh. 

Without even hesitating, you curled into his side, fingers grasping as his shirt like your life depended on it. 

“Shh,” he soothed, hand rubbing up and down your arm. “You did make it. You and Gloria both. You made it because you thought on your feet– I’m so proud of you,” he hummed, pressing his lips to the side of your head. 

He had no idea if you believed him or not– no idea if his words were sinking in at all. You clutched his shirt and cried against his chest– frame shaking with each breath you took. Tyler felt so helpless in that moment. All he could do was whisper reassuring comments and words of affirmation in your ear and hold you tightly against him. 

After a while, your breathing started to return to normal. Your grip on his shirt loosened as you let out a sigh. “You came to get me,” you said quietly, voice sounding so tired– like it was moments away from drifting off. 

Tyler pressed his lips to your hair, eyes squeezing shut. “I’ll always come to get you,” he promised. 

You nodded. “I know.” 

Tyler ran his hand up and down your arm a few more times soothingly. “The laundry mat was a good idea– especially with the pipes,” he murmured into your hair. 

With what little energy you had left, you pulled away from him to glance up. With a raised eyebrow, you asked. “Does that mean I can be a tornado wrangler now?” 

He smirked playfully. “That depends, do you want to be?”

You bit your lip, like you were really thinking about it. After a moment, you scrunched your nose up. “And face one of those things nearly everyday? Not a chance.”

Tyler smiled, pulling you gently against his chest– right where you belonged. “There’s my girl,” he said lovingly. 

[heesimp]

tasty (heeseung)

summary: it’s not your week and it doesn’t seem like the semester will ease up on you as time flies by, but your best friend is here to help in more ways than one.

word count: 5.6K

notes: based off of this request. thank you anon! I probably won’t open a taglist at this time but I’ll let you know if I do when I post other fics. XX

warnings: reader touches herself, porn mentions, vibrator mention, phone sex, oral (f. receiving), dirty talking, mentions of heeseung with other girls, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex.

“You sure you don’t want to go out with us?” 

Your co-workers stare at you while you try to push down any simmer irritation. They’re not to blame, but pestering you to go out to a bar and get drunk when all you want to do is go home, is making you even more irritated. They mean no harm and look at you with sorry eyes. 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you tell them. Luckily for you, they nod and accept your decline. “Thanks for the invite though.”

“Well if you change your mind, you know where to find us.” 

In typical twenty-something-year-old fashion, certain days feel longer than most. Today is no exception. It’s hard to navigate the woes of landing on your feet when you’re wrapped up in midterm projects and trying to have a social life without throwing yourself off balance. When the semester started, you were nothing other than a happy-go-lucky, fourth-year university student who was excited to finish college and take the first step towards “real life.” Unfortunately for you, your days would get tough before you’d see it to the finish line. 

The ride back to your apartment isn’t long by any means but the traffic from your job at a convenience store was met with rush hour. The bus took much longer than usual but you always anticipate that when you’re scheduled until 5pm. Everybody’s going home at the same time and even public transportation falls victim to the hustle and bustle of corporate life. 

On your way home, you can’t help but linger on the inconveniences of the recent past. Midterms have snuck up on you like they do every year and no amount of studying into the night could ever prepare you for the stress that comes with obsessing over good grades for five separate classes. It kills you that no two tests weigh the same and preparing for projects feels like you’re signing a death sentence. You’ve barely seen your friends aside from in passing and haven’t had any time to take care of yourself and have fun. 

It feels as though you’ve lost all motivation because school and work has sucked the energy right out of you. Even your best friend, Lee Heeseung, has started to soften up around you because he can tell how stressed you are. If anything, the amount of unread texts from him and your absence in his physical life is a telltale sign that school is kicking your ass, but he knows you always bounce back. You know you will too, but right now it feels like it’ll take too long to get there. 

The first thing you do is take all of your clothes off and settle them in the dirty hamper and take a shower, cleaning off the grime from a long day outside of your bedroom. Your hair is clean and your skin feels silk to the touch when you step out and dry yourself. It takes a great deal of effort to follow through on your skincare routine and tidy up your room so that it doesn’t feel like an overwhelming mess the more you look at it. Today sucked. There’s no doubt about that. 

Eventually, the clock turns into a late hour after you’ve had dinner and a sweet treat to make up for the awfully long and boring day you had. The week drains on you and you’re looking forward to the weekend because that means you don’t have to work. After settling in bed with the television on, you try your best to let your worries escape you and focus on what’s in front of you. 

Whether the show is too boring or you’re too worked up, you don’t know. The TV is long forgotten as you aimlessly scroll through your phone and start pushing your thighs together and clench around absolutely nothing when you log into a Twitter account you don’t post on. It must be out of habit to act like this when you see the familiar username because it’s where you keep your porn stash for when you need to get off. There’s everything you could ever want–short videos, photos, and links to other websites that always gets you off. The long day has made you think about how you need at least a single win in order for this week to not completely suck. Bringing yourself to orgasm might be the way to do it. 

You spread your legs underneath the covers and take a finger to tease up your slit that’s covered by your panties and hold your phone in your free hand, using your thumb to scroll past the plethora of videos that turn you on. It’s all about finding the right one, and seeing big dicks and wet pussies makes you worked up. You start to forget about the week and consider that a good start. 

Moving your finger against your covered pussy always makes you wet. You imagine it’s someone else teasing you the way you like it and pretend you don’t need to move a muscle to get off. Swiping the tips of your fingers back and forth makes you soak through the pathetic fabric anyway, and the excitement of your arousal makes you gush right onto your panties. 

You scroll through them one by one and pull your panties to the side to feel just how wet you’ve become and moan quietly as the feeling of your slicked up walls. Pushing a finger inside, the welcomed sensation is exactly what you needed after a hard week. You add two, then three, and pump them in and out of you with your legs bent towards your chest. It should be an easy orgasm. 

Except, it isn’t. Three of your own fingers isn’t enough.

At this rate, you don’t know how long you’ve been rutting your hips but what you do know is that you can’t seem to get yourself off with just your fingers. Pulling them out makes you wince at the loss and you force yourself off of your bed to find your trusty vibrator that has always served you when you need to get off quickly. You dig for it in the depths of your drawers but, to your dismay, the device is uncharged. You’re far too worked up to wait for it to become usable. You crawl into your bed again and angrily look through your phone at the porn in your bookmarks and try to get yourself back to that state of euphoria when you started touching yourself, but knowing too much is bothering you is preventing you from letting go. 

Your room echoes as you groan in frustration when your eyes land on a photo on your desk. It’s a picture of you and Heeseung that Jay took when the three of you hung out together after you first moved into this apartment. The two of them helped move boxes and furniture, and you rewarded them with a free meal from the noodle shop across the street. Heeseung sits next to you with his thighs pressed against yours because of the small table but neither of you really cared. 

That’s the thing, though. Heeseung isn’t shy about physical touch with you or anyone else. He’s the kind of guy girls feel comfortable around with just a few words spoken and you’ve always envied the way Heeseung can talk his way through anything. People love him, girls want to fuck him, and guys want to be like him. There’s a part of you that wishes you could exude the same aura that your best friend does but, unlike him, you cower at any chance of interaction and can’t seem to get anyone to be interested in you the way you’re interested in them. Heeseung has heard your fair share of love debacles whereas it seems like romance is presented to him with the snap of a finger. 

It isn’t that you haven’t had experiences with sex and dating, but they haven’t been worthwhile. So far, nobody has been memorable enough to keep in your backpocket for days like this, when you need a hot and erotic memory to come in an instant. It feels impossible to find guys who know what they’re doing when a woman is presented in front of them. Guys are so lucky because it takes next to nothing to get them hard and get them off. 

And like, your best friend has had his fair share of hookup stories that leave you wetter than a goddamn fountain. He’s not shy about skimping the details because he’s seen you cry snot since kindergarten and you’ve seen him eat shit on bicycles since elementary school. Sex isn’t off the table. You just don’t have anything to contribute and he doesn’t judge you for it. You aren’t really keen on telling him about all of the bad experiences you’ve had when he talks about how mind blowing sex for him is. Part of you is envious that your best friend has never had one bad day of sex in his life. Allegedly. 

Still, this frustration bubbles up and there’s nothing you can do to quell the way you feel. Perhaps it’s a mix of general life stress and the events leading up to this very moment. The entire day felt like a test to your patience as minor inconveniences piled up on top of one another before your breaking point. You thought your vibrator sitting uncharged was your last straw but it seems like your mind isn’t clear enough to focus on getting off. You recall a few unread text messages from Heeseung and open your shared text thread with him and watch all of the funny TikTok videos and tweets he sends you. You’re missing him right now. 

Heeseung answers after one ring. 

“Back from the dead, I see. What’s up?” 

You huff. “Nothing.” You hear him laughing from the other line. The faint sound of his keyboard clicking echoes in your ears. 

“Can’t be nothing. You always call me when you need to tell me something.” 

“Not true.”

“Y/N, you and I both know you prefer to talk on the phone when you have something important you need to say so neither of us ends up sending long voice memos.” Okay, he’s got you there. “So begs the question: What’s up?”

“Well I called you because I’m bored. Happy?”

Heeseung laughs again. You’re sure he can hear your disdain. “It’s a good thing I know how to deal with your attitude, huh? Since you’re bored, I’ll have you know you’re calling me while I’m playing with the guys.”

“What, no girl to hook up with?” 

“Not tonight, princess.” 

“How sad.” 

“If you must know why, I had a pretty long day at work but I’m fine now. Jake’s ass keeps dying so that’s pretty funny.” You don’t say anything, not right away. Not when you realize you called him in a haste and that you’re naked except for a tank stop and dainty white socks. The realization makes your cheeks heat up as you think about it, even though Heeseung can’t see what you’re wearing. “You good? You’re unusually quiet, especially when you give me attitude.” That makes you roll your eyes.

“You know, it’s unfair that all you have to do to get off is brush your hand against your dick.”

“Where’s this coming from? You don’t really talk about sex. Is everything alright?”

“It’s unfair!” He hears you groan in frustration. You’re somewhat annoyed he’s still typing away on his gaming keyboard.

“Y/N…Are you okay? What’s gotten into you?”

That question alone seems to ease your mind a little as your irritation bubbles over the surface. You couldn’t stop yourself from talking even if you tried. You tell Heeseung everything, good and bad, and he won’t relent until he knows you’re okay. But even this is treading into new territory. It isn’t that you haven’t noticed just how attractive your best friend has gotten since you met him for the first time as kids, but it’s the first time you’ve ever acknowledged it while talking to him. 

“I can’t get myself off.”

Your voice is barely above a whisper. You don’t hear the sound of his keyboard anymore.

“What?”

“Heeseung…”

“No, say it again.” 

Suddenly, you’re starting to regret calling him to complain about something like this. You feel like you might as well be diving into the depths of your secrets.

“I can’t get myself off.” He hears you whisper it into the phone. 

“Did I hear you correct? You can’t get yourself off?” Heeseung curses under his breath and his hands have stopped typing on his keyboard completely. Frustration pushes tears to the rim of your eyes. 

“I can’t.” Your voice wavers like you’re about to choke a sob. “I just want to cum, Heeseung.”

You don’t see it, but he disconnects his video game connection without consulting his friends. He sits back in his seat and brings the phone off speaker mode and pushes it to his ear. “Y/N…Have you been touching yourself?”

“Yes. I don’t know why but I’m in this mental block and I can’t focus on anything. Nothing is helping.” 

He chokes. “What do you mean?”

“My vibrator is dead and I’ve been using three fingers but it’s not helping!” 

Heeseung sits quietly on the other line. “Are you touching yourself now?” 

“No,” you sigh. “I’ve been at it for an hour and I can’t finish.” 

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You must be so wet.” 

“Not anymore.” You say it through your teeth, too upset that your high has ebbed away.

“You should start touching yourself again.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Touch yourself and make your pussy all wet.” It’s concerning how much you like hearing your best friend talk to you like this. But you do, putting your phone on speaker and putting it on the mattress beneath you with your hand caressing your pussy. You don’t know if it’s you, Heeseung, or the notion that you’re crossing a bridge, but your spine starts to tingle. Your touch is as light as a feather.

“Are you doing it?” 

“Yeah,” you admit. 

“How does it feel?” 

“Really good…”

“How good?” 

“Feels like someone else is touching me,” you tell Heeseung. “If I close my eyes, I can pretend it’s someone else.”

“It’s not enough, is it?” 

“No, Hee. I just…I’m so frustrated.” 

“Yeah, baby?” He’ll address that nickname later. “Why are you frustrated?” 

“School and work are stressing me out and nobody in my group projects lifts a finger. I feel so alone in this.”

“But you aren’t alone. You have me, remember?” You get wetter the more he talks. It feels wrong to be turned on by Heeseung’s voice but you can't help it. He’s talking to you like he hears the way your voice quivers and how badly you need somebody to take away all of your pain, and perhaps you feel comforted because you know Heesueng will do just that and always had. Your fingers rub your wetness around your bare mound the more you think about it, pushing aside any guilt or awkwardness you initially felt.

“When have I ever not been there for you? Never, baby. Including this.” 

“This?” 

He chuckles. “Yeah. Helping you cum.” 

“Hee, don’t say that.” 

“Why? It’s true. Best friends help each other cum.” 

“How are you gonna help me do that?” 

It’s silent on the other line for a long pause and your heart starts to sink when you think you might’ve crossed a line. Is he uncomfortable? Does he want to hang up and forget about this? Will he ever look at you the same way after tonight? 

“Keep touching yourself. I’m coming over.” 

Your eyes widen. “N-Now?” 

“Yes, now. I live five minutes from you. I’ll be over soon.” 

The thought of Heeseung coming over makes you impossibly wet. It’s been so long since you’ve let anybody touch you the way you’d like after failed hook ups that left you unsatisfied. Your bedroom suddenly feels warmer and your arousal keeps your fingers slick the more you rub against your pussy. It makes your toes clench and you’re starting to get excited again. 

“Please hurry, Hee. My fingers are starting to get sore.” 

“I’ll be there in two. Don’t hang up.”

“F-Fuck,” you whimper silently. Heeseung’s phone picks up your moan and you hear him let out a low groan when he turns his engine on. 

“You have the sexiest moans. I wanna hear them while you get yourself off, okay? Can you do that for me?” 

You rub your pussy faster. “Yes, Hee. Fuck, I’m so wet. This feels so good.”

“Be a good baby and play with your clit a little for me, hm? Get her all nice and prepped.” 

You do as he says, moving the pads of your fingers in circular motions around your engorged nub when he tells you. Your eyes close shut when that jolt of pleasure makes your body jerk and arch off of the bed and that loud sound emitting from the back of your throat makes Heeseung hum in approval. 

“Juuust like that. Fuck, you sounds even better than I imagined. You’re a vocal one, huh?” 

“Only when it feels really good.”

“Yeah? Do you feel really good?” 

You lick your lips. “It would feel better if you were here.” Heeseung laughs. 

“I’m here and I’ve got your spare key. Keep fucking yourself for me.” 

The call ends there. You hear the door opening and part of you considers using your blanket to cover yourself up because in all of the years you’ve been friends with Heeseung, he has never seen you this indecent. It feels a bit humiliating to know your best friend will find you with your fingers rubbing against yourself while your hips chase that delicious pleasure but ultimately, you can’t find it in yourself to care too deeply about that. 

Heeseung’s footsteps alert you to his presence and you’re pleasantly surprised to see him standing in the threshold of your bedroom after he’s opened your doorknob. His black hair covers his eyes as he catches his breath, and it looks like he ran up the two floors just to get to your apartment quicker than an elevator could take him. He’s hesitant when he walks inside until his eyes lock with yours. Your next moan comes from deep within your chest and Heeseung wastes absolutely no time. 

He lands on his knees and pulls your body towards the edge of the bed. Your scent invades his olfactory senses as he looks down below you, pushing your feeble hand away to admire the mess you’ve made of yourself. It should feel embarrassing to have your best friend look at you like this, but it doesn’t. Your heart beats faster the more Heeseung’s eyes scan your wet pussy and before you know it, his mouth latches onto you. 

The feeling of someone’s tongue shoved deep within you is a feeling you haven’t experienced in a long time. Heeseung kneads your thighs with his hands as he keeps you in place and the pace he sets makes your body feel like it might as well be up in space. 

You hear stories all the time about Heeseung hooking up with other girls whether it be from himself or others. Girls love to pretend to be your friend to get close to him and love to talk about these kinds of things with you because they assume you’re getting in on the action too, only to leave the conversation perplexed when you tell them you and Heeseung have never gotten involved like that. But now, with every bit of information about how he slurps pussy like he needs it to live, you’re starting to wonder why you never asked him to do this before tonight. 

“Tasty,” he mutters after a beat of silence. Your hand comes to grip his hair for stability when he pulls your clit into his mouth and sucks on it while rubbing his tongue against your pleasure point. “How come you never told me you taste so good?”

“You never asked.” 

He laughs against your pussy. “Still got some attitude, huh?” 

“What are you gonna do about it?” He looks up at you like he’s weighing a challenge. 

“If you were any other girl, I’d pull out every time you’re about to cum. I’d have you begging for that shit. If you were somebody else, I’d stuff your mouth with my cock until you learn how to obey.” He licks up your pussy once more before adding two of his fingers inside, moaning at your smooth and wet walls as he pumps them inside of you. “But you’re my best friend and you’ve had a hard week. I’m gonna make you cum.” 

If a thousand suns exploding feels like Heeseung’s tongue and fingers working in tandem with each other, then this is a feeling you never want to forget. They work separately but it feels like he’s pushing you closer and closer to the finish line the more he pays attention to your clit and g-spot at the same time, pressing on that little button the more you whine and aimlessly beg for him to let you cum. You can barely register your own voice moaning because the pressure is too much against your ears. Heeseung’s fingers plunge in and out of you at a pace that is somewhere between gentle and brutal, giving you enough force to take your mind off of the stress from the week to focus on your pussy being pleasured. 

You screw your eyes shut when you can feel that coil unraveling. Heeseung seems to notice that too because of the string of moans you let out when he pushes his fingers against your sweet spot. His mouth licks and licks as his hand pushes your wetness right against his tongue and it doesn’t take very long for him to taste your cum. 

Heeseung’s head disappears between your legs and he’s barely able to move his hand because of how tight your thighs are against his ears. He’s always loved your thighs and legs, and loves them even more now that he knows what it feels like when you suffocate him as he licks up your delicious cum. You ease up on him when he pries them away to free his hand from the uncomfortable position and uses both hands to keep your legs apart as he licks up the remnants of your cum and helps you ride out your orgasm until your chest falls against the mattress. 

He wipes the back of his hands before giving your slit a gentle kiss. “You’re so sexy when you cum.”

“I can’t believe I let you do that.” 

“Why?” 

You watch him crawl up your body between your spread legs. “Because…” 

“Because?” 

“You’re my best friend and we’ve seen each other through everything. Don’t you think this is a little, I don’t know, weird?” 

“No.” Heeseung shakes his head and dips below to kiss the corner of your mouth. “Not weird. In fact, I’d argue we should do this more often.”

You frown. “I don’t intend to be somebody you keep on a roster, Lee. You can keep that shit to yourself, but thank you for helping me cum.” Heeseung laughs against your mouth until you feel his lips ghost right over yours. 

“There won’t be other girls involved if we fuck, Y/N. I’m not heartless like that. Everybody else knows I’m in it for sex and nothing else, but it’s like you said. You’re my best friend. I won’t make you feel like you’re just somebody I can hit up.” 

“So this would be like…friends with benefits?” 

“We can work out the semantics later.” He lets his lips touch yours and when you don’t object, Heeseung opens your mouth with his own and you taste the saltiness of your cum on his lips. You clench around nothing when you hear your mouths smacking together in the quiet of your bedroom. 

It feels…good. It doesn’t feel out of place, even though this is the first time you’ve kissed Heeseung. You haven’t thought about it much either, but somehow his lips fit perfectly in yours and his soft hands holding your body in his adds to your arousal. You feel safe with him at this moment and it’s the first time you’ve ever had sex with somebody who hasn’t made you feel like an afterthought. Your mind feels a bit foggy but you know you like this feeling and don’t want him to stop. Still, you have your worries.

“This won’t be weird, will it?” 

“No, baby. In fact, all you had to do was ask me to drop the other girls and I would’ve.” You roll your eyes. 

“Sounds like you’re in love with me, or something.” 

Heeseung pulls away and smiles down at you. “Yeah. Or something.” You ignore the way your heart flutters and realize his bulge is poking your bare pussy. 

“You’re hard.” 

“So you’ve noticed.” 

You pinch his bicep. “You get hard eating pussy?” 

“Well yeah because it’s pussy, but it’s also you.” You start to talk but Heeseung silences you with a kiss. “Are you satisfied now that I’ve made you cum?” 

His vulgar words make you shy underneath his gaze all of a sudden. It’s a new feeling and you’re not quite sure how to navigate it, especially with the way he’s staring down at you with a raised eyebrow. Heeseung is still your best friend who gives you shit for everything. You suppose you’re grateful that he’s not changing who he is just because he knows what you look like naked. 

“You know what? Actually, I don’t think I’m satisfied.” 

Heeseung grins wickedly and pulls his body off of your chest to take his shirt off, his chiseled muscles on display for you to look at. He grabs your hand and places it on his abdomen. “Oh yeah? What else can I do for you, princess?”

You take your fingernails on his skin and feel his abs move beneath you. “I think I need you inside me too.”

“Were my mouth and fingers not enough?” You shake your head. Heeseung tuts as he gets off of the bed to step out of his pants and boxers, revealing a long and thick cock you’ve only ever heard about. It’s dripping with precum and you can’t stop your pussy from clenching or your mouth from drooling. 

You watch him get back on the bed one knee at a time before he’s hovering over you again, pulling your body to the position he wants as your legs spread before him. He looks down at his cock and tugs on it twice before letting his tip rest against your clit. 

“Need some of my cock?” 

“Yes, yes!”

“Who knew my best friend has such a tight pussy. Makes me wonder why I even bothered with other girls in the first place.” You seem to like hearing that. He brings his fingers to push the head of his cock inside of you before sinking halfway in, allowing you to adjust to his size as you squeeze him. “Oh yeah, honey. This pussy’s gonna make me cum hard, I already know that.” 

Heeseung holds your legs open and pushes his hips into you slowly. The drag feels so good with how warm he’s made you and you can feel him throbbing with every pass. You hold onto your breasts for stability, which seems to turn him on even more because he’s pushing your legs towards your chest and pushing into you with all of his might. 

You’re able to see him from where you lie. His eyebrows concentrate as he squeezes his eyes shut and sweat lines his forehead the more he thrusts inside of you. He sits up on his knees to angle his dick inside of you better and moans when you let out a strangled groan. The clench is so tight and amazing, and Heeseung can’t fathom why he’s never fucked you before tonight. 

“Sexy pussy,” he grunts, looking down at your abused hole as he thrusts into it. He brings his thumb to your clit and you yelp when he starts to rub it. “So wet and fuckable.” 

“Fuck me,” you manage to choke. 

And truthfully, you like Heeseung plowing into you at the pace he’s set. He’s not too fast but not too slow and you can feel him hit your cervix every single time. It’s no wonder girls were always lining up to have sex with him. Heeseung knows what he’s doing with his dick and you’re finding that out now. 

“You want me to fuck you?”

You nod pathetically. “Please fuck me.”

“How hard?” You bite your lip and shake your head at the humiliation of begging for him but Heeseung tuts and smacks your clit with his hand. “I said, how hard?”

“So hard that I feel you in my stomach!”

“Atta girl. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Heeseung slips out of you and pulls you up on your hands and knees, beckoning your back in a deep arch. He plants both of his feet on the mattress and bends until he’s sinking his cock back down inside of your pussy, letting your mixed wetness coat him again. 

He thrusts himself as his mouth hangs open. Heeseung grips your waist with both hands and squeezes you hard to balance himself as he throws his head back at the phenomenal sensation of your walls pulling him in every time he tries to pull out. Your eyes roll to the back of your head when you feel his balls against you and clutch into your bedsheets.

“Your balls are slapping against my pussy and it feels really good,” you manage to get out without stuttering. Heeseung feels you clench around him again and emphasizes his thrusts until the sound of his balls makes your ears vibrate. 

“Feels good when it hits your clit, doesn’t it?”

“So good, fuck!” 

Heeseung speeds his thrusts and relishes in your string of moans the more his tip nudges your g-spot. “Can you cum, baby? Cum around my cock like I know you want to. You’ve earned it after this week. Cum for me. Won’t you let me feel that?”

“Fuck, fuck, I’m cumming, Hee! I’m fucking cumming!”

“Yeahhh. Oh your cum is so good. Doing so well, making your pussy creamy all over me like that. Cum for me.”

And it feels so good that you follow his command. The orgasm Heeseung’s cock brings you feels like a physical manifestation of letting go of your worries and enjoying the present moment. Despite your legs and pussy aching, this feels an awful lot like freedom because your own mind isn’t caged by the inability to get yourself off. 

You don’t think, you can’t think. You’ve reached a point of nirvana that’s made your mind completely blank with the exception of your orgasm and the feeling of your best friend fucking right inside of you. His cock, so hard and warm, somehow feels so perfect lodged inside of you. 

Heeseung cock twitches and you feel it the more he pounds into you. He looks down and moans at the sight of his cock becoming white with your cum with every pointed thrust and doesn’t remember the last time he truly enjoyed himself to the point of being able to forget about everything except the person he’s with. Sex with other girls is incredible but there comes a point where he realizes that they’re using him just as much as he’s using them. But you, his best friend since he can remember, give him some kind of peace that he’s never felt before. This is more than just a quick fuck, even if neither of you address it.

“Your pussy’s gonna make me cum,” he moans through a choked grunt. “You feel so good baby, fuck.” 

Heeseung pulls out of your hole just enough to rest his tip against you. His warm cum floods against your folds and your body jerks at the way he twitches against you, but his hands keep hold of your hips to place you exactly where he wants you. He looks down to watch his cum spill from his slit and paint your pussy like the artwork that it is.

When he’s finished cumming, Heeseung leans back against his knees to spread you apart by gripping your asscheeks. “Would you look at that?” 

“Stop looking…”

He chuckles. “Why, baby? Your pussy’s so pretty with my cum on it.” 

You look back at him. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” He nods at you before pulling away to scour your room until he finds a box of tissues on your nightstand and grabs a few to clean you up to the best of his ability before cleaning himself up too. 

Overcome with a wave of tiredness, your body feels much more relaxed once you’ve slipped underneath the covers as Heeseung throws away the dirty tissues. He turns around when he hears the blankets ruffling and resists the urge to coo at you when you’ve tucked it underneath your chin. 

“Looks like you needed one good fuck to relax, hm?”

You blush. “Shut up.”

“No can do, Y/N.”

“I…”

Heeseung leans down towards you and tilts his head. “You what?”

You avert his gaze. “I liked it when you called me baby.” 

“Yeah?” He pushes some of your hair back as you yawn. “I can do that.” 

“Are you gonna go home?”

“Not if you let me stay the night.” You don't have it in you to talk back to him after all he’s done for you. Instead, you open the covers as Heeseung puts his boxers back on and watch him smile before climbing in next to you. “Come here.” He tucks your body on his chest and you’re too tired to argue with him. 

His heartbeat puts you to sleep.

tagging: @zara2318 @markmato @heechwe @horijiro @ggumjilgeong-yjn @porunarefuu @leov3rse. :)