#i finally have enough asks to get it all in order !

[messylxve]

MEETING SUPERMAN──SUPERMAN!

2025!superman x reader 2.1k fluff

!spoiler-free for superman (2025)!

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Maybe today was just the worst day of your life. It started awfully when you realized you left your balcony door open, letting in so much rain water that your fresh laundry was now soaked. Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, you slept through every single one of your alarms, making you more than late for your opening shift. 

You might’ve left with two left shoes had they not already been left by the door. 

“You’re late,” your boss grunted when you finally came in, quick to pick up the coffee order he was working on. “I had to open for you.” 

Ring ring ring. You see a lady at the counter, impatiently slamming her finger down over the bell for your attention. “Excuse me, I’m ready to order.” 

“Just a minute ma’am.” You plastered a smile on your face as you walked by her, following your boss as he began to gather his own things to leave. 

“I know I’m late,” you sighed. “I slept through my alarm and I accidentally left my bal–,” 

“I didn’t ask for excuses,” he interrupted. “You’re late, it goes on record. If it happens again I will fire you.” 

With that, he pushed past you, ignoring you as you followed sharply on his tail. 

Ring ring ring. “Excuse me! Ma’am! I said I’m ready to order!” 

“Just a minute ma’am, please!” You look to see your boss, nearing the Employee’s Only door, ready to flee. 

“Respectfully sir, I’ve shown up every single day I’ve been scheduled and more. I’m here, on time, every day and I’ve had no complaints from any customer. Is there any way you can give me a pass, just this one time?” 

When he finally stopped, you were rather met with the man’s stone face and a finger being pointed in your face. “You’re not special. You are not immune to the rules. If I need to replace you today, I will. If I need to replace you right this second, I will. See that I don’t have to and do. Your. Job.” 

With a final scathing glare, he grasped the door and slammed it shut, violently enough that the window of the door seemed to shake under the force; leaving you alone with the same woman ringing the bell incessantly. 

“Hello! It’s like I’m not even here,” she snarked when you finally met her at the counter, acting as if you weren’t on the verge of tears right in front of her. 

“I apologize for the wait ma’am ho–,” 

“I hope you’re not expecting some tip after this horrible service. This generation doesn’t know the first thing about treating a customer right.” 

On any other day, you might’ve found a way to ease the woman, offer a discount or crack a joke at your own expense, but instead, you plastered a thin smile on your lips. 

“Of course not ma’am, how may I help you?” 

At this point, you had decided it couldn’t possibly be any worse of a day, so you pushed on and let it move past you, flashing each customer the same smile and infuriatingly friendly ‘customer service’ voice. Maybe the universe would grant you some semblance of mercy. 

Ring ring ring

On goes the smile. 

“What can I do for you today, sir?” 

“All the money in the bag.” 

You froze, all color in your face draining as you looked up at the man. He couldn’t have been much taller than you, dressed in all black and a ski mask. From his hoodie pocket you could see the imprint of his hand gripping his weapon, finger wrapped around the trigger, prepared. 

“Don’t scream, just empty the register. Now.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you tried to recall anything on what to do if the store was to be robbed. 

You couldn’t remember a single detail. 

All you could remember was the one thing that would likely get you shot on the spot. “I can–I can’t.” 

Your hands trembled and you could feel the tears well up in your eyes as the man grew visibly angrier. 

“The fuck do you mean you can’t,” he hissed, grabbing the unwanted attention of some of the nearby customers. “Take the money out the damn register and give it to me!” 

“I can’t open the register without a key.” 

He grit his teeth angrily. “Where’s the key?” 

“In the–in the back.” 

You watched as the gears in his head churned, rationalizing his next few decisions. 

That is if a rational decision to him meant sending the mass of customers into a frantic chaos. 

With a grand show and display, he whipped out the gun, firing a warning shot into the air. But before anyone was quick enough to move from his path, he grabbed hold of a woman, pressing the gun into her side. 

“Get the key. Unlock the drawer and give me the money. Every minute you’re back there is another bullet.” 

You nodded your head frantically, practically tripping on your feet as you rushed into the back. Every second felt agonizing as your brain screamed at you how short a minute really was. 

On any other day in any other circumstances, you wouldn’t have dreamed of leaving the mess you were making, but it didn’t matter. Every inch of the place was flipped over until you finally got your hands on the tiny metal key. 

BANG

You jumped at the sound of the first gunshot, dropping the key on the ground. 

“Five seconds left,” you heard him scream. “The next one’s going through her!” 

In a trembling panic, you fumbled to pick up the key. 

Like a hummingbird trapped in a cage, your heart slammed violently against your chest as you shoved yourself through the doors, hands in the air. 

“I have it! I have it!” 

The man looked deranged as he shakily pointed the gun back at you. 

“Don’t shoot,” you attempted to reason, stepping closer to the register—and by proxy, him. “I’m unlocking the drawer and we can all move on like nothing happened.” 

You opened the register quick, the soft chime of coins being pushed around and the drawer sliding open feeling louder than ever. Your fingers trembled uncontrollably as you went for the big bills first. 

He kept the gun on you, his hold on the woman only tightening as his eyes twitched, flickering between you and the door, the windows, the street. 

Then you heard the wailing sirens. Quiet at first, maybe a couple blocks away, but they grew louder, nearing closer. 

The man stiffened, his eyes narrowing in on you. 

“Did you call them?” His voice, somehow just as threatening, was just a whisper to the thickly tense air. 

You shook your head. “I–I didn’t, someone outsi–,” 

Red and blue flooded into the cafe, painting all the fear on your face as you stared down the barrel of his gun. 

It all moved in slow motion, the noise reaching your ears before everything else caught up to you. BANG!

You saw his finger lay down on the trigger. You saw the anger on his face as his impulses took over. You felt the fear of death drown you in and overwhelm you. But you never felt the bullet. 

One minute your eyes were clamped shut, prepared for the painful impact. The next minute, your eyes peeled open to see a man. Tall, fearless, and dressed in red, blue and yellow. Like something out of a comic book. 

“Don’t worry,” he reassured, his voice deep yet comforting. “You’re safe.” 

In a blink the man was replaced with a large gust of wind, lifting your hair in a wild mess with you. 

When you looked back to the gunman, his hands were behind his back, bound by the man in blue. “No need to fear,” he assured the room, pushing the man towards the exit. “He’ll be in the hands of the police now.” 

Somewhere between then and him turning the man over to the cops, the room burst into applause, praising the mystery man in a cape. But you were completely and utterly stilled, watching as the man spoke with the policemen. 

“No ulterior motives, no prizes,” he explained to the officers. “All I want is truth, justice, and a better tomorrow.” 

You watched as he cut you one last look before disappearing into the sky. 

“All I’m saying dear is if you had a more stable job, an office job, none of this would’ve happened. You certainly wouldn’t have to worry about looking silly on TV.” 

Night came quick and all you wanted to do was collapse into your bed and forget everything that happened. Instead you were reaching into the second hour of a long extended phone call with your mother as you considered the height below you from your balcony railing

“Mom,” you groaned into the phone. “I’m not having this talk with you again.” 

“We’re not having a talk,” she exclaimed in a tone that suggested the two of you were definitely having the talk. “I just think if you went for something more practical like med school, not study how to write for 4 years.” 

“An English Writing degree is practical mom.” 

“Sure,” she hummed. “For a teacher. I don’t see you applying for any teaching jobs anytime soon. All of your time is spent on that silly blog that no one’s reading anymore. Your brother says you’re running out of material.” 

You sighed, hanging your head over the balcony. “I should turn in for the night. Goodbye mom.” 

You could practically hear her shaking her head at you disappointingly. “Good night dear.” 

With a final click, you shoved your phone in your pocket. Somehow, your headache only worsened since you left work. Because of course it wasn’t the cops interviewing you or being robbed or being held at gunpoint that stressed you out the most, but your mother questioning your life choices. 

You groaned loudly, borderlining a scream if it wasn’t for your neighbors as you ran your hands across your tired face. 

“Long day?” 

You gasped, stumbling back and falling onto the ground below you at the sudden sight of the red caped man hovering in front of you. 

“It’s you,” you squeezed out, crawling backwards in shock as he landed softly on your balcony. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you like that.” 

You watched as he held out a hand for you, towering above you. 

This couldn’t be real. You had to be hallucinating. 

“It’s…okay,” you mumbled. You hesitated, scanning his hand as if he’d magically reveal something from it. To your surprise, it was soft, gentle, not what you were expecting from such a grandiose man. 

With little to no effort, he pulled you up to your feet, allowing you to catch yourself on his arm when you stumbled forward. 

“I never got to see if you were okay after today. Imagine to my surprise I see you on your balcony when I fly by.” 

“Fate, perhaps,” you breathed, a part of you still stunned and amazed by the marvel of this man in front of you. “I’m sorry for asking but, who are you?” 

He tilted his head off to the side, measuring his words. “A humble protector of my city. Nothing more.” 

You nodded slowly, taking in his words. “No title, or superhero name? You’ve already got the cape.” 

He smiled. And not a half smile or forced, plastered on smile, but a bright shining smile that only made sense for a man like him. “I haven’t given it much thought. I suppose the people will name me on their own.” 

He was genuine. Something in you could just tell. 

“One more question,” you blurted. 

He lifted his eyebrows, curiosity piquing his interest. 

“Why?” 

You watched as his brows furrowed back down, not quite understanding your question. “Why?” 

“I mean, the world has had its fair share of magically powered people. Not many of them have wanted to do what you’re doing…Why are you doing it?” 

You watched him, studied him as he conjured up some semblance of an answer. “Because I want to see a better tomorrow. And unlike most, I actually have the power to change it. So why not use it?” 

Once again you found yourself nodding slowly, entranced in his every single word, striking you right to the heart. “I for one can’t wait to see it then.” 

The man only smiled, taking his few steps back. “You stay safe.” 

In a gust of wind he was gone, his blue and red losing itself into the night sky. And you watched and waited until his presence faded. 

With an excited grin, you practically threw yourself to your computer, opening the 'silly little blog' your mom couldn’t help but shoot jabs at.

 You thought back to the man, everything you remember about him. Something about his presence just screamed super. Super grand, super humble, super charming. Super handsome. But most of all, a superhero. A real one. 

TRUTH, JUSTICE, AND A BETTER TOMORROW

It was a seemingly normal day at work when a man named Superman saved my life. 

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credit to @enchanthings for divider

taglist: @whothehellismack @casp1an-sea @kissmxcheek @moongirl27 @pleasecallmeunhinged

[dailyralsei]

thinking about this comic again. heh. allow me to textdump something i talked about with someone else in my replies on another site plus some new brain thoughts... biiig big text dump under the cut

ralsei likes to keep everything proper and in order in terms of roles: in chapter 1 he's stern about susie's misbehavior when she should be kinder as a hero, because she is "supposed to act like one". when she goes against this predetermined role, he tells her off but didn't realize he was being hurtful in the moment. it's established from then on that susie is the damage dealer with rude buster, ralsei is the support/healer with healprayer, and kris is the tactician with their ACTs. those are their unique abilities. in chapter 2 in the sweet cap n cakes fight, ralsei says kris's unique ability is directing susie and ralsei to ACT, and he likely says this not just because he wants to keep each person's roles unique, but also so everyone feels important and not left out.

at the beginning of the church dark world kris gets badly injured due to the glass and susie tries to heal them but it doesn't help because susie's healing at that point isn't strong enough to make a significant impact. ralsei finds them, presumably actually looking for the final prophecy panel so he knows where it is and to direct susie away from it (he says "where is it" before appearing on screen). susie asks ralsei if he can teach her how to heal better, and in hurrying to heal kris he pushes her aside. after that, ralsei tells susie not to try to heal people on her own not just because she's "not good enough" yet as it was a dire situation, but i believe it's because he knows that it's not her specific assigned job. notice how he says "don't try to fix it /alone/" instead of "you need to learn how to heal better/i can teach you how to heal better". ralsei of course doesn't realize the way he acted was harmful to susie because he's under the impression that everyone has "their thing" and healing is his thing so he should be called to help as he's the healer, and his purpose is especially important to him because he believes being a darkner is all about being useful to lightners. he, specifically, wants to be useful and called for his role because he says it's what makes darkners fulfilled, but i also feel like ralsei in particular has self worth issues more than other darkners, which amplifies his desire to be useful and to be used when needed.

then comes the next instance of ralsei being "the healer" when they all fall down into the dark zone before meeting jackenstein. i wasn't able to add this in the comic because it would have made it longer than it already is, would have included a page about it if i had more time. susie says something like "here kris, let me-" and then ralsei maxheals all of them with one spell. he says something like "everyone feeling better?/everyone okay?" and susie is bothered by this because she is again denied the chance to practice her healing, which we learn is what she's been trying to do ever since she learned how to heal after the jackenstein fight when gerson talks to her. she says "i should just stick to what i'm good at, the hurting people magic", even she knew there was an established "everyone's good at one unique thing and that's why we're all equally important and to stick to our roles"

and then, gerson pushes her to use her healing after she declares quitting so she can believe in herself again. she solves jackenstein's problem by accident, but ralsei doesn't know that until she points out that she was trying to heal the old man. ralsei is surprised that she did it after so many of his failed attempts, and he realizes he's been healing the wrong thing this entire time trying to repeatedly heal jackenstein. he /is/ the healer after all, this is his thing! he's supposed to be the best at healing, he should know how to heal someone that's in pain. but no, the person with the worse healing ability, the /damager/, is the one to solve the problem. iirc when he says "i was wondering why my healing wasn't working" he uses the sad smile portrait (the eyebagless version of that one where he has eyebags and is smiling). when he says "i suppose i was only healing the outside" iirc the dialogue portrait is the surprised neutral, as if pointing out "i guess i was wrong, at the one thing i'm good at doing......". he believes he failed at his role, he didn't fulfill his purpose. and we know how much he clings to his purpose, as if he thinks being useful is the only thing that makes him likeable. he even says "if there's one thing i like about me, it's my face" implying he doesn't like anything about himself, or doesn't see anythimg about himself that is likeable.

i believe ralsei is proud of susie when she maxheals all of them before the titan fight, that's why the page where that happens has him in awe at susie's abilities instead of resenting her. his dialogue portrait is the surprised blush when saying "susie..." because he thinks it's nice that susie is powerful at healing now. in fact i don't think he ever resented susie, just beat himself up for not being "useful enough". he beats himself up for no longer being unique and he believes he is no longer important or needed because of this. and i headcanon that that's why, in the most important fight they've faced so far where you'd need healing the most, that DUALHEAL becomes less and less effective every time it's cast, because ralsei and susie are working together, and ralsei thinks he's a failed healer. the one time ralsei has a significant helping hand with healing, a REAL *DUAL* heal, he falters, because he doesn't feel worthy anymore, because he's not uniquely the best healer and therefore he's not important anymore.

okay more brain thoughts time!! not specifically about the comic but i wanted to ramble so here you go

another thing, at the start of chapter 4 he mentions developing his own fears. at the end of chapter 3 he gives that horrible "pep talk" to tenna about darkners all going obsolete eventually and i think one of his fears is just that; even if he says it's supposed to go that way he's still terrified of it. he doesn't want to be thrown away. he doesn't want to be alone again.

he says at the beginning that he's been waiting "his whole life" for the heroes to arrive. then in chapter 2 he says "it's been ever so long", then susie says "we've only been gone a day" and he says something like "oh! that is, short, isn't it?" as if a day feels like AGES to him, very likely because he got created mere days before chapter 1 takes place. could have even been created the same day as chapter 1 because another lightner would have found the supply closet dark fountain easily if it was around for longer than a week. and it's also sadder to think that he felt like it was such a long time because he had nothing to do but prepare for the heroes alone, sit and wait alone, practice giving tutorials alone, rehearsing his summary of the prophecy alone... hiding his face, because he wasn't sure if the heroes would like it, because he didn't know if there's anything likeable about himself... he probably would have never taken that cloak off if it weren't for susie.......

now i'm going on a tangent but since i believe noelle was supposed to be the second hero and susie is the girl in "at last, the girl" if susie wasn't late, if alphys said kris and noelle should get the chalk, if noelle was the one to enter the dark world with kris, ralsei really would have never taken that cloak off. noelle wouldn't have told him to, because she likely wouldn't have been so blunt towards ralsei like susie was. that's why he's cloaked in the prophecy murals. GODDDDDDD

okay that's enough rambling.... they gotta kill me man. instead of brain, there is ralsei.

the healer ( all 11 pages + 2 new bonus pages )

this is a comic i made based on chapter 4, where ralsei is noticeably protective over the ability to heal against susie. what really pushed me to make the comic was learning that DUALHEAL in the final boss battle of chapter 4 gets worse every time you cast it, and at first i couldn't understand why ralsei was being a bit mean towards susie. when i learned about the thing with DUALHEAL, it clicked.

thank you for reading :) let me know what you think! i love reading comments and tags!!! it's my favorite part of posting on tumblr!!

[idiasweat]

the isekai equation

when idia said he wanted his favorite character for his birthday, he didn't mean IN HIS BED! ft. fem!reader warnings: like two slightly suggestive lines, lonely loser reader do I even have to say that anymore, switching POVs, suspension of disbelief, more notes at the end word count: 4.5k

Idia had seen it all.

RPG, MMORPG, sandbox, otomes, fighters, puzzles, gacha, FPS, tycoons, you name it, he's played it, replayed it, and reviewed it, too. And he's never gotten bored of it. If you'd ask him, there's nothing that beats wasting money on a poorly-written piece of junk he'll completely forget about in a few months... er, anything to keep his hands and mind busy is good by him.

Recently, he's gotten back into gacha. He started off with some girly dating sim that was recommended by a mutual, but he found the concept unoriginal and the dialogue grating (seriously, how many of these magical schools can creators milk until people get tired of em? Geez). And then he tried a gacha advertised towards the male gamer demographic, but all of the female characters were painfully boring and made from the same model- tall, thin, and huge boobs... which, believe it or not, did get old.

He finally settled on an obscure beta he saw mentioned on one of the gaming forums he frequents- a foreign language indie gacha with no coherent theme or plot. Mundane, magicless high school. Almost an immediate no, but his last hyperfixation had worn off and he was starting to feel the pull of reality again. He was desperate.

...And now he's here.

Idia doesn't want to reminisce on how much money he's poured into this "hobby". He's probably personally funded the entire thing for another five years, and then some. His walls, decked out in posters, his bags covered in pins and charms, he even pre-pre-ordered the limited edition plush of the main character- he didn't even know you could do that! His name is first on the list of sponsors, because he's been funding every new chapter single-handedly for four months.

And it's all because of his girl.

This game, set in a strange country Idia was sure they'd made up, written in a language he had to rely on vigilante translators to read, caught his eye (and credit card) on account of three crucial differences from the first two:

It was an original idea; none of that "magic school hunky boy" crap,

The character models were all different enough to be interesting,

Idia's girl.

Because, see, all that it takes for Idia to tank his life savings is just one character he really, really likes. The plot of the game doesn't have to be good, nor does it have to exist at all. The graphics can be shit, the cutscenes can drag on forever, the fighting can be lame, all of this is excusable, as long as there's a cute character for Idia to sink his teeth into and throw around like a chew toy.

And there are- characters, that is, cute ones and funny ones and ridiculously entertaining ones, there's a stoner, a goth rocker, a pirate girl, a stereotypical nice blonde with big boobs and the highest HP in the game who the player character is no doubt supposed to fall for, and they were all fine, but they weren't Idia's girl.

No. No, she was a minor character, only one SSR, never featured in events, usually only there as a foil for the booby blonde.

And she's perfect.

Bitter. Always mumbling something mean about her classmates under her breath, her hands in her pockets and her posture awful, dark circles under her eyes (or is that eyeliner? no one can decide), hoodie hiding half her face. She hardly has any speaking lines, and most of them are unintelligible, nervous nonsense, and sometimes pitiful attempts at a joke. She's everything.

Of course, Idia didn't start calling her "his". That was Ortho's thing- once Idia started bringing a charm outside with him to calm his nerves, it was decided. Since then, even in the tiny online fandom, she's been "his girl". He's commissioned an embarrassing amount of art of his insert with this character, kept in a special folder on his computer. He's paid premium prices to have her voice actress read him custom messages. He's decked out an ita bag with fanmade merch- buttons, charms, pins, even photocards he had specially made. There is... a body pillow involved, and he won't share any more than that.

Now it's been four blissful, wonderful months. She- his girl- has single-handedly gotten him through his third year at Night Raven College. Through the humiliation, the rejection, the suffering, his orientation, his classes, every long, pointless lecture from Headmage Crowley, she's been there, in his pocket, or at his desk, or in his bed.

I don't need 3D women, he decided, some time ago, happily playing the latest chapter update. What I need is my girl to get her own event... I'd trade a thousand IRL dates for that!

And, as if the planets were aligning just for him (or because his begging in the official Discord server was probably getting really annoying), the game mods answered his cries. An event with a new SSR is debuting on his birthday.

Idia has, of course, been grinding non-stop for extra pulls, praying to the gacha gods, lighting candles, holding vigils, having Ortho run and re-run the statistic probability of pulling his girl.

The night before his birthday, Idia sits at the edge of his bed. He looks towards the ceiling, past the roof, past the ground above, past the simpleton plebes living their boring lives, and he begs- just once, to the planets, to the gods. Please, he says, All I want for my birthday is her.

...But Idia doesn't really believe in kiddy crap like making birthday wishes, so once he's done groveling, just to get it out of his system, he slumps over in bed like a dead body and goes to sleep.

EEEP! EEP! EEP!

7am already? he groans, turning over in bed and trying to tug the blankets closer, but they're stuck between the wall. He swears, he just laid down...

It's cold. He tugs on his blanket a little harder, but no budge. Not even a little. Must be really stuck. Damn, he sleeps messy.

Idia yawns into his pillow, and then finally forces himself to sit up, if only to free the blanket from between the-

Oh... fuck.

He blinks. And then again. And then he rubs his eyes, as if the human being in his bed was just an afterthought of a bleary rest.

He looks around the room. Ortho is gone, likely getting him breakfast. The door is still shut and locked. He looks back down. Definitely a person. Yup. That's a person.

A girl, actually.

His stomach drops. He leans closer, if only to inspect that she's real and not a huge human-shaped rutabaga or something. He pokes her cheek. That's the real stuff, alright. Silicone doesn't get oily like that. Neither do vegetables.

She's lying on top of his blanket, not under it, curled up like a cat, her breathing soft and light and she's... kinda cute.

Almost reminds him of...

Squint. NO!

Idia's eyes widen, and in a moment of panic, he turns her onto her back to see her face, and it's-

NO, no, that's- NO.

Wishes don't come true for guys like him!

As far as you can remember, last night you had gotten into your bed at home, turned out the lights, and drifted off into a suspiciously restful sleep.

When you woke up somewhere completely different, you thought it nothing more than a weird nightmare. You don't dream all that often, at least not anymore, so there was some novelty to it- you'd never been in a room like this. It almost looked like... a boy's. Ha! Now you KNOW you're dreaming. You hadn't so much as spoken to a boy, let alone slept in one's bed.

At least you'll have something noteworthy to think about at the breakfast table.

You roll over, sighing contentedly. A more outgoing, interesting person might have gotten out of bed to explore this strange, new world, but you had other things to worry about. Tomorrow is the most important presentation of your life, and you can't waste any energy on a nightmare about being in a boy's bedroom.

Besides... this was a dream, after all. You didn't see the point in poking around your own subconscious... you do enough of that when you're awake. Too much, really.

Snrk. To think, dreaming about sleeping in a boy's bed. As if any boy would like you. It's almost laughable. As far as you're concerned, you are the most boring, unremarkable, bland, plain, depressingly loserish minor character in someone else's story, that could possibly ever exist.

No one would want you.

You toss and turn, trying to get comfortable in your unfamiliar dream room (it smells in here. Can you even smell things in dreams?) and your fingers brush against something warm.

...Which suddenly shoots away, and your primitive human mind can't resist the urge to look. Considering that you were expecting a giant spider, or a venomous snake, or your classmates, or something else mundanely nightmarish, when you see a hand next to your head, you panic.

"Eek!" or something like that, maybe it was more of a "HURGHK!" when you leapt out of bed, tumbling onto the cold, unfamiliar floor- covered in dirty t-shirts and boxers, abandoned magazines, candy wrappers, stray pieces of paper that all read I. Shroud in the designated "name" slots. Who, Shroud? You wonder, but only briefly, because there's suddenly a boy there.

"S-sorry! I didn't wanna wake you up!"

He's leering over you, eyes wide, hair... uh, blue. And moving- flickering? Like a fire? Though it's not burning, but his face is, bright red and embarrassed.

You blink, still on the dirty floor, stuck on your back. Boys don't have glowing blue hair where you're from. Unless that's some secret male power that they keep to themselves.

"A-are you- u-uh- h-haaaah!!" he squeals, voice trembling in a way you've never heard on a boy above thirteen before. He looks... afraid of you, which is understandable considering your just-woken-up face, but, it's not that...

He... he's... smiling.

...WEIRDLY. This is starting to feel like less of a dream, and more of a hostage situation.

"You're real!" he says, sitting at the edge of the bed. "I-I didn't want to believe it, I thought I was getting an insanely good android for- um- actually, haha, don't worry about that..."

Your gaze drifts over the discarded school papers you'd fallen on, and your eyes widen. 'History of Magic' 'Potionology' 'Incantations' this guy must be really into LARPing...

...Or...

No. You can't consider the possibility that you've been isekai'd into a fantasy world. You'd been pathetically begging the universe for that exact thing to happen to you for years, but there's no... no way... that you...

This guy has glowing blue fire for hair, you remind yourself. No one you know would go through the trouble of playing such a bizarre and elaborate prank on you.

"...Where am I..." you start, voice weak from sleep and a mysterious sense of anxiety that you only feel now that you know you're not dreaming.

The boy stiffens, and then suddenly looks quite serious, as if realizing that you have... no idea who he is.

He opens his mouth, and-

"Good morning, you two! I have breakfast!"

You both turn to the door, where a boy, much younger than the one above you, is... floating...?

"Ortho!" the bigger, bluer one shrieks. "You- you knew about- but-"

"I'm so happy to see you finally making friends, Idy! I thought you were having a sleepover!"

You blink. What the fuck is happening...?

"Don't- a-ah, um Idia, call me Idia, in front of company!" Idia says, his face as hot as the steaming breakfast Ortho had carried in. The younger boy, hovering over the floor and... made of metal, or something, sets down the tray of food and giggles.

"Whatever you say! Just let me know if you need anything else!"

You stared, wide-eyed, at the flying metal boy as he left, the sound of mechanical clicks, whirs, and the faint hum of a fan following.

"S-sorry, that was my brother," Idia mutters, slipping off the bed and almost extending a hand to help you up, but pulling it back before you can right yourself, as if afraid to touch you.

"U-uh... um... c-can I..."

He bites his lip, and then takes a deep breath, mumbling numbers to himself. And then:

"What's your name?"

You blink. Okay, maybe waking up in a complete stranger's bedroom warrants a question like that. But you're still not exactly used to being asked about yourself, and you almost look over your shoulder to make sure that there's no one else he could be talking to.

He exhales shakily when you tell him, twitching erratically, like a malfunctioning machine. Speaking of which...

As your eyes adjust to the dark of the room (even though a nearby digital clock says it's 7:23), a thought comes to mind: if this really is a magical world, as indicated by the spells printed on paper handouts as if they were math problems, then it's not a very impressive one. This room is pretty much how you'd imagined any normal guy's- the dirty laundry, the three monitors, the gaming consoles and empty candy wrappers, the lingering smells of sweat and something earthen and strong, shelves full of manga and figures, and then there's...

...Oh... oh... that can't be good.

Idia might just have a heart attack. But what a great way to die, huh? Of all the times he's imagined waking up in bed with one of his all-time faves, he never once entertained the possibility that it might actually happen.

But here you are. And Ortho had seen you, too, confirming that Idia isn't dreaming or hallucinating... but if he was, he would never want to stop. How many plebes out there have begged for their waifu to be real? And how many have had that prayer answered? Only one, that's right!!!!! ONLY HIM!!!

It's what he deserved, after all. Being dealt such a shitty hand in life gave Idia a bit of a complex about these things.

Now, he just had to contend with the fact that a human being from a non-magical, normal, mundane fantasy country just woke up in an arcane academy with no family, friends, worldly possessions, legal identification, or sense of self. Easy! He can feel the grin on his face again- he's gone over the logistics of this sort of situation in his head a thousand times, he even has an emergency isekai instruction manual and kit on standby. Not that he ever thought he'd use it, but, hey, his fanboy delusions are finally paying off!!! As long as you stick by his side, he'll have you a residency card from the Isle of Woe, and a room with your name on it!

What're you staring at?

Idia snaps out of his fanboy stupor for just long enough to catch the terrified look on your face. You're not afraid of him, are you? That would suck...

But, no, you're looking behind him. At the wall- no, the bed...

Oh... CRAP.

What's done is done, but Idia still throws himself over the body pillow in some valiant (but vain) attempt to protect your sweet, innocent eyes. It's no use. You've already seen it. And you don't stop there- you slowly rise to your feet, wandering the room and his possessions with your eyes- posters, prints, charms, pins, his wall of paper printouts...

Idia can't force down the lump of fear in his throat. He laughs, awkwardly. "I-I can explain,"

Well... you were... going to find out sooner or later... right?

"That's me," is all you say, your tone cold and distant, as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over your head. That stunned look on your face isn't helping tamp the flaming anxiety in his stomach.

Idia swallows. "N-no, it's not like that, u-um- see! Wait, see!"

He says, his trembling hands reaching for his phone. The game has never loaded slower- and the second he's past the title screen, he pushes it into your face.

"This is your school!" he insists, though you already know that.

You stare at the screen, your lip upturned in that cute pout (just like your sprite... wow, this really is real!) and you hesitantly take his phone from him.

"S-see, here're your classmates, and... yeah, um, I don't have all the cards yet, but the system is- n-never mind. S-see? I'm not some creep!" Idia rambles. "Well... er, not the kind you probably think I am, anyway..." You blink.

"I... don't understand,"

"It-it's a game," he tries, tapping erratically at the screen. "You're a character in my favorite game. Your world is... this. Here. See? See? Um, this is your card, and..."

You suddenly grip the phone with both hands, your eyes widening at the screen, at the SSR with maxed-out stats and peak HP. The art, the gentle lighting, every detail in your clothing...

"This is me?" you ask, seemingly haven forgotten your fear, if only for a moment.

Idia nods. "Yeah, and there are some R cards here..."

"I look..." you start, your voice softening to its usual quiet tone and cadence... Idia could swoon. "I look so... good..."

"Yes!" he agrees immediately, giving you his phone entirely in a show of unrestrained trust and vulnerability. He knew you, after all- didn't he?

Your eyes widen as you tap through the cards, and then the ongoing event banner, the chapters, the sidestories, the stats, all of the hours and work that Idia has poured into your character, and, then... you smile. It's small, almost unnoticeable, identical to the somewhat unsettling face your sprite makes when you're feeling confident enough to show emotion in-game. Idia almost feels light-headed.

"I-I... ah..." you mutter. "I can't believe... someone actually... likes me..."

His smile drops. LIKES YOU?!

You couldn't really put a word to the feeling.

You've been othered your whole life. No friends, no close family members, no shoulders to lean on, no hands to take yours and pull you out of the muck. Even your classmates ignored you, in your tiny class of twenty, no one even knew your name. You've never been good at anything, or, at least, that's what it felt like watching as everyone around you succeeded.

The idea of someone liking you... or thinking about you at all... is almost laughable. A fantasy you reserve for restless nights in bed, tossing and turning and fussing with your blankets, the weight in your stomach dragging you down, deeper, darker into yourself, trapping you in the bottomless pit of your own mind. The thought, the daydream of being loved, of having so much as a friend to take your hand or tuck away your worst insecurities, was the wick of a candle, guiding you through the dark while hot melting wax pooled in your hands, the weakest of winds threatening to extinguish your only will to live at the slightest turn.

You were worse than nothing; you were only one thing. The flicker of misplaced hope in the hollow of your chest.

Most people are bursting with light and life and energy, storing their daydreams alongside their memories, making wishes for menial things like a thinner waist or better hair when they were already glowing with the bright, blinding light of acceptance, of a family who understood them, of friends who loved them, of a world who welcomed them with the warm, open arms of a loving mother. Most people didn't spend every day cursing under their breath and begging to be taken away, to be somewhere, anywhere but here. They had no reason to.

But you- you had nothing but the hope itself, that someday, things would be different.

That you would find a place that liked you, that understood you, that welcomed you.

And now you're scrolling your tag on some alternate-timeline Twitter, staring at the lewd art under your name.

This is a bit more than being "liked".

You look up at Idia- the boy who had, as he explained, "wished you here", and you hand back his phone. You'd have to get your hands on your own and continue your scrolling soon, but you've seen enough for now.

"Well?" he asks, hands still trembling.

You shrug. "I believe you,"

Idia exhales, the red draining from his face as he sits on the bed beside you.

"Told you," he mutters. "You're not like, the fan favorite, but you're definitely in the top ten. We ran a poll last month... uh... y-yeah. And I'm the top poster! See!"

He shoves his screen back in your face, proudly showing off his profile. Six thousand posts, you note. He gets out of the house about as much as you do.

"All of this is... me?" you ask cautiously, taking the phone from his outstretched hands yet again, scrolling through the thousands of text posts and retweets. You count at least three analysis threads, and that's just from this week.

"W-well, uh some of the main cast, too..." he says. "But mostly you- yeah. And I have a lot of mutuals who are in the same boat."

You glance away for a second. It's surreal; no one in your home world ever gave you a second glance, but here... hundreds if not thousands of young men are obsessively posting about you at every hour of the day.

Is this what it feels like to be famous? You can't say. There's a difference between being an actor or a singer and being a fictional character- these people are talking about you as if you're not real... which, you suppose you're not. Not until a few minutes ago.

Creepy. But you suppose it's a matter of perspective.

So, you have adoring fans who would die in war for you, but to them, you're only pixels on a screen. There's a definite sense of anonymity in that, which helps with the existential dread. Somewhat.

You're still a little hung up on the "being adored" thing.

"What do they like about me?" you ask, scrolling the tag again. Lewd, lewd, meme, cute fanart, ship art of you and a girl you hate, ship art of you and a guy you don't even talk to, lewd...

"H-huh?" Idia asks, red-faced at the question. As if the reason was... embarrassing, or something. You can feel a fever of defensiveness burning in your chest, and your fingers tremble.

"It-it's not that simple... a-and, um... I'm sure it's different for everyone..."

"What's it for you, then?" you snap, without really meaning to- his weird attitude is freaking you out. Is it really so horrible to like you?

Idia blinks, his blush darkening, and he looks at his hands.

"F-for me... um... I guess," he bites his lip. "You're just... real."

Obviously. You shouldn't have to remind him that you are, in fact, a person, and one who's starting to feel a little pissed off.

He catches that look on your face and sits up straighter, coughing and wheezing awkwardly.

"I-I mean! The other characters, they're- they're great, but- they're characters, y'know? Perfect reflections of our imperfect reality... but you, um, you're real. You're not like those standard anime protags, all happy-go-lucky and likeable- er, not that you're unlikeable- w-well... I'm just... not so good at talking, either. And I'm kind of an outcast myself. I guess you make me feel less alone. Like I'm not some horrible unlikeable freak... if I can like you, then someone will surely like me... right?" he sighs. "Ugh, never mind. That's cringe,"

"No," you say, reflexively. You could only make out about half of what he was saying, but that half was all you needed to hear.

"It-it's okay. If I had a character like me... yeah. I get it."

Idia sighs, deflating, the fear and restraint fleeing from his body in a single breath. He pushes the hair away from his eyes, just for it to fall back into place.

The silence lingers a moment too long. Idia looks away, fidgeting with the zipper of his hoodie, his eyes still somewhat clouded and foggy from sleep. You shift, crossing and then un-crossing your legs, looking through the dark cavern of his room. Glowing blue boys from other worlds like me, you think.

"...And you're cute," he blurts out, refusing to let the silence continue for even a second longer.

You turn and stare, taken aback by his sudden declaration. He won't even look in your direction, his face (and hair) beet-red.

Glowing blue boys from other worlds think I'm cute, you think.

Idia's heart pounds painfully in his chest, as if trying to make its own escape from the uncomfortable situation.

He had to say it. How could he not? And just let you sit there, thinking all those mean thoughts about yourself... he wouldn't stand for it! Or, uh, sit for it. His legs feel like wet noodles right now, like if he tried to make a break for the door he would melt into a sad Idia-shaped puddle on the first step. Besides, what good would that do? You wouldn't leave his room without knowing what's out there, so you'd be waiting for him to come back. There's nowhere he could go where you wouldn't be- not now, anyway. And he's got a tiny plastic version of you in his pocket.

But you're staring at him now, eyes wide and intense, face blank, and he can't do anything but sweat through his palms and then wipe that sweat on his pants, as discreetly as possible.

Cute... why couldn't he say "well-designed" or something? What's with him and making everything weird?!

After a moment, you look away, at your feet.

"...Yeah... I figured. I saw all the porny art," you say, crossing your legs. Idia sighs, releasing his tension to the wind for the fifteenth time that morning.

"O-oh... right... sorry," he mutters. "I should've put the filter on first..."

"It's okay," you say, quickly, your hands in your lap.

Another moment of silence. Idia's sweat is starting to seep through his sleeping shirt. Not good.

"...Do... you... think I'm cute?" you ask, the tightness in your tone making it rather obvious that you think it's a cringe thing to ask him. Idia blinks.

"Uh... yeah... of course I do..." why else would his home page have been full of-

"...Would you... touch me?"

ACK. You also seem to mentally kick yourself for asking, forcing Idia to recover from his momentary shock and grab your shoulders with an intensity that he usually only reserves for his console.

"YES!" he announces, his hair emoting with him, flaring a fiery red.

You stare, taken aback by his insanity (or enthusiasm) but he doesn't give you the time or breath to question it, suddenly pulling you against him as he had imagined doing thousands and thousands of times before. So much better than a pillow, he thinks, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his arms wrapped tightly around you, but awkwardly, in the way someone who's only experienced hugs through his screen might have.

Some would say it was an unusual sight, the shy, withdrawn Ignihyde housewarden, curled up against a stranger. But he knew you.

Maybe only though a screen, but that was good enough for him.

AN: I fucking love this genre of fanfiction, whatever it's called, where the reader is a fictional character in the fictional character's world. I've read a few fics like this but I don't think idia was appropriately panicking/geeking out enough in any of them. there's really something so good about the thought of our mundane, ordinary lives being an outside spectator's entire world. I've always been jealous of fictional characters in this way. I want to be lovingly analyzed in a twitter thread once again the cover image and the inspiration for the fictional gacha game is from stu.massa-senpai everyone say thank you!

[wontonies]

⭑.ᐟ evening glow

anton x fem!reader

synopsis: when anton's jealousy causes a breakup and he just can't get over you.

warnings: slight angst? maybe, nsfw content (mdni)

send an ask if you would like to be on a taglist, requests are always welcome!

“can you guys get a little closer? i want the frame to get the outside of the pool as well,” you raised your voice a bit so everyone could hear you clearly across the gym. you were a photography major and were given the all-too-perfect task of photographing the college’s swim team for the front page of the school’s website. conveniently, the same team that your ex was on. and if that wasn’t convenient enough for you, he was captain, which meant he was front and center in the photo. 

“anton, i need you to stop looking at me and look at the camera please,” you rolled your eyes. his face reddened as he looked down at the lens, trying to ignore the chuckles of his teammates around him.

your breakup wasn’t necessarily messy by any means. tensions were high: he was constantly practicing and stressed with the upcoming nationals competition at the time, meanwhile you were stressed on your own thanks to your final project being due and your portfolio nowhere near done. 

naturally, the tension began to seep into your relationship until one of you cracked. it was all a misunderstanding, truly. he had accused you of spending too much time with one of the guys in your class, eunseok, and completely blew it out of proportion. lots of yelling, lots of eye rolling, and a couple sarcastic comments later: you were out the door after telling him you never wanted to speak to him again. could you guys have worked it out and spoken through the conflict? well, yes. if only it wasn’t so hard to get through to him when he was insanely jealous. 

“okay great! we are all done, thanks guys!” you smiled as they all clapped and nodded at you.

“hey y/n, can we please talk?” you heard from behind you as you were crouched down, packing all of your camera gear. anton sighed and scratched his head at the sight of you zipping up your bag and walking away with your back to him. not even sparing a glance or any form of acknowledgment that he was there.

the next afternoon, he coached himself in order to get the guts to speak to you again and tried to approach you during your free period in between classes. he knew you sat out at the courtyard to get homework done since it was never worth it for you to make the trip back to your dorm if you had to be back in an hour for your next class. 

but, the plan was immediately nipped when he noticed you were sat at your usual spot, with your books out like usual, and your eyebrows furrowed like usual while you chewed at your pencil... like usual. the only difference this time: eunseok was right next to you pointing at something in your book. anton could only assume he was helping you, but judging by your closeness to him and the way you stared back at him while he explained, he just turned and walked away.

it’s been two whole weeks since anton has spoken to you and he honestly felt like he was going insane. every moment spent looking your way, he couldn’t miss the laughs you were sharing with eunseok, the study sessions with eunseok when he went to the library, the way you guys paired up during class assignments. eunseok. eunseok. eunseok. eunseok.

honestly, eunseok was probably on his mind more than you were at this point. what was he lacking that made you move on so easily? he couldn’t help the thoughts circling his mind as he sat on the sofa in the corner of shotaro’s frat house. the music was blasting some corny early 2010’s song, everyone was already drunk out of their minds, and to make matters worse— he was smushed between his two teammates who were making out with random girls. 

from the corner of his eye, he saw you make your way to the upstairs balcony where it was significantly more quiet. you completely missed him getting up from his seat and following your steps outside until he made it to the doors and saw you standing with your arms over the railing, your eyes closed. his breath caught in his throat while looking at you— you were wearing the black mini dress that always riled him up and had your hair pulled to the side, giving him the perfect glimpse of your matching couples chain on your neck.

“stop staring at me,” you muttered just loud enough for him to hear. 

“i’m sorry,” he coughed and tried to clear his throat as he stepped outside and closed the balcony door.

“i told you to stop trying to talk to me. i told you to stop coming up to me. i told you to just stop, anton.” 

“i know and i’m sor-“

“stop being sorry,” you turned to look at him and he felt the breath he was holding finally release. the look on your face showed everything that you felt, everything he did and said reflected off of you in the form of hurt and the guilt ran through him in a way that was suffocating all of a sudden.

“YOU accused me, not the other way around. i never gave you a reason. you know if you were feeling insecure, i was always there to have a conversation and reassure you. you don’t get to blow up on me and then expect me to run back just ‘cause you’re sorry,” you spat as you went to take a sip out of whatever mix of drinks was in your cup. 

he took a step closer to you, and when you didn’t back away, he took the opportunity to put a hand on your cheek. “i’m sorry for what i said. but, was I wrong in the end? how could you have moved on from me so easily with him?” he whispered.

“i didn’t move on, you idiot,” you rolled your eyes and leaned into the hand that was resting on your cheek, “he’s my friend. i am allowed to be friends with him and work with him. do i have to remind you we are in the same major?"

he sighed in relief as he looked down at you. “i’m so sorry-“ muffled words got cut off as you stood on your toes and pressed your lips onto his. “anton, stop being sorry.”

“please just let me,” he whispered against your lips as he cradled the back of your head, “let me be sorry.”

after a few minutes of pecks and soft whispers, the kisses were no longer gentle and were replaced with fervor. his fingers holding your chin up as he used his other hand to press your waist to him, your hand was curled in his hair while the other was gripping onto the railing behind you— the cup full of a liquid you can’t be bothered to remember was long forgotten on the ground. 

you felt a shiver run through the bottom of your lower back and ending at the top of your spine, unknown to you whether it was due to it being cold out on the second floor or if it was because of anton forcing your legs open and planting his thigh in between your core. 

“anton,” you gasped as he started to press kisses down your neck, softly sucking behind your ear and holding you down by your waist so that you were grinding down on his thigh. 

“did you miss me as much as i missed you?” he glanced down at the wet patch forming on his jeans from the friction, and then back up at you while he moved you harder on his thigh. you moaned at his words and gripped his shoulders to keep you steady, “answer me, baby.” he whispered against your ear before kissing his way down to your chest, trailing his tongue alongside the chain on your neck and stopping at the top of your breasts, right before your dress cuts his access to them.

“yes tonie,” groaning when he heard his nickname leave your lips, he fully underestimated just how much he missed hearing you call him that. how much he missed hearing you in general.

“my car is parked down the street,” he started, but you were already interrupting him by pressing your lips onto his harshly, nodding as you kissed him.

the walk down the stairs and to his car felt a lot longer than it was: it can be blamed partially on the fact that your heels were digging into your ankles and the efforts he was making to hide the outline of his cock on his very visibly tight jeans in front of everyone was failing miserably. the grip he had on your hand as he guided you was almost painful, but neither of you stopped to care.

“after you, baby,” you chuckled while he held the door open for you to enter the backseat. times like these are when you thanked the universe the most for anton having a big enough car, times like these when you were anticipating taking him fully back there. the smell of his cologne hit you immediately as you sat down, him following you right after and hovering over you. 

his mouth followed after - soft kisses that went lower until he reached your breasts, taking a strap off one at a time until you were exposed. “missed my pretty girl so much," he mumbled as he took one of your nipples in his mouth. your back immediately arching and pushing his face closer, he took it upon himself to use his other hand to pinch and play with your other nipple, smirking once he heard your moans.

you felt his hand start to make its way down until he reached your thighs and he looked up at you, "you want me to show you how sorry i am?"

he didn't give you a chance to answer, spreading your thighs apart and getting in between. his lips pressed back to yours as he pulled your panties to the side and felt your wetness. you gasped at his cold fingers and he could not help but chuckle into your mouth before putting a finger inside. "fuck fuck-" "does it feel good? you're so wet i bet i can slip another one in with no trouble." his gaze fell on your face as he watched your reaction to another finger, curling them up to your sweet spot as you got used to the stretch.

"ton please," you moaned as he repeatedly pumped his fingers in and out of your pussy. the only sound being heard aside from your moans was the squelching of your wetness, which made a smile creep up on his face seeing how fucked out you were getting with just his fingers. "yes? tell me what you want baby," he breathed.

"i want you please ton," you cried. "you have me, pretty," he sped up after this. the combination of his fingers curling hard and his thumb rubbing your clit had your eyes rolling back, your stomach started to coil and you felt so close. "that's it, don't hold it," he moaned with you.

at the last hit on your sweet spot, your legs immediately started shaking as you came on his fingers. he didn't stop- he continued to fuck his fingers into you as you rode out your orgasm. "you looked so sweet fucking yourself onto my fingers," he teased while softly kissing you. he slowly lifted you up and helped fix your dress after a couple minutes. "i want to see it happen again."

"anton!" you whined and your gaze fell onto the tightness in his pants, "no, let me help you."

"you've helped me enough by letting me talk to you without you walking away," he smirked at you.

taglist: @flurbini

[lycanlure]

NO LOVE TO GIVE : Time Alone (1)

Three weeks have passed, Karina has slowly changed. After what we did last night, she looked less stressed.

"Y/N, can you please clean the attic? I might put some of my things there." She said to me while her coffee was in her hands.

"Sure, is there anything else?" I looked at her as my hands were occupied by a basket full of laundry.

She slowly approached me and held my waist.

She leaned in and kissed me.

"Hey! What was that for?" I giggled and held my lips.

"Nothing, just..." She then turned around and walked to the door.

"I'm going out for awhile, I may not be back for a week and yeah that's it. See ya" She looked at me one last time and smiled.

"Alright." I replied as she walked to her car. Pretty sure she didn't hear me but what the hell.

All day you cleaned the house and also did her request to clean up the attic but then as you were cleaning thoroughly.

"Oh, the old wedding pictures..." You grabbed the box filled with the memories of the past.

When you looked at them, you noticed you were smiling and Karina... She never once smiled in the pictures.

You fully know that it was against her to marry you. She never liked, knew, or even got to know you, her father just straight up made her marry you for a business deal.

It worked out, for your father and hers. You on the other hand, wanted to make use of yourself. Many times your father has told you how useless you were and hoping one day, you'll finally have use for him. He insisted you were all face and no brains, so he made you the face of the company. Yet it was not enough for him, so when a rival company wanted a truce and a form of unity in order to thrive, not as opponents but as allies.

A/N POV

They decided that marriage between their children would be a form of alliance that could be established. So Karina, as being the only child, was 3 years older than Y/N. While Y/N was the youngest son, his other brothers already have wives and children. So they tried convincing the two to marry, Karina was too tight at first, but then his father told her to just have his boyfriend around... You still know they're still together, but they don't hang out in your house. So, nonetheless, Karina agreed. While you agreed immediately, you didn't want to disappoint your father.

When the two of you met, Karina's eyes were blank. Like she didn't even want to be there, so the two of you "hung out". Both of you walked through the mall with deafening silence. That even small talks were as awkward as walking together in a mall with such a huge distance. So you tried breaking the ice...

2 years ago...

"You have a boyfriend, am I right?" You asked her as soon as both of you sat in a near bench.

"Yeah... Sorry" She looked down.

"It's fine... I should be the one to say sorry though." You laughed and scratched your nape.

She looked at you.

"I know this must be so awkward for you and you must have a reason to say yes and I had a reason too... I wanted to make my dad proud, but I didn't want to be just the face of my fathers company and..." You blabbed and Karina sat there and listened through your rants.

And that instance... You felt something, you started to have feelings for her, sure she never had any for you but...

A person that listens to your non-stop blabbering is such a green for you. It hurts sometimes but she's married to you, marriage with benefits is what I call it. It's a sadder version but hey, I got someone that listens to me when she's not being taken by her boyfriend...

You fell for her, thats the short version...

She has always been so beautiful, she's such a breath taker that taking a glance at her from afar just... Makes things worthwhile.

Sometimes you get caught staring and you never deny it. She would come to you and then say this in the most high-key, teasing voice ever, "Why are you staring at me?!" and she would smack my arm ever so lightly and sometimes you would jokingly say "Am I not allowed to stare at my wife?" silence would be deafening but both of you just laugh out loud. "Eww, stop it!" It hurts you when she says that but for you to hear her laugh just makes the pain ease up.

But then, they broke up.

When you find out, Karina had already started drinking.

You always find her outside of the door. Laying, bottle in hand.

"Karina..." You sighed as you grabbed her hand and held her up.

"My love..." She started to mutter something

"Call me... My love..." She threw her head on your shoulders.

"Please... Don't ever say my name... Even when I'm not drunk anymore" She added, her voice breaking as she burst into tears.

"O-Ok, my love..." It was awkward at first but she smiled.

You brought her to her room and lay her down.

"Goodnight..."

"Hey! "My love"?"

"Fine. Goodnight, my love."

She giggled as she drifted to her sleep.

My knees began to get weak as soon as you left her room, the feeling of calling her "My Love" just turns you into a soft and mushy mess...

You never would've thought that the girl that you slowly fall for started to act so lovey dovey with you.

But you know, this is just a way for her to cope. Her heart is broken, she's trying to fix it with different pieces.

Next Morning

She woke up groggy as the hangover caught up to her. "Ugh... Wait, h-how did I get here".

Her face looked puzzled, as she remembers Y/N lifting her up and then remembering the things she had said to Y/N.

"Well... He's gonna call me love now. Might as well just let him do it..." Karina slowly got up as her head was spinning.

She went downstairs and was met with a very nice scent of sweet and a pleasing smell that came from the kitchen.

"Good Morning, Karina... Or should I say My Love?" Y/N teasingly said as he flipped the pancakes gracefully.

"Hey! Do you really have to say that?" Karina grabbed both of his shoulders playfully as whilst jumping.

"Oh, as I remember last night, you told me to call you "My love", or am I wrong?" I smirked and placed the pancake her supposedly plate.

"Or you didn't mean it?" I looked at her.

"Well... You can start calling me that" She looked down, playing the hem of his apron.

"Cause maybe Dad will be visiting and I don't want him to think we are not developing into something..." She quickly added and looked at you.

"Tell me, Karina."

"Did you guys... Broke up?"

She looked at you shocked, like 'How did you know?!', 'when did you know' kind of face.

"W-Wait, how did you kno-" You cut her as soon as she spoke.

"Its just... Both of you haven't been here and I can see that you haven't been smiling for the past 2 weeks... And also you're always drunk when you come home." You looked at her worried as you placed her plate on the dining table.

"Oh..." She covered her mouth slowly, as she followed you with her eyes.

"If this is how you cope up with your break-up, I don't mind..." You slowly paced back to her.

"I know... I'm not your type, but." You looked at her eyes again.

"But, we can at least try this... Husband and Wife stuff, if you want t-" A hand immediately held yours.

"Yes!" Her eyes gleamed.

"O-Oh, are you su-"

"Yes, after all... We've known each other for what? 9 months now? It doesn't hurt to try-"

After 1 week

A knock loudly banged the door.

A drunk Karina, is what you faced.

"Karina... I've told you to stop drinking... My lo-" she cuts you off as a slap came across to your face.

"Fuck. You." She said as she pointed you with her fingers, still holding a bottle.

"Karina, what is this about?" You ignored the pain and continued to consult her.

"Get out of my way" She pushed you aside as she went to the couch and slammed herself on it.

You went to grab her bottle but she snagged it away from you.

"Karina. Give it"

"Fuck, no."

"Please... I thought you'd stop after we talked..."

"Just to remind you, your father and my dad. Dumped me the company! And left me to fend for myself! And the secretary was no fucking help! Sure its only for 2 months yet it has only been 2 days and its so fucking stressful-" She ranted to you, breaking a few vases and shelves but atleast she didnt laid her hands on you... yet.

1 month had passed.

"M-My love..." You spoke sheepishly in front of the closed door, and you held your bruised wrist.

"What?! Don't you see I'm busy?!" Her eyes darkened and her hands gripped the paper she was holding.

"D-Dinner is ready..." You looked down, opening the door slightly.

"I'll eat when I'm done. Fuck off." She coldly turned around and went back to her work.

'She just stressed... That's all...' You sighed as you went down to the living room.

You waited for her downstairs, at the dining table.

You wanted to wait for her.

But she immediately got out of her office and went to the dining table.

She then sat near me and looked at me.

"Let's eat." She coldly said as she went to eat.

You smiled at her, but as soon as both of you ate.

The silence was too loud to not notice.

So you wanted to break it.

"Um, my love... Karina, I want to bring you to a therapist." You looked down on your plate.

She looked at you confused.

"I'm not crazy, Y/N for fuck sake... Do you really thin-"

"It's just... no, not like that, Karina... but you get so frustrated so easily recently. And I know how stressed you are, and maybe you have some underlying anger issues that are unresolved." You looked at her worried.

You reached for her hands.

"I, no, both of us should find a way to solve tha-"

She slid away.

"No." She went back to eating her dinner.

"O-oh, alright then..." You looked at her. You retreat your hand.

As both of you are done.

You went to clean up the dishes and the table.

No words were spoken that night, both of you went to do your perspective responsibilities.

You did housework and she did hers.

You both slept at the same bed.

It always had felt like both of your presence weren't there, a robotic feeling, cold, distant, emotionless.

It had always felt like both of you were strangers or a co-worker. You wanted to talk, but words hanged in your mouth like a hook, trying to fish in an empty lake.

"Kari- My love, um, I'm sorry about earlier... you're not crazy, its just that, you've been so stre-"

"Can yo shut up? I'm going to sleep, I have a big day tomorrow"

She cuts you off like you're an employee. Both of you know that this marriage would never turn into something. You're the only one who thought about the idea of marriage while she just wanted the CEO position, and now she's training for it, and it's causing her a lot of things.

Three months had passed, and her alchohol addiction grew. And her temperment never changed,

"My love!" You screamed as the bottle she held was thrown on the wall

As a glass hit you in the thigh, immediately changing the atmosphere in your home

"K-Karina, please call an ambulance. I think a shard nipped my legs bad, and it's bleeding a lot."

Karina, who was deep in alcohol somewhat snapped out of her drunken state. She fumbled on her phone and called the ambulance, but yet her alcoholic episode doesn't end there.

2 days after

"My love, please dont drink too much again..." You said as she had already drank her 3rd bottle

"Mm? Dont worry, I won't lash out on you..." She stared at you, like she wanted something, this is where some things started to happen...

"What are you looking at, Karina?" You said as you went clean up her mess in the living room

"You look so good tonight, I love that white polo on you." She smirked as her hands began to wrap around my waist, her fingers playing with my pockets, inching herself closer as I wiped every wet spots in the coffee table.

"Karina, s-stop" Her hands slowly went to rub on my member. This was the first time she started to touch you so intimately. She then closed your gap

Her lips slowly travelled in the back of your neck, slowly kissing them...

She whispered "Lets go upstairs, I wanna try something"

And there it was, the very first time she touched me and the night when she took my first, drunk.

The next morning she found out that she did do it and she kept saying she was sorry and didn't mean to but you waved it off.

"It's fine, my love. It's a good thing you didn't lashed out again"

You tried to reassure her everything is fine

"But, I took your first... Are you sure it's alright?"

She looked at you shyly, trying to not be awkward.

"Yes, if you wanted to do it again... I won't say no if that's what it takes to take care of your episodes"

You smiled as you stared at her, giving her a bit of a warm approach.

She smiled, and you handed her lunch as she went to her car and waved goodbye.

Another good day...

That's what you have thought, and when she arrived, oh dear...

A bottle in her hand, and a box of... goodness, its a box of condoms.

You know she remembered what you said will take advantage of it.

Y/N POV

"Hey, sweet stuff" She began to stepped in closer as she grabbed you waist, kissing your lips immediately.

The taste of her lips was alcohol, tempting is what it was.

She then kissed my neck slowly and accurately. Kissing the sensitive spots, making sure to get me on my edge.

"You looked nice this evening. Did you put on a new perfume?" She asked as she stopped and looked at me...

Me, who was deep in thinking, how'd she do me again shuttered.

"U-Uh, y-yeah, um, I put on the perfume you bought me last week, thinking it would be nice using it for today"

I nervously replied, her hands then dove lowered, squeezing my bottoms softly.

I slightly moaned, I struggled keeping my voice down, oh how hard it was to hold myself while she was doing unholy things to me...

"Like that?" Her voice deep, sultry. Her hands kept playing with my ass. She's going to make me lose every ounce of self-respect I have if she keeps doing this.

"N-No..."

"I like it when you play hard to get." She then moved her hands upward, her hands touched my bare back. I flinched as her cold hands began to wonder inside my back.

She then bury herself in my neck, savouring it, each lick was possesive, her saliva slathered all over in my neck.

As if she was marking me...

"K-Karina, you're drunk again, s-stop-" I tried moving away from her, but her grip was strong enough to keep me in my place.

As the night came in, she used again...

And then we're here now, she's changed in a course of 3 weeks, her drinking lessened and her temper gotten even better.

She might have been a bad wife for so long, but I know she'll change, and she's almost there.

I cleaned the house, entirely.

And then Chaewon appeared in front of the door, waiting...

Continue???

[ceyanabbiolo]

𝑮𝑹𝑼𝑫𝑮𝑬 | 𝑪𝑯𝑹𝑰𝑺 𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑶𝑳𝑶 [08]

Welcome to Vivianne Hall, in which....

Julianna De Francis is put together, perfect, and everything Christopher Sturniolo isn’t. He’s reckless, cocky, and the one person who’s always gotten under her skin. Raised in the same elite world but constantly at odds, their rivalry turns into something deeper as tension sparks into something neither expected. In a world obsessed with appearances, falling for each other could cost them everything...

Warnings: arguing & body dysmorphia

Chapter 08: Jules Your Doing to Much

── .✦ JULIANNA

The end of the first month couldn’t have come soon enough. University had drained every ounce of energy from me—socially, emotionally, and academically. I’d been counting down the days until I could get out of that place and finally breathe again, even if it meant going home.

The drive back took just under an hour. I sat quietly in the back of the sleek black car, head leaned against the window, watching the trees blur past in autumn shades of gold and burnt orange. When the car finally rolled to a smooth stop at the gate, I felt my body loosen for the first time in days. My driver nodded at me through the rearview mirror before stepping out.

The tall wrought-iron gates opened slowly, revealing the familiar estate—white stone exterior, columns that looked like they were stolen from a Roman museum, perfectly trimmed hedges that lined the winding driveway like guards. The mansion sat proudly at the end, as polished and intimidating as always.

When the door opened, I stepped out. The air was crisper here, cleaner. My driver moved wordlessly, retrieving my bags from the trunk. I didn’t even have to ask—he was already moving toward the front steps with them.

The door opened before I even reached it.

“Welcome home, Miss Julianna,” one of the housekeepers greeted warmly, stepping aside to let me in. She wore her usual all-black uniform, hands folded in front of her.

“Thank you,” I murmured, offering a faint smile as I walked into the grand marble foyer.

Everything smelled faintly of fresh linen and something floral—probably the new arrangements Mother had ordered for the weekend. The chandelier above sparkled under the natural light pouring in through the high windows, casting fragments of light across the pristine floors.

I let my fingers drag lightly across the banister as I passed through the hallway and made my way to the drawing room.

The moment I stepped in, I saw them—exactly how I expected.

James, my ten-year-old brother, sat cross-legged on the floor near the coffee table, some overly complicated Lego set scattered in front of him. His cheeks were flushed with concentration, tongue slightly out as he tried to snap two pieces together. He looked up at the sound of my footsteps and beamed.

“Jules!”

My heart softened instantly.

“Hey, James!” I said, crouching slightly as he launched himself up and ran into my arms.

I hugged him tightly, burying my face in his hair for a second longer than I meant to. He still smelled like shampoo and the faint scent of orange juice. Home.

From across the room, my parents sat on the cream velvet couches—my mother, Donna, was poised in a pale blue silk blouse, ankles crossed, a crystal glass of water in her hand. My father, Federick, was in a navy suit despite being at home, was skimming something on his tablet. Typical.

“You’re late,” my mother said without looking up. “Dinner’s at seven. Try not to disappear before then.”

I pulled back from James, straightening up.

“I just got in.”

“Then maybe you should’ve left earlier,” she replied, tone clipped, as she finally looked up at me. Her eyes scanned me, likely assessing my clothes, my hair, my posture.

My father didn’t say anything, just gave a nod in acknowledgment.

Typical.

I sighed softly through my nose, turning to leave and already plotting my escape route upstairs when my mother’s voice floated across the room, crisp and composed as ever.

“We have company this evening.”

I stopped in my tracks, closing my eyes for a beat.

Of course, we did.

“How many people?” I asked over my shoulder, keeping my tone neutral, though I already knew it didn’t matter. Whether it was two people or twenty, I’d be expected to act like we were hosting royalty.

“Not many,” she replied, setting her glass down on the side table with a soft clink. “Just around five families.”

That wasn’t “not many.” That was a roster. Five families meant at least around 25 people. 

Her gaze lifted to me again, eyes trailing from my scuffed sneakers to the oversized sweatshirt I’d thrown on before leaving campus. A slight grimace pulled at the corners of her mouth.

“I expect you to look presentable,” she added pointedly. “Perhaps one of the new dresses I had sent from Italy—the ivory one with the pearl buttons. It’s elegant. Sophisticated. And it doesn’t cling.”

Translation: Don’t embarrass me.

I forced a polite smile, the kind I’d mastered from years of society events and family galas. “Of course.”

She gave a satisfied nod, already reaching for her phone. To check on the catering staff or update her Instagram story with a perfectly posed flower arrangement.

I turned fully and made my way out of the drawing room, James trailing close behind me, tugging gently at the sleeve of my sweater.

“Are you going to hang out with me tonight?” he asked, his voice soft, hopeful.

I glanced down at him, offering a warm smile. “Tomorrow, J. I promise. I’ll be here until Monday night, we’ll have all weekend.”

His shoulders drooped a little, but he nodded with a quiet, “Okay.” Then, after giving me a quick squeeze around the waist, he darted off down the hallway toward his room, his bare feet padding softly against the marble floor.

I turned back toward the grand staircase, already climbing the first few steps, when I heard rapid footsteps behind me. At first, I thought it was James again—until I heard the distinctive, sharp rhythm of claws tapping against the floor.

“Rocky!”

I squealed, spinning around just as my Doberman came bounding toward me, sleek and strong, his tail wagging. His dark coat shimmered, and his ears perked with excitement.

I dropped to my knees without hesitation, arms outstretched as he barreled into me, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth like a happy idiot.

“I missed you so much,” I whispered, hugging his muscular frame tight as he whined and nuzzled into my shoulder. His whole body vibrated with energy, as if he’d been waiting weeks just for this moment.

Rocky licked the side of my cheek, and I laughed, wiping it off with the sleeve of my sweater. “Okay, okay, you’re excited. I get it.”

He barked once, as if in response, then started trotting in circles around me, tail wagging furiously.

Still smiling, I stood up and patted my thigh. “C’mon, let’s go. I need to change before Mom loses her mind.”

Rocky immediately fell into step beside me, sticking close to my leg like the loyal shadow he’d always been. At least someone in this house was genuinely happy to see me.

I stepped into my bedroom, and instantly, the contrast between this and my dorm hit me like a wave.

At school, I’d done my best to make the dorm feel like mine—string lights, thrifted posters, a few prints I’d shot over the summer pinned up by my desk. It was warm, a little chaotic, but familiar.

But this room?

This room was nothing short of luxury.

The ceilings stretched high above me, white with delicate crown molding that wrapped around the edges, and polished marble floors. Thick white curtains hung on either side of the tall arched windows, pulled halfway back to reveal the balcony doors that opened out onto a sweeping view of our backyard—the pool, the manicured garden, the hedge maze my father insisted on, all bathed in golden afternoon light.

My closet sat like a boutique in the corner—wall-to-wall glass doors, spotlighted shelves, rows of heels and handbags, color-coded racks of designer clothes. My mother had a habit of having it restocked every few weeks. I’d learned to stop protesting. 

I set my bag down by the edge of the plush cream chaise near my bed and let out a slow breath. 

Rocky flopped dramatically onto the rug, his head resting on his paws as he watched me.

I crossed the room and opened the closet, scanning the fresh row of dresses, all tagged and untouched. Most still had the signature black and gold tags from boutiques in Milan and Rome. My mother’s doing, no doubt.

“Presentable,” I muttered under my breath, mimicking her voice.

After a minute of searching, I pulled out a black floor-length dress, square neckline, cinched waist with thin straps that tied at the shoulders. 

I peeled off my sweatshirt and jeans, folding them neatly before slipping into the dress. The fabric was light, cool against my skin, flowing down. I stepped into a pair of black flats—heels would’ve been too much, even by my mother’s standards.

In the mirror above my vanity, I caught my reflection.

My face looked tired, pale from the stress of the past few weeks, my eyes a little sunken. I brushed a hand through my hair and pulled it half up, securing it with a clip. A touch of lip gloss. A dusting of blush.

Just enough to look put-together.

But I couldn't deny the way my mind didn't fully like what it was seeing when I looked in the mirror.

Behind me, Rocky gave a quiet huff, as if approving. I took one last look in the mirror, squared my shoulders, and turned toward the door.

In the mirror, I gave myself one last glance—chin up, posture straight, expression neutral. Then I squared my shoulders and turned toward the door.

I was exhausted. Every part of me ached for solitude, for a moment to collapse into bed, throw on an oversized hoodie, and let my brain rot to some dumb Netflix series while Rocky curled up by my feet. But instead, I was heading straight into a curated evening of forced smiles and stiff conversations.

The soft click of my heels echoed down the hallway as I descended the grand staircase, the familiar scent of fresh lilies and some expensive cologne lingering in the air. The chatter grew louder with each step, blending into the soft hum of jazz playing from the grand piano in the corner.

As soon as I reached the bottom, I spotted them—elegant figures dressed in designer clothes, wine glasses in hand, voices polite and practiced. Our family’s inner circle. Business partners. Their wives. Their too-perfect children, who smiled like they’d been trained to since birth.

I exhaled slowly and stepped into the room.

“Julianna!” a tall woman greeted me with a bright, artificial smile. It was one of my father’s colleagues’ wives. The name, I couldn’t remember.

“Hi,” I said politely, offering a soft smile and a gentle nod as she leaned in and kissed both of my cheeks.

“You look beautiful,” she added, her eyes scanning my outfit with an approving glance. “That dress is divine. Is it Italian?”

“Yes,” I replied, keeping the smile pinned in place. “My mother picked selected it.”

“Of course she did,” she laughed, as if that said everything.

From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of my father across the room, drink in hand, deep in conversation with two older men in tailored navy suits. My mother stood nearby, her posture regal, subtly watching me from a distance like I was a chess piece she’d just moved into play.

I made my way further in, greeting people as I passed—firm handshakes, cheek kisses, compliments traded like currency.

“Julianna, you’ve grown into such a young woman,” said Mr. Dalton, a real estate mogul who’d known my family since I was a child.

“Thank you,” I said, smiling politely, pretending I hadn’t heard that exact phrase from five different people already.

“How’s university? I’m sure you’re excelling.”

“It’s going well,” I replied.

Another sip of sparkling water. Another nod. Another fake laugh.

I was halfway through the room when I spotted something that made my stomach tighten—a familiar figure across the space.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in black.

And not someone I expected to see tonight.

Chris. 

Of course, he was here.

I wasn’t even surprised. I looked slightly around and saw Matt and Nick talking to different people as well. 

His family had been a staple on every guest list since I could remember, even my tenth birthday party, which doubled as some networking event for our parents. The Sturniolos always showed up, immaculately dressed and right on cue. 

Chris stood near the glass doors that led to the terrace, talking to someone older—probably one of our fathers’ mutual business partners—but even from across the room, I could see the way his hand sat casually in his pocket, the way his head tilted as he half-listened, eyes flicking lazily across the room.

They didn’t land on me.

Not yet, anyway.

I took a sip of the sparkling water in my hand, trying not to let my chest tighten. The last time we’d spoken, he’d been pissed—no, furious. Standing in the hallway outside my dorm, practically spitting venom, dragging my personal life out, and throwing it in my face like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.

I blinked slowly, the sound of glasses clinking and polite laughter fading to a dull hum in the background.

We hadn’t talked since that night.

Two weeks.

Not a single text. Not a passing word on campus. Not even one of those sideways glances that he used to give me. Just distance, cold, and unspoken. 

We were still technically on bad terms. 

I exhaled slowly through my nose and tore my gaze away before he could notice I’d been staring. 

I turned away from the room, the glass in my hand suddenly feeling too heavy, my skin too tight beneath the silk of my dress. I smiled at a passing couple, murmured a polite “excuse me,” and slipped out of the main room like smoke.

The noise dulled as I stepped into the hallway, my heels echoing softly against the marble floors. It was quieter here, lined with family portraits and antique sconces that bathed the walls in a warm gold light.

And then I caught my reflection. Again.

A massive floor-length mirror stood at the end of the hall—ornate and old, the frame carved from dark wood with delicate swirls like vines. I paused in front of it, my breath catching for a reason I didn’t want to admit.

My eyes scanned the image slowly. Dress perfectly fitted, hair in place, makeup subtle and soft, exactly how my mother liked it. On the outside, I looked like the kind of girl who belonged in this house, at this party, in this life.

But all I could see were the things I didn’t like.

The way my arms sat against my sides. The soft curve of my stomach pressed ever so slightly against the fabric. My throat tightened.

Gosh, why couldn’t I just look…better?

The dress was supposed to be flattering. Imported. Hand-selected. My mother’s idea of a subtle statement. But standing there now, all I could see were the flaws. Tiny ones, probably invisible to everyone else—but to me, they were screaming.

I looked down, fingers brushing over my waist.  The voice in my head never really stopped.

A quiet sigh slipped past my lips, my eyes still locked on my own.

I hated this mirror.

I hated that a part of me still wanted to be perfect, even though I knew perfection didn’t exist. But most of all, I hated how loud the silence was out here—how easy it was to hear all the things I tried to drown out. I smoothed the fabric of my dress again, swallowed hard, and stood up straighter.

You’re fine.

You’re fine.

It didn’t matter if I believed it. I just had to look like I did—

“You good at staring contests with yourself now?”

I flinched, spinning slightly toward the voice, breath catching in my throat.

Christopher. 

Of course, it was him. He was leaning against the wall a few feet away, arms crossed, half-shadowed in the hallway light like he’d been there for a while. His expression wasn’t teasing exactly… but it wasn’t soft either.

I blinked at him, body tensing automatically. “What are you doing here?”

He tilted his head. “I was going to ask you the same thing.” His gaze flicked to the mirror, then back to me. “Didn’t know you were the type to hide during your party.”

“It’s not my party,” I said quickly, arms crossing over my chest, suddenly hyper-aware of how I must look.

Chris raised a brow, but didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he pushed off the wall and took a few steps closer, his shoes quiet against the marble.

“You good?” he asked, more serious this time. “You look like you’re about to either cry or throw up.”

I gave a dry laugh, shaking my head. “That’s just my resting face when I’m around people I don’t like.”

“Funny,” he muttered, eyeing me. “Didn’t realize I made the list again.”

My lips pressed into a line, and rolled my eyes. “You never left it.”

His jaw twitched. I could tell he wanted to bite back—something sarcastic, probably—but then his eyes drifted toward the mirror again. And his face shifted. Just a little.

His voice was quieter when he spoke next. “You do that a lot?”

I frowned. “Do what?”

“Look at yourself like that.” His eyes stayed on mine. “Like you don’t like what you’re seeing.”

My stomach flipped.

“I wasn’t—”

“Yeah, you were.”

Silence stretched between us, heavy and uncomfortable.

I looked away, the pressure building behind my ribs. “It’s none of your business.” 

Chris let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know it’s not,” he said. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t notice.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “I just don’t like the dress,” I said, the lie leaving my lips too quickly, too stiff. My fingers subconsciously gripped the hem.

Chris looked like he was about to respond, brows lifting slightly, but I cut him off before he could.

I wanted to change the topic as possible as I could.

“What do you even want, Chris?” My voice was sharp. Tired. “Why are you even talking to me?”

He flinched—barely—but it was there. He didn't answer, I didn’t wait for a response. I turned on my heel and started walking down the hallway, the metal on my my flats clicking fast against the floor as I headed toward my room.

“Seriously, Jules?” he called after me. “You’re gonna do that now?”

I didn’t stop. “Do what? Exist in peace without you barging in with your guilt-laced speeches?”

“Guilt-laced?” he repeated, disbelief tightening his voice as he followed a few steps behind me. “I came here to apologize, Jules. But apparently, that’s still not good enough for you.”

I didn’t slow down, my heels clicking sharper against the marble floors. “You think I need an apology?” I snapped, voice cold. “Like I’m just sitting around, hoping you’ll finally look at me and say you’re sorry?”

He kept pace behind me. “I crossed a line. I know that. But you haven’t even looked me in the eye since it happened.”

I turned the corner sharply, already at the door to my room. “Okay?” I said flatly, hand on the knob. “And?”

He didn’t say anything. Not right away. But I could feel him behind me, standing there in silence, like that was enough.

I twisted the knob. “Whatever. I’ll see you at dinner.”

I pushed the door open and stepped in, but before I could shut it behind me, his hand shot out, firm against the edge.

“Chris,” I warned, pushing harder. “Let go of the door.”

“No.”

His voice was low but firm. And then he pushed—just enough to force it back open. He stepped inside like he had every right to, the door clicking shut behind him as he turned to face me.

My eyes narrowed. “Seriously?”

“I’m not leaving things like this.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” I said, voice rising. “Because I am.”

“You don’t get to walk away like you didn’t hurt me too.”

“Oh, so now I’m the villain?” I laughed bitterly, throwing my hands up. “You humiliated me, Chris. You took something I trusted someone with—something that wasn’t yours to say—and weaponized it.”

“I was angry!”

“And I was hurt!” I shouted back, my chest rising and falling fast. “You think I liked hearing that half the team jokes about me, too? You think it doesn’t embarrass me every time I walk into the room?”

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “I was pissed, okay? I shouldn’t have believed what they said so quickly.”

“But you still did, Chris. You didn’t even give me the benefit of the doubt.” My voice cracked, sharp and exhausted. “You heard something twisted and just believed it.”

“I asked Cal!” he said defensively. “And when I realized he was just making shit up, I came to you.”

“Two weeks later.”

We stood there, breathing heavily in the middle of my room, the silence burning between us like acid.

“I didn’t come here to fight,” he said eventually. “But you won’t even talk to me unless we’re arguing.”

“That’s because talking to you always leads to this,” I whispered. “Yelling and Fighting. It's tiring.”

Chris’s eyes flickered—something breaking through the frustration. Regret? Pain maybe? But I was too tired to decipher it.

I turned away, crossing the room to put distance between us, my voice quieter but raw. “I’m tired of being your punching bag every time you’re pissed.”

His reply came quietly. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“But you did.”

I kept my back to him, arms crossed tightly over my chest as I stared at the far wall. My voice came out quiet, but sharp—sharp enough to cut.

“You know what the worst part is, Chris?” I said, turning slowly to face him, my eyes locking with his. “You keep saying you didn’t mean to hurt me. But I think deep down, part of you wanted to.”

His expression froze. Something behind his eyes flickered—like a storm cloud had just rolled in, dark and heavy.

I stepped closer, bitterness curling in my chest.

“You wanted to get even. You wanted me to feel small for once. Because God forbid someone bruises your ego.”

His jaw clenched hard. He looked like he’d just been slapped.

And then, slowly, he stepped forward.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

Until the space between us was nearly gone.

His eyes never left mine, something unreadable swimming in the dark brown. His hand came up, slow but certain, and he gently cupped my jaw—his palm warm, fingertips pressing against my skin like he needed the contact to ground himself.

“You think I wanted to hurt you?” he said, voice low, controlled, but shaking underneath it. “You think I liked seeing you cry over something I said?”

I didn’t move. Couldn’t. The air between us felt electric, pulsing.

“You don’t get it,” he murmured, leaning closer, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth like he was trying to erase everything that had come before. “You’ve never gotten it.”

My breath caught.

“I’d never hurt you. I wouldn’t even let anyone else try.”

There was something else hidden in his tone—like he was speaking from experience, like there had already been a moment where he hadn’t let someone hurt me. The idea was almost laughable.

But his touch was too gentle for someone so angry. His eyes were too full of something I didn’t want to name. And for a second—just a second—it felt like the rest of the world faded out.

Like it was just us again.

Breathing the same air. Sharing the same fire.

Dangerous. Familiar. Too much.

“Say something,” he whispered, eyes locked on mine.

But I didn’t know what to say. Because everything I felt was caught somewhere between fury and something terrifyingly close to longing. My breath hitched, heart pounding, but I forced the words out anyway.

“I hate you,” I whispered, jaw tight.

Chris’s smirk was slow, infuriatingly smug as it curved across his face. His hand was still cradling my jaw, his thumb brushing lightly along my cheek.

“No,” he murmured, voice low and maddeningly calm. “I don’t think you do.”

I scoffed, but it came out shaky. “You think you know everything.”

“I know you, Jules.” His eyes dropped to my lips for a fraction of a second—barely a flicker—but I caught it. Felt it. “And I know hate isn’t what’s got your pulse racing right now.”

I hated how close he was. There was nothing about the way we were standing so close to one another that would imply our mutual distain.

I hated the way my stomach twisted when he looked at me like that—like I was something he touch and push to far.

And I really hated that I couldn’t step away.

“You’re impossible,” I whispered, the words barely audible. Chris leaned in just slightly, his nose nearly brushing mine, his hand still firm against my face. “Back up,” I said, my voice soft but sharp, trying to ignore the fact that I didn’t really mean it.

Chris didn’t move. If anything, he leaned in closer, his breath brushing across my lips. “Why?” he said, tone low and irritatingly smug. “Does this bother you?”

“Move,” I said again, weaker this time.

Chris leaned in, his voice a low whisper against my skin. “You say that like you want me to listen.”

My heart was in my throat. I should’ve walked away, slammed the door and screamed.

But I didn’t do that. 

Chris tilted his head slightly, eyes still locked on mine, his hand still warm against my jaw.

“You know what’s funny?” he murmured. “You act like you hate me, but the second we’re alone, you never walk away.”

I didn’t move. Couldn’t.

“And right now?” His thumb brushed along my cheek. “You’re looking at me like you want me to—”

Click.

The door creaked open behind us.

“Julianna—”

My mom’s voice cut through the air like a whip, sharp and laced with disapproval.

We both froze.

Chris slowly turned his head, but he didn’t move away from me. I pulled back instinctively, heart racing, face flushed, and stumbled a step out of his hold.

My mother stood in the doorway, perfectly dressed in a cream silk blouse and black slacks, her brows raised in that terrifying way only mothers could master.

Her gaze moved from me to Chris, then back to me—taking in the closeness, the silence, the tension that still practically buzzed between us.

“I see…” she said slowly, arms crossing. “Well, everyone is seated at the table..”

She gave Chris a pointed look before turning on her heel and shutting the door behind her. I didn’t breathe for a full five seconds. 

I stared at the closed door for a second, chest still heaving from the tension that hadn’t even had a chance to cool. My eyes flicked to Chris—still standing there, way too calm for someone who’d just been caught in that position.

Without another word, I stormed toward the door, yanking it open. My heels clicked sharply against the marble as I walked out into the hallway, not bothering to wait for him. I needed space—air—anything.

Of course, I could hear him behind me. Not running, not calling after me. Just following. Like he always did. I didn’t slow down until the hallway opened into the sprawling dining room, high ceilings, crystal chandeliers, a table that could seat twenty without breaking a sweat.

A few guests were already filtering in, dressed in muted elegance and soft perfume, their chatter low and clipped in that rich-people kind of way. I paused at the edge of the room, my mind still spinning. The argument.

His hands on me. My hands not pushing him away fast enough. And then my mother walking in like she hadn’t just witnessed the tension of the century.

I slid into a seat beside a girl I vaguely knew—someone from school or a fundraiser, I wasn’t sure. Familiar enough to make the choice easy, distant enough that I wouldn’t be forced into small talk.

Directly across from me sat Nick and Chris, and a few seats over, Matt, already leaning back in his chair like he’d rather be anywhere else.

The tension? Palpable. Suffocating, even. My skin felt too tight, like every glance was another reminder of what had just happened upstairs.

Nick gave me a small smile, warm and knowing in that quiet way he always had. “these dinners are always the same,” he muttered, lifting his glass slightly. “Just can’t believe you mom was so quick to throw one the day we all got back.”

I let out a small, genuine laugh, grateful for the break in my nerves. “She probably got to it before your mom. To be fair i’m sure we all rather be relaxing right now..”

“No way,” he said, grinning. “Then I’d be stuck next to him.” He tilted his head subtly toward Chris, who—unsurprisingly—was silent, his jaw tight, his gaze fixed on some invisible point just past me.

Nick leaned in a bit, voice low. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” I whispered back, eyes flicking down to the cutlery. “Totally fine.”

Nick raised a brow, clearly not buying it, but he let it go, shifting back in his chair.

Chris, meanwhile, hadn’t said a word—but I could feel his eyes. Like heat. Like gravity. Every time I glanced up, there he was, his stare sharp, unreadable. 

Dinner finally came to an end, the clinking of silverware replaced by murmurs and the scraping of chairs as guests began to rise. I stood slowly, offering a quick goodbye to the girl beside me and giving Nick a small, tired nod. He just smiled knowingly and mouthed, good luck.

I moved toward the hallway, heels quiet against the polished floors, already picturing myself curled up in my bed with a book and Rocky at my feet.

But then—

“Jules.”

My father’s voice cut through the buzz of chatter. I froze mid-step, spine stiffening.

I turned slowly to see him standing near the grand piano, a crystal glass in one hand, his other gesturing me over. His tone was smooth, pleasant—fake. The way he got when he wanted to show me off.

I forced a polite smile and walked toward him. “Yes?”

“Come with me. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

I blinked but didn’t argue. He was already turning, walking down the hall that led to one of the more private sitting rooms. I followed.

When we entered, I instantly clocked the people inside. A few older men in sleek suits, clearly business types, their watches screaming generational wealth. And then—Chris. Standing by the fireplace with a glass in hand, saying nothing. Matt beside him, chatting lightly with someone. Nick leaned back in an armchair, bored and scrolling through his phone.

And then, a guy I didn’t recognize.

My father placed a hand lightly on my back. “Julianna, this is Ronan Antonov. He’s taking over his fathers company next year .” 

I glanced at the guy—Ronan. He had dark brown hair, neatly parted, soft features, expensive shoes. He smiled, extending a hand.

“Ronan,” my father added, tone suddenly warm and approving, “is just about your age.”

Elijah gave a small chuckle. “I’m twenty-two, actually.”

“See?” my dad laughed, turning to one of the other men. “Practically perfect.”

He rarely laughed like that. Not unless he genuinely liked someone. And that told me everything I needed to know.

I looked at Elijah again, and he was still smiling, still polite, still exactly the kind of man my father had in mind for me. Across the room, I felt the heat of Chris’s gaze, sharp and unreadable. He hadn’t moved, but the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes. What the hell is he staring at?

I stood there, the practiced smile still plastered across my lips, even as my chest tightened. I wasn’t stupid—this wasn’t just a friendly introduction. It was orchestrated. A glimpse of what my father envisioned. A test run.

Sure, I wouldn’t be forced to marry Ronan. My parents wouldn’t start planning a wedding tomorrow if I said no. But I knew how these things worked. Pressure came in waves. Tonight, that wave was starting with a conversation.

“Well,” my father said, the charm still thick in his voice, “why don’t you two get to know each other a little better?”

Before I could respond, Ronan lifted a hand toward me, a polite, easy gesture. His expression was warm, but there was something rehearsed in his confidence. The kind of charm that had been taught, not felt.

I glanced at my father.

He was already nodding. Expectant. Pleased.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and slipped my hand into Ronan’s.

“Sure,” I said softly. “Let’s talk.”

He smiled and led the way, his palm light against mine as we walked toward the French doors that opened into the backyard.

Just before we stepped outside, I caught Chris’s face out of the corner of my eye.

He wasn’t talking. He wasn’t smiling. His jaw was tight, and his stare was locked on our joined hands. I looked away, and kept walking. He probably hated that he had no one to fight with for the rest of the night.  

The night air hit me softly as we stepped into the garden, the faint scent of roses and fresh-cut grass clinging to the breeze. Fairy lights strung through the trees cast a warm golden hue over the perfectly manicured hedges and stone pathways, making the backyard look like something out of a magazine. It was quiet, peaceful—deceivingly so.

Ronan still held my hand as we walked a few steps further, then finally let go once we reached a secluded bench near the fountain. He didn’t sit though. He just stood, turned slightly toward me, hands in his pockets, watching me.

“You look nice tonight,” he said, his voice smooth but suddenly flatter than it was inside.

“Thanks,” I replied cautiously. “You too.”

For a moment, there was a pause, just the sound of water trickling behind us. 

Ronan smiled, though there was something unreadable behind it now—something more calculated.

“Your dad speaks highly of you,” he said, stepping slightly closer, hands still tucked into his pockets. “Says you’re quiet. Respectful. Private. That’s rare.”

I offered a tight smile. “He’s definitely proud of the version he tells people about.”

He gave a low chuckle, but didn’t comment on that. “Honestly, I was surprised when he mentioned introducing us. I figured a girl like you… you’d already be spoken for.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “A girl like me?” 

“You know,” he said, eyes scanning me a little too deliberately, “clean background, good family. Knows how to move in rooms like this one.” 

I resisted the urge to shift away from him, keeping my posture composed. “It’s not exactly easy keeping up an image like that,” I said evenly, meeting his gaze.

Ronan tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing with curiosity. “So what do you like then?” he asked. “In a guy, I mean. Since you’re not exactly advertising yourself to the highest bidder.”

I shrugged, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “Someone who's patient… steady,” I said slowly. “Someone who challenges me, but doesn’t make me feel small. Someone who’s protective, not possessive. Loyal, Honest. Doesn’t put on a show. Just… knows who he is and doesn’t need to prove anything.”

I paused, blinking. That sounded very similar to someone I already knew. 

Ronan gave a quiet “Hmm,” like he was storing that all away in his mental filing cabinet. “Interesting.”

Then, without skipping a beat, he asked, “So when do you want to get married?”

The shift made my eyebrows rise. “Sorry?”

“You know,” he said, smiling like this was the most natural next question in the world. “What age, what stage, whatever. Your ideal timeline.”

I let out a soft breath. “When I fall in love. When I find the right person.”

That made Ronan laugh. Not just a chuckle—a short, amused, disbelieving laugh that caught me completely off guard. I stared at him, feeling my stomach twist.

“You actually believe in that stuff?” he said, still smirking. “Love?”

My mouth opened slightly, then shut again. The embarrassment hit slow but deep, like heat crawling up my neck.

“I didn’t say it had to be a fairytale,” I muttered. “Just someone who matches me.”

Ronan just shook his head, still wearing that smug smile. “Yeah, right.”

I stood a little straighter, my fingers curling slightly at my sides.

“Guess we see the world differently,” I said softly, but firmly.

He didn’t argue. But the silence between us grew heavier—his disbelief still hanging in the air, and my words already starting to feel foolish.

Ronan let out a quiet laugh under his breath, almost like he didn’t mean for me to hear it. But I did.

“You’re so… girlish,” he muttered, shaking his head.

I blinked, taken aback. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged, hands tucked casually into his pockets. “Just that you talk like a child. Fairytales, love, waiting for the right man—it’s unrealistic. It’s… unwoman-like. You need to learn how to respect the men in your life.” 

I stared at him, stunned. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, voice harder now. “Girls like you, spoiled, coddled—think you can talk back, act like men are supposed to earn your respect. That’s not how this works.”

I felt the heat surge in my chest before I could stop it. My jaw clenched. “You don’t get to speak to me like that.”

“Why? Because you think you’re above everyone?” he snapped. “You need to be humbled.”

That was it.

“I don’t need anything from you,” I hissed, voice shaking. “And if your idea of a woman is someone who keeps her mouth shut and worships your ego, then I feel sorry for whoever ends up with you.”

Ronan’s eyes narrowed. “You’re out of line.”

“And you’re delusional. The next time you try to talk to a woman, don’t disrespect her whole sex in the process”

He stepped forward, frustration flaring. “You’re proving my point. You can’t even have a conversation without getting emotional—”

“Screw you!” I said, my voice cracking. I turned sharply, walking fast, before he could say another word.

My eyes burned, tears pricking the corners, blurring the path ahead. I stormed through the house, trying to breathe, trying to calm the ache in my chest.

I was tired of people telling me I was to much. 

Halfway across the marble hall when I heard him.

“Jules?”

Chris.

He stepped out from the lounge, catching sight of me just as I tried to duck past. His eyes locked on my face instantly.

“Jules—hey, what happened?” 

I didn’t say a word.

His voice softened. “Jules, talk to me—”

But I brushed past him, refusing to meet his eyes, refusing to let him see me like this. My heels clicked harshly against the polished floor as I made a beeline for the stairs, heart thudding in my throat.

He turned slightly, watching after me, his jaw tight with concern.

But I didn’t stop.

I made it to my room and closed the door behind me with more force than I meant to. The soft click of the latch sounded final, like a seal over everything I was feeling.

I didn’t even bother changing out of the dress. I just crossed the room, ignoring the ache in my chest, and sank onto the edge of my bed.

The tears came quickly—too quickly to stop.

Silent at first, then sharp. My shoulders shook as I buried my face in my hands, the fabric of the dress crumpling beneath my fingers.

I felt so oversimulated. 

The door creaked open, and I didn’t lift my head.

I didn’t have to.

I knew those footsteps—measured, composed, deliberate. The soft click of expensive heels against hardwood. My mother.

She stepped into the room without a word, her arms folded tightly across her chest. She closed the door behind her with a soft thud, then paused by the edge of the bed, her eyes scanning the scene like she’d walked into a meeting that had already gone off script.

“Why did you storm out like that?” she asked, tone sharp but quiet.

I didn’t answer.

She took a step closer. “Julianna.”

I kept my head down. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t insult my intelligence,” she said flatly.

I finally glanced up—and whatever she was about to say next stopped the second her eyes met mine.

Her posture shifted. Slightly. Barely. But it did. The coldness in her expression flickered, replaced by something else. Something restrained and unfamiliar—concern, maybe, but the kind that came wrapped in silk and steel.

She sat down on the edge of the bed beside me, not too close. She didn’t touch me, didn’t coddle me. That wasn’t who she was. But her voice softened. Just enough.

“What happened?”

I blinked, brushing a tear away with the side of my palm. “Nothing.”

She gave me a look—skeptical, measured—but let it go.

Instead, I took a breath, voice low. “Dad needs to stop trying to set me up with these weird, overconfident men. I’m serious.”

There was a pause. Her gaze drifted across the room before settling back on me.

“I told him Ronan was too forward,” she said coolly. “But your father likes young men who are ‘assertive.’” The word dripped with distaste.

I shook my head. “He wasn’t assertive. He was condescending and entitled and made me feel like I was being auctioned off.”

A quiet hum escaped her. Not quite agreement. Not quite dismissal. She still hadn’t moved closer, but her voice dipped slightly lower.

“It’s exhausting,” she murmured. “Being a woman. Especially in this world.”

I blinked. That wasn’t something she said often.

“I know it’s hard. And I know your father’s idea of a match isn’t always… realistic.”

I nodded slowly, the lump in my throat making it hard to speak.

“I just want to choose for myself,” I whispered. “Is that too much to ask?”

She didn’t respond right away.

Here’s the thing about her—she was a kind woman, deep down, but most of the time she came off harsh. My dad chased perfection, and marrying him turned a once carefree woman into someone who never let herself falter.

She mother paused at the door, her hand resting lightly on the knob.

Then, without turning around, she asked casually, “Is this about Chris?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

She finally looked over her shoulder, arching a brow. “You really think I didn’t notice what I walked in on earlier?”

I opened my mouth, then shut it again, heat rising to my face.

“That was nothing,” I said quickly. “He was just—annoying me. That’s what he does.”

She tilted her head slightly, studying me the way she always did when she knew I was lying.

“You looked like you were about to rip each other’s clothes off,” she said dryly.

“Mom!” I nearly choked. “We were arguing. Loudly. That’s it. I very much dislike Chris.”

“Mmhmm,” she replied, clearly unconvinced.

I stood up, crossing my arms. “I do.”

She didn’t press, but the silence that followed spoke volumes. Like she’d already made up her mind and didn’t feel the need to argue it.

“You’re a terrible liar,” she murmured, more to herself than to me. “You my daughter Jules. I may be harsh at times, but I know you.” 

“I’m telling the truth.” I said, then added, “and as my mother I would except you know who and what I dislike”

She gave me a faint, elegant shrug. “If you say so.”

And with that, she turned and walked out, leaving me standing there, flushed, flustered, and very much not okay.  

Flashes of how we stood earlier played through my mind—the way his hands cradled my cheeks. He’s been in my face my whole life, but today… it felt different.

Whatever.

Christopher Sturniolo could kiss my ass for all I cared.

READ ALL RELEASED PARTS HERE!

[a/n: i think this series has the most tension. Like and reblog! mwah] - ceyana

tags: @chynapleasehavemercy @sweetheartsturn @mattspillowprincess @oopsiedaisydeer @chriss-slutt @sturnsflirt @idkwhatthisis2009 @angelicsturns @fmg05 @enviedparty101 @cupiidsbows @malox12 @chrissturniolodailysluts @ribbonlovergirl @kitty-meow-meow44 @jaybirdie34 @mattscore @mattsfrenchtoast @sturnsobsessed21 @kingofeverythingmb @courta13 @slvtf0rchr1s @mattspillowprincess @thewizardfall @sturnsfluff @ifamils @le4hsblog @carrielovesmatt @mattsdiva @mattysmrwrinkleton @sturnsplatter @idkwhatimdoinghereeeeeee @ellssturn @meatballlover10 @sagesturns @kiarasmaybank @malox12 @sturnsblogs

Comment taglist on this post to be added!

[camficdiner]

☕️cam’s fic diner — order 127

🍒thank you! this belongs to a very sweet soul who’s always down for a bit of chaos, emotional tension, and Hughes family meddling. Thank you for trusting me with your ideas — and for always coming back for more. You keep this diner running, and I’m so damn grateful for you. 🤍

💬 “Yours, Kinda”

✨ description & prompts:

character: Jack Hughes

prompt: you finally take time off work — Jack invites you to Montauk with his brothers. you and him aren’t dating, technically… except he’s been introducing you as his girlfriend to everyone.

tropes: friends with benefits, fake dating but not really fake, friends-to-lovers, big soft boy in love

type: fluff-smut

🧁🛼🍒✨

You finally have a break.

After two months of back-to-back shifts, emergency calls, and pulling more weight than your job pays you for, you’ve clocked out, thrown your bag in the back seat, and made your way out to Montauk. It’s not a vacation, not really, but Jack said he had a few days off and invited you out — just a few quiet days by the lake with his brothers and some of their friends.

You didn’t really ask who else was going to be there. You were too tired to care.

He opens the door barefoot when you arrive, a beer in one hand and the biggest grin on his face. “Took you long enough,” he says, before pulling you into a hug — long, familiar, and a little too tight for just friends. His lips brush your temple before you can think, and he mumbles, “Missed you.”

You hum, resting your head against his shoulder. “You’re warm. I’m gonna sleep for ten years.”

“Not before we eat,” he says, nudging your side. “Come on. Everyone’s outside.”

He leads you through the house and out to the dock. Quinn’s there, feet in the water. Luke’s making some game out of skipping bottle caps. A few other guys you don’t recognize turn to look. Jack doesn’t say anything, just walks right up to the group and says, “Hey, this is my girl. Be nice.”

Your heart stutters.

No one questions it — not Luke, not Quinn, not the guys. They just wave, introduce themselves, ask if you want a drink. As if you’re really his.

You don’t correct it. You don’t want to.

⸻

That night, he finds you brushing your teeth in the guest bathroom, wearing nothing but a tee and the tiniest sleep shorts you own. He knocks once on the door and steps in without waiting. “Just wanted to say goodnight.”

You smile at him through the mirror, toothpaste foam and all. “Night, Hughes.”

But he doesn’t leave. He lingers in the doorway, hands in his pockets, watching you finish up. There’s a nervous energy about him — like he’s going to say something, then doesn’t. You turn to face him. “What?”

“You know when I said you’re my girl?”

Your eyes narrow, but you nod.

He breathes out a quiet laugh. “I didn’t mean to say it out loud, but… I do. Mean it.”

You blink.

“We’ve been doing this thing,” he says. “And it’s great. I love it. But I also hate it when I don’t know if I can touch you in public. Or if I have to guess if you’re seeing someone else. I keep telling people you’re mine like maybe if I say it enough, it’ll be true.”

“Jack—”

“I’m not trying to corner you,” he says quickly. “I just needed you to know.”

You pause.

And then step forward, slowly, slipping your fingers into the collar of his hoodie. “So when you said it in front of your brothers…”

“Yeah,” he admits, smiling shy. “Wanted them to get used to the idea.”

You kiss him.

It’s slow at first, then not. His hands are on your hips, then under your shirt. You back him up until his knees hit the bed, and he pulls you down with him, laughing against your mouth until it turns into something heavier.

⸻

Jack’s lips are all over you, tongue hot against your neck, and his hands tremble just slightly where they touch your thighs. He takes his time — no teasing, no games. Just worship.

“Let me,” he whispers, pulling your panties down your legs. “Just wanna make you feel good.”

You moan when his tongue meets your heat, hands in his hair, gasping as he eats you out with single-minded focus. He’s mumbling something into you — “my girl,” “so good,” “can’t believe you’re mine” — over and over again until you’re shaking under him, thighs clenching, back arched.

He doesn’t stop until you’re begging.

And when he finally pulls you onto his lap, slides in slow, kisses your jaw as you gasp his name — it’s the most tender you’ve ever felt.

He moves slow. Deep. Lets you feel every second of it. He holds your waist like he’s afraid you’ll leave. His voice cracks when he moans, “Fuck, I love you like this.”

You wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his neck. “Me too.”

⸻

You wake up tangled in his sheets the next morning. Luke knocks once before barging in. “Hey, Jack, you left your—oh my god.”

You and Jack both yelp.

Luke groans and walks right back out, muttering, “Why do you hate me.”

Jack flops back into bed, face buried in a pillow. “So… that’s how he finds out.”

You laugh, curl up against his side, and say quietly, “I guess it really is true now.”

He turns to face you, brushing your hair back gently. “Yeah. It is.”

And he kisses you, soft and slow.

[comehereoohlala]

let me see you

summary: it's a scorching summers day in new york, your boyfriend (a man notorious for hating parties) is insisting you attend a pool party with him. it's only your worst nightmare.

rating: explicit (18+)

tags: fem!reader x hozier. tw body image issues, anxiety, mutual masturbation, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, (the smut takes a couple thousand words to get there but i promise it gets there)

words: 5,238

note: ah! i feel like i have so much to say about this fic! thank you @uprightpillar for beta reading the smut for me you are the best!! the rest has not been beta read, we die like the poor thing in the road! and biggest thank you ever to @man-i-love-fanfiction for the prompt, this is for you, love you. but like always writing is my diary so this became very personal for me as well... sorry lmao <3

fic under the cut ❊

When you were 9, you started to realise you didn't look like the other girls your age. You stood out more in pictures, took up more space in the confined space of the picture compared to all of your friends.

When you were 13, you went behind your mums back to try on a bikini in a change room. And when the reflection staring back at you didn't match the reflection of the pretty, cool, older girls you always saw on the beach, you couldn't get it off you fast enough.

When you were 16 and finally the age of those pretty, cool, older girls, you knew you were the complete opposite of them. They were so perfect, almost as if they had been pulled straight out of a magazine.

You bought your first bikini when you were 17.

You didn't wear one outside of your bedroom until you were closer to 20. And even then, the shorts had to be high waisted, and you would only wear black. Nothing that made you stand out more than you know you already did.

When you were 20, you became convinced you were completely unlovable, entirely unattractive. Maybe some might say you were dramatic, but it was how you felt.

But when you were 20, Andrew came along. He was 24, crooked teeth, messy long hair and the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen. He had been on tour in your country, staying at the hotel right around the corner from the coffee shop you worked at. You called off everything and came into work everyday just with the hopes he would come back. And he did. Four days in a row.

On day two, his hand brushed over yours when you passed him his coffee and you nearly dropped it all over him. On day three you took your sweet time making his order, especially considering he had ordered coffees for all the people with him, it gave you a good excuse to listen to his voice as he talked to those with him and before you knew it you were completely head over heels.

On day four, you finally, properly talked. He told you he was a musician and it was his last day here. He stopped being a gorgeous mystery boy and now had a name that suited him perfectly, and you instantly wanted nothing more than to spend a lifetime saying it. Your best friend Charlie had written your number on the coffee cup you gave him, and you were too busy memorising every inch of his face one last time to even notice. But he had messaged you almost straight away, asking if you wanted to meet up when your shift ended. You had never said yes to something quicker.

But it couldn't work. He didn't even live in the same country as you. And your lives were just too different. You stayed friends for five long, painful years, growing closer and closer as time went on.

Until just over a year ago, when you couldn't hold all the love you had for him in any longer, and turns out neither could he. That was when you were 25.

Now here you are, at 26. It's a hot summer day in New York, where you've been staying with him while he finishes some music with producers and does some face-to-face meetings and work with his label.

But today is a scorching Saturday, and one of Andrew's friends that lives here is hosting a big pool party. Lots of people he knows, but also people he doesn't know. And Andrew will be the only person you know.

"Coffee for you my darling," he says softly, coming up behind you and passing you a the hot cup, his now free arm wrapping around your waist before pressing a kiss into your neck. You're leaning against a fence near the coffee shop, watching the people in the park. The families and young kids, the couples on picnics, the groups of friends. Trying to calm your mind, but it's going a million miles an hour. You instinctively pull your shirt a little, trying to stop it from hugging to you.

"So… how much of a pool party is this pool party?" You ask, bringing the coffee cup to your mouth.

"Ehm… what do you mean?"

"Well I don't have anything to wear like in a pool. I didn't bring anything with me."

"Oh…" he thought for a second, "yeah I probably don't either."

Yes, you thought to yourself. Now he'll suggest that we just don't go and have a quiet day togethe-

"Well it doesn't start until around 4, why don't we go shopping?"

What. This man despises social gatherings, you can't count how many times you have snuck out early of parties and dinners. No one complains more about them than him. He will normally take any bait you give him as an excuse to not go, which is what you were expecting to happen. But now he wants to go shopping? Just so they can go?

"Well… I mean…"

"Come on," he takes your hand, "there's heaps of little shops around here and we really do have to go to this today. He did a lot for me when I put my first album out, but he's a busy guy and this is the first chance I've had to see him in ages. Please baby. I know you don't know these people but I promise they'll love you, it's impossible not to."

You nod and he smiles, so big and wide, and there's a mischievous little glint in his eye. "Can I pick?"

You're standing in a shop, staring blankly at the wall of bikinis in front of you. Andrews hand in yours, and you look over at him, his eyes scanning his many options; he's thinking carefully, taking this very seriously.

He let's go of your hand and starts to grab a couple. A red set first, then pink, some patterned ones of lots of colours, a brown set, a dark blue, one that is beaded with seashells.

You leave him be, and turn your attention to the array of cover ups and sundresses. You have no intention of being seen in a bikini in front of anyone but Andrew, and even then, that thought makes your stomach turn a little. It's been a while since he's seen you in something like that. Even in the bedroom you prefer the lights a little dimmer, and recently you'll keep your top on until he is practically begging you to let him tear it off you. And a bikini is different. Especially when you're surrounded by other people. It just makes certain things more obvious.

You decide on a white, short, flowy, throw over dress, and you turn around to see your boyfriend carrying probably more than twenty options for you. Bikinis and one-pieces.

He smiles when he sees your face, "I think I got a bit overwhelmed. So many choices. And you'd look so good in all of them."

You shake your head, force a smile. Your mind continues to race. He's lying to you, he's just being nice. He knows you don't feel confident and he's just trying to be nice.

"Let's see what you've got there mister."

He dumps them out onto a nearby display table. You start to shuffle through them and put them in two piles, he rests his head on your shoulder. "I love the brown one, you always look so gorgeous in brown," he says softly, pointing to it, "if I can only pick one, I think that's the one." You see how low the bottoms must sit, so different to the high waisted ones you normally wear, but you pick them up anyways. Maybe you won't wear them today, maybe a day that's just the two of you.

You get him to pick another and he happily does; this time he's toying between a simple olive green and a white with what looks watercolour flowers of a variety of colours.

"Can't do strapless," you say quietly, trying to hide your embarrassment.

But he just dropped the white one, not making a big deal out of it. "Good thing I love you in green," he smiled, leaning in to kiss your cheek. "What do I have to do to get you to try them on for me when we get back?" He whispers in your ear, his voice so low and desperate just from imagining you wearing these is enough to make you feel like mush.

You smile, deciding to tease him back, leaning in and whispering, "I will… if you let me braid your hair for tonight."

"Done."

You took the brown and green ones from him, and waited until his back was turned putting away all the others he had picked out while you quickly checked the sizes.

"Hey Andy," you called him back over, "can you um… can you get me a bigger size in this one?" You passed him the brown, "I can't reach up the top."

"Yeah course," you watched him shuffle through the rack. Twice.

"That's the biggest size isn't it?"

He looks at you, "I can go ask if they have any out the back?"

"Please don't. It's fine. I don't need two anyways."

He goes to say something, but you just take his hand and walk over to the register. You're so embarrassed. His words ring in your ears, I love the brown one, you always look so gorgeous in brown.

You've killed the mood and you know it and you hate it.

He tries to change the topic on your walk back to where you're staying, and you nod along as he talks, occasionally adding in a little comment, but never really more than that.

When you get home he makes you both lunch, but you're now so full of nerves about this stupid, silly, pool party that you can barely stomach anything. You feel like you're going to throw up over a pool party. You feel juvenile, you're 26, not 15. And that thought somehow makes it worse. That crashing realisation that you look nothing like the woman you had pictured being when you were 15.

You can feel him watching you closely, you can see the cogs turning as he tries to puzzle your thoughts together, work out everything you can't verbalise. That look behind his eyes you recognised all too well, that look he got when he was really thinking about a song he was writing, when he was reading, when he was trying to understand all of you, even the bits you yourself didn't understand.

He comes up behind you in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"Will you try it on for me?"

"I don't know…"

"Please," he turned you around to face him.

Unbeknownst to you, Andrew was now a man on a mission, a careful, delicate mission he had come up with during your quiet lunch together. It had to be done right, he knew you well enough to know that this was much bigger than just a party or a bikini. What 'this' was exactly he was determined to work out, and even more determined to help you with. But he had to be gentle, and he had to let it come from you first.

He ran this hands down from your waist to your hips, pressed you a little closer to him, "please?"

You sighed in defeat, "Andrew…"

"I can finish the dishes while you go change. And you can do whatever you want to my hair. And you can pick my outfit. And I'll make us drinks we can have before we go. …Please."

"Fine," you breathe out, shaking your head, but you can't not smile as you do.

He kisses your neck, "yay," he says against your skin, and you smile again. You're not quite sure what you did to deserve him, someone who audibly says 'yay' at you agreeing to wear a bikini.

You change in the bathroom, having made the decision to shower and quickly shave every inch of your body. You exfoliate, moisturise. Anything you think will make you look better in it.

The olive green stares at you the whole time, it's as if it's taunting you. It's much bolder and brighter compared to the brown. You wish you had the brown. The one he loved and picked first. Second choice. Those two words ring in your mind. Ones that often did. What if you were his second choice? Maybe even his third? Or fourth?

You had known Andrew for so long. You knew of his exes, even met a few of them. You always felt like you looked so different from them. You would be blatantly lying if you said it never bothered you, it never snuck up in the back of your mind, that it never once made you hate what met you in the mirror every day.

You only feel worse when you struggle to get it on. You spend what feels like forever trying to adjust the straps so they fit, you spend another forever trying to fix it in the back, and then the front, just so it sits right.

When you finally stop, admitting defeat in your fight with the frustratingly small pieces of fabric, your eyes properly meet the mirror. What stares back at you is somehow worse than anything you were picturing in your head. Your heart drops. You cannot be seen in this. Not even Andrew, especially Andrew.

"Darling," you hear a knock from the door, "is everything okay?"

"Fine," you stumble out, voice shaking a little. You frantically try to wipe your tears but they won't stop coming. It's just like it was when you were 13, standing in that change room. Wishing the body you saw in the mirror wasn't yours. Asking why it was given to you. Your eyes find every imperfection, until you can't stand to look at yourself for another second.

"Just… um… I'll be out in a few minutes," you yell out, and pull on a jumper that he had left in the bathroom. He wore this jumper all the time. It was big, even on his tall frame, always coming past his arms. You loved it because you swallowed it you up, covered everything.

"Okay…" he responds. He's leaning up against the door, holding two glasses. "Ehm… I made gin. I'll just be out here." He puts the glasses down on the little table in the corner room. He sits down on the end of the bed and watches the bubbles in your drink, taking a slow sip of his own. His eyes wander to your array of things on the table, the notebook with the pink suede fabric that covers it, your black framed glasses, the unorganised pile of silver jewellery from rings to necklaces.

You have sunk down to the floor, unable to face the mirror even with your whole body covered. You lean against the wall, the cool tiles pressing to you as you fiddle with the sleeves of the jumper.

You're not sure how long passes, but it must have been longer than a few minutes, because he knocks on the door again.

"Please darling… just come out here."

The sooner you can get this over with — tell him some lie about not feeling well and that he should go without you — the sooner you can curl up in bed and wallow. You wipe your eyes, splash your face with some cold water, and finally open the door to the warm light of your bedroom.

He's sitting on the bed, leaning back a little, drink in hand. Sunlight seeps through the window on to his face, and your heart stings at his beauty.

"Hey," he gives you a sly smile, "I love it," he gestured to the jumper.

"Not funny," you shoot him a look.

He puts his drink down, holds his hands out to you, "come 'ere."

"I'm not in the mood Andrew." But you still walk over to him, and he takes your hands in his.

"Let me see," he says, so quietly, so lovingly.

You let his hands slowly drift to the hem of the jumper, his fingers slowly curling into the fabric with the clear intention to pull it up, but your hands hold it down, and you shake your head.

"My love," he looks up at you, his hand finding your thigh and his thumb slowly moves up and down. The feeling is grounding, his hand is cold from his drink. You are here, right here, with the man you love you tell yourself, and your breath comes out more shaky than you would have hoped. "What's going on?"

"Uhm…" you want to tell him, you really do. You want his reassurance. You want him to wipe away your tears. But the words refuse to leave your throat.

He squeezes your hand, "it's okay-"

"I can't show you," you blurt out suddenly, "I can't let you see… because… because I'm scared you'll see me... you'll see me and you'll realise… and… and you'll stop liking me."

He shakes his head, firmly, eyebrows furrowed together, but his eyes still soft. "What would make you think that?"

You shrug. You suddenly want nothing more but to sink into the jumper and run back into the bathroom. Hide and never be seen again.

"I've seen you before darling. More than times than I can count. And you know how I feel about you."

"No Andrew. No you haven't. Not recently. Andy…" your voice starts to shake, "…you could have anyone. Why would you stay with me?"

He never looks away from you. "Because I'm in love with you. I fell in love with all of you. Your kindness, your strength, your mind, your body. I love all of you, and I think every inch of you is beautiful. Beyond beautiful. Just picturing you…" he brings your hand down and your eyes follow to the growing strain in his pants, "just from sitting here, waiting for you, imagining you," his voice is lower now, an undertone of desperation.

"Let me see you," he nearly whispers. The request is so gentle, so tender. You know he won't mind if you say no.

But when his fingers find the hem of the jumper again, you don't stop him from pulling it up. You squeeze your eyes shut, you can't bare his reaction. He hasn't seen you, in full light like this, for months. You haven't let him. Your chest feels tight, your body telling you there is no where near enough air getting into your lungs right now.

"Shh," you hear, and your eyes snap open, meeting his again. "Breathe, just breathe baby. It's just me."

Your arms instinctively go to cover your stomach but he takes your hands before they can, his eyes scanning over you as if he is committing you to memory.

"I… uhm… I think the brown would have been better," you finally manage quietly, breaking the silence.

He looks at you, snapped out of his trance, "no…" his fingers slowly tracing over the fabric sitting up by your hips, "the green suits you… compliments you." His other hand moves to your face, tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, "…it reminds me of you. God… you're so beautiful. Did I say that yet?"

You smile a little, tears stinging your eyes, fiddling anxiously with his hand. He stands up and you tilt your head up to look at him.

"Sit down for me baby," he orders gently, and you follow without hesitation. Arms instinctively crossing over your body when you do.

He looks down, reaches to the back of your head and takes out your hair, slipping the hair tie onto his wrist. You watch, dazed, as he sinks to his knees before you.

You shiver at the feeling of his fingers gently, slowly moving up your left leg, his lips doing the same, as he trails kisses from your ankle to your thigh, before repeating the same on your right.

He took your hand next. He kissed each finger, then your palm, your wrist, up to your elbow and all the way to your shoulder. Stopping every now and then at the odd scar or freckle for longer.

He's still on his knees, but at eye level with you now. He kisses every pimple scar from your bad acne days when you were a teenager. Lips find your nose, then your lips, his tongue fits perfectly in your mouth. He wants all of you, every inch. Because he needs you to know how much he adores every bit of you. You can feel his hands on your back, whilst yours curl into his hair. He fiddles with one hand at the slightly flimsy clasp holding your top on, you feel it drop onto your lap, and he quickly tosses it to the side, never once breaking your kiss.

His hand moves to cup one your breasts, "You know…" he starts, a little smile growing as he does, "sometimes I like to think they were meant for me… the way they fit so perfectly in my hand," he says between soft quick kisses, and you can't help but giggle a little. His kisses trail to your jaw, and you lean your head back, your body relaxing and leaning into his touch the more he goes on.

"Lay down," he breathes against your collarbone, and you don't hesitate.

You watch as he crawls on to the bed, his hands by your shoulders to hold himself above you. He continues at your collarbone, and you sigh beneath him as he continues pressing his lips to your breasts. He kisses every stretch mark, teeth dragging where he knows you are extra sensitive, and you can feel his smile at every noise you make. His fingers roll over your nipples, and you squirm underneath him.

"Andrew," you breathe out, "please."

He looks up from where he has been comfortable against your chest for the past few minutes, "patience baby. Patience." He doesn't break eye contact as he goes back to kissing you, making his kisses painfully slower, dragging out every movement.

He's finally moving down your sternum, and your anxiety starts to rise again. "Andy," you say quickly, "stop."

He halts his kisses instantly, looking up at you, face twisted in concern, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just…" you feel so exposed, you want nothing more than to hide.

He reads right through you, takes your hand, "you're okay. I promise. Let me love you baby, let me show you how much I love you."

You relax again and nod, holding onto his hand tightly as he continues moving downwards with his kisses, taking extra care to show his affection to every newly formed stretch mark that you had taken great lengths to hide from him.

You had been unable to bare the thought of anyone seeing them, not even Andrew, not until they had at least faded a little. And yes, no matter how many times you told yourself that they were normal, that it was nothing to hide or be embarrassed of, it never really stuck. The voice in the back of your mind fulled by the words of girls from high school, of jokes from ex-boyfriends and comments from 'friends', meant that you could never fully accept any of your countless repetitions of self-love to be true.

He made his way down further, pausing to trace each line gently with his finger tip. The darker ones, the more faded nearly invisible ones. Your eyes sting, you squeeze his hand tighter.

"I love you," he breathes against you, ever so quietly, kissing you again. "I love you." You hear him repeat it over and over. Like a mantra or a prayer. Your head falls back as he moves to your hips, a tear rolling down your face.

He lets go of your hand to move off the bed, getting back on his knees. Slipping his fingers into the green fabric still sitting on your hips, pulling it down as slowly as he can. You watch as he quickly ties his hair back, held in place with the hair tie he had removed taken from you earlier.

He brings his attention back to your hips, kissing along your pelvic bone, one of his hands resting on your upper thigh. He works carefully, lips brushing against your hair, but never going further down where you ache for him. Moving along to your inner thigh, he effortlessly pulls you further down the bed to be closer to him, before guiding your left leg to rest on his shoulder.

He kisses up your inner thighs, reaching again for your outstretched hand as he does. His lips are so close to where you want him, need him, crave him, but never quite.

It's not until you're whimpering, begging for him, body squirming with need that his tongue finally runs down you, set on continuing his devotion of every inch of you. He knows with perfect precision what makes you scream, what makes you whine, what makes you plead his name over and over. He works with purpose, and the way he works… one might think he was sent to earth with the sole purpose of bringing you pleasure.

His nose brushes over your clit, and the sensation draws out a loud cry of his name. He grips your thigh in response, nails digging into your skin that you think for a second he might draw blood.

His finger slips into you, then another, his mouth and tongue still focused on your clit. Your hips thrust up involuntarily to meet him. He's going slow, dragging this out, it's perfect torture.

He's barely started when you feel his mouth leave you and you blindly try and reach for him in a desperate, almost pathetic, attempt to get him back.

"Look at me," he breathes. You pull your head up from the bed to look down at him.

You whine, "why did you stop?"

"I want you to touch yourself baby," he says softly, "make yourself feel good for me."

You stare at him for a moment. You just want his warm hot mouth back on you, his fingers curling perfectly into you.

"I want you," you plead desperately.

"Show me," he repeats.

You don't break your eye contact with him as your hand moves down to your pussy. The position you're in is awkward, not really what you would prefer for this. But you don't care, you don't want to stop looking at him.

He nods as you start to touch yourself, watching intently as you slip in two fingers, as your thumb brushes over your clit.

Just when you start to increase your pace he shakes his head. "Slow," he whispers, "go slow for me." You just nod, slowing down for him.

He never takes his gaze away from you, eyes dark, just like how they get when you ride him to oblivion or suck him dry.

"God," he moans, his hands fiddling with his belt, shrugging his pants down just barely enough so that he can reach his cock, using the hand still slick with you to touch himself. He's following your thrusts, timing them exactly with his own movements.

"My love," he pants, "you see now what you do to me, just by-" he cuts himself off with a low moan, watching you speed up your fingers, unable to stand the painfully slow pace for another moment. Especially now, watching him chase his own pleasure, seeing how close he was the second he touched himself. All from watching you.

You both keep going, he mimics your movements as closely as possible, until he can't stand not touching you for a second longer. He practically leaps at you, desperate to have your taste on his lips again, his hand stops stroking himself to hold you close to him, one hand on your hip, the other on your thigh.

You're already so close, that his tongue slipping into you again almost sends you completely over the edge. You frantically thrust up as his nose brushes over your clit again, and then again; he's toying with you, never giving you quite the right amount of pressure he knows you need. He stops moving and your fingers dig into his hair, holding his head in place between your thighs.

"Andrew," you beg, whining for him.

He moves his hand from your thigh to return his two fingers into you, just like they had been before. But at a much faster pace than he had been earlier. His fingers hitting where yours weren't able. He lifts his head up to see you, and he can't not smile at the sight of you, head thrown back in pleasure.

"This what you wanted baby?"

You nod, "don't stop. Please don't," you look down to give him a pleading look, your eyes meeting his grin and his beard covered in you. You watch him as he moves back down, lips and tongue latching onto your clit as he slips a third finger into you. It's almost too much, but it's the too much he knows you need.

His free hand has left your hip to stroke himself again frantically, and you can feel his fingers inside you almost trembling with his own pleasure.

One of your hands falls back onto the mattress to hold you up as your body starts to shake. Your fingers on one hand curl into the blanket, the other hand holding onto his hair like a lifeline. That feeling in your core growing, threatening to burst any minute.

You start to whine, desperate, pleading for a release and you can feel him smile. He picks up the speed of his fingers, tongue moving faster on your clit; only picking up his pace as your hips buck into his face frantically. You're holding and pulling on his hair so tightly that the bun he had put it in earlier is now a thing of the past.

He doesn't stop until he's sure he's gotten everything out of you, gently slowing down as your body relaxes, coming down from your high.

He eventually moves to lean against your inner thigh, looking up at you. He's still touching himself with as much fervour as he had been with you, quiet moans escaping his mouth. You brush a hand through his hair, down across his face and he never once breaks his gaze away from you, quickly reaching his own climax, his head falling forward with a cry of your name as he comes.

He beckons you onto the floor with him with his hand, too breathless to speak. He pulls a blanket off the bed, covering you with it as you rest on his shoulder. You both relax against the back of the bed, catching your breaths, hands locked together.

"Thank you," you whisper, bringing his hand to your lips. "You know… I think you're beautiful too."

He presses a kiss to your temple, wrapping an arm around you.

"I lied," he begins proudly, "there was never a pool party."

[mitocamdria]

Carmy is a serial plotter

So I wanted to do this post to serve as a sort of compilation of proof that Carmy puts serious thought into his plans to spend time or hoard the possessions of the people he romantically desires. This theory is so fascinating to me because it adds another intriguing layer of personality to the tormented and talented chef we all have come to love. To layout the evidence I’ll break it down by season.

Season 1:

I think we actually get the first sign that Carmy plots when he texts Syd before opening Mikey’s letter. After he states his behavior was not ok, he tells Syd that her check is ready for her to come get whenever.

Now please correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t it more customary that a final check be mailed to a former employee, especially if the employee and employer are not in the most cordial of relationships, which at that time they were very much not. Or Carmy could have asked if Syd would like to come in to retrieve the check or have it mailed. But no, Carmy specifically says she needs to come to the restaurant to get it. I think this was Carmy’s way of ensuring he could see her at least one last time to try and convince her to come back, even before they found the tomato can money (that money certainly helped his plan).

Season 2:

One of the first metas that came about suggesting that Carmy formulates plans in lieu of just communicating his feelings is from @fairestbeard and can be read here. It brilliantly lays out how Carmy is the one whom purposefully messed up the lacto ferment he and Syd were working on in order to be able to make the suggestion that they essentially go on a food tour date which Carmy failed to do previously in front of the lockers at The Bear. There’s also evidence that Carmy purposefully moved his Chef coat to his kitchen where he knew Syd was going to be which eventually led to him gifting her the Thom Browne Chef coat.

Season 3:

Ever Dinner

So I think there may already be meta written about this but I can’t find a specific post about it so definitely let me know of any existing meta.

Carmy made a plan to ask Syd to the Ever Funersl dinner ahead of time, indicated by the fact that Carmy awkwardly starts the conversation with “We’re closed tomorrow night” seemingly in the hopes to steer the conversation towards the Ever dinner. Once he realizes he has an opening he makes an obviously pensive expression and then shoots his shot.

Syd’s Scrunchie

There’s been a lot of speculation that the scrunchie Carmy has on his dresser is Sydney’s. Sydney is the only character to consistently wear scrunchies when she’s not working in the restaurant. So therefore I think Carmy had to have taken it one of the times she was in his apartment. Or maybe Syd had one in the restaurant lying around somewhere accessible to Carmy.

This theory is really interesting because it would be easy enough for Camry to just give the scrunchie back to Sydney if he innocently came across it but the fact that he’s hoarding it shows that he is holding onto it because he loves her deeply.

Season 4:

Now this season is where the plotting gets heavy. @freedelusionshere was one of if not the first to come up with the idea that it was Carmy that took Syd’s cleaver (post here) and @hamachibloodmagic reblogged with photo evidence that Syd indeed used her cleaver around Carmy shortly before it went missing (reblog here).

@thoughtfulchaos773’s meta detailing how Carmy lies is explored in great detail here and also provides evidence that Carmy hoarded Claire’s green sweater which also serves as proof that Carmy probably took Syd’s cleaver.

I find it hilarious that when Sydney tells Carmy she lost her cleaver, instead of offering help to find it (which would be the normal and expected response), Carmy immediately asks her if she needs a new cleaver. CARMY BE PLOTTING. It’s definitely implied Carmy is going to engage in another grand gift giving gesture towards Syd, because that is what Carmy does when he realizes he can actually provide something Sydney wants or needs, like with the chef coat. Only this time, Carmy TAKES the object so that he can replace it, probably with one that is high end or with significant sentimental value.

Significance

What does all of this prove? Carmy is very aware of his feelings for Syd. There has still been some speculation within this community as to whether or not Carmy is aware that he is deeply in love with Syd and the fact that Carmy plots in order to get closer to her is evidence he does these things intentionally.

He even so much as calls himself a “psycho” when he is stuck in the walk in and questions why he ever thought he could be in a relationship. On surface level, none of Carmy’s actions up to that point would be any that anyone would call psychopathic. Which leads me to believe he is very much aware that he plots and I think that is the psycho behavior to which he is referring. And due this realization, Carmy deflects and sabotages his plans because he believes he is unworthy of Syd’s love.

Perhaps the cherry on top to these revelations is that it only proves further that Carmy and Sydney are soulmates. Because we all know this story starts with Sydney’s plot to come and work for the chef who made the best meal of her life and lies to Carmy about why she’s there. These two are so afraid of open communication that they rely on elaborate plans they’ve made in order to get closer to the other. If that’s not soulmatism, I don’t know what is.

[zyart-jpg]

just realized I had put in myself as anon (I was the one who requested the wooin with a hard to please reader) when I asked to tag me when u wrote yellow part two. 💔mb! now u have my user so u could tag me.

(ps. apologies for having to send two requests again!)

a/n: sorry this took so long for me to do, my inbox is full of mixed messages and request i have to clean it up! here's a little something from me since i still haven't finished the part 2 of yellow :>

"Grease And Games"

Pairing: Wooin Yoo x Reader

Summary: You've always said no, until one greaseful day.

Tags: Fluff, Flirting, Get-together (sorta), Reader is part of Sabbath

Women had always been easy for him.

A smile. A compliment. A flash of charm laced with just enough bad intentions to make it exciting. Maybe a little flex here, a quick brush of his fingers there—and boom. 

Hook, line, and sunk.

It wasn’t strategy. It was just something he did, the way someone breathes. Natural. Unthinking. Always worked.

So why the fuck is it not working now?

“No, I don’t wanna go on a date with you, Wooin.” 

You didn’t even spare him a glance. Knees tucked under you, hands working methodically as you tightened a nut on the front fork of your fixie. Grease smudged your cheek, your sleeves were rolled to the elbow, and your expression hadn’t changed once since he walked in and started talking.

Brutal.

“Geez,” he groaned, flopping dramatically onto the bench like a wounded poet. “Come on, sweets. Just a little drive. Sunset, top down, my music, your pretty face in the passenger seat. What’s not to like?”

“The fact that it’s you behind the wheel.” 

You didn’t even say it meanly. Just flat. Like it was a fact. Like saying the sky’s blue or coffee makes you anxious. You gave the wrench another twist. Clicked your tongue at it. Reached for a new bolt like he wasn’t even there.

“Cold,” he whistled, sitting up, elbows on knees. “You know, usually I get called dangerous in a fun, sexy way. You make it sound like a court order.”

You wiped your hands on a rag, finally glancing his way with the kind of look that could put out a fire. “I’m not interested, Wooin.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that. It’s cute.”

You gave him a dry look. “You’re used to girls tripping over themselves for you, huh?”

“Can’t lie.” He grinned, all teeth and mischief, leaning back with casual ease. “They don’t usually put up a fight. But hey, I like a little chase. Makes the win sweeter.”

“This isn’t a game,” you replied, turning back to your bike, voice steady and unbothered. “And I’m not something to be won.”

That made him pause.

Just for a second.

Wooin watched you, watched the way your fingers worked with precision, how you moved with confidence, not caring if your hair was a mess or your face had streaks of grime. You didn’t fidget. You didn’t try to impress. Like youreally didn’t need him to look at you.

It was infuriating.

And maybe—just maybe—a little bit exhilarating.

“…Damn,” he murmured, a slow smile spreading again. “Why is it even hotter when you’re mean to me?”

You rolled your eyes. “Get a new hobby.”

“I did,” he said, and winked. “You.”

You snorted, loud and unladylike. “Jesus Christ.”

“Look,” he said, suddenly leaning forward, voice dropping a little—smooth now, a little more real, just enough vulnerability at the edges to make it feel like a dare. “I’m not saying you have to fall in love with me or whatever—not yet.”

You rolled your eyes again.

“But maybe—just maybe—you’re wrong about me,” he added with a tilt of his head, dark eyes gleaming. “Maybe you’d like it. The drive, I mean.”

There was a beat.

Your wrench slowed.

And then—

“Nope.”

He actually laughed. Loud, delighted. He clutched his chest like you’d wounded him and slumped back onto the bench.

“You’re killing me, baby,” he groaned. “Absolutely murdering me.”

You huffed, finally looking up at him fully, chin tilted.

“Good. Then maybe you’ll shut up long enough for me to finish fixing my bike.”

God help him—he’d never wanted to kiss someone so bad.

You gave the pedal one last spin, satisfied with the alignment, and brushed the back of your hand over your forehead, smearing grease across your temple. The chain purred clean and smooth now—good enough for a test ride tomorrow. You stood, dusting your palms on your thighs, glancing at your work like it was a finished painting.

Wooin hadn’t moved.

Still slouched on the bench, watching you with the lazy interest of a man who’d just discovered his favorite show had a hundred more episodes. His own fixie leaned untouched against the garage wall, clearly neglected: bar tape fraying like a drunk raccoon got to it.

You nodded toward it, frowning. “That thing still rideable?”

He raised a brow. “Jealous of my beast?”

“I’m worried it’ll fall apart under you before you hit the first turn.”

“Aw, concerned about me now?” he grinned, sitting up as you walked over to his bike, inspecting it like it personally offended you.

You didn’t answer. Just crouched and ran a finger along the chain, held it up.

Black.

You looked at him, deadpan. “When’s the last time you oiled this?”

He shrugged, easy. “Dunno. 2 weeks?”

You blinked at him. “We have a race in three days.”

“I’ve got a lucky streak.”

“You’re gonna die, is what you’re gonna do.”

“And here you are, saving my life.” He leaned in a little, voice dropping. “Starting to feel like fate, huh?”

You stood and gave him a flat look. “No. It feels like I’m surrounded by idiots.”

He gave a dramatic gasp, hand on his chest again like you’d stabbed him in the heart. “You wound me, truly.”

You shook your head and grabbed a clean rag, already reaching for your tools again. “Sit down. I’m not letting you ride this piece of shit into a race.”

“Hold on,” he said, eyes lighting up, “are you fixing my bike right now? Is this your love language?”

“Shut up before I change my mind.”

“Oh, I like it when you’re bossy.”

You glanced up, grease-smudged and exasperated. “Wooin.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever stop flirting?”

He thought about it for half a second. “Not when it’s working.”

“It’s not.”

You barely shot him a glance when you picked up the rag and started running it along his chain.

“You know,” you muttered, “you treat this thing like a party trick. You ever settle it after races?”

Wooin scoffed from his place on the bench. “Of course I do. I’m not a heathen. I just don’t overthink it like you do.”

“You don’t think at all.”

“Slander.” He leaned back lazily, watching you crouch beside the frame. “I built this thing with my own hands, you know.”

“Doesn’t mean you maintain it.”

“I do,” he said, slinking off the bench and plopping down beside you, too close again. “Just not with the same… sensual aggression.”

You snorted. “If by sensual you mean competent, then sure.”

He laughed, bumping his knee against yours lightly. “Look at you. All mean and greasy. I’m into it.”

“Into needing a tune-up?” you muttered, adjusting the tension. “Tires are underinflated too. How the hell do you sprint on this like a lunatic?”

“I am a lunatic,” he said proudly. “Plus it’s light enough, that’s all I need. Teaches discipline.”

“No brakes. It teaches recklessness.”

“Tomato, tomahto.”

You shook your head, sweat beading at your hairline. Your shirt clung a little, smudged at the collar. You wiped your forehead again and didn’t notice the streak it left across your temple.

He did.

Wooin had stopped talking.

You didn’t notice it at first—not until you paused, glanced to the side, and saw his eyes fixed on you, the playful gleam gone all at once.

Just looking, like he hadn’t really been before.

You blinked. “What?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Just leaned forward slowly, like the moment had shifted under both of you, and reached up to gently tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. The pads of his fingers barely brushed your skin—grease on his thumb, but he didn’t seem to care as it traced along your cheekbone, slow and certain, like he’d done it a thousand times in his head.

“You got grease on your face,” he said quietly, but didn’t pull away.

You froze, gaze flicking to his. His voice had dropped—not teasing now. Just quiet. Real. A little too real.

The corner of his mouth tugged up, soft. “You always this good to the things you ride?”

You exhaled through your nose. “Don’t make that a metaphor.”

He didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smirk.

Just watched you, thumb still brushing lightly at your cheek, eyes softer now, slower.

“…What if we went for a ride? Bikes.” he said.

You barely looked up. “We are riding. The crew’s meeting at—”

“No.”

He shook his head slowly, something quieter threading into his voice. “Not Hyuk. Not Joker. Not the crew.”

You blinked.

He was watching you again—not with the usual smirk, not with that smug, full-of-himself glint in his eye. This look was... still. Focused. Like everything else in the garage had dropped away and only you were left, framed in warm light and engine grease.

“Just you and me,” he said, voice lower now. “Just… go. Wherever you want.”

The words didn’t land the way they should have.

Not slick. Not charming.

Just honest.

And it messed you up more than anything else he’d said all night.

You stared at him, caught off guard by the tone—by the stillness in him. The usual cocky swagger dialed down into something careful. Like he knew he was asking for more than a ride. Like he was giving you a way out, but hoping you wouldn’t take it.

“I know the city like the back of my hand,” he murmured. “But I wanna see where you’d take me.”

And just like that, something glitched.

Your chest stuttered. You felt the heat crawl up your neck before you could catch it, before you could shut it down. Your fingers went still against the frame. You didn’t speak. You didn’t move.

You just flushed—just a little. Just enough for him to notice.

Shit.

He caught it immediately. Didn’t say anything, didn’t tease—but his lips curved gently, softer than before. Still a smile, but not a smirk. Not this time.

And somehow, that was worse.

He was serious. Not performing. Not pushing.

Just waiting.

And maybe that’s what finally did it.

“…You better keep up,” you muttered, quieter than you meant to.

Wooin’s face lit up like a match. “Baby,” he grinned, eyes gleaming, “you won’t outrun me.”

You tried to roll your eyes. Really, you did. But the corners of your mouth betrayed you—tugging up against your will as your heart thumped a little too loud in your ears.

Because damn it.

You wanted to ride.

And for once… you didn’t mind if it was with him.

dividers from @anitalenia!

MASTERLIST

[lilysqueaks]

The Night of Kinks

So recently my Mistress instructed me to write about a fantasy of mine that has yet to be fulfilled, so i thought i'd write out one of my biggest dream scenarios.

The day starts by going out into the city with my partners on a hot day, everyone wearing socks, and some might even wear a pair of nylons below the socks. We enjoy an amazing day together, walking through the city, going to a cafe, getting us some boba, sitting in the sun, and just embrace the company together.

After a few hours we're all quite exhausted and are about to head home, and as usual the bus home feels like 40 degrees as they never turn on the AC, and so we're sweating even more than we were before.

Finally we arrive at home, we all grab us something cool to drink, and take a quick breather, after which one of my partners commands me to lay down on to the bed, which i gladly oblige.

The moment i lay down, everyone starts taking the cuffs that are around the bed, and immediately tie me into place into an X shape. I immediately start fantasizing what happens next, until the first person sits down onto the bed next to me, and takes their shoes off, at which point i realize that nobody besides me took their shoes off when we entered the apartment.

So immediately after taking their shoes, and socks off they press their sweaty, stinky, still wet feet into my face and order me to inhale, which i immediately do. They smell absolutely glorious! A smell i just can't get enough off.

While they get comfortable resting their feet on my face, and start relaxing after this tiresome day, i'm completely absorbed in the smell of their feet, and barely realize how everyone else also started sitting down on the bed. Taking their shoes, and socks off. And suddenly… there were multiple soaked in sweat bare feet in my face, and all i could smell, all i could think of were these beautiful soft feet and their smell right in my face.

While barely aware of my surroundings, someone started taking off my chastity cage, and started taking my hen into their hands. I shall note that i haven't cum in months which is the usual, and i'm incredibly sensitive to even the slightest of touches, instantly a loud moan escapes my lips. Someone starts taking my balls into a super tight grip, massively stretching all the skin around it, meanwhile someone teases me with the lightest of touches just right around the frenulum.

They not just keep to this part though, swapping between teasing touches, stroking, licking, using a vibrator, and whatever else that comes to their mind to edge me, to make me even more desperate than i'm already are.

Even though i'm already barely aware of everything that's happening, 2 pair of feet suddenly start covering my mouth & nostrils, leaving me unable to breath. This hasn't been the first time we've done breath play, so i start tapping my hand against their legs to signal that i'm still conscious, and so they keep going. Forbidding me air. I'm almost at the brink of passing out when they finally allow me to breath again. I desperately gasp for all the air i can get, inhaling even more of their divine foot stink.

After having already lost count of how many times i got close, someone suddenly asked if i want to cum. And of course i want to scream yes, my hypnotic conditioning makes me even more horny, and desperate when i'm getting asked to. But my conditioning also causes that whenever i'm asked to cum, that the only thing i can respond with is begging to stay denied. And so, against every fiber in my being, i scream no.

This keeps going, and repeating for a really long time.

After who knows how long we take a break, we hydrate, and all take a moment to come down.

For the next few hours we fulfill some fantasies of my partners, things they always wanted try, and never had the chance to. We do everything from impact play, temperature play, bondage positions, pet play, anal, hypno, and a whole lot more.

Someone said that one of their fantasies is to be tied to someone else while the others play with the two, and my eyes rise open & light up, as this has been one of my oldest fantasies. Being tied to someone else, both unable to move, maybe the only thing they can do is kiss each other, or maybe both their heads are kept just out of reach so whatever to try, they can't fully reach the other persons mouth. Maybe both are tied back to back, and a double sided dildo is inserted into both of them, making the two feel immense pleasure on every tiny move they do. These and more ideas immediately shoot into my head, years of fantasizing about this specific scenario, and this night, they all became real.

After a lot more things have happened, it is my turn again to fulfill one of my deepest fantasies. Getting mercilessly tickled by multiple people all over my body. A laughing that's almost screaming, while writhing in my ties, trying to escape my tormentors though there's no escape for me. I have to endure the tickling everywhere at once, with just tiny breaks in between to make me think i can regenerate, just before they start all over again.

And so the night continues, taking turns with everyone's fantasies and desires.

Towards the end almost everyone already had an orgasm, or multiple, and was satisfied, well… except me. Having been close to the edge numerous times, pleasure the only thing left on my mind. I don't even expect to cum anymore. After all… i can only beg to stay denied even longer, so there's not really a chance for me, right?

As a final act my Princess says she wants to fuck me, dump all the cum she's left into my ass. So i am on my fours, butt towards my Princess as she starts pounding me. By now my ass is quite loose, and she enters easily. Lost in the pleasure i barely recognize as someone slides below me. One of my partners starts taking my hen into their mouth, giving me a blowjob while i'm getting pounded by my Princess. Suddenly someone else slides their cock in my mouth, pounding my mouth over and over. And if that wasn't enough, someone else starts pinching my nipples, and groping my breasts.

At this point i'm utterly overwhelmed with everything that's happening, and i barely realize how i'm once again getting closer, and so i warn my Princess. Once again she asked me if i want to cum, and once again, all i can do is begging to stay denied, but she doesn't stop pounding. She puts on a pitying voice, asking me if after everything i still don't want the blissful release, getting closer, and closer in the meantime. But yet again i can only ask for my denial, and after being allowed to just say this the cock starts pounding my mouth again. And my Princess keeps on ramming my p-spot, over and over again. Getting dangerously close i warn my Princess by tapping her that i'm really close, but instead of slowing down, she rams herself into my ass even deeper, and screams "Cum for me!".

I suddenly start to loudly moan & scream, and shoot my load into my partners mouth, while my mouth & ass gets filled with cum as well. The moment feels like minutes, as we're all feeling the pleasure of our orgasms.

Slowly we all come to our senses. Fall onto the bedsheets next to each other, exhausted, satisfied, happy. We cuddle up to one another, enjoying the bliss, enjoying the closeness.

While we're laying there we think about all the crazy things we did over the past few hours, all the kinky, some disgusting, and sometimes silly fantasies we tried throughout this night.

After a whole while of which nobody can really recall how long really, we get out of bed, take a shower, and grab one of Princess' amazing self made meals. Sitting down together, talking about the fun we had, laughing, and maybe even feeling a tiny bit ashamed, but in a good, laughable way.

And just we're about to head to bed, the sun already starts rising again, but we're going to sleep anyway… although… there isn't enough space for everyone in the bed, so 2 of us gotta sleep in the kennel overnight, and tightly cuddling each other.

So these have been my biggest unfulfilled fantasies ever.

In short Having multiple sweaty, smelly feet playing with my face, my body. Being edged & denied for hours on end. Being tied together with someone. Getting mercilessly tickled by multiple people. Being spitroasted.

But most importantly, i want to enable others to fulfill their fantasies. It's what makes me happy the most, i'm an enabler through and through, and want everyone to be able to experience the things they've only dreamed about.

[citrinae]

sneaking into their bed. (ii)

contents; mild degradation, suggestive, some fluff here n there, a little dubcon here n there, azusa content ahead (tw self-harm). there's a small treat waiting for you at the end 🍫

ft. the mukamis | masterlist | here for part i

📓✧˖° ruki

“hm.” he’s awake when he notices you, lying on his back with a book hovering over ever-so-focused eyes. at all surprised, rather confirming some theories he made of you the first time you met. “livestock finally answering to their true calling by coming to stay at their master’s feet? how fascinating.” his voice is low and throaty, close to a whisper. he doesn’t bother to look away from whatever he’s reading. everything in his room is as orderly as you expected it to be, except for the pile of volumes he keeps on the nightstand. light from the reading lamp blinks an obscure amber into the space, and it settles charmingly on the contours of his face, his oversized sweater, his ruffled hair. 

at first you feel just the way he described you: small and helpless, waiting for him to react to your presence in order to think your next move. ruki himself tests this for a while, challenges your patience, asks himself how long you can just sit there with him not caring enough to pay attention. there’s a silence. when he turns the page, it sounds louder than it should. when he finally decides to pull you by his side, the scent coming off his clothes dulls your senses more than you’d like, he smells like cherries and starless nights and modern poetry. “i understand, however, that just sitting here won’t satisfy someone like you. they taught you to long for action, didn’t they?” his words are wrapped in velvet as he drags his fingers around your neck, thumb pushing into chin. ruki’s book drops on the floor. “here’s some action to remember us by.”

then his fangs sink in, smooth at first, but more violent by the second. ruki drinks your blood like he wants to prove a point, not only to you, but to him as well, to confront and defy the laws of nature. he keeps a hand on your nape and another on your back, holding you in such a way that you cannot cling onto anything else but him. sometimes he doesn’t stop until you drop unconscious. other times, he brings life back into your eyes with a drowsy breath against your neck, “such a tame little thing. as much as i’d like to consume you whole, we still need you as you are.”

he reads to you until you fall asleep, a hand under his head, sheet pulled to his torso. belletristics, history volumes, and sometimes, he even lets you tag along while making observations in that pocket notebook he always tells you not to touch. to me he seems like the type to study in bed rather than at a desk, and that shows as you take a look anywhere around his side of the bed. ruki wouldn’t initiate further closeness than a hand raked through your hair, but he really likes it when you come to nestle at his chest. “oh, i see,” he sounds smoother than you remember him to be, making idle circles on your back. “you still need someone to feed off you? you’re a hopeless thing, livestock. but i might as well oblige.”

🌱 ₊˚⊹ yuma

if he hasn’t fallen asleep somewhere in his garden, or the animal shed, you will find him collapsed on the mattress, slippers misplaced on the rug—the traditional type with red patterns and tassels at the edges. sometimes there’s a bowl of sugar cubes by the bed. other times, an empty bottle of beer. yuma definitely won’t be friendly if you happen to wake him up. “oi,” he says, and it feels like a butcher’s knife hitting the cutting board. “the fuck ya think ya be doin’ here? hah?!” with this he wastes no time before catching your wrist and pinning you down to the rug. “i was takin’ a darn nap for fuck’s sake!” your heart races having him get so close to you, so violently. your breathing slows down. 

yuma’s stare is intense, unrelenting. his clothes still carry a dizzying hint of his perfume—something fresh, something sporty, it makes you think of a hike into the forest. he stops for a moment, then tsks, “it’s so clear that some people haven’t worked a single fucking day in their life. how ‘bout i throw ya in the shed and not let ya sleep after a week of work?” careful with the response, he might actually be up for it. however you don’t get the chance to say much, because soon yuma takes your chin into his palm with little care for it. “but now that i’m up already, ya owe me breakfast, right, sow?” there’s no further warning. yuma leans in to suck your blood.

the ceiling twirls and whirls as his fangs relish your flesh. he sucks in deep, hungrily, wrists pressed under his grip, trapped above your head. something tells you he won’t stop too soon. you’re not sure if you want him to. suppose yuma feels your blood isn’t sweet enough, or you’re on the verge of fainting. then he will push a sugar cube between your lips, his eyes fixed on yours with foreign depth. “tsk, careless fucking creatures,” he says under his breath, licking his fingers off what remains of the sugar he’s fed you. “fragile like eggshells and y’all still haven’t learned to treat your bodies with the respect they deserve.” and despite the brutality there’s genuine concern you can catch in the slight curve of his lips and the frown set between his eyebrows. 

at some point he will put you back into his bed, throwing a blanket over your life-drained body. “there, ‘s this what ya wanted?” soon he climbs next to your side, an arm draping itself around your chest as he does. his voice takes from annoyed to sluggish. “fuck around with my sleep again and ya won’t get away as easily.” but at later occasions, you will find out he's bringing some of his harvests on the nightstand—tomatoes, carrots, lettuce, freshly picked and carefully washed, all lingering in a plastic bowl. so that next time you step on his nerves and he sucks your blood, he can feed you with double the amount of the nutrients you lost. 

⋆｡🎤♡ kou

taking into account his work as an idol, kou is rarely at home, and more often than not, you go to his room only to be met with an uncharacteristic silence. an unmade bed, a pile of tried-on shirts, a half-emptied box of chocolates. you end up staying anyway, leafing through some of kou’s scandal magazines and fan letters. everything here smells so much like him that you don’t have the time to miss his presence. the feeling only deepens when you climb into his bed, that expensive scent of honey and patchouli, constantly reminding you that your bubbles are so far away from each other. you wonder if you could hit it off with the groups he usually hangs around with. if you want that to begin with. 

you’re still awake the moment he catches sight of you, hair ruffled and fingers battling with a row of stubborn buttons. kou stops for a couple of beats, then breaks the silence with a smirk pushing to the side. “hah, m neko-chan? you here for a show?” somehow, your response only pulls his lips higher. his right eye blinks red, redder, a shade you still don’t know whether is a figment of your own imagination. “but that can’t be true.” kou retorts, slow and feline. he curls himself closer to you, the bed soundless under his weight. “i can read through you, remember? pick all and each of your spiciest secrets.” whatever you tell him, he won’t deviate. he chuckles when he notices the pile of letters left shuffled on the coffee table. “don’t tell me, were you perhaps wondering if i’d be coming home with one of them?”

closer. kou’s voice feels closer. “you’re so silly, m neko-chan. if you wanted me to pay you more attention you could’ve just asked.” then his shirt goes off, and his hand reaches to cup your chin. the proximity is hard to bear. “after all,” he purrs on. “there’s no one i like to toy with more.” your lips are at a finger’s length from one another. his laughter flutters away from his throat like face powder shaken off a brush. “but since i so kindly let you stay in my room and rummage through my stuff, aside from pulling this confession from me just now, what will you give me in return?” kou does nothing out of the goodness of his heart, and does not expect others to do otherwise. his lips trail from your jaw to your neck. 

defy him, and he will throw one of his tantrums. stay silent, and he will make his assumption based on his eerie ability to ‘read through you’ so very damn well. kou’s fangs pierce your skin more forcefully than you believed they could. his hand settles on the side of your torso, squeezes when the blood hits his palate. moments later his lips paint your earlobe with a stroke of red. your heart suffocates between your lungs, as this time, he speaks with an intensity you haven’t known before. “you’ll stay mine, and i’ll become yours as well. we live in a give-and-take world at the end of the day.”

𓂃🔪𓆪 azusa

a sweetheart through and through. seeing you curl up next to him in bed, he looks as surprised as ever. “hey…” you hear him say, a faint sound. his feet shift under the covers. “you… want to… sleep together?” somehow, it feels colder inside azusa’s room than the rest of the manor, and the bed springs are cutting into your skin. but you know it’s because he made sure it feels this way. but when he turns to meet your face, and attempts to speak again, you experience a warmth you never thought there existed. “i’m glad…” for a fleeting second his eyes carry something more than the incurable sadness. you wish you could keep it there forever. despite yourself, you tell azusa that you missed him too. he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. 

there’s a long sigh, less annoyance and more exhaustion. “but i can’t fall asleep now…” he says. “too excited…” even though he doesn’t show it, you can tell he’s honest. he rests a hand on your shoulder. props his chin on your arm. “can we have some fun instead…?” something catches in your stomach. you flinch. after the time spent by azusa’s side you’ve come to learn what he perceives as ‘fun’. his bandages press themselves damp against you, his skin as cold as a knife. azusa doesn’t use a specific perfume, but as you allow yourself to be intoxicated with the closeness, you feel like you’re walking down the hallways of an abandoned hospital, metallic scent soaking into disinfectant. 

you have no say in whether you would like to join the fun or not. azusa knows you are going to enjoy whatever he will do to you, because deep down, you might be exactly like him, and you might just be starting to acknowledge this about yourself. he starts teasing you with the tip of his fangs. tells you it’s ok to do the same to him, since some of his older wounds have been closing themselves up. “what’s more fun than… making new cuts is… cutting through the ones who want to go…” like going through a photo album. to azusa, wounds are more than irresistible pains. they are memories. reluctantly you trace a touch across the scars with one of your nails, and he hums in response. he sinks his fangs deeper into you, expecting a similar reaction. he always coaxes it from you.

after the fun is over, you offer to change his bandages, a tender gesture beneath faint lamplight. like he does each time, he thanks you for making him feel just so. for staying by his side. everything he says is heartfelt, and you cannot help but feel your chest heat up with the words. you try to dismiss it when he tells you to tighten the bandages more around the wounds, keep them as tight as you can, don’t let them breathe. “they will… feel better this way… next time we reopen them…” instead you wind up your work by pressing a kiss on each new mark you’ve given him. his eyes widen. a moment passes. then azusa mirrors the gesture on the bite marks he’s left on your own body, holding you close in his arms, the closest. “sleep… well…”

₊˚ ཐི BONUS ཋྀ ˚₊

⋆♱ ruki & reiji

“it is outrageous that one would conduct their research like this,” reiji points out, pushing his glasses a little higher on the bridge of his nose. you look up to him, not sure of what to say, or that you want to say anything at all. not now, not here, not when ruki’s chest gives off more heat than any bicker with the stuck-up sakamaki would produce. sharing the sentiment, ruki sighs, “your bourgeois ways are making a fool out of you, sakamaki. it’s the place your mind is that counts most.” it’s loose, impassive. it quickly, surely, stirs a flame somewhere inside reiji. 

“and you sure pretend to be very knowledgeable, for a lowly vampire such as yourself,” he huffs, and the reaction drags ruki’s lips to the side, they are so predictable, always so easy to offend. he was enjoying this more than he should’ve. reiji crosses his arms, throwing you a look—you know that siding with ruki would earn you a punishment later on. ruki is fast to catch that as well. “and instead of running your mouth on things like my work desk, or lack thereof, you might as well come back to bed.” ruki takes your chin between thumb and forefinger. he continues to address reiji, but his stare is locked on yours entirely. “livestock here looks to be in need of some more tending.”

⋆♱ yuma & shu

enough is enough. enough is enough for fuck’s sake. yuma grits his teeth, the mattress creaking at the sudden shift of his body. “oi,” he spits. “are ya just goin’ to sit there ‘n let me do all the fucking work?” he looks at shu from the other side of the bed—always lazy, unbothered shu, lying with his arms crossed and eyes shut under your weight. contrastingly, yuma was the one who had to bring you all the way here and bite you from top to bottom, plucking the reactions they were both so starved of. you won’t admit it if asked aloud, but a part of you was glad no one made you do any sort of carrying this time around. 

shu opens one of his eyes then, and a small smile appears on his lips as soon as he does. “is it my fault that they always come to me to tone down their appetite?” his drone is tickling your ear. shu gives in no effort to clasp his arms around you, his lips lingering so conveniently on the side of your neck, and as if to prove his point, you don’t shift an inch from his grasp. a chuckle escapes from his throat. “see? they are such a good slut for me, waiting for me to just—” this is when shu’s fangs sink in, magnetic, dizzying. you tilt your head backwards, and yuma sneers at the sight. he won’t let anyone outdo him, let alone this bastard. he takes the skin on your torso between his own fangs and bites.  

⋆♱ kou & subaru

subaru still isn’t sure what sort of business he looks for here. how he ended up here in the first place. all he knows whatsoever is that kou’s sheets reek of perfumes and creams and makeup powder and that your hand on his own thigh is more addictive than he could predict. sure, he expected some things. like to see the damned louse be all over you like a bitch in heat, or to watch himself bite on his inner cheek at the sweetened, sweetening smell of your blood. but colour found his cheeks as soon as he started being the centre of attention, with your mouth trailing numbing kisses across his shoulder and the louse’s laughter searing his neck. 

“come on already,” kou rolls his eyes, half-bored, half-amused. he hovers next to the shell of his ear—snake slithering its way to eden. “m neko-chan loves this kind of stuff, i assure you.” assure him based on what? subaru clutches the sheets. he might soon clutch someone’s neck if whatever this is continues. “take a bite and see for yourself,” kou chirps on. and he sure fucking does, take a bite of you, flatten a big hand around your torso and press you as close to him as he can, all the while his fangs drain you of all the nerve it took you to drag him to this bed. when he’s done with you, kou snatches subaru’s cheek in his own hand, tasting you off the corner of his mouth. “good boy,” the pest breathes against his lips. 

⋆♱ azusa & kanato

azusa cannot believe his eyes. “why… do you let him?” he trudges through the words, watching kanato scream at you to fucking stay put and make more room for his fangs. this pain does not look enjoyable. it is nothing like the type he could dearly inflict on you. “why do you let him… treat you… like this?” he says again. you give him a look—if you knew the answer to that, you would give it to him. it does not take long for kanato to take his attention away from you and hurl it directly to him. “you don’t interfere with our play! stay the fuck away!” he snarls, frenzied. but azusa doesn’t stop. he couldn’t. drawn by the mystery of you not running away, he drags himself closer to you, caressing your cheek with the back of his hand. kanato snaps it away. “are you fucking deaf?!”

it stings. he adores it. azusa looks down at his hand, trailing his fingers around the mark kanato’s left on him. there’s a pause. he looks back at you—a part of him understands, another is still trying to figure you out. without a word he pulls you from kanato’s scorching grasp. leaning a cold cheek on your shoulder, he says, “you like pain… don’t you? is this why…” but he doesn’t get the chance to end the thought because kanato is already pinning him down the mattress, his eyes crazed, vicious. “who do you think you are? ignoring me, then taking them away?! no one can join the play, you hear me? no! one!” his voice quivers on his bottom lip. azusa’s eyes catch a strange gleam the moment kanato’s hands reach for his throat.

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

⊹Biker!Mingi⟡

RATED X. MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY.

❥Song Mingi x fem reader

➯a/n: sooooooo... i already have so many wips and the urge to make this a fully fleshed out story is SO tempting but im finally practicing self control for once 😓 if, hard IF there's enough interest, ill add it to the list lmao

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: slow burn condensed (takes place over multiple months), forbidden romance, mingi is a teacup puppy in a pitbull body; reader thinks he's scary at first but he's actually very very sweet, reader falls first / mingi falls harder, jealousy, sexual tension, semi-public, blow job + cunnilingus, mingi oral fixation transcends universes idc fight with the wall-

♡masterlist + navigation !♡

─..★.─────

Thinking about Song Mingi, the youngest member of the biker gang that your father is in — but he's also the scariest looking.

Your father doesn't have to, but he tells you to stay away anyways. You'd be doing so whether he told you to or not. Because not only do you have no interest in getting caught up in their affairs — you just work at the shop they do business out of (strictly on the legal side of things) — you also have no interest in the man who looks like he could snap someone's neck without breaking a sweat and not feel bad about it either.

But then, a few weeks after he's joined, you're at the bar with them all, chatting with one of their wives; and you hear him laugh.

You look over and are horrified to learn that he has the most adorable gummy smile ever. And you fall in love with him on the spot as he stumbles a bit drunkenly and leans his hands on the pool table to stable himself.

He falls for you just a few weeks after that. You've been around more, bringing him parts and orders instead of your coworker, and he notices how you linger at the door a bit shyly before you call out to him. He thinks you're cute.

But what really gets him is another night at the bar. You look so pretty in the low light, nursing a non-alcoholic drink so you can make sure all of your friends get home safe. You tell him as much whenever he leans on the bar next to you, making small talk as he waits for his drink. He, jokingly, asks if you'll make sure he gets home as well — and he chokes on his beer when you say "absolutely!"

He can't get you out of his head after that. He looks forward to working at the same time as you; because he's still not technically initiated, he's left out of a fair amount of more incriminating things. Which means he's confined to work from the shop most of the time. Which means he gets to spend more time with you.

And when your father notices your giddy mood after your shared shifts, he immediately puts the pieces together. He corners Mingi and tells him to stay away if he wants to keep his job and his head.

And Mingi tries. By god, he tries so hard. He ignores you, for the most part, for two weeks until he snaps. He sees some jackass flirting with you while his car is in the shop, and when you smile at him — Mingi can't take it anymore. You should be smiling at him.

He makes up an excuse to get you in the back, and he kisses you before you can even ask what he needs. Because what he needs is you. It's all built up passion, hungry and lustful and claiming as he pushes you against the wall.

And when you finally part, he tells you he really, really likes you — as if that wasn't clear by the way he just absolutely devoured your mouth.

Something shifts in your relationship after that. Stolen kisses and smiles when you think nobody is looking, a few three a.m. rendezvous to the town over for something resembling a date. But there's something hotter, suffocating almost. Bubbling to the surface but never breaking the waters tension. Both of you feel it.

And you can't tell what it is until you're sitting in the shop by his work bench, watching him suck on a lollipop as he changes car parts. The stick flicking around from the way he's swirling his tongue around the sweet. He's always chewing on gum, sucking on a lollipop, biting his straws, licking his lips when he's focused. It makes your cheeks feel warm.

He notices you staring, and he sits on the hood of the car, asking what's on your mind before licking the lollipop.

And you only respond with, "take your pants off." His eyes widen, but he certainly isn't complaining when his cock is in your mouth a few minutes later. His back falls against the hood, his chest heaving as you suck him like he's the sweetest lollipop in the goddamn universe.

And he returns the favor, practically throwing you onto the hood and yanking you to the edge so he can eat you out like the fate of mankind relies on him making you cum. And holy shit, does he make you cum. He's insatiable after that, and you are more than willing to satisfy his raging oral fixation for a few hours at a time by letting him slurp at your cunt.

You get eaten out in the bar bathroom, the other members joking that you've had one too many as you come back out to your seat a bit sweaty and wobbly — and Mingi licks his smirking lips before taking a drink to hide his glee quickly when your father looks over at him.

He stops in the middle of the deserted road on your way back from one of your dates. Eats you out right there. He takes his lunch break most days beneath your desk. Anywhere, everywhere, every single chance he gets to make you feel good on his tongue — he takes it.

He gets brave, or rather he's so obsessed with you and licking your cunt, that he sneaks into your room through your window like a horny teenager. He lays next to you after, playing with your fingers. He asks if you ever think about getting away from everything, for good.

And you're on the back of his bike the day after that, arms around his waist as he drives away from your hometown.

─..★.─────

₊‧⁺stardust˖⋆ @sunnysidesins @onyxmango @devilzliaison @ateezswonderland @queenofdumbfuckery @emilysecresy @kyomiingi @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @klllerwaifu @seonghwasslytherin @yoonglesbae @wolviejex @estrnrea @lover-ofallthingspretty @willowwyy @jaerisdiction @peelingpaint-heavyheart @satsuri3su @bubbly-moon

[izzyy-stuff]

𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝: 02 — Caramel Macchiato

written // 1.1k // sfw

You sometimes doubted why you decided to join the tutoring program at your college. As an idea—it was amazing. You could plan out your work schedule however you needed, got to be the boss of yourself, and the pay wasn’t bad at all either. But the reality of it wasn’t as perfect as you wished for it to be. Tutoring obviously meant teaching people who struggled with a subject, but a lot of times, it was far worse than just struggling. 

The students you got were often barely passing, hoping that you could by some miracle force material from the whole semester into their head in the span of a few hours so that they could get an A+ and act like they are the smartest on Earth. 

Guess what? That really wasn’t how it worked. 

You tried your best, tried to make Minsu understand you really couldn’t teach him everything from scratch in the three hours you booked out for him, but he just wouldn’t hear you out. Thirty minutes into your session, when no books were opened yet and all you had to do was listen to the first year yelling at you to make it work, you realized he didn’t come to you to actually understand the material but just argue with someone and blame it on them when he doesn’t pass his exams. 

So now, after three hours of letting a man yell at you, it’s safe to say you’re not in the best mood. You thought that when your friends suggested meeting for a coffee in the new trending café near campus it would cheer you up, but turns out, you were wrong once again. 

Cozy Corner lives up its name. That much is obvious as soon as you step inside and take in the interior. There’s a large bookshelf lining one of the walls, and you wonder if anyone ever cared to pick up one of the books. You look around, letting yourself get swallowed in the chatters around you. It’s busy, but you expected as much. Every table is full and you figure you’d have to take your order and wait for your friends outside in order not to stand in anyone’s way. 

You make your way into the line, peaking your head out to see to the front. There are two guys behind the counter, both in a white shirt, blue jeans, and a brown apron covering them. They’re smiling, but with the way they rush around one another to get the orders out on time, you don’t think they’re too happy to be there. 

Somehow, before you even make it to the register, you’re already pissed off more than when you first came in. Mr. Park, who is the supervisor of your tutoring group, has messaged you to inform you he’s received a bunch of angry complaints about your sessions in the past week and if he gets one more, he’d have to reconsider your position on the team. Great. Just what you needed. As if dealing with assholes wasn’t enough, now they were also trying to make you lose your job. 

You tug your phone back into your pocket, huffing out some air as you step forward again, finally reaching the counter. “I need to see that,” the guy behind the cash register laughs, his body turned to you but his mind obviously elsewhere. “I’d pay for that. Heeseung would die here–” 

You clear your throat, catching his attention. A soft “Ah,” leaves his lips as he smiles at you. You doubt he actually registers your presence, though. He looks like a robot. Maybe that’s what working through rush hours looks like. “And what can I get you, darling?” 

You blink, confused. Is this how they serve customers? You shake your head slightly, brushing it off as you look up on their menu one last time. “I’ll get a vanilla latte, please.” He nods, clicking something on his little screen before announcing you the total. “Okay, it’ll be right up.” You nod, glancing at his name tag before stepping aside to wait. Beomgyu. 

Beomgyu needs to get his shit together before you ask for a manager. 

You wait patiently on the side, your arms crossed over your chest and tapping your feet. Okay, maybe you weren’t exactly patient. But in your defense, you stood there for fifteen minutes, watching people who ordered after you get their drinks right in front of you. And every time, the barista didn’t even as glance your way. 

Yeah, this was making you mad. 

“Excuse me,” you call out and Beomgyu raises his head, eyes meeting yours. “I still haven’t gotten my drink.” His eyes widen for a split second, but it quickly turns into something else. Boredom? Annoyance? You’re not sure. But it for sure is not a welcoming sight. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll be on it right away. Sometimes the queue gets weird. It’ll be up soon,” he apologizes, but for some reason it doesn’t feel like a proper apology. More like he’s just trying to brush you off so you shut up. 

Okay. Everyone has rough days. That’s fine. You think that, but your teeth are gritted together, and you know you’re biting back an insult as he goes back to chatting with his coworker—something he’s been doing for the past fifteen minutes. 

“Your drink,” Beomgyu smiles, sliding a cup closer to you. You eye it confusedly, tilting your head slightly as you question if he’s handing the drink to you. “I ordered a vanilla latte,” you remind him. He tilts his head, mimicking your movement, as a playful smile tugs at his lips. “Are you sure? I swear I remember a pretty girl ordering a caramel macchiato.” 

“That’s great,” you fake the biggest smile, clapping your hands together. Your smile falls as quickly as it came, and you step to the side. “She’s in the line right behind me.” 

“Sorry,” the girl apologizes, her lips in a downturn smile as she hesitantly takes her drink. You shake your head at her, assuring her it’s not her fault. “Oh,” Beomgyu breathes out. Before either one of you can say anything, his coworker—Soobin as his nametag informs you—pushes him aside and slides a new drink towards you. “We’re so sorry for the delay,” he shoots Beomgyu a long look before smiling at you again. “He is new here, and I think we’ll have to reconsider his employment.” 

“Yeah, that might be a good idea,” you mumble, so quietly you don’t think they can catch it. You don’t bother wondering if they did anyway, simply grabbing your drink and walking out as fast as you can, already taking out your phone to ask the others where the hell they got held up at. 

You take a sip of your coffee and frown. Hadn’t it been for your terrible experience with the staff, maybe you’d actually be able to enjoy your drink. 

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↪ izzy speaks... okay, I know written chapters aren't always favorites when reading smau but the first meeting is here!

perm taglist: @beomiracles @seoulzie @adel222 @inkigayocamman @flowzel @love-be0m @hwanghyunjinismybae @liaatiny @minaateez @bamgeutsz @lovingbeomgyudayone @definitelynotherr @hyunj00 @dawngyu @xylatox @heesmiles @biteyoubiteme @t-102 @jellyyjn @1-800-jewon @heejamas @yeonmuse @bamgeutori @i-am-not-dal

unfiltered taglist: @itsdragonius @tinyteezer @yvinion @aernx @hoonieyun @haechology @gomdoleemyson

[wial]

Okaaaay I know all of you been waiting for the whole story about my date

It's going to be a long post

Important thing to know

I have big boobs:3

So after dressing super modest on the first date I decided it's time for my tits to do their job

So I ordered a new bra with straps that go to my neck. It looks very pretty and hot.

It also was super hot yesterday outside so when I finally arrived at the restaurant I was sweating 🫠

And kept fixing my bra a little bit 🤭

He was starting the whole dinner and spilled a lot of tea 😆

After dinner we went on the walk, but he wasn't talking much and honestly I felt awkward

When we got to the subway, I asked him which station he needs and he said his but also said he could go to my place. (I live with my family but they all left, what was a surprise and I knew I could invite him but I was super scared and anxious about it)

But in the end I decided

Fuck it

And invited him

On the ride to my house he kept touching my neck and playing with my hair, I was dripping in that fucking subway, begging it to go faster 🫠🫠🫠

We even went to the store cause I needed groceries and he carried everything (so cute hehe, yeah yeah I'm used to doing everything myself so this is cute for me)

Then we went to my place, he met my dog, played with her, while I was making us some coffee.

He kept kissing me and his hands was wandering around my body

After some teasing we moved to my room

Of course my dog was very excited about the guest and kept trying to play with us

She was so confused and ran to me when he started kissing me 😆

At the end he managed to kick her out of the room, not without some barking of course

Well then he started kissing me more and taking my clothes off me. He really liked the lingerie I picked 🤭

And he took my bra off so easily 🫠🫠🫠

I haven't even noticed

Then he bent me over my bed and physically forced me in the position (omg that's so fucking hot aaaah)

Every time I tried to get up, he'd force me to put my head back on the bed 🫠🫠🫠

He didn't take my panties off and just moved them to the side

And that's when I decided to tell him about my uterus problem and that he can't fuck my pussy( 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭)

He still tried to do something but yeah wasn't a success and I even bleed a lil bit(I'm fine)

He didn't know that I was a vergin and was very surprised btw

We both took a quick shower and continued making out on the bed

Then he offered me to suck his dick 🤭

I started sucking and was a lil bit awkward to suck real cock but I adapted fast and soon he felt very good 🤭🤭🤭

He was actually surprised by my skills and asked me multiple times where did I learn to suck like this (yeah yeah thank you all the tumblr Daddy's)

He couldn't believe I learnt that just from sucking a dildo hehehe

Well I sucked his dick for like 10 minutes I think and he offered to eat me out

He started licking my clit and put his finger in my pussy AND in my butt🫣🫣🫣 ( his fingers are so big I have no idea how he managed to force it in with barely enough lube)

I felt so much I was just going crazy🫠🫠🫠🫠

But still I wasn't completely relaxed so he didn't make me cum

After some time we just cuddled and talked

He kissed my forehead 🫠(so cute omg)

Then we had like 2 more sets of me sucking his dick and taking a break to rest and cuddle

We started talking about sex and kinky stuff

I pulled out my collar, leash and nipple clamps

He asked me about my preferences and if I like being chocked

He put my collar on me so it chocked me a lil bit

Then suggested trying chocking me more

And omg this was the hottest thing I ever did

He also is very dominant and when I tried to put my hands on his he told me "keep your hands off"

And I just melted there

He kept chocking me, sometimes only giving me a second to breath in and chocked me again

Even chocked me with my panties 🫣

This was so hot

And he left some marks on my neck

We also talked about other stuff and I told him about spanking and edging and next time he'll spank me with the belt 🫠🫠🫠🫠

I even showed him the result of my self spanking with the twig and he said I should bring it to him so he can use it on me 🫣

After some time he asked if I mind sucking his dick again

I was pretty tired at this point but I still agreed cause I really wanted to make him cum

I started sucking again, better this time cause already realised what he likes

And when he got close he just started fucking my mouth, held my head with his hands and fucked it 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

I felt his dick and balls throbing (second hottes thing) and he came in my mouth 🫠🫠

Of course I swallowed it all😇

After that we cuddled and kissed some more

And I couldn't believe we spent more than 2 hours in bed 🫠🫠🫠

But I really hope that this weekend I will have a house to myself again so he can come over and fuck me and spank me 🫣

I can't wait 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

Ps. After everything I felt kinda down so I decided to cum and basically my denial ended yesterday

Not from his hands unfortunately but he suggested we use my vibes next time

Cause both of us don't cum easily and he's still learning how to make me feel good

[taweretsdagger]

lost's use of twins/dual selves

-> (in the context of the polycube)

a little while back, i realized how many damn characters there are in lost that are called "tom" (some as their given name, and some as an alias they use at one point or another). and i got curious about this, since it seemed like too many uses of the same name to be purely accidental. and maybe so, maybe not (tom is definitely a pretty common name)!

but for funsies, i looked up the meaning of the name "thomas."

and guys!!! it means twin. TWIN!!!!!!!!

TWIN!!!!!!!

you know, twins??? as in, a pretty important concept for the origin story of this whole damn show!!!! (as an aside from the polycube analysis, this fact also got me thinking that maybe, JUST maybe, claudia would've named the MiB "thomas" if she'd lived long enough.)

and interestingly enough, the name "tom" shows up for four people i view as comprising jack, sawyer, kate, and juliet's "dual selves" ("twins"). i also view these twins as embodying the things these four characters desire most deeply for themselves.

ALSO, i think these twins had to die (specifically AT the hands of their other half) in order for the polycube members to have a chance at achieving what they want most.

so, let's get into it!

jack's twin -> christian:

jack sees christian as everything he'll never be. he'll never "have what it takes." he accuses christian of going behind his back with sarah when they're getting divorced, and eventually we learn that jack's story about counting to five was something that came from christian (personally i very much dislike this retconning by the lost writers, but hey! it happened!) for christian, the name "tom" comes into play only briefly--when he and ana lucia are together in sydney, it's what he asks her to call him. and although christian doesn't die directly at jack's hand, it's told to us that he ran away to australia because of jack, and jack definitely shoulders a lot of blame for his death. and even though jack's end is tragic, he DOES get what he wanted most before he dies. he learns that he does have what it takes, after all.

sawyer's twin -> anthony cooper:

this one is more obvious. we learn very early that sawyer's alias came directly from the man who killed his parents, and a little later we learn that cooper was going by tom (sawyer) at the time. and we hear from sawyer himself that he sought to become this "twin" of his, dedicating his whole life to the pursuit. and he succeeded, both in that becoming and in finally killing the man he'd built his self around. sawyer is by far the most self/thematically-aware of the polycube when it comes to this motif, but he also suffers the most as a direct result of it. even after he kills anthony cooper, it's clear that sawyer is still lost. he's not really sawyer anymore, but he's not james either. he's not ready to "play house" (which is what he wants most, and what anthony cooper took from him.) there's another little wrinkle required of him before he has a chance at that (stay tuned!), and even though he DOES get a glimpse of the domestic safety and love he craves, i'd argue that wrinkle gets in the way of him keeping it.

kate's twin -> tom brennan:

@lost-inanotherlife changed my brain chemistry forever by pointing out that while jack's primary driver can be viewed as him wanting to be a "bad girl," kate's is to be a "good boy." and i think that's what tom brennan represents to her, probably her earliest example of the concept (other than sam austen). once they're on-island, i also think jack and kate start to become each other's "twins." but that's a post for another day. tom grew up with kate, but he was always good in a way she could never be. it's the same way she views sam, and the way she eventually comes to view jack. from the brief look we get of tom brennan, it seems like he has a stable, loving family. and we learn that he wanted the exact same thing back when he and kate were childhood sweethearts. he becomes a doctor (another sticking point for kate, who wants to help people soooo badly but gets punished for trying--such as with diane), and he goes out of his way to help her even though it could get him in trouble. and it does, in the worst way, when he dies during kate's attempted escape. and like jack, kate is left in a heart-wrenching position at the end of the story. but i think she found some healing/realization of her goal through being responsible for aaron off the island, and i believe she was able to achieve even more of this healing long term, through building a life with aaron AND claire <33

juliet's twin -> tom friendly:

this one is, i think, the biggest stretch of this concept. but bear with me! we don't get to see these two characters interact very much. when they do, though, it seems like they get along well. and if nothing else, they're both others, both seemingly within ben's "inner circle." with ONE key difference. because what's something we see tom friendly do several times (other than rock the fake beard)??? leave! the! island! and yes, he still lives there full-time. but he can leave! he can do what he pleases while he's away, and he says plainly that he takes advantage of that. like, even if not a single other thing changed about juliet's ending or overall storyline, imagine how ecstatic she would be if got to see rachel and julian even just once. even just for a visit. like, the joy she experienced seeing them on the screen in the flame would've been multiplied by a million. it wouldn't have made her story any less tragic, but she still deserved to get that joy. all she wanted was to go home. and she doesn't get it! not at all!! she's the only one of the four main characters who never gets what she wants most, not even a little bit. even though tom friendly does die. but!!! listen up, because this is some delicioussss suliet star-crossed lovers shit (if i do say so myself)!!! tom friendly, juliet's "twin," does NOT die at HER hands. he dies at SAWYER's hands. and just like the jate on-island twins thing, there's a whoooole other meta to be written about the way sawyer's second vendetta (committed on walt's unwitting behalf) can be understood as the key that allows him to finally become "james" (even if it's only for juliet's sake, which is how i tend to view his transformation/character development), and start searching for what he wants most. at the same time, this vendetta can be viewed as one more nail in juliet's coffin. maybe she wouldn't have killed tom friendly anyway; maybe it wouldn't have mattered if she did. maybe none of this matters, and it's all a coincidence that juliet gets doomed--not only to death, but to a stagnancy/lack of fulfillment that she bears as her particular brand of tragedy. kind of like how she bears a literal brand for the... other way she helped out with sawyer's character development. you know, by saving his life??? (the first time??) poor juliet :( <///3