#i look up for reference of her outfit this time

[forsaken-headcanons]

sum bluudud content be hes my favorite of the colorful children <333

he LOVES shitpost status videos so much. Yk those 20 minute meme comps? He LOVES them. He once found a channel that only makes them and binged every video theyve ever uploaded over the course of a month (around 130 videos total)

he's a high school freshman to me. Got forsaken the summer between freshman (first year) and sophomore (second year) probably a little after cOOlkidd and 007n7 to get more specific.

he's cousins with cOOlkidd and visits him and 007n7 a lot, to the point where he has his own room at their house. He sometimes stays for weeks at a time. In fact, his whole streaming setup is at 007's house. Prettyprincess is also another cousin, although he doesnt see her often.

he knows how to drive, and has his learning permit. That's usually how he gets between houses since it's too far to walk.

he LIVES for edgy satire. He ESPECIALLY loves alpha wolf bullshit, he even bought a full set of those alpha wolf clothes PLUS a galaxy wolf backpack for the bit. Mainly to see how hard he would get bullied for it if he wore it to school (some older kids slammed him into a locker and laughed at him, but that was about it) but it genuinely ended up being his favorite outfit because it was so comfortable so now he wears it all the time.

he loves shooters. His fav games to play/stream are tf2, sgo, valorant (only streams it if someone donates 50 dollars), marvel rivals, ULTRAKILL (only plays when not streaming) and fortnite. He also has a sims 4 save where all his sims are messed up abominations that barely count as people.

he would cry if someone at school found out about his twitch/yt

he streams with chance sometimes. Yes chance is a streamer boy. Nobody knows that tho lolz. The voiceline about chance owing him a dono is referring to this one time he bet on a tf2 1v1 and lost. He still has yet to pay the 10 gifted he put on winning the fight.

he has a sibling rivalry with cOOlkidd, usually making fun of him or roughhousing with him, but if someone else tried to beat cOOlkidd up, he'd punch the guy till they bleed. This has happened on multiple occasions.

on the topic of this, he has broken someone's nose before while defending cOOlkidd, no he was not in trouble, 11808 said he did the right thing protecting his cousin. 007n7 wasn't as thrilled about this, but he was just glad cOOlkidd was okay.

bluudud wears cat ear headphones. He says they give him a tactical advantage (they dont)

he calls his fanbase "tem bluudud" (team is misspelled on purpose) and his fans themselves his "bluugoons". His hoodie, saying "tem bluudud get inn now" is part of his merch line.

speaking of which, he's seen people at his school wearing his merch and got really scared that they'd recognize his voice, which REALLY stands out from most people's. and yes, his voice is naturally that way.

he doesn't stream with face cam, rather he uses a persona he drew in his phone's photo editor which looks almost exactly like what he looks like in canon. In reality, he's a skinny teenager with a normal amount of teeth. He is blue though, and he does in fact glow. It's very subtle though.

He looks no different after being forsaken outside of constantly holding his comically large lollypop. It's terrifying for the survivors to watch as the others get brutally murdered by a glowing, blue, slightly underweight 5'6 child.

anyway thats all i have for now ^^ lalalalala i love bluudud lalalalala ^^

— hybrid anon (aka like probably number 153 bluudud fan if we're being honest TwT)

BLUUDUD WEARING CAT EARPHONES IS CANON NOW TRUST US WE'RE SOUL /j

dude. dude. we remember this one hc with 1x saying the dude was eons old so he probably didn't know a lot of modern terms.... bluudud DEFINITELY teaches them brainrot culture. hell he's aware of what he's doing, 100%, and probably has the greatest laugh EVER when asking her what she's been saying to the survivors ("𝓽𝓼 𝓹𝓶𝓸 𝓲𝓬𝓵…") LMFAOSFOAFH

he and noli are gaurantEED to be best buddies trust trust /SILLY

[taliaarchive]

Greed on the Grid

☆ pairing. Lando Norris x Reader x Oscar Piastri

☆ word count. 4.7k

☆ warning(s). Emotional intensity| flashbacks| slow-burn angst| luxury fashion and wealth references| love triangle dynamics|  longing and obsession| infidelity| highly sensory text|  emotional whiplash|  references to fame|  media pressure| racing terminology| alcohol mentions| detailed beauty and travel routines|  and dangerously attractive men in race suits|

☆ dedication. This is for the girls who still believe in soulmates- especially the kind found in the blur of a race car, beneath a helmet, or behind a quiet smile in the paddock. Maybe he’s wrapped in adrenaline and fireproof fabric. Maybe he’s Australian. Maybe his name is Oscar Piastri. This one’s for you. May you never stop believing that love- real, fierce, forever love- can find you exactly where you are.

☆ talia notes. Also, yes- look, I may have done extensive research on the bougiest, most luxurious, most outrageously expensive outfits for this story. But honestly, can you blame me? God forbid a girl likes fashion. If you want to see the whole wardrobe, it's all down below. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter. x

☆ synopsis. "He didn’t see her- but I did. Walked in wearing a dress like forgiveness and eyes like war… and I knew I’d never look away again."

You. Beautiful. Loyal. Unshakeable. To the world, you were just the girl next door- Lando’s oldest friend, the one who stood quietly in the shadows of his spotlight. But behind every podium, every photo, every win... was you. The one who held him together. The one who loved him first. No one knows how hard it was to let him chase his dreams while you buried yours. But you never complained. Never let it show. Not even now, after eight years together, when something feels... off. You crossed oceans for him- crossed the line between friendship and forever. Only to find him kissing someone else beneath the same lights he once said were yours. And in that moment, something inside you shattered- and something stronger woke up. He was supposed to be the finish line. But maybe the race is only just beginning.

Oscar. Silent. Calculated. Watching. He saw you before anyone else ever truly did. Before the lights. Before the chaos. Before the heartbreak. You were never his to lose- but he’s been losing you slowly, secretly, painfully from the moment he realised what you meant to him. Oscar never meant to want what wasn’t his. But every time Lando looked away, he couldn’t stop looking. And when he saw you break that night, walking away without a word, wrapped in the silk and ruin of your love- he knew. He would fight for you. Even if it meant standing on the grid, ready to burn the world down for one more chance.

Chapter 2: The Moment Everything Changed

Song: "Will you cry?" – Gracie Abrams

"You walked like royalty leaving a burning castle- like you didn’t bleed. And God, it ruined me more than any goodbye ever could."

8:10 p.m. - Leaving the Hotel

You stood in front of the full-length mirror, smoothing trembling hands down the delicate silk of your gown. The Oscar de la Renta Ombré Silk Chiffon Gown floated around you like a second skin-beginning in soft, luminous ivory at the bodice and melting into a deep, bruised plum that clung to the floor, like twilight bleeding into night.

The silk rippled with every shallow breath you took- too fragile, too alive- the movement ghosting around your ankles, whispering over your skin like something sacred.

The sweetheart neckline cradled your collarbones, leaving your shoulders bare to the chill of the room. The bodice cinched your waist gently- not with harsh lines, but with a kind of reverence- sculpting, holding, as if reminding you that you were still solid, still standing.

The Jimmy Choo Minny Metallic Leather Sandals wrapped around your ankles, the silver catching the light every time you shifted your weight, delicate but grounding.

The Harry Winston Cluster Diamond Earrings winked under the soft hotel lighting- tiny galaxies caught in delicate clusters at your ears. The Boucheron Serpent Bohème Pendant Necklace rested in the hollow of your throat, its tiny diamond pressing against your thudding pulse. And circling your wrist, where your pulse fluttered too fast to hide, was the Cartier Love Bracelet- cool, weighty, a private promise etched in metal: Always, L.

You clutched the Jimmy Choo Cloud Clutch tighter- feeling the hard, glittering metal edges bite into your palm, welcoming the pain.

You looked at yourself in the mirror- really looked.

You didn't look like the little girl who moved to Surrey at six years old, dragging a pink suitcase behind her, shy and blinking up at a boy with wild curls and a mischievous grin who offered you a toy McLaren before even asking your name. You didn't look like the teenager who spent every summer tangled up in kart tracks, grass-stained knees, and laughter that echoed down long English afternoons. You didn’t even look like the girl who stood in Monaco once, wearing his hoodie three sizes too big, cheering so hard she lost her voice.

You looked like a woman who had stitched herself back together every time he left, every time he broke her heart without realizing he was holding it.

You looked like a woman walking herself into a battlefield- wrapped in silk and diamond armour.

You breathed in- and stepped forward.

The door clicked shut behind you with a soft, definitive finality.

── .✦

8:14 p.m. - The Car

The Mercedes-Maybach waited at the curb, sleek and rain-slicked under the heavy mist.

The chauffeur- a middle-aged man with kind eyes and a crisp black uniform- stepped forward, umbrella already raised. He tilted his head respectfully as you approached.

"Miss," he said quietly, offering his hand.

You smiled faintly- polite, distant- and lifted the skirt of your gown carefully, the plum-dipped silk whispering against your legs as you stepped into the car.

The door closed with a muted click- sealing you away from the cold, from the noise, from the world you weren’t sure you still belonged to.

You let the clutch fall gently into your lap, its jewelled surface flashing briefly under the muted car lights.

The leather seats cradled you in a silence so complete it almost felt sacred.

The chauffeur settled into the driver’s seat, catching your eyes briefly through the rearview mirror.

"First time in Melbourne, miss?" he asked, voice low, polite.

You blinked, startled slightly by the normalcy of it.

You shook your head. "No," you said softly. "Not the first."

He smiled faintly, understanding something you hadn’t said.

The car eased away from the curb, melting into the stream of glittering taillights. Melbourne unfurled outside your window- a collage of wet pavements, smeared neon, reflections pooling like oil slicks under the dull orange glow of streetlamps.

You leaned your forehead lightly against the cold glass, watching the rain trail lazy, uneven paths down the pane. The hum of the tires against the road was hypnotic- steady, rhythmic, pulling you under like a lullaby spun from exhaustion and memory.

Somewhere out there, Lando was laughing.

Golden and alive.

The way he always was when everything finally fell into place.

You curled your fingers tighter around your clutch, the hard corners biting into your palms.

You weren’t chasing a boy tonight.

You were chasing the ghost of a promise.

Maybe it had never been real.

Maybe it had only ever been real to you.

── .✦

8:32 p.m. - Memories on the Road

The city blurred past the window- a river of wet lights and half-forgotten sounds- and your mind blurred with it, folding backwards into memory.

You remembered the first time you met him- new house, new school, new everything- standing awkwardly in your front garden, too shy to say anything. And there he was- this boy with messy curls and a missing tooth, dragging a toy McLaren car behind him on a string.

He marched right up to you, shoved the toy into your hands, and said, "You can drive better than my sister. You’ll have to race me now."

No introductions. No hesitation.

Just certainty.

And somehow- even then- your heart had shifted slightly in your chest.

You remembered the endless afternoons racing battered scooters down your street- him always letting you win when he thought you needed it, pretending to trip or crash spectacularly at the last moment.

You remembered birthdays- him sneaking into your garden at midnight every year to leave presents on your windowsill. Silly things: a cracked snow globe, a faded comic book, a hand-drawn race map he said would be "yours and mine only."

You remembered your sixteenth birthday- sitting side-by-side on the cracked stone wall behind your house, drinking stolen champagne from paper cups. You remembered him looking at you too long, too softly, saying, "You’re my best girl, you know that?"

You remembered how your heart had nearly broken itself trying to stay still.

You remembered when you told your parents you were dating- Lando standing there, bouncing on the balls of his feet, so anxious he forgot to breathe until your father clapped him on the back and said, "About bloody time."

You remembered dates that weren’t glamorous- not five-star restaurants or grand events- but bowling alleys at midnight, corner shop ice creams after practice, falling asleep during bad movies with your feet tangled under old, battered blankets.

You remembered rainy nights like this one- him pulling you under his jacket, holding it above your heads as you sprinted through London streets, laughing until you couldn’t breathe.

You remembered promises whispered into your hair- "Wherever I go, you go too."

You had built entire lifetimes out of those promises.

Brick by brick. Hope by fragile hope.

And now- now you were here to find out if the whole house had been made of sand.

You blinked hard, smoothing the silk over your knees with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking.

You pressed your wrist lightly to your chest- feeling the Cartier bracelet, the engraving hidden against your pulse like a secret no one else could see.

Always, L.

You swallowed back the burn rising in your throat.

One more breath. One more step.

One more chance to find out if the boy who promised you the stars had learned how to hold them.

Or if he had already let them slip through his fingers.

── .✦

8:58 p.m. - Crown Metropol Rooftop, Melbourne

The elevator sighed open, spilling you onto the rooftop as if it were the edge of a dream, you hadn’t realized you were still clinging to. For a moment, you stood there, the threshold pressing against your body like a hand, holding you still. The world in front of you moved too fast, was too bright, too loud, too alive- a kaleidoscope of noise and color you didn’t feel part of.

The rooftop was a living thing. Rain slicked the dark stone underfoot, mist curled through the humid air, perfume and champagne hung heavy and sweet, and the sky above bled neon into the lingering mist. Beyond the glass railings, Melbourne pulsed in the distanceskyscrapers blurred into soft halos of gold and silver, the city lights blinking like slow, exhausted heartbeats far below.

The bass hit you first. A low, relentless thrum, vibrating up through the delicate straps of your Jimmy Choo Minny sandals, up the tendons of your calves, up your spine, into the hollow spaces in your chest. It wasn’t music anymore; it was a second, alien heartbeat rattling through your bones, making you feel simultaneously heavier and lighter than your body could hold.

You took a slow, deliberate step forward, the Oscar de la Renta Ombré Silk Chiffon Gown trailing behind you like smoke. The pale ivory of the bodice caught the rooftop’s sharp white lights, making you look otherworldly, untouchable. The silk skimmed your curves, cinched your waist with reverence instead of restraint, and melted into the stormy plum of the skirt, pooling at your feet with every movement like a living, breathing thing.

Your hair, curled into soft waves hours earlier, now clung slightly to the nape of your neck, kissed damp by the mist. You could feel stray strands sticking to your bare shoulders, a delicate annoyance that somehow made you feel even more exposed. The Boucheron Serpent Bohème Pendant Necklace rested cold against the fevered beating of your pulse. The Harry Winston earrings at your lobes caught the fractured light and threw it back in glittering bursts every time you moved your head.

And then there was the Cartier Love Bracelet at your wrist.

It felt heavier than it ever had before, pressing into your skin with a weight that was almost sentient. As you drifted through the crowd, you slid your thumb along the cool gold absently, the ridges and hidden engraving a silent, cruel comfort. Always, L. It was supposed to be a promise. Tonight, it felt like a shackle.

You floated forward, the gown whispering secrets against your skin, your steps light, measured, effortless in appearance but weighted with everything you could not say. You moved as you had been taught to move- like mist, like royalty, like someone the world couldn’t touch unless you allowed it.

The faces around you turned. Men leaned out of conversations to watch you pass, their glances lingering longer than they should have. Women tilted their heads toward each other behind crystal flutes, their whispered assessments slicing through the thick air. But none of it touched you. None of it mattered.

You had learned a long time ago how to wear your beauty like armour. How to carry yourself with the kind of poise that disarmed, the kind that protected, the kind that kept people from looking too closely.

You didn’t meet a single gaze.

Inside, your heart was hammering so violently it felt like it might split your chest open. It thundered in your ears, drowned out the bass, made your breath catch somewhere shallow and frantic in your lungs. You felt like you were made of glass, vibrating so hard you might shatter. Yet on the outside, you were the perfect portrait of serenity- elegant, ethereal, untouchable.

You tightened your grip around the Jimmy Choo Cloud Crystal Clutch, letting the jewelled edges bite into your skin until the pain steadied you.

The gown rippled around you like a sigh, your sandals clicking against the rain-slick stone with every step. The perfume clinging to your skin, the Baccarat Rouge 540 you had misted into the air hours earlier, still lingered like a memory, sweet and faintly bitter now.

You breathed in the night and exhaled all the trembling, all the longing, all the foolish hope that still knotted itself inside your chest.

You could feel the Cartier bracelet shift slightly as your muscles tensed. You rolled your wrist against it, feeling the familiar weight, the memory burned into the curve of the metal. It was supposed to be a tether, something that anchored you to him. Instead, it felt like a scar.

The city stretched out before you, indifferent and alive, and somewhere among the blur of strangers and sponsors and laughter too sharp to be real-

He was here.

Somewhere, he was breathing the same air.

Somewhere, he was laughing, alive in his victory.

And you- You were still foolish enough to hope he would see you.

── .✦

9:01 p.m. - Lando

He wasn't difficult to find.

You could have found him in a stadium filled with thousands, even blindfolded, even dreaming.

The rooftop was crowded, voices buzzing low over the beat of the music, the misty rain blurring the edges of figures laughing and toasting and spilling champagne across the slick stone floor. But you spotted him instantly, drawn by some old, invisible string tied between your ribs and his.

Lando stood by the glass railing, the city lights casting him in a halo of faint gold, the kind of glow that didn’t come from the neon or the mist- it came from him. He wore a white Tom Ford shirt, sleeves shoved to his elbows like he hadn’t cared to fix them after the race, the fine fabric damp where it clung to the lean muscles of his arms. His dark trousers hung low on his hips, casual and effortless, and he still had on those same worn, scuffed white sneakers you used to tease him about refusing to give them up even when he could have afforded a thousand new pairs.

His hair was damp from the mist, curls sticking to his forehead in messy loops, the chain you once gifted him glinting faintly at his collarbone.

He was laughing. Head tipped back, mouth wide open, that crooked, reckless grin cracking his face wide open.

For a second- a full, sharp, excruciating second- you were transported back to being sixteen again, running across his family’s rain-slick backyard, grass stains on your knees, breathless from chasing each other around the garden while your parents called out warnings from the patio.

“You’ll catch a cold!” “You’ll break your necks!”

You had only laughed harder. Because back then, everything that mattered fit between the spaces of your laughter and his.

Your heart slammed against your ribs, once, twice, a sickening drumbeat that vibrated up into your teeth.

You took a step forward. Then another.

The silk of your gown hissed against the stone, your heels whispering sharp, precise clicks in the heavy air.

You gripped your clutch tighter, the bracelet at your wrist pressing into your pulse like a brand- steady, familiar, almost cruel now in its tenderness.

You could already feel it building- the way his eyes would lift, search the room instinctively, land on you, widen with disbelief.

You could feel how the glass would slip from his hand, how his smile would falter, how the world would crack open between you just long enough for you to fall back into it together.

You knew the script. You had lived it before- every time he came off a race, searching the crowd, finding you.

You had believed in it the way children believed in fairy tales- not because they were real, but because sometimes belief itself could be a kind of magic.

You stepped closer, breath caught behind your teeth.

And then-

She reached him first.

Tall. Blonde. Perfect. Wrapped in a Saint Laurent black dress that clung to her body like molten glass, every line of her screaming ownership.

You froze.

Your lungs forgot how to pull in air. Your body forgot how to stand.

She touched him- casually, intimately- a palm sliding up his chest, fingertips dragging over the fabric you once tugged on during long, lazy afternoons when he refused to let you go.

You willed him- desperately, silently- Please look up. Please feel me.

The city seemed to hold its breath.

For half a second- a heartbeat, a prayer- it felt like maybe he would.

And then he smiled.

That same slow, lazy, familiar smile- the one that used to break open just for you- and bent his head.

The kiss wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t drunk.

It was deliberate.

It was certain.

His hand slid to her waist with a familiarity that punched the breath out of your body. He kissed her like it was easy, like it was normal, like it was inevitable.

The world spun violently, tilting the ground under your feet.

The neon lights fractured against the glass barriers, the music twisting into a distorted roar in your ears.

Your heart cracked audibly inside your chest- not just a break, but a full rupture.

Pain lanced up your throat, thick and choking, but you held it in place like you had been taught- like a good girl, like a perfect girl, like a girl who knew better than to bleed in public.

Your nails dug into the jewelled surface of your clutch until you felt the tiny, painful pricks of broken skin.

You didn’t move. Not yet.

Your mind scrambled for excuses- maybe it was a mistake, maybe it was a joke, maybe-

But your heart knew better.

Your heart always knew first.

The Cartier bracelet at your wrist suddenly felt too tight, as if the metal itself recoiled from your skin.

Always, L.

A promise he had stopped keeping long before tonight.

── .✦

9:02 p.m. - Oscar’s POV

Oscar hated everything about this night.

He hated the feel of the Tom Ford tuxedo stretched stiffly across his shoulders, the way the fabric clung and itched against his skin with every restless shift of his body. The shoes pinched at his toes, polished to a mirror shine he didn’t give a damn about. The tie at his throat felt more like a noose than a formality, tightening every time he swallowed another forced smile.

He hated the rooftop- the stone floor slick with mist and rain, the sharp sting of champagne-soaked air heavy with humidity, the mingling scents of expensive colognes and too-sweet perfumes turning his stomach. Around him, the world pulsed and throbbed with bass, the music vibrating in his bones, the kind of synthetic noise that made it impossible to think, let alone feel anything real.

He hated the endless stream of sponsors- businessmen with too-perfect smiles and handshakes that lingered just a second too long. He hated the way they looked through him, not at him, as if he were nothing but a gleaming badge they could pin to their jackets, a name they could brag about knowing before it was too late.

He hated the celebration itself- hollow, brittle, fake. He hated pretending that the night wasn’t suffocating him.

He stood near the DJ booth, swirling a glass of whiskey in his hand without any real intention of drinking it, foot tapping impatiently against the slick stone, counting the minutes until he could leave.

He wanted to be anywhere else- a quiet hotel room with the windows cracked open to the rain, a run-down bar where no one cared who he was, even the deserted back streets of Melbourne, soaked to the bone and free.

Anywhere but here.

And then- the elevator doors sighed open.

Oscar didn’t know what made him look. Instinct, maybe. Fate, if you believed in that kind of thing.

All he knew was that when you stepped into the rooftop, the world fell silent.

For one endless moment, it was just you and him.

You wore a gown that floated like mist around you, soft ivory melting into a bruised plum that kissed the rain-slick floor. The silk clung to your body with a reverence that no hands could match, sculpting to your frame, moving with you like a living thing. Your hair, curled perfectly earlier, was now kissed by the mist- soft, wild, framing your face in a halo of damp curls.

You looked like you didn’t belong to the crowd at all. You looked like you belonged to some other place- some quieter, purer world that people like him had no right to touch.

Oscar forgot how to stand. He forgot how to breathe.

His heart gave a single, painful lurch against his ribs, and he realized- too late- that every part of him had been wired, programmed, built to find you.

He wasn’t looking for you. He hadn’t expected you. He hadn’t even dared hope.

And yet- he could not have missed you if he tried.

You moved through the crowd like you were made of something finer- something stronger. Your head was held high, your shoulders pulled back, and yet there was a tightness to your mouth, a slight tremble in your fingers as they curled tightly around the small, jewelled clutch at your side.

Oscar’s stomach twisted.

He watched your eyes scan the crowd- frantic beneath the careful mask you wore- searching. Hoping.

And then- you found him.

Lando.

Oscar watched the hope bloom across your face- raw, reckless, blinding in its intensity.

It carved him open.

Because he knew that look. He knew it better than he wished he did.

He knew what it meant to pin your whole heart on someone, to believe in them against all odds, to wait across oceans and time zones and lonely nights because you knew- you knew- they were worth it.

He saw it light you up from the inside, fragile and bright.

And then he saw it die.

He followed your line of sight.

Lando stood at the railing, white Tom Ford shirt untucked, sleeves shoved to his elbows, curls damp and wild from the rain. His posture was loose, effortless, a drink dangling carelessly from his hand. His laugh cut through the noise- rich, unbothered, golden.

And then the blonde stepped into view- tall, willowy, wearing a slinky black Saint Laurent dress that clung to her like armour.

Oscar watched her place a hand on Lando’s chest- casual, confident- and tilt her chin up in silent invitation.

He watched Lando smile- that same smile he had once reserved for only one person- and then, without hesitation, he bent his head and kissed her.

It was slow. It was deliberate.

It was final.

Oscar didn’t realize he had moved until someone yelped behind him, a champagne flute knocked from their hand as he shoved through the crowd, heart pounding painfully against his ribs.

He didn’t think.

He didn’t breathe.

He just knew- knew he had to get to you.

But he was too late.

You didn’t collapse.

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t even flinch.

You just stood there- frozen for one terrible second- as the world ended quietly around you.

And then- you straightened.

You lifted your chin.

You turned on your heel, gown swirling around you like mist, and you walked.

Not hurried. Not desperate.

You walked like royalty leaving a burning castle.

You walked like you had survived worse.

You walked like you didn’t bleed.

Oscar stopped moving, heart splitting open in his chest as he watched you disappear into the crowd- head high, eyes blank, shoulders squared against the storm.

He wanted to run after you.

He wanted to shake Lando until his teeth rattled.

He wanted to scream.

But he didn’t.

He just stood there, fists clenched at his sides, feeling every stupid, broken, impossible thing he had ever tried to bury about you come roaring to the surface.

You had ruined him. He had let you. And he would do it all over again.

── .✦

9:08 p.m. - After She Leaves

Oscar stood there for a few seconds longer, staring at the elevator doors long after they had closed. His chest was tight, his hands aching from how tightly he had curled them into fists at his sides. The rooftop spun around him- laughter, music, clinking glasses- a grotesque parody of celebration he no longer had the stomach for.

The whiskey still sloshed untouched in his glass. He threw it into the nearest planter without hesitation, the heavy thud barely satisfying.

Then he turned on his heel, heading straight for the last place he wanted to go- the bar where Lando now stood, half-leaning against it, laughing with the blonde pressed too comfortably against his side.

Oscar could feel the anger crawling under his skin like a living thing. He could taste it- bitter, metallic, suffocating.

By the time he reached Lando, the words were already burning his tongue.

"You’re a fucking idiot," Oscar bit out, loud enough that the conversation around them stumbled to an awkward halt.

Lando blinked, slow and lazy, setting down his glass. "Jesus, mate. What’s your problem?"

Oscar stepped closer, lowering his voice into something dangerous. "You didn’t even see her, did you?"

Lando frowned, confusion crossing his face. "Who?"

Oscar laughed- a harsh, broken sound. "Your fucking girlfriend, who the fuck else Lando? She was standing right fucking there. Watching you."

Lando's face twisted, defensive, brushing it off like an irritating fly. "You’re seeing shit. She’s not here. If she was, she would’ve texted me. She wouldn’t just show up randomly without telling me. You know her."

Oscar stared at him, feeling something black coil tighter in his chest.

"Yeah," he said, voice razor-sharp. "I do know her."

Lando scoffed, looking away, lifting his drink back to his mouth. "If she’s not answering my texts, she’s not here. Probably busy. Not everything’s about your little fantasies, Piastri."

The way he said it- like a joke, like you were a fucking afterthought- made Oscar see red.

"You don’t even fucking know her," Oscar snarled, stepping forward until there was barely any space between them.

Lando smirked, that arrogant edge slipping into his voice. "What, you interested in her or something?"

Oscar didn’t hesitate.

"Yeah," he said, voice low and brutal. "I have been. Longer than you even realized. I see her, Norris. Every fucking time you don't."

Lando’s smile cracked- a flash of something ugly, insecure, flashing across his face.

"You’re full of shit," he muttered, but his hand tightened around his drink, white-knuckled.

Oscar leaned in closer, dropping his voice to something lethal. "I know her better than you ever did. I've seen it- the way she looks at you, even when you don't deserve it. The way she still fucking hopes."

He paused, letting the words sink in, letting the truth rip through the cracks in Lando’s armour.

"And you just threw it away for-"

The blonde chose that moment to interrupt, her voice syrupy and smug.

"Maybe she should’ve tried harder if she wanted to keep him," she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder, her nails digging possessively into Lando’s arm.

Oscar turned his head slowly toward her, eyes flashing cold.

"Shut the fuck up," he snapped, the words hitting like a slap. "You’re the reason he’s throwing away the only real thing he’s ever fucking had. You're a fucking leech."

The blonde recoiled like he had struck her, face flushing hot with embarrassment and anger.

Lando immediately moved to defend her, pushing off the bar, stepping between them.

"Don’t talk to her like that," he growled.

And that was it.

Oscar didn’t think- he didn’t hesitate.

His fist connected with Lando’s jaw with a brutal, sickening crack.

Lando staggered back, crashing into the edge of the bar, the glass he had been holding shattering on the floor.

The entire rooftop seemed to fall silent.

Oscar stood there, chest heaving, glaring at him with something dark and furious pulsing behind his ribs.

"Get your head out of your fucking ass," Oscar hissed. "You’re losing her. You already lost her. And if you don't believe me, text her yourself."

He jerked his chin toward Lando's pocket, where his phone sat uselessly.

"Go on," Oscar challenged, voice dripping with venom. "Text her. See if she answers."

But Lando didn't move.

He just stood there- stunned, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, pride bleeding out of him even faster.

He didn’t pull out his phone. He didn’t call after you. He didn’t fight for you.

Oscar shook his head, disgusted, and turned away without another word.

He could feel the blonde’s furious gaze burning into his back, but he didn’t give a shit. He didn’t owe her- or Lando- a goddamn thing.

His only thought, the only thing hammering inside his chest now, was you.

You- walking into the rain alone, shoulders set like stone, the heartbreak written into the line of your spine no matter how hard you tried to hide it.

Oscar pulled his phone from his pocket with trembling fingers, dialling before he could lose his nerve.

You deserved someone who would notice.

Someone who would run after you, even if it was already too late.

[interclover]

YAHHH THEY'RE FINALLY HERE!! My gijinkas for the BFDIA final 7 :D I've been working on them since december, hence why nickel is there xD I'm so proud of how they've turned out

More yapping about my designs under the cut!!

BOOK:

I wanted her to clash with Pencil's design (which, originally, was going to be here, but once she got eliminated I decided to erase it LOL it also didn't help the fact that she's one of my least favourite characters) (but you can picture your typical white mean girl). She's awkward and typically reserved, in contrast with Pencil, Match, Ruby and Bubble's extroversion. I think I made a good job at expressing that.

Plus, her fashion sense is more old-fashioned and formal, since I associate libraries and books with the past (it's also a nice contrast to the rest of freesmart, who dabble in 2000s (sub)cultures, with Pencil and Match fitting into the popular girl stereotype and Ruby being scene (in my hcs)).

Her blazer is a nod to those book covers!!

Square shapes everywhere

This is a bit of me projecting, but I also didn't want to make her too feminine :p not only bc she's not perceived as "pretty" enough to be a full-on member of Freesmart, but also because I'm enby and Book is enby because I kin her. Sorry/j.

NEEDLE:

South-korean needle realness

She's BUFF. I wanted her to keep an overall needle-like body shape, while still being stacked. This is the first time I studied muscle references, and it paid off.

We can see her running around and doing risky things a lot in the show, so I think she got some bruises from that.

Also, I wanted to give her an outfit that was as practical as possible while still being fashionable. I still have my doubts about the boob window, but I believe it turned out alright! Pencil would obviously pick someone pretty with a good sense of fashion.

Lots of needle motifs (bangs, earring, body shape, hairstyle)

PIN:

She's sharp and pointy! Hence the piercings

She has lots of freckles in her body, covered at all times by her jacket and tights.

In my hcs, instead of losing their limbs, contestants lose their mobility in said areas. Mainly because I didn't know how to potray when they regained them. The batteries in Pin's wheelchair fuel her arms as well, and they're connected by wires (which. i just realised. I forgot. well.), able to transmit electricity without harming her to the metal armor she wields. Think of it as a mecha suit!!

Matching necklaces with Coiny #coinpincanon

I wanted her to have an intimidating outfit as well, mostly reflecting how, outside her harsh exterior, she's trying to become a better person.

COINY:

Probably the gijinka that went through the most redesigns. I had to look up inspiration for this one, since every Coiny gijinka I drew left me severely unsatisfied: they either looked too much like other people's gijinkas or to the rest of the male cast. In the end, I'm really happy about his design! I managed to stray away from my other designs while still retaining his personality.

Again, matching necklaces with pin :3

The bandana is meant to reflect a coin's glow. This is one of my favourite details and I didn't even realise it until I got to shading.

He's latino!! I still have to think about most of my designs' nacionalities, but he's latino for sure.

Round body shape and many coin motifs :3 I hc him to be alternative. Even though that doesn't entirely come across in his design, he made his accessories himself (diy king) and he enjoys nu-metal music.

NICKEL:

He was the first one to be drawn, I hope you can't realise that 😭 my style changed so much what

He's, overall, just a silly guy! A goober. Full of whimsy and joy

Since I hc II Nickel and BFDI Nickel as relatives (still unsure of making them twins or cousins), and I had designed my II Nickel WAYYY before I began this, I knew I had to give them a similar build. In comparison to his II counterpart, BFDI Nickel is a bit more chubbier, with more round shapes to represent his happy-go-lucky personality.

He has prosthetic arms!! I settled on giving every metallic or scientist armless character a pair of prosthetics :p it seemed cool ok.

He'd have some freckles, too, as well as beauty spots :3

I'm going to be fully honest, I gave him that outfit because I have the same shirt and I thought he'd like baggy pants JSHDKJH he got the favourite treatment.

TENNIS BALL:

Not much to say here, his design is pretty straightforward. Fluffy hair because tennis balls are fluffy, plus sized and tall because tennis balls are big. Yeah

He'd put his hair up in difficult challenges or when he's researching/studying/inventing something, though.

The suspenders came to me in a vision (that one Matt Bellamy outfit)

Golf ball pin!! #duo

FRIES:

Underpaid fast-food employee, who got tired of so much bullshit and decided to become an unstoppable menace.

He's afro-american :p

The turtleneck also came to me in a vision (I hate jimbalaya mouthwashing. However, it fits Fries nicely).

And that's all! Massive thank you if you decided to read all of this :D I appreciate it a lot!!/gen

[ihaveforgortoomany]

Theorising 2.8: Paradise Regrained with new info from the PV and livestream

And the Wheel is the Key Theory

(CN spoilers for 2.6, 2.7 in bound! Not Global Friendly)

This part will focus on main story lore and implications - I will look at the playables later.

Ok: new Manus Apostle Im assuming speaking to Ms Grace, wonder who is the traitor she seems to be referring to. Right now, we know there is a Foundation spy in the Manus, and a Manus spy in the Foundation. And currently alot of speculation surrouding Ms Grace is that she is Moth working for the Foundation, so maybe the Apostle is referring to Ms Grace herself and asking why would you serve the Foundation still after everything, or making a grand statement about the Manus mole, or even referring to the Zeno traitors under Igor?

We know form 2.4 Ms Grace when she's in power carries a level of confidence and smirking, however I think this shot alone shows she is potentially below or serves under this lady .

It seems this is the "next time" Sophia refers to back in 1.9, the showdown between her and Sonetto. Her question about her "purpose" then: referring to how she blindly follows the Foundation or blindly follows Vertin without any second thought. My hope is that this patch will drive into Sonetto's unwavering loyalty and begin to completely break it down, either way I would love to see these two finally face off in a battle (maybe another Sophia boss battle?)

Alr briefly talking about the playables here. So it seems at some point the Zeno traitors managed to kidnapp Ulrich at some point, Im assuming the person holding Ulrich is Poltemy, note the brown coat and black gloves. In the next shot shes just holding his head, in the same helicopter and now accompanied by Buddy Fairchild whose not in frame for this screenshot - does this seem she bretrays Igor early on in the patch and teams up with Ulrich and Buddy? Im interested in what role both her and the Zeno soliders with Igor will play in the revival ritual.

Wondering why exactly Ulrich is the one being kidnapped? Is it related to his experiments and project he was doing in 2.4?

Next bit: Seems to be either a member of Naukita's team being taken by whatever Manus influence is present on the continent, or this is a Zeno member being taken. Why Zeno? Moldir's I2 reminds me of this outfit so I speculate this is a Zeno member - then again hard to say.

Ok onto the good shit.

This is definitely Vertin screaming, full on panic "shits gone down" screaming. Reminder that Vertin is the most expressive when someone she cares about is in real danger so I predict either one or multiple of these things:

Screaming because Arcana is getting revived and someone is being used as a sacrificed

Either this is Urd/ Dores or Sonetto in serious danger

Or a Third Thing I will theorise in a bit in this post.

This must be some serious shit for Vertin to be screaming, like there has not been an insistence prior to this has she ever screamed like this before.

Oh my god this animation was FIRE. The way the disciples are sacrificing themselves into this pit, the water, the rising and then this haunting shot DAMNNN.

This is way better than her intial introduction all the way back from the game teasers holy.

Back to Urd, first shot the hand shes holding is moving, I would like to think this is Vertin finally seeing Urd for the first time and maybe finally getting the chance to speak, and communicating through touch since Urd can't see. Alternatively this might be a flashblack since the clothes Urd is having is not the same from the trailer, overall hard to pinpoint where or when this is happening.

The last shot - theory time!

The Wheel is the Key

This final shot shows a giant hand (maybe this hand and the face behind the Apostle is the "Mother Spirit" Naukita refers to?) and in front is a woman next to a spinning wheel. What wheel you say?

OUR wheel. Yet in the shot and in the chapter poster the wheel is broken and the golden thread tied to it is broken and on the floor. Notably the woman next to it, I believe is Urd, not Ms Grace or Arcana. Not Ms Grace since she's not wearing the bonnet, not Arcana because as we saw she already was putting the head spike on, and if you look closely the woman has the two hair bangs in front and the colour tinge Vertin's hair has ; and that when the pv ends Vertin says "mum" (not "mother", but "mum": its also softer, maybe this is the moment they meet?).

Ok theory time - The wheel from our suitcase that enables us to summon characters through the lake is the wheel used for summoning Arcana potentially. This is likely separate from the final object the Manus need for the ritual so for now I will treat them separately.

Going back to Arcana's revival animation, note that she emerges from a lake first - all our playable characters emerge from the lake as well, if we remember how Sonetto was summoned by the wheel in the Prologue.

Alright onto the three thing I think Vertin is screaming about - the suitcase potentially being invaded and the wheel being forcibly removed from the suitcase - also wouldn't it be cool if after that scene, our ability to summon characters become blocked until we clear the next stage?

Maybe this is the aftermath of summoning Arcana, the wheel is broken and Urd stands alone at the sight of the wheel.

Theory summary: The wheel is a key component to summoning Arcana, our ability to summon characters regardless of era will enable the Manus to summon her into a much stronger form.

[z0mb0ysworld]

In My Room Pt 2

Shauna Shipman x GN Reader

Warnings: Strapon referred to as 'cock' and 'dick' also smut in general

MINORS DNI OR I WILL CALL YOUR MOTHER

Zombie's Brains: Hey! So I tried to write this as gender neutral as I could, but did have a lesbian or transmasc reader in mind. I do need requests tho so pls gimme some. Also.. I apologize if this sucks. My first time writing smut. Pls gimme a break if you hate it

It was gonna be a fun night.. When Shauna pulled off her robe, you saw she was wearing the same outfit as earlier. A tank top and those shorts that she knew drove you wild. The ones that made her ass look fucking amazing. You knew if you dare touch her there would be hell to pay so you refrained. She grinded on your lap, “Mm.. such a pretty thing, aren’t you? You want me?” You nodded dumbly as she pulled off her tank top and reached back to unclasp her bra. It fell off her shoulders onto your stomach. You drooled at the sight of her chest. Holy fuck. You could die right now and be the happiest person on Earth. Shauna smirked as she looked down at you, “Such a perv though.” She got up and pulled your pajama bottoms down to leave you in your boxers and your sleep shirt. Shauna pulled out the strapon that she had bought you  from your nightstand and slid the straps over your hips.

“I’m gonna ride you and you are gonna stay fucking still. Got it? Now beg.” She ordered as she placed the knife to your neck again.

“Please, baby, ride my cock. Please please please, pretty girl. Ride me.” She chuckled at your desperate pleas as she slid off her shorts and underwear. She tossed them somewhere in your room. You knew she’d leave her panties here. She did it often everytime you guys had sex. Shauna enjoyed knowing that every time you saw them you would think of her.

She straddled your hips and grinded her cunt onto the tip of your dick. You watched with a mesmerized stare. She was wet and you knew it was because of you. Shauna bit her lip as she slowly slid down your dick until her hips were pressed on your’s, “Fuckkk.. Good baby. You like when I ride you? Use your words.” 

“Yes, pretty girl. I love when you fucking ride me. You look so beautiful on my dick.” Shauna placed her hand on your stomach before starting to bounce. Her mouth fell open in quiet moans as she bounced. She kept the knife at your neck as she rode you. Shauna brought one of your hands to her chest while the other fell to her waist. You obediently started groping her chest as her eyes rolled back. You let out soft moans as the base of the strap grinded on your clit as she rolled her hips. She dug the knife into your neck a little. Not too deep but enough for a little blood to trickle out which she licked up before kissing your neck. Shauna let out little praises through soft gasps and moans in your ear, “Good- fuck- slut. Good baby. You are so good for me. Fuck fuck fuck.” You could tell she was getting close as she bounced harder and got louder. Her hand rubbed her clit, matching her bouncing. You wanted to watch her fall apart on your dick. Shauna slammed herself down, desperate for her own high, as she bit down on your neck. You let out a moan as she sucked a hickey onto your skin. Shauna pulled back and smirked as she slowed down a bit to admire your work. It was short lived as she picked the pace back up again. She let out a loud scream of your name that sent you into your own orgasm as the strap finally stimulated your clit enough as she teased your neck.. Shauna’s hips stuttered as she slammed down one last time and rode out her orgasm.

Shauna slowly slid off your dick and onto your stomach. She slowly moved her way to your face, putting her pussy right over your mouth, “Clean me up.” You started lapping at her cunt, tasting her cum. Shauna moaned and wrapped her hand in your hair, pulling you deeper. Your lips gently wrapped around her clit and sucked gently. Obviously that was the right move because she got louder. You went back to licking at her cunt, pushing your tongue in. Shauna wrapped her thighs around your head and grinded herself on your face, “Good.. So fucking good for me. So fucking good. Imma cum…” You felt her cum on your tongue as you continued to eat her out. She laid down on the bed next to you after you had fully cleaned her up. 

Shauna helped you out of the straps before throwing the cum covered strap to the ground. She pulled you back into her chest as she peppered your neck with kisses, “You did so good for me, baby. I love you so much.”

“I love you too..” She hummed in satisfaction at your reply as she cuddled deeper into your back.

“We’ll take a nice shower together in the morning..” Shauna promised gently as she rubbed your stomach. You nodded as that sounded fucking amazing. Your hips were too sore to do much right now anyways.

“I’ll make you your favorite breakfast too, pretty.” You also promised as she buried her head into the crook of your neck tiredly. You soon felt her soft peaceful breaths as she drifted off to sleep. You smiled as you fell asleep in your girlfriend’s arms.

[chaellooo]

Hrrhhrh doodles. I have some kind of internal crisis drawing kai's hair. Also, Nya...my beloved...

[hinamie]

newest issue of first years fashion just dropped

[weaverofink]

A Clara portrait because I love her so so much :) dialogue from the last episode of season 3

image without dialogue below:

she :)

[puppppppppy]

auggie!!

[kavehayati]

“Look at you you’re such a doll you’re so cute and the things you talk about are so entertaining and lively and fun and you’re soft spoken with a soft heart it makes people want to stay with you …apart from when you complain”

THAAAANK YOU ! You see this is why I never speak. I have been hearing this complaint from everybody. Am I as a human being not allowed to be upset and complain about things ?! This is why I bottle everything up. Ykw it’s my fault for that because I AM easy to talk to so it invites everyone even those who are intolerant to everything. Let me get mad let me be upset and complain UGH.

[sabertoothwalrus]

Ace Attorney: Trials in Paradise 🌅

— an AA7 fan concept —

Initial Premise:

Since it’s designed for the Switch 2 (and thus made for a larger screen), the game will almost always have 2-3 characters on screen at a time, and will feature dozens of unique interaction animations between all sorts of character combos.

There has been another 7 year timeskip.

The old judge retired, and the new judge is his granddaughter!

The jurist system is featured.

This concept is heavily based around these designs.

The characters would have multiple outfits throughout the game, which become unlockable costumes, much like the DLC costumes of DD, SoJ, and TGAA games.

While this is way too specific to truly be a "prediction" of what aa7 could be, I tried to keep it (mostly) realistic to what I thought could actually be in an ace attorney game!

📦 Case 1: Turnabout Homecoming

Trucy left the nest and Phoenix doesn’t like living alone anymore, so Phoenix is moving into Edgeworth’s house. Apollo— who recently got his driver's license— was driving the moving van, and was accused because a body had been found in the vehicle. The true killer was one of the movers. I like the idea that you'd have to look through boxes for evidence, maybe the murder weapon was hidden within their belongings.

Defendant: Apollo Defense: Phoenix Weird Girl: Edgeworth Prosecutor: Diana Payne (Winston’s daughter) Detective: (drumroll…) Godot!! Witnesses: Larry (he was helping with the move), Leslie (one of the movers) Victim: Bee(another one of the movers) Killer: Anne(third mover)

(rest of the cases and a lotttt more art under the cut ↓ )

🎢 Case 2: Rollercoaster Turnabout

Maya and Pearl are on vacation at Blue Badger Land. Pearl is accused of murder after a body is found on an unpopular attraction that only Pearl enjoys going on. As an aside, Gumshoe is retired from detective work, and now works as a dog trainer. He trained Armando's service dog, Spot O'Coffee. Wendy Oldbag also serves as a witness, but she's pretty old at this point. Her memory has become fuzzy with age, and her testimonies begin to mix up information from other trials (which will be little references to previous games).

Defendant: Pearl Defense: Apollo Weird Girl: Maya Prosecutor: Klavier Detective: Godot Witnesses: Gumshoe (and his kids, Callum & Beau), Wendy Oldbag, Ride Operator Victim: Ride Safety Inspector Killer: Park Manager

💍 Case 3: My Love, Turnabout

Klavier has arranged a collab performance between Trucy and Lamiroir. Hugh Dini, Trucy's assistant and boyfriend, is accused when his stunt double is found dead. Hugh is very cagey about his alibi, but it's because he was planning to propose and didn't want Trucy to know yet. Franziska takes this and spins it into a jealousy plot, and insinuates he killed his stunt double out of envy. Because Hugh is actually pretty shy, he has a habit of not speaking up, which only incriminates him further. A twist in the case is revealed during a cross-examination when it turns out the "gold band" the witness is referring to wasn't Hugh's engagement ring, but instead about a gold bangle. This immediately puts Apollo under suspicion, until Phoenix drops a hint that someone else (Lamiroir) has a gold bracelet as well. The truth about Trucy and Apollo's sibling relationship is revealed when Athena finds an unexpected emotion in Phoenix's mood matrix, and Lamiroir decides it’s time to break the news.

Defendant: Hugh Dini Defense: Athena Weird Girl: Phoenix, Apollo (← steps in when Phoenix has to get cross-examined) Prosecutor: Franziska Detective: Ema Witnesses: Lamiroir, Trucy, Hugh Dini Fangirl Victim: Hugh's Stunt Double Killer: Jealous Trucy Stan

🏝️ Case 4: The Getaway

This one isn’t a traditional case.

After Manfred Von Karma divorced his first wife, Bianka, he moved to Europe, and his previous home was left uninhabited until his eldest daughter, Karla Von Karma, discovers she has inherited it. She decides to turn the beachside property into a bed & breakfast, and invites her half-sister Franziska and adoptive brother Edgeworth to give the manor a trial run and let her know if it’s suitable for visitors. Edgeworth brings along Wright Anything Agency, because… why not treat them to a break?

But of course, their vacation quickly takes a turn when they find a literal skeleton in the closet.

Not all of the rooms in the estate had been searched. Manfred’s study has a large, padlocked safe, and Karla hadn’t gotten around to hiring a locksmith to open it for her. Phoenix tries “0001” for the hell of it, and the only thing more surprising than that combination successfully opening the safe is the body folded up inside.

They can’t imagine the killer was anyone other than Manfred Von Karma, but— since he’s already been executed— they’re not sure if a trial even needs to be held. They need to investigate the situation to determine with absolute certainty it was, in fact, Von Karma, because otherwise they’d need to find a new suspect. Obviously, the group of criminal justice lawyers aren’t not going to get to the bottom of it.

Except Apollo, who has decided he wants nothing to do with solving the murder. He came on this trip for a vacation, dammit, and that's exactly what he's gonna do. He heads back outside to the beach, and leaves everyone else to the investigation.

The first mystery is figuring out when the murder happened. The police arrive, and Ema estimates that the remains are about 30-40 years old, which is around the time the Von Karma family moved out. Since Manfred & Bianka had divorced in 1999, they start to wonder if Manfred had even still been residing here when the murder took place, but the body is found with a train ticket dated for January of 2002. A time period that just so happens to line up with the one singular vacation Manfred took during his entire career— to recover from a gunshot wound that he couldn’t even trust a doctor with knowing about.

The body is wearing a housekeeper's uniform, and they identify her as Ophelia Falsch. They conclude that she was killed because she had discovered Manfred’s injury, and he wanted to eliminate the witness. They think they have the case over and done with, but then Ema comes back with the dental analysis. She explains there was no dental record of an "Ophelia Falsch", but the teeth did match Bianka Von Karma.

This raises some questions. Why was Bianka dressed as Ophelia? Was there a more personal reason Manfred could have killed his ex-wife? Could Ophelia have been involved as well?

Since the murder happened so long ago, they don't even know where to begin with finding witnesses. Karla was 18 at the time of the murder, and had just moved out, so she wasn't present. Edgeworth, of all people, is the one to suggest an unconventional idea: why not ask Von Karma himself?

The manor is in a remote location that's only accessible by train or boat, and since it's late, Maya won't be able to get there until the next morning. In the meantime, they check up on Apollo, only to find him getting scolded by a woman about having his chair on the beach. She explains that she's Karla's daughter, Angelika Von Karma, and that she's impassioned about marine ecology. She just discovered the beach had become a nesting site for an endangered species of sea turtles, and is worried about disrupting it.

The next morning, Maya arrives, and Phoenix and Edgeworth hold a mock trial in the foyer. Manfred is channeled, but is uncooperative, so they try... a different method. Phoenix and Edgeworth perform a reenactment of how they think the murder happened, while Trucy and Athena watch Manfred to see if they can glean any information based on his reactions.

Manfred breaks down and confesses to the murder, but is telling the truth when he says that he didn't know the victim was Bianka; he did, in fact, think he had killed a housekeeper who found out about his gunshot wound. After this, his spirit is released.

As puzzling as this is— who was Ophelia, anyway?— they can't do anymore investigating because Karla has become very upset. The whole ordeal has caused long-repressed emotions to resurface. She's always felt a little bit resentful towards Franziska because their father left Bianka for Franziska's mother, Levina, and always felt like she had her family taken from her. On top of that, Manfred had done everything he could to get full custody of Karla in the divorce, and she never saw her mother again. She's angry that that wasn't enough— he'd gone and killed her too.

Karla and Franziska get into a big fight, and the whole trip ends up cancelled.

🚂 Case 5: Turnabout Train Car

They all board the train to head home. The mood is really awkward and it's kind of a bummer. Since the train is only way out of the area, Karla has to board as well, albeit in another car.

And because nothing is ever easy, there’s a murder on the train.

The victim was the owner of the train, Diesel Porter. He was found in his private sleeping room, and the only other room on that train car was being occupied by Karla, so naturally, she is accused.

Since Ema and the police are already on the train, they’re able to take control of the situation until the train makes it back to town. The Wright Anything Agency isn’t allowed to investigate the crime scene much, so they opt to interrogate the other odd passengers.

They get a helpful tip from the train’s bartender that Cole Porter, son of Diesel Porter, had been making plans to build a resort. They also find out that the train company had been losing money, since they weren’t getting many passengers.

The next day in court, Phoenix claims Cole killed his father to inherit the company, but Cole denies it because, why would he want to inherit a dying company? And Phoenix turns it around by bringing up the resort plans and how he wanted to build it on Karla’s property. He couldn’t just kill Karla, because then they’d have to take care of Angelika and Franziska too, so they needed Karla to feel like she had no choice but to sell it.

The trial goes to recess and Cole is apprehended for questioning, but at that moment they get word that someone else has just been murdered on the train— the bartender from before.

Phoenix goes back to the train investigate and boards when it’s stopped on the mountaintop station. While he’s investigating the train’s caboose, Cole’s wife, Electra, detaches it from the rest of the train. Cole and his wife were in cahoots! Phoenix is sent hurtling backwards down the mountain in the runaway car, and manages to pull the emergency brake just before reaching the bottom. He’s ended up back by the manor, and calls to have a boat sent to pick him up.

While he waits, he finds Angelika is still here studying the turtles. She gives him permission to go inside the manor again to investigate. He finds the deed to the house, along with an old photo that has a letter written on the back. It’s addressed to Bianka from Levina (Franziska’s mother).

The case is solved when Phoenix proves that both Cole & Electra Porter were involved in the murders. The land becomes protected by the government in order to keep the sea turtles safe, since they are endangered.

After the trial, Phoenix shows Karla and Franziska the letter he’d found. It turns out Levina hired Bianka as a housekeeper under the alias “Ophelia” so that she could still see her daughter Karla. The photo depicts a teenage Karla playing with a baby Franziska. Levina and Bianka had a good relationship, and had made efforts to keep their families together.

Karla and Franziska apologize to each other, and agree to get along better.

Defendant: Karla Von Karma Defense: Phoenix Weird Girl: Athena & Apollo Prosecutor: Franziska Detective: Ema & Godot Witnesses: Train Conductor, Old Passenger, Tain Bartender Victim: Diesel Porter Killer: Cole & Electra Porter

💃 (DLC) Case 6: Turnabout Runway

Klavier has been invited as a guest judge for a fashion tv competition. He invites Pearl (and Apollo) to the shooting as an apology for accusing her for murder & because of their shared interest in fashion. "Lip sync for your life" but literally.

Defendant: Lady Killer Defense: Athena Weird Girl: Pearl Prosecutor: Blackquill Detective: Ema Witnesses: ensemble of drag queens/models, Klavier Victim: Taxi Macabre Killer: Paul Rue

[marzipanandminutiae]

thinking about the infantiliztation and/or formalization of 19th-century women's clothing to modern audiences

like

our entire reference point for "wearing long skirts and outfits with decoration like lace, embroidery, appliques, etc." is either formalwear or fictional characters in children's media like Disney princesses. women's clothing is just so radically different now- not that those elements don't exist, but they're much less common in everyday clothing than they once were. some form of simple trousers and an equally simple top are de rigeur for everyday attire, and anything else is Fancy

combined with the fact- which is true! -that a lot of what survives to end up in big museums belonged to wealthy people, this ends up in wild assumptions like "basically our entire idea of what the Victorians dressed like is just Rich People Clothes really"

which has led to the eternal cry of "but what did NORMAL people wear?!?!?!" that will not be satisfied with real examples of middle or even working-class everyday clothing because it still looks too "fancy" to modern eyes

not Victorian, but a great example of this is what Abby Cox wore to portray a milliner (hatmaker) in Colonial Williamsburg. a working, middle-class woman:

(ignore the facial expression there)

this is the exact outfit she sported in a video that apparently got responses like "but that's just what rich women wore!" and it is, in fact, everyday attire for a working person. a person who worked in the fashion industry, it's true, but still

I had someone ask me about how to find examples of casual Victorian clothing because they were at their wits' end trying to research it. and I had to tell them that...what they were looking at WAS casual. in the sense of Clothing For Everyday Wear That's Not Especially Formal. there's nothing inherently formal, or exclusive to the wealthy, about a matched bodice-and-skirt dress, instep-length, with some trim. or even a trimmed blouse and skirt. obviously women working the absolute hardest outdoor, physical jobs might have adopted occupational trousers or similar, but we don't all dress like construction or farm workers all the time nowadays. why would they have back then?

Laundresses, probably 1850s or early 60s. Note that I can STILL date the picture based on their outfits and hair, and these are the furthest things from wealthy socialites.

Maid scrubbing steps, probably 1870s or 1880s. Note pleated trim on her skirt and what appears to be a peplum at the back of her bodice.

also, not all working women worked physical jobs any more than we do today. here is a teacher around the turn of the 20th century:

Teachers, 1887

"Breton Seamstresses," 1845, by Jules Trayer

were there differences in quality, type and quantity of trim, fit, etc? obviously. but some people are convinced that the basic outfit format can't POSSIBLY have been something ordinary women wore, because it looks formal and/or princess-y in a modern context

[rafesangelita]

♡ “have you ever tried this one?” in which kook!sweetheart!reader convinces rafe to take her to go see one of her favorite artists, and as a ‘thank you’ she and rafe have to do whatever position sabrina demo’s for her song “juno”..

warnings: fluff, unprotected sex, dirty talk, praise, breeding kink (?)

a/n: so sad because i didn’t get to see sabrina on tour, and she has had me in the meanest chokehold lately :( click this link to see what position i’m referring to <3

when the dates dropped for sabrina’s ‘short n’ sweet’ tour, rafe wasted no time in buying you two tickets. of course, you didn’t know this and begged him for weeks until he finally told you yes, your flight and hotel room already booked for a nice little weekend getaway. rafe helped you make your concert outfit, both of you spending hours on the whole ensemble. the end result was absolutely stunning and rafe couldn’t stop taking pictures of you.

he posted one on the night of the concert, captioning it ‘my little popstar princess <3’ and you two were off to the stadium. while you knew wearing sparkly white platform boots wouldn’t be the best choice to walk in, you stuck it through, and as soon as the lights dimmed and the music started, any kind of discomfort you felt had melted away as you were far too distracted singing along to every song that boomed through the venue.

babydoll lingerie top with pink fluffy trim, dedazzled stockings, glittery makeup, your hair freshly done, rafe swore you never looked prettier. even though he was against wearing anything that sparkled, he decided to wear a plain pink t-shirt to match with you in his own little way. he kept his arms wrapped around your waist as you two sung, having learned the lyrics to every song since you insisted on being in charge of the aux cord whenever you two were in his truck.

eventually, you two were swaying softly, rafe’s chin resting in the curve of your neck as you stroked the skin of his arm. “thank you for bringing me here.” you smiled up at him, connecting your lips as the intro to ‘juno’ started playing. rafe hummed, leaning down so you could hear him. “you know i had to bring you, baby.. what do you say you thank me another way when we get back to our room?” your cheeks heated as you laughed softly.

“yeah, i’d like that,” you pecked his cheek, “how about we do the position she does for the song?” rafe smiled, both of you fixing your attention on the stage. you waited with anticipation, your heart beating in your ears when she bent over and touched her toes. rafe cheered, making you laugh as he couldn’t wait to get you back to the hotel. luckily for him, there was only a few more songs left before the show ended and the two of you rushed out of there.

it wasn’t long after you two walked through the door that rafe had your boots thrown in a forgotten corner, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips as he took you roughly from behind. you struggled to keep your hands placed on your perfectly pedicured toes, your knees threatening to give out from under you while rafe thrusted into you at an unforgiving pace. “holy fuck, you’re taking it so fuckin’ good, gorgeous, ‘might just let you get off your tippy toes and put you on your back instead.”

you cried out, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as his pelvis smacked against the back of your ass. “can’t, rafe!” you shrieked, nearly doubling over before your boyfriend reached down and grabbed your arms, holding you by your wrists as you hung helplessly from his grip. he was fucking you stupid, and your lack of thoughts was proof of it. you couldn’t think, the feeling of rafe’s cock stroking that soft gummy spot inside of you made you whimper pathetically.

finally, you couldn’t hold yourself up anymore, your knees meeting the carpeted floor. rafe picked you up, cursing under his breath as he encouraged you to get back in position. “promise i’ll have you in bed soon, pretty, you could hold out for me, yeah?” you shuddered, looking at him from behind your shoulder with that fucked-out gaze he loved so much. you had tears in your eyes, your body glitter still sparkling under the soft lighting.

giving him a little nod, you reached down once again, holding onto your ankles for dear life as rafe circled an arm under your hips, holding you up as his fingers started working on your clit. “oh!” you were in hysterics, your blood rushing to your head as he landed a harsh smack to your backside. “come on, baby, ‘wanna feel this pussy squeeze around me.” you moaned at his words, your orgasm just in arm’s reach as rafe’s thrusts grew uncalculated. “rafe?” you could barely speak, the band in your stomach threatening to snap at any moment.

“talk to me.” he groaned, teetering the edge of pure euphoria. “make me juno?” you giggled for a split second, the insinuation only turning rafe on even more. “fuck, yeah? ‘want me to fill you up, give you a baby?” you let out a distorted “mhmm!’, the two of you gasping when your highs took you both to cloud nine. rafe pulled you back up, your chest rising and falling while your legs shook with your orgasm. pressing wet kisses to your neck, rafe did exactly as he said, his hips stuttering as hot, thick ropes of cum painted your velvety walls.

you two stayed like this, pressed against one another until your breathing slowed, the aftershocks subsiding before rafe laid you both down in bed. “we should have a ‘short n’ sweet’ themed baby shower.. we could serve espressos.” rafe laughed, draping an arm over your tummy. “we’ll see.” he hummed. your eyes fluttered shut as you breathed him in, his cologne still heavy on his skin. “you know what we should try when we get back home?” rafe traced shapes into your side, mumbling a ‘what’s that?’

“pink fuzzy handcuffs.”

[laufeysvalentine]

cat's out the bag

spencer reid x fem!reader | masterlist

summary ༄ spencer reid x secret relationship!reader — in which members of the bau go out for dinner and see spencer with... a girl?

early seasons spencer, twilight & ariana grande references for some reason (i don't even listen to her), reader sits on spencer's lap, disgustingly cute but mostly disgusting

word count ༄ 2k

nora’s notes ༄ my first spencer reid fic + a new writing style. this may be a complete disaster 💖

Spencer’s in the middle of finishing up a reread of a Sherlock Holmes installment and packing up from work when the clomping of two pairs of shoes ruins his peace. 

“Morning, genius,” one of the voices says, bubbling with sweetness in just a way he knows exactly who it is without having to look at the two shadows that enter his vision, blocking the light. 

“It’s almost evening. In fact, it’s been six hours, thirty-four minutes, and eighteen seconds since morning,” he mutters, flicking the page over. “Now, move. I can’t see.” 

“No, you’ve been in a funk all week and we’re going to get you out of it,” Garcia sing-songs, taking his book hostage. She looks the opposite of how he has the past week–put together, with a perfect outfit, as always. “I don’t care why you’ve been a grump, only that you come out with us tonight, yeah? You don’t have to drink, just hang out.” 

He looks up, reluctance prodding his expression. Garcia and Derek are side-to-side, arms crossed, looking down at him. Yeah, nope. “I’m busy tonight.” 

“With?” Derek raises an eyebrow. “You got a date, pretty boy?” 

“I’m meeting with a friend who’s been out-of-town.” He responds, reaching out for his book. “Okay, Dad?” 

“Seriously, Reid?” JJ chimes in from behind the other two. “Come out with us.” 

“I’m busy. I would say I was sorry, but I’m not. 1 in 8 people apologize at least twenty times a day. 43% of people regularly apologize during a situation in which they are not at fault–” Spencer begins as he turns away from them to collect his things. 

“Yeah, that’s enough. Getting Hotch to come was hard enough, I’ll call it quits while I still can. See you tomorrow, Reid.” JJ turns on her heel and walks back towards her own desk.

“I’ll see you two tomorrow too.” He nods and passes them on his way out. “Bye.” 

Garcia looks at Derek, her eyebrows cocked. “Well, then.” 

“Guess it’ll just be you and me, baby girl,” he teases, heading to walk back to his desk. 

“Just the way I like it.” Her heels nip the back of his shoes as she chases after him. “Even though JJ and Hotch will be there too.” 

“They can watch.” 

— 

“When’s Hotch getting here?” JJ drums her fingers on the side of her glass, tilting her head up. The restaurant they’re in is loud and crowded, the three of them squished into a booth clearly meant for two, all having glasses of what the waitress described as “fun, flirty drinks” cradled in their hands. Garcia’s stirring some kind of electric pink concoction with an equally pink umbrella when a throat clears. 

“I’m here,” their boss says, sliding into the booth next to them. His eyebrows furrow–well, maybe that’s just his resting face, they can’t really tell–as he glances at the drink in Derek’s hands. “What exactly is it that you’re drinking?” 

He shrugs, taking a sip. “I think it’s called the Orange Surprise. Not that there’s anything surprising about it–or this place, at all, really. I mean, look around. And this just tastes like–” 

“Wait,” Garcia interrupts, eyes on something behind him. She whips off her glasses, rubbing them furiously on her shirt before her jaw drops and she begins to stand in her seat. “Is it just me or is that Reid over there with a girl? A gorgeous girl at that?” 

As soon as she finishes her sentence, three more heads whip around to her line of vision, shock pulling at their faces. Even Hotch looks mildly surprised. 

From their vantage point in the restaurant, they can see Spencer’s side profile as he stares at a girl across the table from him–you, looking magnificent, even in the dingy, uneven bar lighting. Your elbows are on the table, face cradled by your hands as you stare up at him. The love shining out of your face--lips parted with intrigue as you listen, eyes soft, cheeks relaxed--is sickeningly lovely. And even at first glance, a table full of profilers can tell just how much you care about him–enough to reach across the table and smooth down an untidy lapel, enough to listen raptly as the words begin spilling out of him in a ramble, to smile at him with a kind of learned tenderness you only get from knowing someone with incredible intimacy and just time. 

“Oh. My. God.” She tries to scooch past Derek, who catches her by the hips. 

“Wait, baby girl. I wanna see how this plays out before we interrupt. What if that’s a cousin? I don't know, a friend?” He says, stalling her. She reluctantly sits back in her seat, neck craned. 

“They’re touching,” JJ reports, a gasp falling from her lips. “Reid hates touch.” 

“We can see, JJ,” Derek quips, though his jaw is just as dropped. 

As soon as the boy started rambling, everyone at the table expected you to get up and walk away, or look as bored as they felt listening to him. But you stayed. Your eyes are on his, nodding every so often. They watch as one of your hands wanders to Spencer’s arm, rubbing a circle on the fabric of his button-down. He looks so relaxed in your presence, unlike they’ve ever seen him before. What the hell is happening?

“Please let me go over,” Penelope begs. “I need to know. I need to meet her!” 

“I second it,” JJ echoes. “They’re worse than the two of you, and I didn’t think that was possible with Genius over there.” 

“No, we still don’t know if they’re long-term or first date or what. What if we barge in and they’re just friends?” Derek almost sounds convincing. Almost.

“That is not friendly behavior,” Hotch chimes in. Their attention lasers in on the table in front of them, shock freezing their limbs. You’re pouting, saying something to Spencer–he’s melting in your hands, nodding so much it looks like his head could just screw off any moment now, and you stand. Are you going to leave? Break up? What’s happening? 

You wander to his side of the table, and, in the most disgusting display of PDA ever, you lower yourself onto his lap, hands knitting themselves together behind his neck. And Spencer is sickeningly okay with it, hands traveling to your hips, massaging your pelvic bones as you say something to him. A blush pinches his cheeks–no, it’s like a virus, spreading all over his face as he buries himself into your neck. 

Garcia thinks she heard Derek gag. A giggle escapes you, loud enough to hear from their booth. From across the restaurant.  

“Okay, we’re going over,” he announces, standing from the table. “Even just to break this up. I’m nauseous.” 

“Copy that,” JJ contorts her face, following the group towards them. 

Garcia’s practically skipping ahead, expression both accusatory and giddy as she reaches your table. Her hands slam onto the wood, eyes wide as Spencer rears back, immediately on alert. “Alright, Reid, explain yourself now.” 

“Less dramatic, princess,” Derek whispers to her, nudging her shoulder. 

You cock your head at the quartet. They can all tell you’re mentally scanning them, just as much as they’re doing to you. It takes you a couple moments–and Spencer’s groan as he returns to his previous position nestled on your shoulder–before it clicks who they are. 

You jump up, abandoning Spencer with an embellished gasp. “You must be the BAU!” 

“Minus a few members, yes.” Hotch nods at you, looking the exact picture of what your boyfriend had described. Anyone who didn’t know him wouldn’t be able to peer past the perfectly neutral, bordering on pleasant mask he’s pasted on his face. But that twitch of his lips gives it all away: he knew nothing about you, and mentally his jaw is on the floor. “Pleasure to meet you.” 

“You too…Aaron Hotchner?” You guess, biting your lip. You’re so purely adorable that half of the team is already in love with you. 

He nods, and you smile at all of them. The happiness you’re wearing is so genuine that JJ whispers to Derek, “I think I just got blinded.”

“And you’re Penelope Garcia?” You turn towards her, eyebrows raised. She reaches her hand to shake yours, but you bypass it entirely and go in to wrap your arms firmly around her. She hugs you back, eyes blown up at shock.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe you’ve been keeping her from me this whole time!” She accuses Spencer as you pull back, greeting the other members as well. You hear the surprise in JJ’s laugh as you do the same for her, hug firm and leaking with kindness. 

“I haven’t,” he responds matter-of-factly. He’s resisting the urge to pull you back into him, annoyed at all of his colleagues for stealing your time together. Instead, he shifts to the edge of the seat, legs opening wide in a manspread that would be absolutely disgusting on anyone else. But it fits him. Alarmingly well. “I talk about Y/N all the time.” 

“Y/N’s your girlfriend?” Garcia’s tone borders on a shriek, but in a restaurant as loud as this one, no one notices. “I thought she was your cousin!” 

“Ew, what?” you crinkle your nose just as Spencer echoes your words–“That’s disgusting. But scarily more common than you’d think.” 

“I-I mean, you do talk about her a lot. You’ve just never mentioned her in relation to you before.” She sputters out. Everyone can see the cogs turning in her brain, trying to piece the puzzle together. “I love you already.” 

“He said he wouldn’t talk about us at work,” you agree, letting his arm pull you between his legs, one hand falling to your thigh. “Do you guys want to sit down? Now that the cat’s out of the bag, we should catch up.” 

“Um, yes, absolutely!” Garcia throws her hands into the air, scooching the two of you over so she can fit into the booth. “Now, tell me absolutely everything.” 

You shrug, snug on your boyfriend’s lap while also leaning in to look at her. Both of you sparkle in a way he absolutely adores. “I saw him, I liked him, I wanted him, and I got him.” 

“In the wise words of Ariana Grande,” she nods, words wise and expression stoic.

“Are you an Arianator?” You gasp, hand collapsing onto her hand in excitement. She takes that cue to launch into something Spencer does not at all understand. The other members of the BAU shuffle into the other side of the booth, Derek closest to Spencer and JJ at the end. He almost lets out a laugh seeing Hotch sitting so uncomfortably between them, shoulders drawn up tight as to conserve room, face equally as scrunched.

He opens his mouth to comment, but your fingers interrupt, drumming on his shoulder in excitement. You recap your conversation in a voice no one else can quite hear but him. He nods as you ramble, the opposite of what you were doing for him a few minutes ago. In some ways, you're just like him, but you're also complete opposites in so many others. While he usually hates physical touch, you lean into it, fingers tracing patterns onto his broad back while the sun peeks out of the sky, showering him in a glow that makes him downright angelic. Your other hand creeps to his as you watch him brush his teeth–you love seeing his toothbrush next to yours, there’s something so incredibly romantic about it that you can't describe, something that intertwines the two of you. He’s yours, you’re his. 

He presses his lips to your hair, then behind your hair, inhaling you. You’re perfect for him. So, so perfect. 

“Wow, pretty boy.” Derek shakes his head. “Just when I thought I’d seen everything. I didn’t think you’d be so into PDA.” 

“She was away for a whole week. What do you expect me to do?” He huffs, arm wrapping around your waist. Yes, he still hates handshakes, but for you–well, he is absolutely pathetic. And after having you leave for work? Not seeing you for seven whole days? He would get down on his knees and beg you to hold his hand. To pay him an ounce of attention. God, he is unconditionally and irrevocably in love with you. 

“Greet her like a normal person. Or stay in your apartment,” Morgan advises, only half-joking. 

But Spencer’s no longer paying a shred of attention to anything his co-worker is saying. He’s too absorbed in you, laugh unabashed and tinkling as you discuss something animatedly with JJ and Garcia. You fit so well in his little family, he thinks. You might as well just stay with him forever. 

masterlist

tags @lydiasfalling @cowboylikemac - didn't tag anyone from my other list because it's a diff fandom!

[cloudtransprncy]

Purr

Wonyoung X Male Reader | 5700 words Tags: Hookup, backshots, manhandling, rough, hot as fuck, WAP

White ears, pink ribbons, and an invitation to find out what this kitty does behind closed doors.

The house is packed. Bodies everywhere. Bass so heavy it makes your drink ripple in its plastic cup. Some frat's Halloween party where the costumes get lazier and the drinks stronger as the night stretches on. You've forgotten whose place this even is. Friend of a friend of a roommate, maybe.

You lost your friends about an hour ago—last saw them heading toward the keg in the kitchen, now they're ghosts in the digital ether, not answering texts. So you've been wandering, drink in hand, caught in the limbo of being alone in a crowded room.

You adjust your half-assed cowboy hat—the only real evidence of your last-minute costume besides the checkered shirt and boots you already owned.

Four drinks in and the world has that pleasant blur around the edges, like someone's applied a subtle filter to reality.

That's when you see her.

She's leaning against a metal railing at the edge of the makeshift dance floor, surrounded by three equally stunning friends. They're all laughing at something on someone's phone, heads bent together in that conspiratorial way that creates an invisible force field. One gloved hand wrapped around the bannister, posed in a way that seems both accidental and perfectly calculated. White cat ears with pink ribbons perched on dark hair that falls straight down her back. Her makeup is precise—eyeliner sharp enough to cut, blush high on her cheekbones, lips glossed pink. There's something distinct about her features—delicate but arresting, wide eyes that seem to absorb everything while revealing nothing.

Her outfit is simple but effective. White halter top. Pink satin skirt. Thigh-high black boots. Pink gloves past her elbows. Her body creates a silhouette that doesn't seem entirely real, like she was drawn rather than born.

She watches the crowd with this expression—not quite boredom, not quite amusement—like she's mentally captioning everyone's photos with comments they'd never want to read.

Then her eyes catch yours.

And they stay there.

You drain your drink. It's more for something to do with your hands than courage, but it serves both purposes. As you watch, a group of guys in basketball jerseys approach her circle. There's some back and forth, laughter, and then her friends are peeling away, following the guys toward the kitchen. She stays behind, waving them off with a dismissive flick of her gloved hand.

Perfect timing. You push through the crowd toward her, bumping shoulders with strangers who've already forgotten you exist before you've passed them.

Her eyes track you the whole way. She doesn't pretend she wasn't looking. When you reach her, she straightens slightly. The movement is subtle but deliberate, like everything else about her seems to be.

"And what exactly are you supposed to be?" You gesture vaguely at her outfit.

She blinks slowly, a half-second too long to be natural. "I'm a slutty cat," she says, voice softer than expected but somehow cutting through the music. "Can't you tell?"

You look at her again, taking your time now that you have permission. "I see the ears. But I don't know if that explains"—your eyes move down deliberately—"everything else."

She doesn't react to your gaze the way most would. No embarrassed laugh, no looking away. If anything, she seems to catalog your reaction, filing it away for later reference.

"And you're... what? A cowboy?" She reaches up, adjusting your hat with one gloved finger, letting it linger just long enough to make a point. "A little basic, don't you think?"

"Last minute," you admit. "Not all of us plan our slutty animal costumes weeks in advance."

She laughs—genuinely, you think. It sounds different than the practiced social laugh most people deploy at parties. "Maybe you need to get closer to appreciate the details," she says, voice dropping into something more private.

You step in. Close enough to notice things. The expensive perfume that probably costs more than your monthly coffee budget. The tiny rhinestones at the corners of her eyes that catch the light when she blinks. The almost imperceptible chip in her nail polish on her left index finger—the only flaw in an otherwise flawless presentation.

"I don't even know your name, cat girl."

"Wonyoung," she offers, gaze alternating between your eyes and mouth with scientific precision.

"Wonyoung," you repeat. "I'm—"

"Doesn't matter," she interrupts, something playful but challenging in her expression. "Tonight's not about names."

The directness catches you off guard in a way that makes your pulse quicken. You place your hand on the railing beside her hip, close but not touching. A question.

"No? What's tonight about then?"

She considers you, teeth briefly catching her bottom lip in a gesture that seems both calculated and unconscious.

"Alright, cowboy. Dream date vibes—go," she says, leaning in with playful curiosity in her eyes.

You grin casually. "Oh you know... some Boba, then some backshots."

Her eyes widen before she erupts into genuine laughter, head thrown back. "Oh wow! Honestly, I respect it." She leans in teasingly. "But I don't think you're hot enough to be saying shit like that."

"Oh, so you are checking me out?" You raise an eyebrow, amused.

She tries to suppress a smile, gives a playful scoff. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Too late—you already laughed." You smirk, stepping closer.

"It was a pity laugh," she says, biting her lip, playfully defensive. "I felt bad."

"Nah, you're a bad liar. I'm definitely your type."

There's a beat. The music pulses between you, bass dropping on some remix everyone will forget by morning. She glances down, then back up, eyes mischievous.

"Alright, fine. You're halfway to my type."

"What's the other half?" you ask.

Her voice drops lower, as she traces her fingers lightly down your arm. "Someone who can handle me."

"I can," you say, voice low, matching her energy.

She smiles, fingers tangling with yours, pulling you closer. "Let's see if you're all talk, then. My place is 10 minutes from here, and you saw my roommates leave with some guys so..."

The bass drops. The crowd surges. Bodies push and her body presses against yours for a moment. Something clicks into place. Simple chemistry. Complex consequences.

Her eyes widen slightly, then narrow with purpose. You've both just recognized something neither of you has named yet.

You look at her—really look at her—and wonder briefly about the reality that exists beyond this moment. The classes she attends. The coffee she drinks in the morning. The books on her nightstand. All the ordinary things that make up a life outside of this charged exchange.

But tonight isn't about that. Tonight is about following the electric current between two bodies and seeing where it leads.

"Lead the way," you say.

...

You don't even remember the Uber ride.

Just fragments. Her thigh against yours. Her mouth hot on your neck. "God, I want you," whispered against your ear, not caring if the driver heard. Her gloved fingers slipping under your shirt, tracing your stomach, then lower. Her climbing halfway onto your lap, skirt riding up, while the driver pretended not to notice.

"God, I can't wait to get you alone," she'd breathed against your mouth, her tongue sliding against yours again, tasting like cherry and tequila and bad decisions you'd never regret.

All you know is that now you're in her bedroom, and Wonyoung is on her knees on the edge of her mattress, those glossy lips stretched around your cock while you stand before her.

Her room is a trip—glow-in-the-dark stars scattered across the ceiling, walls plastered with posters and polaroids, fairy lights strung around her bed frame casting everything in a soft pink glow. A Hello Kitty plushie stares at you from the pillow. The contrast between the cutesy bedroom and what she's doing to you right now is fucking with your head in the best way.

"Holy fuck," you breathe, watching her take you deeper.

The cat ears are still perched on her head, though slightly askew now. Her pink gloves are soaked with spit, one hand wrapped around what she can't fit in her mouth, the other cupping and squeezing your balls. The satin fabric against your skin feels unreal—slick but with just enough friction to make your knees weak.

Spit drips down her chin, pooling on her white top. Her lipgloss is destroyed, smeared across her lips and your cock. She pulls back, just enough to swirl her tongue around the head before taking you deep again, making a show of it.

"Get on the bed," she says, pulling off with a wet pop, voice raspy in a way that makes your dick throb. "I'm not done with you."

You climb onto her pastel sheets, pushing aside a few stuffed animals. She's on you immediately, shoving you back against the pillows, her body lithe but surprisingly strong for someone so small. The way your hands practically span her entire waist is a heady reminder of how delicate she is compared to you.

"Stay still," she orders, straddling your thighs, then lowering her mouth back to your cock. Your hands find her shoulders, feeling how narrow they are beneath your palms, how fragile her collarbones seem under your fingers.

She takes you deeper this time, relaxing her throat around you. The wet heat of her mouth is almost too much. You reach for her head, but she grabs your wrists, pinning them to the bed on either side of your hips. The look she gives you from under her lashes is pure power—this tiny girl somehow in complete control despite her size.

"Fuck, you're strong," you murmur, testing her grip and finding yourself genuinely restrained.

She pulls off just long enough to say, "Don't underestimate me just because I'm small," before sinking back down, taking you impossibly deep for her size. The contrast of her petite frame handling all of you makes your head spin.

"Fuck, your mouth," you groan, watching her cheeks hollow as she sucks harder.

She pulls off completely with a wet gasp, a thick strand of saliva connecting her lips to your cock. She takes a deep breath, then deliberately lets a string of spit fall from her mouth onto your shaft, using it to stroke you with one gloved hand while maintaining eye contact. The sight alone nearly makes you cum.

"You like it messy?" she asks, her voice husky, already knowing the answer.

Before you can respond, she swallows you down again, taking you impossibly deep in one fluid motion. Her throat constricts around you as she holds there for several seconds, nose pressed against your pelvis, before pulling back with a desperate inhale. Saliva runs down your length in rivulets now, soaking into the sheets beneath you, dripping down to coat your balls.

She establishes a rhythm that's driving you insane—deep, gurgling strokes with her mouth while her gloved hand follows, twisting slightly on the upstroke. Her other hand massages your balls, now slick with her spit. The wet sounds are obscene, sloppy and loud in the quiet bedroom.

"Wait," you gasp, feeling the pressure building, "I'm getting close."

She doesn't slow down. Instead, she somehow intensifies her efforts, one hand working your shaft in perfect sync with her mouth, the other pressing firmly behind your balls in a way that makes your vision blur. Your muscles tense, toes curling against the sheets as you fight the building pressure. You want this to last, but her technique is unreal.

She pulls off suddenly with a gasping inhale, strands of spit connecting her mouth to your cock in a spider web pattern. Without missing a beat, her gloved hand maintains the rhythm, now twisting on each upstroke, her thumb circling the sensitive spot just under the head.

"Not yet," she says, her voice raw and husky. "I want to play with you longer."

She looks up at you through mascara-smudged lashes, face flushed, hair clinging to her sweat-dampened skin, and you've never seen anything more erotic in your life. Her lips are puffy and red, glistening with a mixture of spit and pre-cum. She licks them deliberately before taking another deep breath and swallowing you down again.

This time she does something with her throat—a controlled swallowing motion while you're deep inside—that has you seeing stars. Your hips buck involuntarily, but she takes it, accommodating your thrust with practiced ease. Her nose presses against your pelvis as she holds you there, throat contracting rhythmically around your head. The pressure and heat are unreal.

She keeps you on edge like this—bringing you close with intense deep-throating, then backing off to focus on your shaft with her hands or gently sucking just the tip—for what feels like an eternity. Your breathing is ragged, sweat beading on your forehead as you struggle to hold back. Your hands fist in her hair, not guiding anymore but just holding on for dear life.

The sheets beneath you are soaked with her saliva, your thighs slick and shiny in the dim light. She seems to revel in the mess, deliberately letting spit run down your length, using it as lubrication for her gloved hands. The wet, sloppy sounds of her mouth and hands working in tandem fill the room, punctuated by her gasping breaths and your strangled moans.

Just when you think you can't take anymore, when the teasing edge has become almost painful, she takes you deep again, her throat working around you with purpose.

"Fuck, now I'm really gonna cum," you warn, your voice strained and desperate.

This time, she doesn't back off. Instead, she looks up at you with determination in her eyes, maintaining that crucial eye contact as she takes you deeper than before. One hand grips the base of your shaft firmly, the other massages your balls with precise pressure. She swallows deliberately around the head of your cock, her tongue pressed flat against the underside, hitting that perfect spot.

You lose it, your release hitting the back of her throat in hot, heavy pulses. There's so much that some escapes the corners of her mouth despite her best efforts to swallow it all. She doesn't stop or slow down, continuing to work you with her mouth and hands through your orgasm, extending the pleasure to almost unbearable levels.

Her throat works visibly as she gulps down your release, making obscene swallowing sounds that only intensify your pleasure. Her eyes water from the effort, mascara beginning to run in faint streaks down her flushed cheeks, but she never breaks eye contact. There's a look of triumph in her gaze, a satisfaction at reducing you to this trembling, groaning mess beneath her.

When your orgasm finally subsides and you're twitching with oversensitivity, she slowly, deliberately pulls away. Thick strings of spit and cum stretch between her lips and your cock, forming an obscene web that breaks and falls across her chin and neck. Her hand continues to stroke you gently, milking the last few drops from you.

She sits back on her heels, breath coming in heavy pants, lips dramatically swollen, chin and chest glistening with a mixture of saliva and the cum that escaped her mouth. Her cat ears are somehow still hanging on, though now sitting at a rakish angle on her disheveled hair. The gloves that once were pristine pink satin are now darkened with wetness in places, sticky and slick.

"Holy fuck," you breathe, genuinely stunned by what just happened. Your cock is still hard, barely softened by the intense orgasm.

She notices, a knowing smirk spreading across her messy face as she wipes her chin with the back of her hand. "Told you I wasn't done with you yet," she says, her voice absolutely wrecked in the sexiest possible way, rough and raspy from the workout her throat just got.

She reaches behind her, unzipping her white halter top and pulling it over her head. Her breasts are small but perfect, nipples pink and hard in the cool air. The cat ears wobble but stay in place.

"You're so fucking hot," you tell her, reaching for her waist.

She stretches, arms extending above her head, back arching in a way that's distinctly feline. Her small breasts lift with the motion, nipples hardening in the cool air. Her eyes hold a challenge as she slowly moves toward you.

"I want your mouth on me," she says, her voice husky with need.

Instead of letting her climb over you, you suddenly sit up, grabbing her by the waist. She gasps in surprise as you flip your positions, pushing her down onto the mattress with firm hands. Her eyes widen, pupils dilating at your show of strength.

"Is that what you want?" you ask, your voice low as you hover over her. Your hands easily pin her wrists above her head, one of yours enough to hold both of hers. "Tell me again."

"Yes," she breathes, arching into you despite being restrained. "Please."

You release her wrists and move down her body, deliberately taking your time. Your hands slide along her sides, feeling how tiny she is beneath you. When you reach her thighs, you push them apart without gentleness, making space for your shoulders. She moans at the manhandling, her head falling back against the pillows.

You hook your fingers into her thong, pulling it to the side rather than removing it. The first thing that hits you is her scent—musky and sweet with a hint of sweat from dancing all night, but undeniably arousing. There's a faint trace of her perfume mixed with the raw smell of her arousal that makes your mouth water.

"Fuck, you smell good," you tell her, your breath hot against her inner thigh.

She's already wet, her folds glistening in the dim light. You study her for a moment—she's pink and swollen, clearly aroused. She's shaved but you can see and feel the slight roughness of hair starting to grow back. The texture is oddly intimate, more real than porn-perfect smoothness, the slight stubble creating friction against your fingers as you trace her outer lips.

You start slowly, just running your tongue along her seam, tasting her properly. She's tangy and sweet, with a hint of salt from the night's exertions. The flavor is addictive, making you groan against her. Her hips buck at the vibration, seeking more contact.

"Oh fuck," she gasps when you finally circle her clit with your tongue. Her hands find your hair, fingers tangling in it but not directing, just holding on.

You explore her with your tongue, discovering which motions make her thighs tremble, which spots make her breath catch. You alternate between broad, flat strokes and focused attention on her clit, learning what she responds to best.

"Please," she whimpers after a few minutes of this teasing. "I need more."

You slide one finger inside her while continuing to work with your tongue. She's incredibly tight, her inner walls gripping your digit eagerly. The contrast between your larger hand and her small body is stark—one finger feels substantial inside her.

"More," she urges, lifting her hips toward your face.

You add a second finger, feeling her stretch around the intrusion. You curl them upward, searching for that spot that will drive her wild. When you find it, her reaction is immediate and dramatic—her back arches off the bed, a strangled cry escaping her lips.

"There," she gasps, her hands now gripping the sheets beside her head. "Right fucking there."

She's watching you now, propped up slightly on her elbows, her gaze heavy-lidded but intense. The sight of you between her legs seems to turn her on almost as much as what you're doing to her. When your eyes meet, she bites her lip, a flush spreading across her chest.

You maintain eye contact as you suck her clit gently while stroking that spot inside her. Her breathing quickens, her stomach muscles visibly tensing with each curl of your fingers. Her wetness increases, running down your palm and wrist.

"Don't stop," she pleads, one hand reaching down to touch your shoulder, nails digging into your skin. "I'm getting close."

You increase the pressure of your tongue, maintaining a steady rhythm as her breathing becomes more erratic. You can feel her inner walls beginning to flutter around your fingers—the first signs of her approaching orgasm.

She reaches down with her free hand, spreading herself wider for you, giving you better access. The gesture is incredibly erotic—her taking an active role in her pleasure while still letting you control the pace.

"Just like that," she encourages, voice tight with building tension. "Don't change anything, please, I'm so close."

Her thighs start to tremble, her hips making small, involuntary movements against your face. You curl your fingers more firmly against that spot, sucking her clit with slightly more pressure, and that's what pushes her over the edge.

You feel her start to tense, her thighs trembling on either side of your head. The inner walls of her pussy clench rhythmically around your fingers as her breathing becomes shallow and rapid. You maintain your rhythm, not changing a thing as her orgasm builds.

"Right there, right there," she chants, her voice tight and desperate. "Oh fuck, I'm gonna—"

She cuts herself off with a sharp gasp as her body goes rigid, suspended on the edge for several breathless seconds. Then she shatters, her back arching dramatically off the bed, thighs clamping around your head with surprising strength. Her release floods your hand and chin, her wetness increasing dramatically as she comes undone.

"Don't stop, don't stop," she begs as waves of pleasure roll through her. Her hands fist in the sheets, knuckles white with tension. Her stomach muscles contract visibly with each pulse, her entire body shaking with the intensity of her orgasm.

You work her through it, continuing to stroke that spot inside while gently sucking her clit, feeling each aftershock ripple through her slender frame. Her pussy grips your fingers in rhythmic spasms, pulling them deeper as if trying to keep you inside.

Only when she weakly pushes at your forehead, oversensitive and spent, do you finally relent. You plant a soft kiss on her inner thigh before gently withdrawing your fingers, watching her twitch at even that small movement. Your hand and chin are soaked with her arousal, glistening in the dim light.

She collapses back, chest heaving, limbs splayed across the pastel sheets. Her skin is flushed pink from her cheeks down to her chest, a thin sheen of sweat making her glow in the dim light. Her thong is still pushed to the side, her pussy visibly swollen and wet from your attention.

"Holy shit," she breathes, one arm thrown across her eyes. "Give me a second."

But even as she's still recovering, you're already hard again—painfully so. The sight of her completely undone by your mouth and hands has your cock throbbing with need.

Before she can fully catch her breath, you flip her over onto her stomach in one smooth motion. She gasps in surprise but immediately pushes her ass up, instinctively assuming the position. She looks back at you over her shoulder, eyes heavy-lidded but gleaming with renewed interest.

"Harder," she says, her voice still breathless. "You can be rough with me."

You grab a handful of her hair, pulling her head back slightly as you lean down to bite the sensitive junction between her neck and shoulder. She moans, the sound vibrating through her slender frame. Her nails dig into the sheets, bunching the fabric in her fists.

"Yes," she hisses, pushing back against you, her ass rubbing against your hard cock. "Like that."

You trail bites and kisses down her spine, feeling each vertebra under your lips. Your hands grip her narrow waist, fingers easily spanning her sides. The pink skirt is still bunched around her waist, exposing her perfect ass and the thong still pushed to the side.

You grab the thin fabric of her thong and rip it off in one motion. She gasps, then laughs, the sound quickly turning into a moan as you push two fingers back inside her from this new angle.

"Fuck," she breathes, her back arching deeper, presenting herself to you even more. "Your fingers feel so good."

You curl your fingers upward, finding that spot again easily. Her reaction is immediate—her whole body shudders, a string of curses falling from her lips. You add a third finger, stretching her, watching her face twist in pleasure as she looks back at you.

"You're so fucking tight," you tell her, feeling her clench around your fingers. The view from behind is intoxicating—her slender back dipping into a perfect arch, pink skirt still bunched around her waist, her face half-turned so you can see her reactions.

"I want to feel you inside me," she says, voice husky with need, pushing back against your hand. "Now."

You position yourself behind her, one hand on her hip, the other guiding your cock to her entrance. From this angle, you can see how tiny she looks beneath you, her waist narrow enough for your hands to nearly encircle it, her ass perfectly round and invitingly raised.

"You're so fucking wet," you murmur, sliding your length through her folds to coat yourself in her arousal.

"Please," she whimpers, pushing back against you. "I need you inside me."

"Ask nicely," you tease, holding the head of your cock at her entrance but not pushing in.

She looks back at you over her shoulder, eyes narrowed despite her vulnerable position. "Please fuck me," she says, but it sounds more like a demand than a plea. "I need to feel all of you inside me."

You push into her slowly, watching your cock disappear into her inch by inch. Her mouth falls open, a low moan escaping as she's stretched around you. The view is intoxicating—her back arched deeply, her skirt bunched around her waist, her long dark hair spilling across the pastel sheets, and your much larger frame positioned behind her smaller one.

When you're fully seated inside her, you both let out a shaky breath. She feels impossibly tight from this angle, her inner walls gripping you like a vise.

"Fuck, you're deep," she gasps, reaching back to grab your thigh, urging you to move.

You start with slow, shallow thrusts, watching her reactions carefully. Her fingers dig into the sheets, her face half-buried in the pillow but turned enough that you can see her expressions. Each time you push in, her features twist with a mixture of pleasure and sweet strain.

"Harder," she breathes, pushing back to meet your thrusts. "I won't break."

You tighten your grip on her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as you pick up the pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin joins the chorus of her moans and your heavy breathing, filling the dimly lit bedroom. Her cat ears have somehow managed to stay on through everything, wobbling with each thrust.

You lean forward, pressing your chest against her back, one hand sliding around to her throat. You don't squeeze, just apply gentle pressure, feeling her pulse race beneath your palm. Her reaction is immediate—a full-body shudder and a tightening around your cock that nearly makes you lose control.

"Yes," she hisses, reaching back to grab your hip, encouraging you to go harder, deeper. "Fuck me like you mean it."

You pull your hand away from her throat only to deliver a sharp slap to her ass. The sound echoes in the room, followed immediately by her gasping moan. A pink handprint blooms on her pale skin, and you follow it with another slap to the other cheek.

"Again," she demands, her voice rough with desire. "Harder."

You comply, bringing your hand down with more force. She cries out, her inner walls clenching around you in response. The contrast between the delicate curve of her body and the harsh sound of your palm connecting with her skin is intoxicating.

You pull her upright, her back to your chest, your cock still deep inside her. With one hand, you gather her long hair, pulling it aside to expose the slender column of her neck. Your lips find her skin, tasting salt and the lingering sweetness of her perfume as you drag your tongue from the curve of her shoulder up to just behind her ear.

"Oh god," she moans, her head falling back against your shoulder, giving you better access.

You continue exploring her with your mouth—the nape of her neck, the sensitive spot where her shoulder meets her throat, the delicate ridge of her spine. Your free hand slides up her torso to cup one small breast, thumb circling her nipple as you lick a path across her shoulder blade.

She turns her face toward you as much as she can, and you lean in, gathering saliva in your mouth before letting it fall onto her parted lips. Her tongue darts out to catch it, a primal gesture that makes your cock throb inside her.

"Fuck, that's hot," she breathes, her pupils blown wide.

The headboard knocks rhythmically against the wall now as you guide her back down to her hands and knees, but neither of you care about the noise. Her moans get higher, more desperate, her body trembling beneath yours as you drive into her with increasing intensity. You can feel her starting to tighten around you, the first telltale signs of her approaching orgasm.

You reach around her slender body, your hand finding her clit, circling it in time with your thrusts. She cries out, a sharp, broken sound that tells you you've hit exactly the right combination.

"Right there," she gasps, her voice strained. "God, don't stop."

You maintain the rhythm, the pressure, the angle—everything that's working for her. Her inner walls flutter around you, gripping you tighter with each thrust. She's close, so close you can feel it in the way her body tenses beneath yours.

"I'm gonna cum," she warns, her voice breaking on the last word. "Fuck, I'm so close—"

"Look at me," you demand, tugging her hair to turn her face toward you. Her eyes meet yours, glazed with pleasure but focused on you. "I want to see you when you cum."

That does it. She breaks apart beneath you, her body clenching around yours so tightly it almost hurts. A string of curses and broken moans falls from her lips as she comes undone. You can see every emotion cross her face—the initial shock, the overwhelming pleasure, the surrender. Her thighs tremble violently, her entire body quaking with the force of her orgasm.

The visual of her coming apart combined with the rhythmic grip of her body around your cock pushes you right to the edge. You're seconds away from your own release.

She senses it, somehow aware even through her own pleasure. "Wait," she gasps, reaching back to stop your movements. "Not yet."

Before you can react, she's wriggling away from you, turning around to face you. Despite having just experienced an intense orgasm, she moves with surprising agility, pushing you onto your back and straddling your thighs.

"I want you to cover me in your cum," she says, her voice raw and desperate, eyes wild with desire despite her recent release. "All over my face."

She leans down, taking you into her mouth again, tasting herself on your cock. The sight of her—flushed and sweaty from her orgasm, cat ears somehow still clinging to her head, eagerly sucking you after you've been inside her—is almost too much.

That's all it takes. You pull out quickly, one hand stroking yourself as she positions herself, her back against the pillows, cat ears still somehow clinging to her head as she looks up at you eagerly.

Her hands grip your thighs as you stroke yourself once, twice, three times before exploding across her face.

The sight is fucking obscene—ropes of white painting her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, one streak catching on her long lashes. She moans as it hits her, tongue darting out to taste what landed on her lips, eyes never leaving yours. A few drops land on the rhinestone necklace still around her neck, creating an obscene contrast with the delicate jewelry.

It's the most erotic thing you've ever seen in your life.

When you finally roll off her, both of you breathing hard, staring at her ceiling covered in glow-in-the-dark stars, she turns her head toward you with a satisfied smile, your release still glistening on her perfect face.

"So," she says, voice raspy and smug, "convinced about my costume now?"

You laugh, genuinely laugh, turning to face her. "Most convincing costume I've ever seen."

She stretches beside you, body elongating in one fluid motion, arms above her head, back arching slightly off the bed—every movement reminiscent of the animal she's dressed as. The motion causes her breasts to lift, and despite what you just did, you feel a stirring, your cock hardening once again.

She notices, a sly smile spreading across her cum-streaked face. "Careful, cowboy. Look at me like that again and we'll be going for round two before I even clean up."

"Is that supposed to be a deterrent?" you ask, reaching out to trail a finger along her collarbone.

She catches your hand, bringing it to her mouth and placing a kiss on your palm that somehow feels more intimate than everything you've just done.

"First," she says, sitting up and finally removing the cat ears that have somehow survived the entire encounter, "shower. Because as hot as this was—" she gestures to her face, "—I can't have a proper getting-to-know-you conversation with cum in my eyelashes."

You laugh again, surprised by how easy it feels with her despite the circumstances of your meeting.

"Lead the way, slutty cat," you say, and she pulls you up from the bed, toward her bathroom, her naked body as graceful in motion as it was beneath you.

And somehow, you know this night is just the beginning.

[stunie]

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁ “MY BOYFRIEND IS GONNA KICK YOUR ASS !”

WINDBREAKER BOYS PROTECTING YOU FROM PERVS. ft. kaji ren, togame jo, umemiya hajime, sakura haruka, hayato suo, toma hiragi, kiryuu mitsuki, & kyotaro sugishita x f!reader

sfw. wc: 2.6K. oh how i’ve been wanting to write this since i finished the manga! but individual warnings are below <3

KAJI REN. referred to as she/her, ‘my girl,’ comments about your outfit

“My boyfriend’s real scary y’know.” Your voice falters a bit as you take another step back, hands coming up defensively. “And he’ll be here any moment.”

It’s a lie that you hope sounds convincing— because Kaji coming to save you today may be nothing more than a desperate wish of yours. How would he even find you in a place like this? You’re not sure exactly how much time has passed since you’ve started running, but you’re certain that by now, you and Kaji should have already been inside the bakery, finally getting to taste test the new fruit pastries you’d been dying to get your hands on.

It started off as just a loud whistle your direction, then led to an uncomfortable conversation about how you’re not interested— and that you have a boyfriend. One thing led to another, and somehow you’ve ended up here, out of breath from speed walking and completely lost— and to top it off, the only person near you is the one you’ve been running so desperately from.

You wish Kaji was here already.

“Oh yeah?” The man in front of you takes a step towards you, lips contorting into a sick grin when he sees your hands trembling. “I don't see him.”

Your lips tremble a bit when he reaches you, towering over you with ease. “Don’t you dare touch me.” You warn, “My boyfriend will beat your a—” you yelp as you’re suddenly pulled to the side, stumbling into someone’s chest as they pull you flush against their front.

The familiar scent of candy melts away your fear in a split second.

“Kaji!”

You can tell when you glance at him just once that he isn’t happy. His forehead is damp with sweat, and he looks disheveled, chest rising up and down with labored breaths— he must have been running around trying to find you this entire time.

Your boyfriend clicks his tongue in annoyance, eyes narrowing as he sizes up the man in front of him. “Problem?”

He rips off his headphones, letting them hang around his neck as the man feigns an apology, unapologetic eyes looming over your figure again seconds later. “But y’know man, you should be keeping a closer eye on your girl,” he points to you with a smug smile, “she was practically begging for me to say something with the way she’s dressed.”

“I wasn’t!” You protest, face burning as you tug on ren’s coat. You thought your outfit was cute— and definitely not anything crazy— you double checked. You really did. But he’s pointing at you now, rambling on about how you wanted this— and you can’t help the way tears start to blur your vision.

“Huh?” Kaji snarls, head tilting to leer at the man. The arm around your waist pulls you tighter against his chest, and you hear the angry thumping of his heart. “What'd you say?”

“Okay, okay, I’m leaving now.” The man chuckles in defeat. “I was just joking. Wasn’t gonna actually do something to your girl.” he waves him off. “You should lighten up—”

He chokes when Kaji grabs a fistful of his shirt, pulling him off balance before knocking him backwards, your pursuer falling roughly onto the floor as he winces in pain. “Then get outta here already.” Kaji glares, a stark contrast to the gentle way his hand is pressing against your lower back to guide you away.

“And don’t let me catch you looking at my girl again.”

TOGAME JO. referred to as she/her, ‘my girl,’ you wear his jacket

Togame gives you a sleepy smile as he watches you from Miniso’s entrance, excitedly sorting through the newly restocked blind boxes. He was resting his back against the wall behind him when he caught his first glimpse of that guy.

He’s wearing a dark hoodie, head turning back to shamelessly stare your direction as he passes by slowly. It’s enough to get togame back up on his feet immediately, quickly heading your way just as the man reaches to get a feel of your thighs—

“How shameless.” Togame laughs, big hand squeezing painfully into his wrist. “Tryna bother my girl?”

In any other situation, Togame would chuckle at your obliviousness, your headphones cancelling out any noise as your eye catches the cinnamoroll section, letting out an excited gasp as you head that way. You really had no idea.

“M-my bad man.” He stutters, ripping his arm from Togame’s grasp. “Just thought she was my sister— was just gonna tap on her back to grab her attention.”

Togame raises an eyebrow at the lazy excuse, leaning down until the man takes a nervous step back, eyes darting to the side to avoid Togame’s glare. “Sister? That’s my Shishitoren jacket she has on, no?”

The man feels heavy beads of sweat roll down his face when Togame’s hands curl into clenched fists. “You mean to tell me your lil sis is from Shishitoren?”

“I said it was my bad,” he repeats, chuckling nervously. “It won’t happen again okay? I won’t bother her again.”

Togame’s hands return to his pockets. “Won’t let you off so easy next time,” his voice is low as he steps aside to let him off, “so you’d better keep your distance.”

UMEMIYA HAJIME. referred to as she/her, ‘your girl’

Umemiya instinctively perks up when he hears two voices behind him, momentarily tuning out your gushing about how cute the little plant kits at barnes and noble are.

“….She's probably taken.”

“Is that her boyfriend behind her? Think she's talking to him.”

There's a chuckle between them. “Doesn’t matter. Go tell her what you just said to me when she's alone.”

“What?” The man laughs. “Ask her if i can grab a handful of that ass?”

More laughter.

Umemiya’s jaw clenches, eyes darting back at you in a flash, and he’s relieved when he sees you’re still gushing about the flower kits— completely oblivious to the two men just beyond this aisle. He’s by your side in an instant, arms wrapping around your waist as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Oh.” You turn to press a quick kiss against his temple, smiling when he melts into your touch. “Hi, Haji. Did you find a book?”

“Nothing here.” He sighs dramatically, his embrace around your middle tightening just enough for you to barely notice. “But we can grab some of those flower kits.”

“Really?”

“Of course—”

“Hey.” A familiar voice interrupts him with a stifled laugh, followed by a tap on his shoulder. With the roughness, it’s more like a jab— but he lets that slide.

“Ah— your friend, Haji.” Your voice comes off as a mix between a question and a statement.

“Hey, my friend has something to ask your girl.”

Umemiya’s jaw clenches again, and your eyes widen a bit at the sudden change in the atmosphere. The first friend’s hand is swat off of his shoulder in a split second, Umemiya straightening back up to look back at them.

Their first thought is that he’s a lot taller than they had pictured. A lot more muscular too— and they take note of the way his muscles bulge against the fabric of his shirt. “What, you have business with her?”

They flinch at the tone.

“Ah— sorry.” The second friend stutters. “We got the wrong person.”

SAKURA HARUKA.

“Ah— what happened?” Your hands delicately cup Sakura’s face, ignoring the way his cheeks instantly turn into a deep shade of scarlet. “N-nothing happened!” He weakly swats at your hand, a futile attempt to dissipate the heat spreading through the tips of his ears.

“I was only in the bathroom for five minutes.” You laugh. “How’d you manage to get into a fight so fast?”

He stiffens when your arms come to wrap around his bicep, resuming your ramble about some recipe you wanted to try tonight. Macarons…or something. He doesn’t pay much attention, because he knows whatever you end up making will be good anyway.

“—Are you listening, Sakura?”

The clueless look he gives you confirms it. “So you weren’t. I had a feeling— but it’s okay.” You giggle. “But you didn’t answer my question from earlier either. How’d you get into a fight?”

His eyebrows furrow deeply as he decides whether or not he should tell you. “They were….” he clicks his tongue angrily, “they were talking about you when you walked by.”

You can feel his muscles tense as he deepens his scowl, still trying to fight off the blush plastered across his face. “I just gave ‘em what they deserved.”

HAYATO SUO. referred to as she/her, mentions of how you’re dressed

“What a bitch. She was totally asking for it.”

I know— dressed like a whore.”

Suo stands up from the bench outside your local convenience store, hands dusting off the dirt on his pants. You had asked him to wait outside earlier because ‘you wanted to grab him a super delicious snack that he would most definitely love.’

He had a feeling the two dirty men who entered the store minutes later were bad news, so he was already on high alert before listening in.

“That whore— you mean my girlfriend?” Suo’s voice comes out calm, a stark contrast to the sickening anger and pressure he feels building up inside his chest.

“Huh—oh. Yeah.” One of them chuckles, jutting their thumb at the entrance. “That bitch inside your girl? You let her prance around with her tits hanging out for everyone to see?”

He's calm and composed as they size him up, their chins tilting up to look down at him. “She's pretty, isn't she?” and Suo fails to stifle the chuckle that escapes his lips. “Did she reject you too harshly for your liking?”

One of them balls his fists, muttering profanities under his breath as he leans closer to him. “Now how'd you know that? You should really teach that bitch some fucking manners.” He reaches forward to grab Suo by the collar, eyes blinking in confusion when he finds himself spun behind Suo seconds later, feet struggling to find their balance.

“—The fuck did you do?”

“It’s a bad habit of hers,” Suo continues. “I understand it though, not wanting to be around a pathetic thing like you.” The edges of his lips tug into a faint smile.

The other man’s eyebrows twitch, spitting empty threats as he he throws a wide swing, only to find himself reduced to his knees seconds later. “T-the fuck...” he grumbles to himself— he could have sworn he could practically see his fist connect. What happened?

“You'd be better off looking for someone to protect yourself the way I do for her.” His words are mocking as he heads towards the store’s entrance. “And— it'd be really unfortunate if i see something like this happen again.”

TOMA HIRAGI.

“H-Hiragi? What are you doing?”

Your lips are pressed in a nervous line as your hands come to shyly rest on his chest, sucking in a breath when his arms come to roughly cage you against the train’s walls, strong body towering just over yours.

“Do you…need more space?” You whisper, heart racing at the proximity. You can smell his cologne so well at this distance.

Hiragi simply shakes his head, distracted gaze shifting between you and something behind him every few seconds. “It’s okay.”

He swears his stomach isn't churning like this without good reason. It’s not just a coincidence that the same person who he had noticed eyeing you at the boba shop had gotten onto the same train. He could let it go at that, but the same man had been slowly worming his way through the crowd to get closer to the two of you. And while he’s not certain, he thought he saw the man take out his phone and try and angle it beneath you, but not before jolting and dropping his phone onto the floor when Hiragi's hands abruptly slammed against the wall beside you.

The train suddenly rocks, sliding his phone to the other side of the train, and you’re knocked off balance, face slamming against Hiragi's chest. “S-sorry!”

“It’s okay.” He gives you a smile, hand coming to cradle the back of your head and pull you closer. “You okay?”

“I’m okay...” you mumble, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “Your chest is hard.”

He responds with a light chuckle. It’ll be okay like this, he thinks. He’ll protect you with his body for now, and figure out what to do with that guy later.

KIRYU MITSUKI. ‘pretty thing’

“It’s no wonder she doesn't like you,” Kiryu sighs. “You're gross.”

Your mouth is ajar as you stare at the state of the man who was harassing you only moments ago, his unconscious body resting neatly against the wall after Kiryu had dragged him there.

“Sorry you had to watch that, pretty thing.” His hand comes to gently interlace with yours. “But he didn't leave me with much of a choice, did he?”

“It’s okay.” Your voice drops to a whisper. “That was so cool of you.”

His eyes widen a bit before his lips curl into a small smile. “Oh? You think so?”

“Mhm. I don't know what would’ve happened to me if you were there...” your voice trails off a bit.

You really don't know what would have happened, because it's not like you know how to fight or anything. Getting hit on is enough to make you nervous, so a pushy guy like that was too much— you froze up as soon as he started spitting threats after you expressed your disinterest.

There’s a light squeeze around your hands, and you’re reminded of this gentle warmth that Kiryu always brings with him. “Don't worry about it.” He gives you a small smile. “I’ll just need to accompany you more often when you go out. It’s no problem.”

KYOTARO SUGISHITA.

“You’re like a bodyguard, Kyo.”

You giggle at the huff beside you. “How’d you even react that fast?”

It all happened within a second. You were walking beside him, stopped for a brief second to bend down and peer at the plushies lining the shop window, not noticing the man approaching you— his grimy fingers coming to take a peek under your skirt. Before you had even registered the feeling of the cloth moving, there was a loud crack, and the man was on the floor, groaning with his hands covering his bloodied face and a very angry Sugishita on top of him.

“He made me angry.”

Of course he would be. And if you weren’t with your boyfriend, it would be an entirely different story. You’d bring along your assortment of self defense items, ranging from pepper sprays to taser lipsticks— and you’d be a thousand times more cautious. Pay extra close attention to everything around you.

With Sugishita, however, it’s different. You think of it as being able to turn off your brain… or something like that. Whatever lets you truly relax and enjoy your time with him, and it’s always okay because your boyfriend is there to protect you. “Well, don’t be so mad, cutie.” You smile, your fingers reaching to interlace with his as he tenses at the nickname.

“Everything is okay— I’m okay. I’ll even get us smoothies to help lighten the mood.”

He lets you drag him to your favorite smoothie shop in silence— still fuming about the incident. He wonders why you’re not shaken up. Ifnhe had been one second later, that piece of shit would have lifted up your skirt. In public. His jaw clenches at the thought, angry eyes darting at any anyone who dares look your direction.

“Why’re…” his voice trails off, remembering what Umemiya said about toning down his choice of words around others. “Why’re you so happy?”

“Hmm? I’m not too worried.” You laugh. “You’re my bodyguard right? Nothing will happen if you’re here.”

part 2