#i’m supposed to be working on something right now

[woso-story]

Better Boyfriend Than Him - Part Eight

Alexia Putellas x Reader - Other Parts

The apartment was quiet. The only sound was the faint hum of the city outside and the occasional rustle of blankets as you shifted on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Sleep felt impossible.

Your mind wouldn’t stop.

Everything from today—everything from the past few weeks—was running in circles in your head.

Luis. The breakup. The fact that you had moved to Barcelona not just for work, but for him. And now? What was left for you here? Did you pack up and go back to Zaragoza? Start over?

The thought of leaving made your chest ache. You had built something here. Maybe not much, but still—leaving felt like admitting defeat.

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face.

Then, a quiet voice broke through the silence.

“You’re thinking too much.”

You turned your head slightly, blinking through the darkness. On the other couch, Alexia was lying on her side, propped up on one elbow, watching you with a concerned expression.

You let out a breath. “I can’t help it.”

Alexia tilted her head. “What are you thinking about?”

You hesitated. “It’s not important. You should get some sleep.”

But Alexia didn’t budge. “I’d like to help. Even if it’s just by listening.”

You studied her face for a moment. There was something about the way she said it, the quiet sincerity in her voice, that made you actually consider opening up.

After a pause, you exhaled and looked back up at the ceiling.

“I was just thinking about the future. About what comes next.”

Alexia hummed softly. “And?”

You swallowed. “I thought my life in Barcelona would be different. I thought I’d be happy here. That everything would work out. But now? I have a cheating ex-boyfriend, a broken relationship, and no idea what I’m supposed to do next.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, Alexia spoke, her voice steady.

“Everything will fall into place.”

You turned your head to look at her again.

“And if you need anything,” she continued, “you know Mapi and Ingrid will be there for you. And… so will I.”

There was something reassuring about the way she said it. Like she really meant it.

You gave her a small, tired smile. “Thank you.”

Alexia’s expression softened. “Luis is an idiot.”

You let out a surprised laugh, and Alexia smirked.

“I’m serious,” she said. “He made a huge mistake. You’re a pretty special person, and it’s his loss.”

Your cheeks instantly grew warm, and you were grateful for the darkness, hoping she couldn’t see your reaction.

You cleared your throat. “How do you even know that? Most of the time we’ve seen each other, we were arguing.”

Alexia grinned. “I just have a feeling.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“And also,” she added with a chuckle, “Mapi talks about you all the time. She’s always telling me how special you are.”

That made your stomach flutter a little.

Alexia continued, laughing softly, “Honestly, I wanted to spend more time with you, to get to know you better, but you never wanted to.”

You let out a small laugh of your own. “That’s because you always try to get under my skin.”

Alexia smirked. “Yeah… I do.”

You both fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, a small smile lingering on your lips.

Then Alexia’s voice came softer this time. “But really… everything will be okay. It won’t feel like it now, but it will.”

You wanted to believe her.

Maybe, just for tonight, you could.

You both kept talking for a little while longer, the conversation lighter now, until eventually, exhaustion started creeping in.

Alexia shifted on the couch, stretching slightly. “We should sleep.”

You nodded, pulling the blanket up around you.

“Good night,” she said softly. “Sweet dreams.”

There was something about the way she said it—gentle, warm—that made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t fully understand.

But for the first time that night, you felt a little bit of peace.

And as your eyes finally drifted shut, you let yourself believe—just a little—that maybe Alexia was right. Maybe things would be okay again.

[ravenclaw-jojo]

Fandom: LaDS Pairings: Caleb x afab!reader Tags: Possessive love,  graphic smut, very ‘touch her and die’ vibes, breeding kink, Caleb is jealous of Xavier, light impact play, overstimulation, creampie (be safe ya’ll). MINORS DNI. WC: 2.5k

Description: You were a little late returning home from the Hunter’s Association. A/N: For @laddelulu30 who put breeding on my mind xD Also dedicated to @unintentionalseductress because well, Caleb :3

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You said you’d be out late. He already expected that. Yet something about the whole situation still made him uneasy. 

“There’s a pair of agents that just got back from their interrogation. We’re debriefing and then planning our schedules for the next few days. I promise, if it’s later than midnight, I’ll call you to pick me up.” You reassured him over video call. 

Caleb couldn’t protest, not when your eyes are staring back at him with sincerity he’s known for the better part of your lives — it was the same look you fixed him when you wanted an extra five minutes of his time to play whatever game you’d come up with that day. 

“Alright, alright, fine. Just promise to text me.” Caleb relented, the muscles in his jaw tightening despite the smile he tried to fix on his lips. 

“I will.” 

That was over two hours ago.  Thanks to the lifestyle app that you had suggested you download onto your phones, you were able to see each other’s general location on the map, and the speeds at which your phone was traveling at. Of course this only worked if you had your phone on you and the location was only accurate up to a 3-miles radius…and that wasn’t acceptable for him. No, he needed to know where you are at all times, down to the last step.

There’s a secret app on Caleb’s work cell, one he clicked open to reveal your precise location (the Hunter’s Association building, third floor, in one of the meeting rooms that’s in the south-eastern wing). This app was connected to the tracker embedded in the ruby gemstone of the dainty gold anklet he’d gifted you. You didn’t know about the tracker’s existence of course, and if you did… well that stirred a different feeling in Caleb that he was all too happy to entertain, if his focus wasn’t already fixated on your location. 

When the hour struck 10 and you still hadn’t called, he needed to take matters into his own hands.

“C’mon pip-squeak…pick up the phone.” He muttered as the video call attempted to connect. 

“Caleb? Why are you calling me silly?” Your laughter made the imaginary claws around his heart retract by a few centimeters. Despite trying to maintain some semblance of restraint, the reproachful tone in his voice reverberated through his sentence. 

“You said you’d call if you were staying later than midnight.” 

“And it isn’t midnight.” 

Caleb snorted. “Just like you to rely a little too much on technicalities.” 

Your laughter made his fingers pause mid-strum against the arm of your sofa. “It isn’t technicalities, it’s the truth. Clock has yet to strike midnight, Mr Caleb.” Your teasing tone doesn't go unnoticed. 

He chuckled, “It’ll be past midnight by the time you get here. Let me pick you up from work.” 

“Caleb, I’m not a little girl anymore. Trust me, I’ve made the walk home a dozen times before with no problem-”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better? The pure coincidence that you haven’t been attacked by some stalker?”

Oh, it was certainly rich of him to say this. But you didn’t know that. You didn’t know how he was practically on edge right now, the sound of your laughter, the gentle curve of your lips…. 

“Stop that.” He commanded before he could stop himself, startling not just you but himself. It wasn’t like him to lose his control like this. 

“What?” You questioned with furrowed brows. 

“Biting your lip. Stop biting your lip, I want to do that.” Caleb said, his voice dropping into that gruff tone that made your thighs clench. Torn between surprise and a sudden rush of arousal, you licked your upper lip, brain trying to grasp at the thoughts that rushed through your mind from his authoritarian tone. “I…I wasn’t aware I was doing it. Sorry.” 

Caleb shook his head, locks of his hair curtaining his purple gaze. “You’ve nothing to apologize for. Just be careful coming home.” He told you in a gentler tone. The soft smile didn’t reach his eyes and you wondered what could’ve possibly changed… Caleb was no stranger to you working late, especially when it came to a case that had spanned months of tracking and intel gathering. 

“I will be.” You answered. You will be. Caleb thought to himself, watching the little red dot move along the map of his work phone, muscles on the back of his neck slowly relaxing when the very same dot started to move towards the building’s exit. He felt better knowing your exact location at all times.

Your fingerprint unlocked the door to your apartment and you were pleasantly surprised by the scent of good food wafting from your barely used kitchen – outside of baking, the kitchen was only functioning when Zayne happened to drop by. Though the doctor much preferred to spend time at his apartment or experiencing the service of an actual chef in a restaurant. Caleb however, had long since made himself at home in your kitchen. There was something oddly intimate about how he knew where you kept all your cups and plates, which drawer stored the utensils versus the designated junk drawer – drawerS, if we were being truthful. 

“Perfect timing, the rice just finished cooking..” He gestured towards the tasty food and dinner setting that waited for them at the table. You closed the door behind you, hanging your coat with an air of playful suspicion. “What did you do Caleb?” You asked. 

His easy chuckle softened your heart, while he led you to the table, the warm touch of his fingers easily breaking down said suspicions. This is Caleb. Your Caleb. “I’m not trying to butter you up pip-squeak. I promise. Juuuust making sure you’re eating, even if it isn’t really on time.” He pulled back a chair for her to sit down, before taking his own seat. You picked up on his pointed tone. 

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t like I intended to stay that late, I swear.” You said watching as he picked up your plate and started to arrange the home-cooked meal on it. His gaze met yours over the food, his scrutiny a little gentler than before. “Who else was there?” He asked.

You cocked your head, accepting the plate he offered. “The usual crowd, you’ve met Tara before. Then Simone was there to give a debriefing…”

“And what about that guy?” 

You suddenly had flashbacks of being a preteen and Caleb’s presence scaring away any and all potential crushes. Picking at your food, you raised an innocent eyebrow. “You mean Xavier?” His silence spoke more than his words ever could. 

“He hasn’t been around. Out on another mission by himself. And even if he wasn’t, do you honestly believe you have anything to be worried about?” You challenged him with a smile – one that immediately made his pants feel a little too tight. Caleb glowered back at you, “It’s not you I don’t trust, pip-squeak. Let’s make that clear. It’s other people I have little faith in.” He watched as you stood up from your seat, walking over to him. There was a glimmer in your eyes, something that hinted at mischief. Given your history, he was all too familiar with that look of yours. You had something up your sleeve. 

“You know, you’ve got to start working on your expressions if you’re ever going to go undercover, y/n.” He teased, your fingers trailing across his broad shoulders. He kept his focus on you as you walked around his chair and with a gentle nudge of your hip, had him push it backwards to provide you with just enough room to sit on his lap. 

You weren’t as amused by his jab, pouting up at him in a way that made his heart rate pick up. “I got a high score in ‘stealth and disguise’ thank you very much.” You retorted, arms going around his neck. Your fingers begin to play with the sterling silver chain of his dog tag, savoring the warmth of it between your fingertips. “Are you going to be a meanie all night just because you made dinner?”

His chuckle is followed by his arms cradling you, “Well I wasn’t going to say anything but since you pointed it out-...” His grip on you tightened before he stood up and carried you from the dining table. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

If he were being honest, he’d lost count of the number of orgasms he gave you. All he knew was that he’d never get tired of the way you look beneath him, the way the silver apple charm and dog tag clinked against his chest with each thrust he makes, and he’d especially never get tired of the way you moaned his name like you were begging for repentance from a god.  “Where do you think you’re going pip-squeak? Don’t tell me you’re done taking cock? You were so desperate for it earlier.” His voice took on a darker edge, his evol thickening in the air, the fine hairs on your body standing on end at the gravity change in your environment. Your hips that had unconsciously tried to pull away are forced back onto his, forcing him in an angle that made you feel so full. “Caleb…” You whined, walls tight as you accommodated his hard, almost manic thrusts – like he just wanted to see how much he could pull out of you, how big of a puddle he could make on the hardwood floor of your living room. 

“Love hearing you say my name like that.” He muttered, rolling his hips in figure 8’s just to further blur the lines between insanity and pleasure. “What do you think about recording it one day for me, hmm? Give me the pleasure of listening to you moaning over and over again when you send me texts.” Caleb’s smirk is replaced with a sudden darkening of his lavender eyes. “Then again, that would mean risking other people hearing your beautiful, needy voice. And I like knowing that this is all for me.” His hand slid into your hair, grasping a handful in a rough ponytail and tugging you back to focus on him. You wanted to say something but half your face is still pushed into the couch cushions, his hand keeping you in place. 

SMACK.

Fuck. Your mind was blanking out, the world narrowing down to the strain of your legs while Caleb continued rutting into you like a man possessed. The sharp sting of his palm against your ass cheek only sent more heat to your groin. More… “Aww you’re so cute like this pip-squeak. Look how wet you’re getting when I treat you like the good little slut I knew you always were. I wonder how many times your colleagues fantasize about you, wonder if they know just how depraved and dirty you really like it… All hidden behind this sweet face.” He released your hair, fingers sliding around to squeeze your round cheeks, forcing your lips to purse while his eyes drank in your features. 

Without so much as a warning, Caleb is suddenly pulling out of you – the disappointing emptiness only lasting for a fraction of a second before he flipped you over and with the help of his evol, pinned you down into a mean mating press – his favorite position with you. Caleb loved to watch the way your pupils dilate into lust-blown hearts when his cock stretches you, loved even more when your legs hook over his shoulders so he could leave gentle kisses along your calf, which honestly used to be his favorite part about fucking you like this. That quickly changed when he gifted that anklet to you – yes, the one with the tracker embedded in the matching apple charm – he’d also had the foresight to include another addition to the anklet: his initials. He’d only ever admit this to himself; something about the way he watched the letter ‘C’ bounce against your ankle in the same fast-paced rhythm he’d started, made his cock twitch. It was another way to mark you, filling him with prideful arrogance when he knew he’s the only privileged bastard to have their initials around your ankle. The same ankle he could hold onto when you have your legs on his shoulders. Well that was the situation until you said the very words that made the last thread of his restraint snap. 

“Breed me Caleb.” You pant, his pendant and chain pooling on your sternum. 

His hips stuttered, hand slamming down beside your head on the cushion while he steadied himself. “What did you say?” 

It wasn’t that he didn’t catch it the first time. The burning desire within Caleb had everything to do with needing to hear it again. 

The sting of your fingernails leaving angry red marks on his back made his irregular breathing heavier, especially when you’re staring straight into his eyes with that expression that practically begged him. “Breed me, please.”

“With fucking pleasure, pip-squeak.” Instincts took over when Caleb leaned down to nip on your luscious lower lip, making good on his promise from before.  Once upon a time, you’d have sworn the noises escaping your lips were fake – no way those videos across the Internet could be onto something – Caleb, however, knew everything about your body, knew precisely how to break you down just to take his sweet time putting you together again. “Caleb-...”

“Louder. I want the whole building to hear who you belong to.” His voice is husky, fingers tight enough to leave bruises against the back of your thighs. You could feel every vein, every throb of his cock between your heated, velvety walls-

“Caleb!” 

He was thrusting into you with blind need, the scent of your lovemaking thick in the air punctuated by the sodden thwack thwack thwack of your bodies.

Your vision is filled with a white sunburst, your body giving into your pleasure while you keened for him. The noises you made, the expression on your face, that vulnerability of how your chest seemed to flutter while you caught your breath…his. He was going to make you his. To breed you is to claim you in the most basest sense possible, no one would mistake who could’ve possibly made you swollen…the cadence of your voice begging him to breed you rang in his mind again further weakening the battle of wills he’d been having with himself – the need to drag this on as long as possible, or to fill you up to the brim with ropes and ropes of his-

“Fuuuuck…” You purred, overwhelmed from the feel of his warm cum spilling and smearing against your inner thighs.

“Y/n…” The crack in his voice instinctually made you grind against him, forcing another needy moan from Caleb. You both remained that way for a few beats, catching your breath while the white ring around the base of his cock slowly dripped along his balls. He pressed his cheek against your ankle, lips brushing against the curve of the ‘C’ from your anklet. His. You. Are. His.  

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ravenclaw-jojo™️2025 writing | No copying, plagiarizing or translations without expressed permission.

[issues4him]

hiii i have an angst req where Blue collar Rafe forgets readers bday because he was too focused on work and when he realized he forgot he just asks her why she didn't tell him and reader downplays it but rafe took a week off work just to make it up to her because he feels supeeer guilty

(I requested this already but still! thank youuu)

blue collar!rafe forgets sahm!readers birthday on accident

cw: cussing, sad reader

it started the way most of your days did—chaotic and busy, but sweet in its own way. you’d gotten the kids dressed, made waffles, folded a load of laundry, and answered roughly four hundred “mommy?” questions before 10 a.m. the house smelled like maple syrup and clean towels, and you were still in one of rafe’s old t-shirts, hair twisted up, moving through the motions like always.

you hadn’t expected much. honestly, you hadn’t expected anything at all. you knew rafe had been swamped—big job, tight deadline, crews running behind, weather slowing progress. he was up before the sun and home after dinner, eyes heavy, muscles aching, hands rough and cracked from the cold mornings. you didn’t blame him. he worked so hard for your family. you were proud of him. but it still stung a little when the day rolled on and not a single “happy birthday” passed his lips.

he came home that night, looking like he’d been hit by a truck. boots dusty, shirt clinging to him with sweat, baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. he walked right past the tiny cake you made with wren earlier—your name in uneven pink icing—and dropped his keys on the counter, rubbing the back of his neck.

“long day?” you asked, soft and easy.

he nodded. “mhm.” you just smiled and kissed his cheek like nothing was wrong.

it wasn’t until later, when he found emmett’s little scribbled drawing on the fridge—“happy birthday, mommy!” written in crooked kid letters with a crayon sun smiling in the corner—that he froze. you were in the bathroom brushing your teeth when he knocked, opened the door with a look in his eyes that made your stomach twist, “baby.”

you glanced at him through the mirror. “yeah?”

“why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?”

you spit into the sink, rinsed your mouth, and shrugged. “it’s not that big of a deal, rafe. really.”

he stepped inside, arms crossed tightly over his chest like he was holding something in. “are you serious?”

you met his eyes. “you’ve had so much on your plate. i didn’t want to make it worse.”

he stared at you for a long second, then shook his head, voice low and full of guilt. “i should’ve remembered.”

you gave him a small smile. “it’s just a day.” but he didn’t believe that—not for a second.

the next morning, you woke up to him already out of bed. which wasn’t unusual, until you noticed his tool belt and work bag still sitting on the bench by the door. his coffee mug untouched. truck keys hanging where they always did. you padded out to the kitchen, rubbing your eyes, only to find him at the stove—flipping pancakes with hunter perched on his hip, wren singing beside him, and emmett setting the table with little plastic forks and mismatched napkins.

rafe turned to you with the softest smile, “mornin’, birthday girl. a little late, but i took a whole week off to make it right.”

you blinked. “wait… what?”

he set the pancake down, kissed hunter’s head, then stepped toward you, gently pulling you into his chest. his arms wrapped around your waist, warm and strong, holding you tighter than he had in days, “i already called work. told ‘em i won’t be back ‘til monday.” he tilted his head to meet your eyes. “you give this family everything, baby. you never ask for anything in return. and i forgot the one day that’s supposed to be all about you.”

your throat tightened. “rafe…”

“nuh-uh,” he whispered, kissing your forehead. “you don’t get to brush it off this time. i’m gonna spend all week remindin’ you how much you mean to us. and that birthday? we’re redoing it. starting now.” and he meant it. he planned every detail—breakfasts in bed, slow walks with your hand in his, bubble baths after bedtime, movies with the kids, a surprise date night he pulled off with the help of your mom. he didn’t miss a thing.

forgetting the day was a mistake. but forgetting you? he’d never let that happen again.

a/n: RAH i’m sorry i didn’t get to this one quick :’[

[wordsofwhimsy]

𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘈𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 - 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘍𝘪𝘷𝘦

Pairing: Mohawk!Mark Grayson x f!Reader | Sinister!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of abuse

→ Part Four ←

The fluorescent lights of the Guardian’s of the Globe HQ buzzed overhead as Cecil stood at the front of the meeting room, pacing slowly back and forth. The Mark Variants sat around the table in various states of attention, some more engaged than others, as Cecil went through the rundown of the day’s events. The tension in the room was palpable, though no one could pinpoint exactly why.

“Alright, folks,” Cecil started, flipping through a few pages on his tablet. “Let's break down today’s operations, starting with the biggest failure.” His eyes turned to land on Sinister Mark who was sat at the far end of the table, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable.

“The Louvre was attacked this afternoon,” Cecil continued, his voice tinged with disappointment. “A criminal organization, likely out of France, managed to breach security and make off with the Mona Lisa. Local authorities are calling it the biggest heist in the country’s history. You were supposed to be on patrol there. What happened?”

S.Mark didn’t answer right away. He sat up slightly, his eyes dark, scanning the room as though looking for an out. But instead, he just muttered, “I had it under control. It was just… a bad timing issue.”

Cecil wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t push it further. His gaze moved to the next variant.

M.Mark, who had been staring blankly at the table, blinked and snapped his focus back to Cecil’s voice when he realized he was being addressed. Cecil had asked some kind of question about how his mission went.

“Yeah, sure,” he mumbled, his tone flat. “Everything went fine.”

But his words were distant, like he wasn’t really listening to himself speak.

Cecil raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. “The rest of you did pretty good work, particularly with keeping those rogue supers in check. Maybe a little overboard….” His statement trailed into a murmur more to himself than anything, before giving his full attention back to the group. “We’ll have to follow up to see how we can improve coverage in Europe. But for now, I think we can all agree it’s been a relatively successful day, despite a few hiccups.”

A few mumbles of agreement rippled through the collection of variants, but M.Mark remained unfazed, still caught up in his thoughts, the weight of his own internal turmoil pressing on him like a fog.

Then, a loud smack against his back broke through the haze.

"Hey, Mohawk!" Lensless Mark grinned, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “You still daydreaming, or are you actually paying attention now?”

M.Mark blinked again, shaking his head as if to clear the fog. “Yeah, yeah, I’m paying attention.”

Lensless Mark’s grin only widened. “Good, ‘cause there’s a celebration at that weird, GDA-owned bar tonight. Heroes only, you know the drill. It’s to commemorate another day of saving the world.” His words came out almost wistfully, the sparkle on his teeth as he grinned a testament to his own vanity. “You in?”

The words barely registered for a moment, but then something shifted in M.Mark. The mention of the bar caught his attention in a way that the rest of the conversation hadn’t.

Right. The GDA bar. The one reserved exclusively for heroes. A place for their kind to unwind and bond after a successful day of work. The other variants would be there.

“Yeah,” M.Mark muttered, still feeling slightly detached from the conversation but more invested than he’d been all day. “I’ll go.”

The meeting wrapped up soon after that, and as the group disbanded, M.Mark found himself slipping into a haze again, his thoughts consumed by images of you. His mind’s eye refused to leave your perfect form—your smile, your laugh, the warmth that always radiated from you. He longed to be close to you, and that desperate craving seemed to only grow stronger by the day.

—

The bar hummed with chatter and clinking glasses, the usual post-hero celebration. It was one of those rare moments when everyone let down their guard—when the weight of being a hero didn’t feel so heavy. Most of the variants had shown up, celebrating the victories and drowning out the day's stresses.

Sinister Mark was the only one missing.

“I’ll catch up with you guys later,” he’d said earlier, his voice low and clipped. “Got somewhere to be.”

No one pressed him on it. That was just the way S.Mark was—detached, always in his own world, never really willing to join in on the camaraderie.

M.Mark sat at the counter, a bottle of beer in front of him that he wasn’t really drinking. His mind was still elsewhere, apparently permanently lost in a haze he couldn’t shake.

Lensless Mark slid onto the stool next to him, his usual grin plastered across his face as he took a long drink. “Hey, what’s up with you, man?” he asked, nudging M.Mark with an elbow. “You’ve been zoning out all night.”

M.Mark let out a long, almost imperceptible sigh, barely noticing Lensless Mark. He kept his eyes on the bottle, feeling the alcohol working its way through him but not enough to numb the thoughts that circled relentlessly in his mind. There was you.

“Not much,” M.Mark muttered, still staring at the bottle.

Lensless Mark raised an eyebrow, turning his body more toward him. “You’ve gotta be thinking about something,” he prodded. “You’re looking like a man on a mission or some shit. Got a girl on your mind?”

The words pierced through M.Mark’s fog. A smile tugged at the corner of Lensless Mark’s mouth, but M.Mark wasn’t amused.

“Yeah,” he answered, his rough voice softer than usual. “I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Lensless Mark blinked, clearly intrigued. “A girl? From the GDA?” His tone carried a mixture of disbelief and curiosity.

Mohawk Mark’s eyes flickered up, his gaze meeting Lensless Mark’s. For a split second, he felt exposed, but then he just shrugged, as though it didn’t matter. The weight of the truth was already too heavy to hide.

“It’s [Name],” he said, almost in a whisper, like he was admitting a guilty pleasure.

Lensless Mark froze, his bottle halfway to his mouth. He stared at M.Mark for a beat before lowering the drink. “Wait—you mean bumblebee-fuck’s girlfriend?”

The words hung in the air, thick with disbelief. M.Mark didn’t answer immediately, but his face betrayed the obvious truth – you were all that was on his mind.

“Yeah,” M.Mark said, his voice barely audible. “It’s her.”

Lensless Mark’s head tilted slightly as he processed it. “Hmm. Interesting,” he said slowly, then shook his head. “But I don’t get it, man. She’s not even… wild enough for you two. I thought you were into chaos, you know? She's kind of, well... normal.”

He said the word like it was a punchline, as if it explained everything.

“Not crazy enough for me?” M.Mark echoed with a bitter chuckle. “You think that’s what matters? The crazy? She's not just some game to be played. She's—” He cut himself off, feeling that familiar ache in his chest. The way you looked at him. The way you felt real. He swallowed hard, his fingers tightening on the neck of the beer bottle.

Lensless Mark gave him a lopsided grin, clearly unfazed by the weight of his counterparts words. “I don’t know, man. I like ‘em wild. But you? You’re better off. You don’t need Sinister Mark’s sloppy seconds.”

The words landed like a challenge, but M.Mark didn’t feel the rush of defiance he expected. Instead, something else hit him, something like clarity.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” he muttered. “But she deserves more than what that bastard can offer. She’s way above his level. She’s…” He trailed off, his voice going soft as he thought about you once again. “She’s better than anyone else. It's not even close.”

Lensless Mark gave a short laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Damn, dude. You’re whipped already.” He shrugged, unbothered by the intensity of M.Mark’s words. “Fuck it. Who cares what that asshole thinks? Go make her yours. Fuck that guy.”

The advice was simple, almost too simple, but it felt like the only thing M.Mark needed to hear. For a second, it almost felt like a challenge he was ready to face.

But before he could even reply, his phone buzzed in his pocket. The vibration was sharp, pulling him back from his thoughts.

“Who the hell would be calling you?” Lensless Mark asked, a little distracted but still curious.

M.Mark fumbled for his phone, not recognizing the number that flashed on the screen. His thumb hesitated over the screen.

“I don’t know,” he muttered in response, looking at the unfamiliar number.

Lensless Mark leaned over, trying to see the screen. “Answer it. It’s probably something interesting. Or a debt collector.”

M.Mark shot him a wry look but answered the call anyway. “Hello?”

*Readers POV*

You walked down the street of the familiar neighborhood, your fingers tracing the edge of your purse. You hadn’t felt this anxious in a long time. You were on a mission.

A simple mission. One to bring a little joy back into something broken.

The liquor store’s bell jingled as you entered, making your way straight to the back and picking up a bottle of brandy. The smooth amber liquid would be perfect for him—your boyfriend’s drink of choice. The bottle felt heavy in your hand, a small comfort in the storm of uncertainty that had settled in your chest. Along with it, you picked up a bottle of wine—the kind you liked. A little indulgence for yourself.

You couldn’t help but hum a quiet tune as you imagined how tonight would go. A quiet dinner. The two of you talking, reconnecting. You had missed him. You had missed this.

But as you paid and made your way out of the store, you froze.

Across the street, at the strip club, there he was—your significant other. The man you loved, walking out with a woman under each arm, both of them giggling, their arms draped casually around him.

Your stomach dropped as your heart thudded painfully in your chest. The anger surged first—sharp, bitter, and overwhelming. Then sadness settled in, cold and heavy. You felt a deep wave of embarrassment come over you. The kind of embarrassment that gnawed at your skin, reminding you of everything you had hoped for that was now crumbling.

Without thinking, your feet moved toward him but then stopped. Your body shook, but not from the cold. You remembered the bruises. The broken bones. The haunting memories of the times you’d crossed a line with him before, and the “lessons” he taught you in kind.

Your hand gripped the bag of alcohol in a vice, and your thoughts spiraled. You couldn’t do it. Not again. You would never let yourself go through the pain of his hands again.

Instead you turned away, your feet stumbling as you walked faster, away from the anger, away from him, tears blurring your vision. The cold air didn’t soothe you, didn’t offer anything but an empty space in your chest. You stumbled into your house, throwing the door open with a shaky hand before collapsing onto the couch and letting the bottle of wine open, uncaring.

Hours passed, and you had slipped into a mess of tears and liquor. The house felt suffocating, even with all the windows open. The flickering light from the kitchen bulb cast long, distorted shadows across the room as you poured yourself another glass of wine. You didn’t know why you were drinking, why you kept trying to drown the anger and pain in the bottle. It wasn’t like it would fix anything. But the alcohol helped you forget, if only for a little while.

Your eyes blurred with the sting of tears that wouldn’t stop coming, and you cursed yourself for being so weak. Why the hell do I even care? Your mind screamed, fingers gripping the glass so hard it almost hurt.

You hated him. Hated Mark for making you feel like you weren’t enough, for making you believe that somehow you had done something wrong when all you ever wanted to do was love him. That’s all I ever wanted, you thought bitterly, and he couldn’t even give me that.

Your breath hitched, a sob catching in your throat as you lifted the glass to your lips, but you barely tasted the wine. It burned as it slid down your throat, an empty sting that matched the one gnawing at your chest. You threw the glass down onto the table with a clink, tears spilling down your cheeks in angry streaks.

“Fuck you, Mark,” you whispered through clenched teeth, your voice shaking with a mix of fury and grief. “You’re a fucking asshole. You don’t even care, do you? Not a single fucking care about anyone but yourself.”

You laughed bitterly at the thought, wiping your face with the back of your hand. I’m just some stupid girl to him, aren’t I? you thought, wiping away more tears, furious at yourself for letting it hurt this much.

You knew better. You knew what kind of man he was. But somewhere in the back of your mind, you’d always convinced yourself that maybe, just maybe, he could change. But no. He hadn’t. He never would.

You’re worthless, the thought echoed in her mind. You’re nothing but someone he can push around when it’s convenient for him.

The floodgates opened, and your sobs became more violent, your body shaking with the force of them. You couldn’t stop yourself—couldn’t stop the wave of anger and sadness crashing over you like a monsoon. You cursed him again, your voice breaking, “I gave you everything, and you just... just...” You couldn’t finish the sentence. It felt pointless to even try. He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve anything from you.

Your mind was spinning, the vicious cycle of self-loathing and fury carrying you further down into the abyss. But then, just as you were about to curl up in the misery of it all, something shifted. A flash of someone—someone else—cut through your thoughts like a sharp breath of air.

M.Mark.

You blinked, the image of his face flashing in your mind. The way he had looked at you with that quiet, reverent gaze. He’d always been so kind, in his own weird way. Checking on her randomly when it felt like she was invisible to everyone else in the world.

He came to my house earlier tonight... you thought, your breath catching in your chest. Ypu remembered the knock on your door, the brief moment when your eyes had met. He hadn’t said much, but there was something in his expression that said it all. He cared about you. For reasons you didn’t understand, but the feeling of warmth it gave you was just the same.

Your tears slowed, the storm inside you beginning to settle. The anger that had once consumed you began to dissipate, replaced by something softer, something you hadn’t felt in a while—peace.

You sniffed, wiping your face with the sleeve of your shirt, then stood up shakily from the couch. Your mind was clearer now, the haze of alcohol and emotion giving way to something that felt more tangible.

I need to do something, you thought, the realization hitting you suddenly. I need to talk to him.

Without thinking, you shuffled into the kitchen, hands still trembling as you rummaged through the drawers. You didn’t know why—or maybe you did—but you were looking for the list. The list Cecil had given you. It was tucked away somewhere, a list of phone numbers for all the GDA heroes, including the variants. You had almost forgotten about it in your rush to block out the world, but now, it was the one thing that felt like it could pull you out of the darkness.

You rifled through the drawers, throwing aside papers, random tools and clips, a few stray utensils, your heart pounding as you searched. Your vision swam from the tears and alcohol, your movements sloppy, desperate. You didn’t care about the mess you were making. Yoi just needed to find it.

And then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, there it was. The crumpled list, the ink slightly smudged from where it had been stuffed into the drawer. You pulled it out, your fingers clumsily brushing over the names until you found what you were looking for.

M.Mark’s number.

Your heart skipped. You hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t even realized you’d been searching for it until now. But there it was, clear as day.

You stared at the number for a long moment, a million thoughts buzzed through your head in a frenzy, spinning faster, louder. What were you even doing? And should you? Could you? It felt insane, but in this state of confusion and hurt, he felt like the only one who might understand.

And before you could second-guess yourself, you dialed.

The phone rang once. Twice.

And then, finally, he answered.

“Hello?”

And in that moment, the world outside faded. You exhaled, a mix of relief and anticipation building.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

→ Part Six ←

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Thailand is back in the game

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

March 2025 Week 3

Ongoing Series - Thai

Sweet Tooth Good Dentist (Fri iQIYI) ep 1 of 12 - Bite me. Of course I fucking adore this. It's exactly the style of BL I like best in the world. I love everything about it including that the dentist is unhinged. Will it push "worst trope" buttons or stay safe? Either way its gonna be fun. Mark is doing a killer job (and looks STUNNING). Plus Jimmy is gonna show up? I'm all in.

Perfect 10 Liners (Sun YT) ep 21 of 24 - I love FaifaWine so much. How am I gonna judge this show when I feel so differently about each pair? 

Top Form (Thurs WeTV) ep 1 of 10 - Adaptation of a yaoi starring Boom (Chains of Heart) and Smart (Don't Say No). And... it’s fine. I like the leads quite a bit. There is a part of me though, that wishes this was getting a JBL treatment rather than Thai. I like that it’s gonna be longer this way, but the subject matter just feels more Japanese. The show is engaging enough despite this, or perhaps because of it. It’s interesting to watch Thailand tackle Japanese IP since there is built in stylistic tension. Right now it it is ill-fitting, like a shrunken suit. But it might turn out to be Velcroed on, and suddenly split open or be torn off, so I'm hypnotized. All in all, this is not what I was hoping for, but I'll keep watching if I can (I no longer have VIP status on WeTV). 

Flirt Milk (Sat YT) ep 9 or 10 - I think the reason I really dislike the main couple is how truly childlike the uke character is. It’s not kinky, it’s just creepy. I like the second pairing of "arrogant asshole and ultra tsundere uke".

And.... suddenly everybody is getting it on. Of course I like the whole show better now but it’s taken too much to get here and we arrived rather precipitously.

My Golden Blood (Weds iQIYI) Ep 2 of 12 - I’m gonna say it. In addition to not having much chemistry, I don’t think the leads are doing a good job in their roles. They either need to be more campy or less. Joss is pretty darn wooden, but that’s nothing new. So it's Gawin who is disappointing me. He seems to be directed to become something very against his nature, so much so it's an awkward screen presence. It’s all rather unpleasant to watch. It can’t be just me feeling this. Right?

Okay but…

Puts snark hat on:

Are ALL Tong’s fluids potently golden?

ALL OF THEM?

That be a fun use of verse in the future. 

(We would never get that lucky though.)

Lost in the Woods (Weds Gaga) ep 1 of 7 - Started with singing which I was not happy about. I also really dislike the main character. I’m not wild about the actor either. I’m not sure if I can watch this show.

Ossan‘s Love Thailand (Mon YouTube) ep 11 of 12 - Already one of the worst shows in BLandia and they just had to put in the amnesia trope! (Insert all & every expletive here. Only don't, because I can't even get worked up about it.) Worst trope ever. What am I supposed to do with myself? This is untenable. Yes yes I could drop it. But with only one more ep, and a serious sunk cost fallacy in play, I am seeing this bullpucky through to the better end.

But I am very bitter about it.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Secret Relationships (Korea iQIYI) ep 4 of 8 - It has taken me half the damn show to realize it, but this is Korea doing messy gays! I didn’t recognize, because we so rarely get this trope from KBL. How exciting. I don’t normally like toxic and messy, but I guess I like it now because this show is sending me. Yes yes it's unhinged but for soem reason I'm okay with it.

7 years (SEVEN YEARS) of these insane hyungs sniffing round this poor little gay baby like he's the chosen one in some harem m/m/m/m. It is wild! But I also do finally see why they all like Da-on so much. Good kiss but also... no kissing drunk baby!

Exclusive Love (Taiwan Fri Gaga) ep 7 of 12 - The sides are the only thing that matter in this show. I have taken a stance. Also I LOVE Ian. I had him for 5 seconds and will move mountains for him. 

Fight for Love (Vietnam YT) ep 7 end - WAY too much singing. Sigh. But otherwise a fine end.

Summary

A cute but soapy piece from Vietnam about a rich kid with a crush on a busker (who already has relationship problems). Pretty standard chaotic Vietnamese romcom with unhinged characters and a mildly incomprehensible plot about a boy who wants to be a singer and another boy who is in love with him + various exes. It’s fine if you have nothing else to do. (Which seems to be about how the music boy felt about the dude he ended up with.) 7/10

Checkered Shirt (Korea YT) ep 7 of 8 - again I either missed it or it didn’t drop. I'm struggling with YT these days.

It's airing but......

Sashes and Hearts (Pinoy YT) 13 eps - Philippines is doing Drop Dead Gorgeous only all gay boys queening their asses off. Doesn't interest me, not sure if it's BL.

Last Meal Universe (Thai ????) 8 eps - An alien who has come to destroy earth instead falls in love with Thai food and then the Thai boy who cooks it - realistic, actually. I got a link to watch but it still wouldn't work for me, so I guess I'm waiting to see what happens.

In case you missed it

Gelboys (Thai iQIYI) 7 eps - It ended. How do we feel about it? Worth watching?

The Last Time (Thai WeTV) 8 eps - Ended? Anyone watch it?

BamBam of GOT7 just being very Thai about the prettiest contestant ever to be on a survivor show. And that's all Imma say about this rabbit hole. I don't normally cross the streams like this, but this is so BL adjacent and has gotta be someone's fanfic come to life.

I rewatched it - new segment

(because of the slump, here's what I revisited lately)

Minato's Laundromat - holds up

Cosmetic Playlover - holds up

Kiss X Kiss X Kiss: Perfect Scandal - holds all the way up (see gif)

Vending Machine Sono Koi - not so good on the rewatch

Dominant Yakuza and Wimpy Corporate Slave - still as silly as I remember, but not worth rewatching again soon

Hidden Agenda - a frequent rewatch for me, I find JoongDunk a very comforting pair

Bad Buddy - my first rewatch and I gotta say, I think this one was BETTER for me on a rewatch! Such a great show. I would go so far as to say this might be the best Thai BL as an example of OG Thai Uni BL. It just perfect a classic. You just have to like the classics.

Next Week Looks Like This:

Frigay Is Back!

3/28 Heesu in Class 2 (Korea Fri Viki) 10 eps - Trailer. Adaption of the comic by Lily, about a shy unpopular boy with a secret crush on best friend who somehow also ends up his school's relationship counselor. Supposed to have completed filming in 2022, the fact this has been in dev hell since then somewhat mitigates this being my most anticipated BL of it's original year.

3/28 Fight for You (Taiwan Fri Gaga) 12 eps - We haven't had cop/criminal in a long time, and from Taiwan no less, I'm looking forward to this!

2025 Line Up

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 1

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 2

20 BLs Announced for 2025 That I'm Really Excited About

GMMTV 2025 Line Up - My Totally Biased and Wildly Flawed Feels

THIS WEEK��S BEST MOMENT

(last week)

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

[silent-stories]

𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐓

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

The moment you stepped into your apartment, you knew something was off. Normally, Noah was either working on music, gaming, or sprawled out on the couch watching a movie or some anime. But today, there was silence.

You set your bag down, toeing off your shoes as you glanced around. It didn’t take long to find him, bundled up on the couch under a heavy blanket, his hair a mess, his face turned into the pillow.

“Noah?” you called gently, stepping closer.

He barely stirred, only shifting slightly. His shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath, but when he exhaled, it turned into a rough, scratchy cough that made you wince.

It had been a couple of days since Noah first mentioned that his throat was hurting a bit, but he insisted it wasn’t too bad and told you not to worry.

“Oh, babe…” you murmured, kneeling beside him. You brushed his hair back from his face, and his bleary eyes cracked open just enough to see you.

“Hey,” he rasped, his voice almost nonexistent.

Your brows knitted together in concern. “Your throat sounds awful.”

He nodded, swallowing thickly, before coughing again. You pressed your palm lightly to his forehead, expecting warmth, but he felt normal. No fever, at least.

“Been like this all day?” you asked, and he just nodded again, clearly too tired to answer properly. His eyes drifted shut, and your heart squeezed at how miserable he looked.

“Alright,” you sighed, standing up. “I’m taking care of you. Did you eat today?”

Noah barely reacted, only shaking his head and curling deeper into the blanket. You let him rest while you headed to the kitchen, quickly gathering ingredients for soup. Warm broth, soft vegetables, a little bit of chicken—it would be easy on his throat. As you chopped and stirred, the quiet in the apartment felt almost weird, and you realized how much you missed his usual teasing comments, his random hums of melodies, his arms around your waist, his chin resting on your head, his presence.

Once the soup was simmering, you returned to the couch with a cup of warm tea. Noah was half-awake, his eyes fluttering open when he heard you approach.

“Here, drink a little,” you coaxed, kneeling beside him again. He sighed but slowly pushed himself up, wincing as he swallowed. You helped him hold the cup, guiding it to his lips. He took a careful sip, his throat working as he swallowed.

A quiet groan left him. “Hurts,” he croaked.

“I know,” you whispered, kissing his forehead. “But this will help. And you need to eat.”

He leaned against you as he sipped. Once he’d had enough, you set the cup aside and gently eased him back onto the couch.

“You’re not going anywhere, are you?” he mumbled, his voice hoarse.

You were supposed to spend the evening working on a project on your computer but now you had something more important to take care of.

You shook your head, slipping onto the couch beside him. “Nope. Gonna cuddle you all day.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips as he pulled you close, burying his face against your neck. His body was warm against yours, his breath slow and steady despite the occasional cough. You ran your fingers through his hair, soothing him as he relaxed.

He sighed deeply, his head tilting slightly, exposing more of his neck to you. The tattoos inked into his skin peeked out from under his hoodie, and without thinking, you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, pressing a soft kiss there.

Then another.

And another.

Your lips ghosted over the inked skin and you felt the way he shivered slightly beneath you, his breath hitching, probably more from the fact that you were tickling him than anything else.

“What are you doing?” he murmured, his voice rough.

You smiled against his skin, pressing one more kiss right at the edge of his jaw. “Kissing where it hurts.”

He let out a low chuckle, though it quickly turned into a cough. You rubbed slow circles on his back as he recovered, his hand squeezing your waist in appreciation.

“That’s cute,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smirked. “I know.”

You stayed tucked against him as he drifted in and out of sleep, his arms holding you close.

At some point, his fingers lazily traced patterns against your arm. His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke.

“Love you.”

Your heart melted. “I love you too.”

His grip tightened, and you knew he was grateful, even if he couldn’t say much.

And so you stayed there, tangled together, letting him rest. Because if there was one thing you were sure of, it was that you’d always take care of him.

[austinbutlerslovers]

Love/Hate

Label Mature 18+

Summary Austin becomes a hotshot model with an even hotter temper, paired with your spark of an attitude it makes you both destined to ignite.

⚠️ Hardcore Smut⚠️ mean Austin • cocky Austin• love/hate relationship •toxic couple•taunting• name calling• lying• aggression • insecure reader • hot head reader • dirty talk • slut shaming • dubcon •rough sex against a wall• clit pinching • taming with male dominance • objectification •sexual pacification•make up sex •orgasm •creampie • kiss it better

🔗 Masterlist

📖 Proofreader @peggyao3 🗳️ Based on Unanimous 🔗 Poll Decision

🏆 1st Devotion 2nd Daddys Doll 3rd Love/Hate 4th Wild Hearts *Special thanks for voting 😍 & enjoy the upcoming fic!🤩 🗳️

Love/Hate

The moment Austin walks through the door, you know he’s in one of his moods. His long blonde hair sways perfectly, styled from whatever shoot he just came from, his sharp jaw set in that familiar smirk that makes your stomach knot…but there’s an edge to it now, something crueler than before.

His success is getting to his head. 

The modeling gigs, the money, the attention. It was fine when you were just another couple of broke teens in a bad apartment, when you’d fight over who got to use the hot water first. But now? Now…he thinks he’s a god.

And maybe he is. Maybe he always was.

You lean against the kitchen counter arms crossed, watching as he tosses his backpack on the couch. 

He’s wearing some designer leather jacket, black and expensive, and when he shrugs it off, his shirt rides up just enough to tease his tight abs and the sharp V-line of his hips. 

His fingers rake through his long blonde hair as he eyes you up and down, slow and assessing, and you already know what’s coming.

“What are you wearing babe?” he mocks, a teasing lilt in his voice as he strides past you toward the fridge.

Your favorite crop top clings to your chest, showing off your midriff, paired with low-rise jeans hugging your hips in a way that should make his mouth water, should make him stumble over his words like he used to.

Your jaw tightens, a hot flush of shame burning through you. “What, you don’t like it?” you respond, the uncertainty of your words sinking in.

He knows you wore it just for him, he loves this outfit on you, and as his smirk deepens, it’s as if he wants you to snap, like he thrives on watching you get worked up.

He twists the cap off a drink and takes a long swig, his throat bobbing with each swallow, his full lips wrapping around the bottle’s edge.

When he lowers it, his piercing blue eyes, cold and cutting, drag over you again, intense and unyielding, stripping you bare with a single look.

“You didn’t used to be like this,” you grit, your voice shaking with a mix of hurt and fury. “You’re different now, huh high off being some big-shot model” you snap.

“Not my fault you’re insecure,” he taunts, his blue eyes glinting with something cruel as his full lips curve into a knowing grin.

“And it’s definitely not my fault you can’t handle how famous I am now,” he says, the words decimating whatever confidence you had left.

You inhale sharply, your blood boiling as tears well in your eyes. “You act like I’m supposed to worship you or something, and I’m sick of it,” you retaliate, your voice hushed and trembling.

“That right?” he says, tilting his head, savoring the way your emotions flow unchecked.

“You’re sick of it” he repeats, stepping closer, his blue eyes gazing into yours with a possessive intensity.

“Didn’t seem that way when you were all over me last night,” he adds softly, his voice lifting as his eyes glint with quiet amusement.

Your face burns from how much you hate what he’s become, the way this shadow of your boyfriend, who once adored you, now takes every opportunity to point out your insecurities.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you lash out, turning away, but his hand nabs you first keeping you firmly in place.

“Nah-uh, I don’t think you wanna do that,” he says, slow and knowing, leaning in until his breath ghosts over your lips.

“You don’t get to decide when you leave me,” he says, his fingers sliding up your throat, firm and unyielding, tracing the frantic pulse there before pressing just hard enough to tilt your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet his.

You push at his chest, but it’s useless, he’s solid muscle, immovable against your feeble attempts, and his eyes only grow darker at your retaliation.

“I hate this,” you whisper, your voice trailing off as you look into his eyes.

“You love it,” he rasps, his full lips curving into a slow, smug grin.

Your pulse thunders in your ears as fury burns in your stomach. You hate how gorgeous he is, how unfairly pretty he looks when he’s like this.

You want to wipe that smirk off his face, make him feel even a fraction of the insecurity he makes you feel and before you can stop yourself, the words slip out.

“I hate you,” you breathe, the words laced with hurt.

“Yeah?” he challenges, his voice low, his blue eyes unyielding as they lock with yours, his jaw muscles clenching tight.

You hesitate, your mind racing deciding what to do, and in one swift motion, before you can react, his hands grab your wrists, forcing your back against the wall, his body pressing in close.

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze and your body betrays every ounce of composure as your resolve weakens in his strong hold, and he notices, of course he notices.

He leans in, his mouth ghosting along your jaw, his fingers tightening around your wrists.

“You talk a big game,” he whispers, his breath brushing your skin, “but we both know the truth, don’t we?”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress the arousal surging through your core, but he sees right through you.

His mouth lowers onto yours, all heat and hunger, swallowing the moan that slips out.

He kisses you like he owns you, like he’s taking his claim all over again, and you hate how easily he unravels you.

You hate him.

You love him.

And the worst part? He knows it.

Your teeth bite his bottom lip in defiance, but he only pulls back, his grip on your wrists tightening.

He yanks your wrists higher above your head in one hand, keeping them firmly against the wall. His body presses against yours, forcing you to feel every inch of his long hard cock as it strains through his jeans, pushing insistently between your legs.

“You act like you’re so tough, like you don’t need me,” he muses, his mouth skimming along your jaw, hot and teasing. “But look at you.” His knee slots between your legs, the pressure against your clit just enough to make you gasp. “You’re already wet, and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

You try to resist how hot he is as his mouth trails down your throat, his tongue licking just enough to make you squirm, savoring the way your body betrays you.

“You gonna admit it yet?” he taunts, his lips ghosting over your collarbone. “Or do I have to fuck it out of you?”

You glare at him, but it’s weak, your body already giving in, and he knows it. He lives for it.

His free hand lowers to pop the button of your jeans, teasing the zipper down and pushing them low on your thighs. His eyes lock on to yours before flicking down to watch his fingers press the fabric of your panties feeling the slickness of your heat.

The sensation is maddening, light, fleeting, and nowhere near enough, and as you push forward seeking more his smirk deepens.

“You’re so fucking easy,” he whispers.

Your stomach clenches, anger and arousal twisting together into something volatile. You want to slap him, to shut him up…but more than anything, you want him to finish what he started.

“You’re such a dick,” you retort breathlessly.

He hums, his long hair tickling your skin as he dips his head lower. “And here you are,” his voice drops to a whisper, smug and knowing. “So fucking wet for me.”

His fingers stroke the front of your panties until the squishy wet sensation makes your thighs clench as a choked sound escapes you, half a curse, half a plea.

And that’s all it takes for him to ruin you.

He frees your wrists to grab your hips, spinning you around and pressing your chest firmly to the wall, his body flush against your back.

His breath is hot against your ear as his hands roughly drag down your panties.

He lowers them on your legs, leaving your ass exposed, the slickness between your thighs betraying every ounce of defiance you have left.

“You must hate your boyfriend so much” he taunts, his voice a low tease as his fingers deliver sharp smacks on your pussy, your hips jerking as the wet, slick sounds prove just how much your body craves him.

You moan as his fingers spread you open, dipping into your soaked core, circling your entrance with slow, torturous strokes until your hips tilt back from the sensation.

He pushes them inside, two at once, plunging in deep, pumping his fingers hard, curling them just right to hit that spot that makes your walls spasm, his palm grinding against you with every rough thrust.

A ragged moan tears from your throat, your hands clawing at the wall as your body tenses, caught between resistance and surrender.

You fight every second, biting your lip hard trying to hold back the sounds he’s ripping out of you, but it’s impossible when it feels so good, his fast, brutal thrusts pounding into you, making a slick mess.

His fingers slip out, leaving you aching and he hums, the sound dark and triumphant, as his lips trail up to your ear.

“You wanna fight?” he breathes, his voice low and rough, his fingers squeezing into the soft flesh of your ass. “Or do you wanna fuck?”

You don’t answer…because you can’t.

He unzips his jeans with a slow, teasing pull, guiding his hips forward until the tip of his cock presses hard against your slick heat.

Your core throbs as he pushes in, your walls clenching his cock tight as an eager moan escaping your throat. He thrusts in deep, stretching you open with several fierce strokes, and it feels so good you want to scream.

Your body jolts against the wall, the rough surface scraping your cheek as his hips clap against your ass with a possessive force.

You pant heavily eyes fluttering in a haze of pleasure as he increases the pace, his thigh smacking the back of yours with every thrust, the rhythm relentless, driving you up the wall until your toes barely touch the floor.

“Say it,” he demands, one hand snaking up to grip your throat, fingers pressing just enough to make your pulse race under his touch. “Say you love this.”

“I …hate you,” you curse, but it’s shaky, and breathless broken by the way he’s fucking you senseless.

He laughs low and mocking as his hips snap harder. “That’s not what I heard last night.” He says as his other hand slips between you and the wall, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing in tight, torturous circles. “Say it, baby. Say you’re my little slut.”

The pleasure is unbearable, his cock hitting so deep, his fingers circling relentlessly, and you hate how much you love it. “I’m yours,” you gasp, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

“Louder,” he taunts, thrusting so hard your body rocks against the wall, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing in the room. “Tell me what you are.”

“I’m your little slut,” you choke out, repeating it as he drives into you, each word punctuated by a thrust that makes you see stars. It’s humiliating, intoxicating, and it only makes you hotter, wetter, tighter around him.

“That’s right,” he rasps, his breaths ragged now, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to dizzy you. “You love this, don’t you? Love how I use you.”

You do. You let him. Your body trembles, pinned and obedient, every thrust shoving you closer to the edge. His hands are everywhere, gripping, bruising, teasing, like you’re nothing but a fuck toy for him, a mess of moans and pleas. “Austin,” you whimper, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer.

“Again,” he demands, his voice intense as he fucks you harder, his fingers pinching your clit in a way that’s both agony and ecstasy.

“Austin,” you cry, louder this time, your voice breaking as the pressure builds, coiling tight in your core.

“Beg me,” he taunts, his thrusts turning brutal, his thigh slamming against yours so hard it stings. “Beg me to let you come.”

“Please, Austin, let me come,” you sob, repeating it like a mantra, your pride shattering under the weight of how good he feels, how much you need him.

He groans, low and primal, and you feel him twitch inside of you, his control slipping.

“Come for me,” he demands, and it’s all you need. Your orgasm crashes over you, so intense it whites out your vision, your body convulsing against the wall as waves of pleasure rip through you.

He feels it as he groans, burying his cock deep, his thrusts punishing, riding out your climax as he chases his own. “I’m gonna come so fucking hard,” he grits, his voice strained, as he feels the slick warmth of your release coating his cock and dripping down your thighs.

You can’t respond, too lost in the aftershocks, your body going limp against the wall as he finishes with a final, shuddering thrust, spilling inside of you with a guttural sound.

Your legs shake, the fight completely drained out of you, leaving nothing but breathless exhaustion.

He leans into you, his breath heavy at the side of your neck, savoring how satisfying he feels in the aftermath.

“You good?” he asks, his voice softer now, as the tension fades.

You nod, still panting as he runs a hand through his long, sweat-damp hair pushing it back. “Knew you couldn’t resist me” he breathes as smug as ever.

You manage to turn your head just enough to glare at him. “I fucking hate you.”

He grins, leaning in close, his nose flicking against yours. “Yeah?” he says, his lips ghosting over yours, teasing and familiar. “Then why do you love me so much?”

END ❤️‍🔥

🔗 Masterlist

🏷️ Always Tag Me List

@purejasmine @burnthheparaphilia @butdaddyilovehim99 @austinbutlerfly @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @lindszeppelin @abswifey @aust-een @umika @feralgodmothers @megangovier @magicovento @obsessedvibee @austiebuttbutt @faegoddessog @dunevitani @unicoo @thejoywillburnoutthepain @jessica987 @slowsweetlove @hardcoredisneynerd @finley-08 @thegabbyh @thefallofthedamned @buckysteveloki-me @bucking-mustangs-with-wings @shegatsby @darlingisntit @lovereadingfanfic @denised916 @shockercoco @minispice-1 @i5uckersblog @ughdontbeboring @meetmeatyourworst @avidreader73 @xxmandaveexx @mamawiggers1980 @12joeywheelerfangirl @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @gravesdiggergirl @nostalgichoya @stars-remain2 @skulliecadaver-blog @jjubilee-fluff

[snail-day]

Inked

Yan!Suguru x Reader

Previous // Part Two // Masterlist

TW: Slight Yandere Behaviors, Modern! AU, Dubious Professionalism, Power imbalance, Nipple piercings, MDNI

Tattoo Artist!Suguru who definitely wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon. Plays it off all cool, the same welcoming smile, low hum of recognition as you sit down, but his bright, violet eyes scan you quickly, taking in your outfit, your expression, the way you’re fidgeting with the hem of your shirt like you're working up the courage to say something.

He’s halfway through your touch-up when you finally ask.

“So… um. About nipple piercings…”

Suguru blinks. His hand stills, machine still buzzing as his grip tightens. He glances up, dark, thin brows lifting slightly, surprised. Not that you remembered, but that you actually followed through.

“Really?” he says, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t think you’d go for it.”

You’re bashful, almost squirming in his chair as you nod. Something he would've teased you about if you hadn't just thrown a curve ball at him. “I’ve been thinking about it. A lot.”

God. He has to refocus on the tattoo before he does something stupid like seem a little too eager, smile a little too wide. “You know I do them here, right?” His voice is light, teasing, but there's a subtle edge underneath it. “I’ll even do it for free - since you came all this way.”

You start to object - money, fairness, something about feeling bad - but it doesn’t matter. You’re here. You asked. And he’s not letting anyone else touch you.

So when the tattoo’s finished, he cleans up quietly, then turns to face you, snapping on a fresh pair of gloves.

“You still want it?” he asks gently.

You pause, chewing your bottom lip before admitting, “I was wondering if maybe… a female artist could do it instead?”

Suguru laughs, soft and disarming, though there’s something glittering behind his eyes now. “Don’t you trust me?” he asks, voice dipped in honey. “I promise I’m professional. I’ve done dozens. You’ll be in good hands.”

You hesitate… then slowly nod. Can't help the feeling of your cheeks warming up at the way his eyes seem to drop to your shirt.

He swears he doesn’t rush the prep, but his hands are moving quickly, sanitizing tools, laying out sterile jewelry, prepping clamps. He’s too focused, too stiff in his movements, which is how you know he’s trying to contain himself. Trying to ignore the pressing hard-on. Trying to ignore the lingering thoughts of what a beauty like yourself looks like naked.

He gestures for you to sit up straight on the chair and remove your shirt. “It’s just us,” he assures, voice low. “Take your time.”

But the second your top comes off?

Suguru freezes. Not obviously, no. His face stays calm. His gloves keep moving. But his gaze dips - lingers - just a second too long. Mouth salivating. Trying not to bite his lip at how perfect your buds are. Better than anything he could imagine. Your chest is all soft and warm, nipples already hardening from the cool air, and it’s killing him that he has to touch you like this under the guise of procedure. He marks each side carefully, asking you to look in the mirror. His gloved fingers brush over your skin, tugging gently to center each dot.

He kneels in front of you to line things up and - fuck - he has to take a breath. One hand spreads your chest just slightly, thumb resting just under your nipple, holding it still as the other hand preps the clamp.

“Deep breath,” he murmurs, those pretty violet eyes flicking up to your face. “Ready?”

You nod, hitching a breath.

He pierces you slowly, smoothly, a soft grunt escaping you as the needle slides through. He follows with the barbell, threading it with precision. Then the other side. The same process. The same slow, delicate handling. Only the best for his girl.

It’s supposed to be clinical. Quick. Efficient. But it feels too intimate. The drag of his covered, latex thumb. The closeness of his face. His steady breathing, that makes your skin tingle. The way his voice softens as he murmurs praise, “You’re doing so well,” and, “Almost done, sugar.”

When it's over, you're flushed and avoiding his eyes as you slip your shirt back on. He removes his gloves, tossing them into the bin, before asking - casual, too casual - “So… what made you decide to get them?”

You pause before answering, and for a moment he wonders - hopes - you’ll say him.

But instead, you give him a really pretty, dazed smile and say, “My boyfriend. He’s an artist too. Thought I’d look cute with them. It's a surprise for him.”

Suguru just stares, finally a single blink. Then a slow, practiced smile spreads across his face, cool as a cucumber.

“Lucky guy,” Suguru says smoothly, though there's a barely-there crack in his voice. “He’s got good taste. I’m sure he’s going to love them.”

The words roll off his tongue with ease, but his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. Without missing a beat, he transitions into explaining how to care for your new piercings - what to clean with, what to avoid, how long it’ll take to heal. His tone stays calm, professional. Words well rehearsed.

But inside, he’s reeling. He won’t let it show, the twitch in his fingers, the heat crawling up his neck. He’s not thinking about the way your chest looked under the soft lighting of the studio, or how your lips parted when you winced, or how his gloved fingers brushed your skin so delicately. He’s not imagining the bounce of your body on someone's cock, someone else's hands on your hips, someone else's mouth on your chest.

Someone else enjoying what he got to see first.

His warm palm should be the one grazing against your newly pierced nipples. His mouth should be the one murmuring praise, not some faceless boyfriend with "good taste."

Later, after you're gone, he stares at your number in his contacts. Thumb hovering over the screen. No messages sent. The memory of your bare chest, your bitten lip, the tiny wince when the needle pierced through - all of it is burned into his mind like ink into skin.

He’s professional. Of course he is. But he’s thinking about you a lot. By the time the studio closes, he’s already on his phone, typing into Instagram:

“Tattoo artists near me.”

Just to see who this mystery boyfriend is. Just to see the face of the man who thinks he can touch what Suguru has already claimed.

[ryewwww]

⚠️: coercion, dark!price, vulnerable!reader, age gap, fem!reader,

Sick and twisted, but thinking about growing up dirt poor, living in a camper with your mom until she abandoned you at 18.

She was a workaholic, went to the city to work which was about a 2 hour drive away from the small town you reside in. Your mom claimed she couldn’t afford the price of rent in the city and raising a teen, which you understood.

But when she abandoned you, it was clear that wasn’t the case. You were just a burden to her.

But what can you do?

Life goes on.

And right now, you were facing a bigger problem. In this tiny town, you were having trouble finding a job. Your mom had blind sided you and rent was due in a few days. You only had $100 to your name.

You landlords were keen on getting you kicked from their land because they found tenants that will pay more. So you packed your life away in a carry on suit-case, and got out of there.

You sat in a McDonald’s for the free wifi while searching for resources that could help you. But nothing was provided by the town, it all was located in the city. Just when you started to feel hopeless, John Price entered the picture.

He noticed the suitcase and that combined with the glum look on your pretty face, made him get off his ass to come talk to you.

“Looks like you’ve got yourself in a shit situation here.”

Your head snaps from your phone, meeting the eyes of this middle aged man. “Yeah, I do I suppose.”

“Mind if I take a seat?”

You do mind but you were meek. So you nodded.

He takes a seat, “you new to town? Not many people come down here to visit, unless you’re lost.”

“No, I grew up here. I’m just trying to figure out my living situation.” You laugh awkwardly and all Price can think about is how you made it too fucking easy.

“Sorry to hear that, bun. If you need a place to crash, I have an old rv I want to get rid of. You could have it for $1000.”

“I don’t have that much money. It’s hard, nobody’s hiring around here.”

“I live on a farm. I could always use a hand. Work for me for a couple of days, and the rv is yours.”

“Really?”

He nods.

You go back to his farm too easily, Price could only wonder if your parents ever taught you about stranger danger.

He pulls into the long driveway and you see the older rv parked in the grass. He lets you check it out and the inside was well kept. There was nothing wrong with it mechanically either so, you could take this rv to the city where you’d have a greater chance of becoming something.

You were so excited and grateful for this opportunity, it almost made Price feel bad about doing this. You were so naive to his true intentions. His intentions on keeping you on this farm, fucking a few kids into you, putting a band around your ring finger, maybe letting his buddy get a taste of you too.

He’d do shit in the most twisted ways too. Like cutting some crucial wires in your rv so now it won’t start. When he “takes a look,” he says the wildlife around must’ve chewed through it. You ask how much it would cost to repair and he gives a number you can’t even fathom.

But he knows someone who could do it. And he’ll pay for it, as long as he gets something in return. When you ask what he wants, his hand cups your chin.

“I want you to put this pretty little mouth to work.”

And you do.

He keeps fucking shit up in your rv while you’re busy combing the horses hair or feeding the chickens. When you come back, your generator isn’t working and it’s freezing.

“How much will it cost to fix the generator?” You ask softly, looking over his shoulders while he “attempted” to fix it.

He stands, “we can talk about it inside.” The “talk” ends up with you warming his bed, his hands on your waist guiding you to ride him faster.

Things kept breaking in your rv and you kept getting quieter because of it. John could see the hope that once lit up your eyes was withering away. So he decided to call his mechanic just to get a little spark from you.

Too bad for you, when mechanic!Simon lays his eyes on you, he gives Price a knowing look.

You weren’t going any fucking where.

Another unedited blurb. If you want more, let me know :)))

[walkingd3adman]

Headcannon of arthur morgan having a crush on you and hyping himself up on asking you out on a date

The way I immediately had an idea for this is crazy 💀

I ended up turning this more into a story than headcannons…but I’m happy with it lmao and it turned out super cute 🫶

WARNINGS‼️: Reader implied to wear a dress and have hair, they/them pronouns, use of Y/n, a lil bit of cussing, Arthur pining over reader, a bit of angst, mention of death, alcohol

———————————————————————

This man is actually so shy and nervous around Y/n. Like it’s kinda sad.

He would always stare at Y/n every chance he got. Not in a creepy way or anything like that. More of a protecter looking over the person he’s supposed to protect.

If that makes any sense at all.

He would find himself accidentally staring at them throughout the day, stealing little glances every chance he got.

Arthur was starting to stress a bit. He’s not stupid, he immediately recognizes his own feelings…

Love.

And that scares him.

Terrifies him.

After what happened with Eliza and Issac - even Mary…He’s scared to give love a shot again.

But…something about Y/n is different. They seem so freewheeling and careless about how they look, or how others think of them. Being such a sweetheart at times, just to do a 180 when someone or something pisses them off.

He’s certainly not getting any younger…and besides, what harm will one little date do..?

He can do this! He can do thi-

“Hi, Arthur.”

He freezes in place as he hears Y/n’s voice.

“What are you up to?” They ask, tilting their head to the side slightly in curiosity.

“Oh- uh. Nothing really…Just uh..Y’know.” He panics. ‘Just uh Y’know’??? What was that Arthur…you’re trying to ask them out, not make a fool of yourself!

“Oh. Well, Pearson wanted me to tell you that we need more food.” Y/n replies with a small smile, finding his nerves quite amusing.

———————————————————————

A few days have passed since this…rather embarrassing interaction.

Arthur had just returned from a long ride, the sun set a few hours ago. He really needed some time to think to himself.

He dismounts his horse and hitches her up, glancing in the direction of Y/n’s tent, just to see that they are still awake.

They seem to be the only ones awake right now…Well, except for Charles who’s on guard duty just outside of camp. But, he won’t bother them.

Arthur starts tapping his right foot. “‘May I take you to dinner?’ No..too formal. ‘Would you like to go on a date with me?’ Ok that’s straightforward. That works. I could take em to a picnic..yeah, yeah that’s cute. I got the stuff I need. I got this. I got this.” He grabs his flask and takes a swig of gin, hoping it’ll boost his confidence some more.

He puts the flask back in his satchel and starts walking towards Y/n’s direction, where they are sitting right outside of their tent.

Y/n looks up as they see Arthur approaching.

“Y/n w-“ Arthur starts to speak, but the adrenaline and confidence immediately drains as he makes eye contact with them.

“Yes?” Y/n asks, urging him to go on.

“You uh- you hungry?” Okay…that works I suppose..

“Kind of. Why do you ask?” The confusion in their voice is evident, as it is an odd thing to ask if someone’s hungry at about two in the morning.

“Well I’ve got some food…and drinks..I thought it would be nice for us to go and eat by that river..it’s close to camp.” He holds his breath and it seems as if an eternity passes every second that they’re silent.

Y/n stands from their place on the ground. “Arthur Morgan, are you asking me on a date?” They giggle as Arthur’s face turns a light shade of pink.

“No- Well yes. I mean, I just thought it’d be nice..?”

Y/n smiles and smooths out their dress. “It would be nice.” Holy shit. He thought he was about to get rejected…but he couldn’t of gotten a better answer.

Arthur holds his hand out to them, intertwining his fingers with theirs as they both walk towards Arthur’s horse.

He puts his hands on their waist and lifts them up, placing them on the back on his horse and making sure they’re secure. He then hops on her and grabs onto the reins, gently kicking her to set a slow pace. Y/n wraps their arms around Arthur and holds on tightly, resting their head against his back.

As they leave camp, Charles raised an eyebrow and lets out a small huff of amusement.

———————————————————————

Arthur slows his horse to a complete stop as they reach the river he was talking about. He gets off first and then helps Y/n down.

“Turn around for a minute.” He says and gently nudges their shoulder with his.

Y/n does what he says without question and turns around, facing the woods.

Arthur works quick, grabbing a blanket that he keeps on his horse and laying it down near the river bed. He grabs some cooked deer meat, blueberries, and some wine that he had picked up on his ride earlier.

Y/n feels hands go around their eyes and they gasp. “Just me. It’s alright.” Arthur reassures. He keeps his hands over their eyes and guides them over to the spot. He slowly lowers his hands. “It’s uh…It’s not much, but you can go ahead and open your eyes.”

Y/n opens their eyes, and this time, gasps out of amazement. Sure, it doesn’t look like much, but an act like this coming from Arthur Morgan? It’s impressive.

“Oh, Arthur. This is beautiful.” They smile, walking a bit closer and taking a seat on the blanket that’s made of bison fur.

“Thank you…I tried.” He takes a seat next to them.

———————————————————————

They both ate, drank, and talked like there was no tomorrow. Sleepiness hit them both at what seemed to be the same time.

They’re not sure how it happened…but Y/n was laying on Arthur’s chest, listening to his heartbeat while Arthur played with their hair in silence.

They could stay like this forever…

But they can’t. And that’s the sad reality of it, as Arthur always has work to do.

[iyoonjh]

Beyond Plus Ultra! – The anatomy of falling in love

Chapter 9: A New Challenger Approaches! (It’s My Feelings, and I’m Losing the Battle)

wc: 2624 words + texting hehe

Soobin was spiraling.

He was lying on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, phone resting precariously on his chest like it was a ticking time bomb. It had been four hours since Y/N had handed him her phone, flashing that easy, knowing smile before saying, "You'll need my number."

Like it was no big deal.

Like she hadn’t just completely upended his entire existence.

His mind had been looping through the moment on repeat, analyzing every possible meaning behind her words, her tone, the way she had looked at him.

Because the truth—the ugly, embarrassing truth—was that Soobin had never really considered himself to be someone a girl like her would ever look at like that.

She was Y/N.

She walked into a room and people noticed. Her world was loud, exciting, effortless. She had the kind of confidence that came with knowing exactly who you were, and somehow, she had managed to exist in both worlds—cool enough to fit in with the party crowd, but genuine enough to sit in a tiny manga shop on a Friday night and laugh at Beomgyu’s terrible jokes.

And then there was him.

Soobin had spent most of his life blending in. His friends were the ones who had big personalities—Yeonjun, who was so apologetic himself that people were curious about him, Beomgyu, who never shut up but somehow got away with it. Soobin had always been the one in the background, content with his books, his games, his photos, his safe, predictable world.

And yet, somehow, she had stepped right into it.

And now she had given him her number.

Which meant she expected him to use it.

And therein lay the problem.

What the hell was he supposed to say?

"Hey, it’s Soobin."

Too basic.

"Hey, it’s Soobin. I hope your bag survives the coke disaster."

Too unfunny.

"Hey, it’s Soobin. Do you actually enjoy my company or were you just doing charity work?"

Too honest.

Truth be told, he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Lying on his bed, bathed in the soft glow of his bedside lamp, Soobin felt like he was coming apart at the seams—in the gentlest way possible. Like the thought of her was unraveling something deep inside him, something warm and unfamiliar, something he wasn’t sure he knew how to hold.

Her face was etched into his mind, delicate details replaying like a favorite scene in a movie. The way her cheeks flushed under the summer heat, that pretty shade of pink that made his heart stutter. The way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled, turning into little crescents, like she was made entirely of sunlight. And god, her smile. That effortless, breathtaking curve of her lips that sent something soft and aching through his chest.

He turned onto his side, hugging his pillow a little closer, as if that could somehow bring him closer to her.

Did she even know?

Did she have any idea what she was doing to him?

Soobin let out a slow breath, staring at his phone, fingers hovering over the screen. He wanted to talk to her. So badly. He wanted to know what she was doing, if she was awake, if she was lying in bed like he was, if she was thinking about him too.

He was pathetic.

But he couldn’t bring himself to text her.

Because the truth was, his feelings for her were too big, too overwhelming, too much.

And Soobin had never been good at handling things that felt too much.

So instead, he sighed, closed his eyes, and let himself drown in the thought of her—soft and sweet and just out of reach.

It was frustrating to him. He had always been good at managing expectations.

He knew where he stood in life. He wasn’t the guy people noticed first in a room, wasn’t the one who commanded attention without trying. He was just Soobin—quiet, reserved, the guy people liked well enough but never really chased after.

And that was fine. He had never needed that.

Until Y/N.

Until she came along and rearranged everything he thought he knew. He wanted to be noticed, to be remembered, to be liked –by her. 

But deep down, in the part of himself he hated acknowledging, Soobin was scared to death.

Scared that if he texted her, if he let himself believe—even for a second—that she might actually want to talk to him, he’d be proven wrong.

And that?

That would be worse than never texting at all.

Because if he texted her and she replied with a polite but distant message, if she laughed it off or didn’t respond at all, then he’d have definitive proof that this was all in his head. That he had let himself get caught up in something that was never real.

And wasn’t that the worst part?

This felt real.

The way she had stayed late at the manga shop, actually enjoying herself instead of leaving the second she got bored. The way she had laughed at his jokes—not pity laughter, but actual, genuine laughter, like she actually thought he was funny. The way she had looked at him, talked to him, teased him like she wanted to know him better.

It felt real.

But what if he was wrong?

What if she had just been passing time? What if she had only stayed because Heeseung and Beomgyu made it fun? What if she had given him her number just to be nice?

Soobin groaned, running his hands through his hair. His thoughts were looping, pulling him deeper into a spiral he couldn’t escape. He couldn't stay still. His hands were sore because –guess what– he didn't even own a washing machine, so he just scrubbed Y/N's bag by hand. Why the hell would he offer to wash her bag? Was he that desperate?

He needed someone to talk him out of this.

And unfortunately, there was only one person who was both emotionally capable and annoying enough to force him to face reality. Also the only possible option in his friend group who had previously dealt with girl problems.

Soobin grabbed his phone and texted:

Soobin: are you home

Yeonjun: depends, why?

Soobin: …i need advice

Yeonjun: go on

Soobin had barely knocked on Yeonjun’s door before his older friend yanked it open, grinning like he had been waiting for this exact moment.

"You know, I don’t think you’ve ever willingly asked me for advice before," Yeonjun said, leaning against the doorframe. "This must be serious."

Soobin sighed. "I’m already regretting this."

"Too late," Yeonjun said cheerfully, stepping aside. "Come in, my emotionally repressed child."

Soobin rolled his eyes but walked inside anyway, dropping onto the couch like he was physically exhausted from the weight of his own thoughts. Yeonjun followed, sitting across from him, arms folded.

"Alright," Yeonjun said. "Hit me."

Soobin hesitated. "It’s about Y/N."

Yeonjun barely stopped himself from smirking. "Shocking."

Soobin ignored him. "She gave me her number."

Yeonjun raised an eyebrow. "Go on…"

"And I haven’t texted her yet."

Yeonjun tilted his head. "Why not?"

Soobin exhaled, slumping further into the couch. "Because—because what if this doesn’t mean anything? What if she was just being polite? What if she gave it to me out of pity or because she didn’t want to make things awkward?"

Yeonjun stared at him.

"…Are you dumb?"

Soobin frowned. "Excuse me?"

Yeonjun leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Dude. She gave you her number. Not Beomgyu, not Heeseung—you. Do you think she’s out here handing out her contact information like free samples at a grocery store?"

Soobin opened his mouth, then shut it.

Yeonjun sighed, rubbing his temples. "Let me get this straight. A girl—you know, the same girl you’ve been silently pining over in silence for god knows how long—specifically made an effort to talk to you, had a great time, and then gave you her number. And instead of being over the moon about it, you’re sitting here acting like it’s a trap?"

Soobin groaned, covering his face with his hands. "I don’t know how to do this."

Yeonjun snorted. "How to do what? Text a girl? Bro. You text us all the time."

"This is different."

"Why?"

Soobin hesitated.

Because it was her.

Because Y/N wasn’t like anyone else.

Because talking to her, being around her, even just thinking about her made him feel like he was in uncharted territory.

Yeonjun softened slightly, watching him struggle for words. "Soobin," he said, voice calmer this time. "Do you like her?"

Soobin froze.

Did he?

The answer was obvious, and yet the second Yeonjun said it out loud, it felt too big. Too real.

Soobin swallowed. "It doesn’t matter."

Yeonjun frowned. "Why not?"

"Because she’s—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "She’s just better."

Yeonjun blinked. "Better?"

Soobin stared at his hands. "She’s—she’s just the kind of person people are drawn to. You’ve seen her. She’s funny, she’s smart, she’s—" He let out a bitter laugh. "She’s the type of girl who belongs at parties, in loud rooms, with people who match her energy. Not in a manga shop with a guy who literally forgot how to speak when she asked him out for ice cream."

Yeonjun was quiet for a moment.

Then, he sighed. "You know, you’re really good at putting yourself down. But you’re terrible at seeing what’s right in front of you."

Soobin frowned. "What does that mean?"

"It means Y/N doesn’t care about any of that."

Soobin stilled.

Yeonjun leaned back. "You’re right about one thing—Y/N could be anywhere, with anyone. So why do you think she keeps coming back to you?"

Soobin’s breath caught.

Because she did keep coming back.

To the manga shop. To their conversations. To him.

Maybe… maybe that meant something.

Yeonjun stretched his arms behind his head, grinning. "Look, man. I can’t make you believe it. But if you keep waiting for proof that you’re ‘good enough’ for her, you’re gonna miss your chance."

Soobin swallowed.

He looked down at his phone.

And for the first time all night, he didn’t hesitate.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂

Y/N was waiting.

And she hated waiting.

She sat cross-legged on the couch, phone resting in her lap, glaring at the screen like she could will a message into existence. But the chat remained stubbornly empty, the small text bubble that should have read unknown number missing entirely from her notifications.

It had been four hours since she gave him her number.

Four. Hours.

Not that she was counting.

(Except she totally was.)

She scrolled through her texts again, as if something might have magically appeared in the last five seconds. Nothing. Radio silence.

Yunjin, who had been watching her with increasing amusement from the other side of the couch, finally raised an eyebrow. "Okay. I can’t take it anymore. What’s with the sulking?"

"I’m not sulking," Y/N said immediately.

Jungwon, who was sitting on the floor with Jake, playing some random game on Jake’s Switch, snorted. "You’re literally pouting right now."

"I always pout," she grumbled, hugging a pillow to her chest.

Jake didn’t even look up from his game. "Is this about Soobin?"

Y/N froze.

Yunjin’s eyes lit up. "Oh my god," she gasped, turning fully to face her. "This is about Soobin, isn’t it?"

"It’s not—!" Y/N started, then groaned when she saw their smug faces. "Okay, fine. Maybe. A little."

Jungwon paused the game, finally paying attention. "What did he do?"

Y/N exhaled dramatically. "He hasn’t texted me."

A beat of silence.

Then—

Jake blinked. "That’s it?"

Y/N glared. "What do you mean that’s it?!"

Jake held up his hands. "I mean… you gave him your number, right?"

"Yes!"

"So… maybe he just needs time?"

Yunjin scoffed. "Jake, you would text someone in point two seconds if you liked them. Time is a social construct to you."

"Okay, rude," Jake muttered. "But fair."

Y/N slumped against the couch, pressing her forehead into the pillow. "What if he’s not texting because he doesn’t want to? What if I misread everything?"

Jungwon tilted his head. "You think he doesn’t like you?"

Y/N lifted her head just enough to give him a look. "I don’t know! What if he was just being nice? What if he gave me friend energy and I was out here thinking I had a chance? What if—"

Yunjin groaned, cutting her off. "No. Absolutely not. We’re not doing this."

Y/N frowned. "Doing what?"

"This!" Yunjin gestured wildly. "This nervous, self-doubting, spiral thing. Since when do you overthink like this? You literally never care what people think."

Y/N huffed, hugging the pillow tighter. "Soobin’s different."

That shut them up for a second.

Jungwon gave her a thoughtful look. "How different?"

Y/N hesitated. She had been avoiding saying it—saying what she already knew to be true. Especially now, sitting here, surrounded by the people who knew her best, she couldn't bring herself to say the words she was obsessively thinking about. 

Jake’s eyebrows shot up at her silence.

Jungwon grinned. Ever the responsible one, leaned his elbows on his knees. "Okay, but why are you scared he doesn’t like you back?"

Y/N bit her lip. "Because he’s—" She exhaled sharply. "He’s Soobin, okay? He’s shy, awkward, and insanely smart. And I’m just… me."

Jake and Jungwon exchanged a look.

Yunjin’s face twisted. "Y/N. You sound like an idiot."

Y/N blinked. "Excuse me?"

Jungwon cut in, shaking his head. "No way. Soobin is 100% freaking out right now."

Y/N frowned. "And how do you know that?"

Jungwon leaned back, folding his arms. "Because, Y/N, I know you. And if there is one thing you’re not, it’s subtle. You probably gave him your number in the most terrifyingly confident way possible, and now he’s at home, overthinking every moment of the interaction and panicking."

Y/N blinked.

Jake nodded. "Yeah. That tracks."

Yunjin gasped dramatically. "This is a cinematic plot no joke, he is probably not believing his life right now"

Y/N frowned. "What do you mean?"

Jake gestured vaguely. "You’re, like… you. You're easy to talk to, you make people like you without trying, and you’re literally the most effortlessly cool person I’ve ever met."

Jungwon raised an eyebrow. "Soobin, on the other hand, probably thinks you’re out of his league."

Y/N froze.

That… had never even occurred to her.

She had spent all day spiraling, wondering if maybe she had misread things—if maybe she liked him more than he liked her. But what if… what if he had been spiraling just as hard?

What if he was sitting in his room right now, staring at his phone, too nervous to text her?

But before she could overthink into it a lot more—

Her phone buzzed.

She froze.

Yunjin screamed.

“OH MY GOD.”

Jake dropped the Switch, launching himself to the couch almost on top of Y/N, trying to read the message. “WAIT. NO WAY.”

Jungwon grinned, like he had predicted this exact moment. “Told you.”

Y/N stared at the screen, heart pounding as an unknown number flashed across her notifications.

Unknown Number: hey, it's soobin

Her breath caught.

She swallowed, blinking at the words, her fingers hovering over the screen like she had forgotten how to function.

Jake peered over her phone. “You just manifested the shit out of this man”

Jungwon nodded approvingly. “That’s peak Y/N behavior.”

Y/N exhaled sharply, trying to fight the smile tugging at her lips.

prev | masterlist | next

profiles: d&d saturday mass group | bling bling losers

author's note: hiii guys!! happy monday to you all! class, they are flirting, yes soobie boobie is actively flirting. what do you all think about this chapter? the next 3 chapters are gonna be something i tell you that hehe!! <3

taglist: @heejamas @mingyustar @wintereals @mimimiloomeelomi @wonderstrucktae @delirioastral @gomdoleemyson @i03jae @irishspringing @bunniwords @kirbrary @sirenla @saladgirl @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @uvyuri @imlonelydontsendhelp @haechology @sanriwoozzz @stormy1408 @soobinieswife @ijustwannareadstuff20 @soobskz @jkeydiary @imnotsureokay @nyanzzn @lostgirlysstuff @lilbrorufr @beomgyusluver @lveegsoi

[hyeinspo]

C　८ 𐔌 . ⋮DAMIAN WAYNE .꒱ !! .. CHAPTER 1 ♡ !!

𝜗𝜚 𐔌 ﹒ LOVE is a mysterious thing ౨ৎ meeting Damian Wayne for the first time was a dull experience. You truly hoped you could get on good terms with him and become his bestfriend even. However working on that project takes a turn.

( .ᐟ ୨୧) ── ⠀⠀⠀swearing, refer to page one, hyein coded, also can’t remember if their school has a uniform so kind of guessed. Mind you that she’s supposed to be similar to Hyein. Also please read in dark mode with a computer for best experiance. Headcanons for chapter one will be posted in a while.

── ⠀⠀Love is right here unexpectedly waiting for you to turn the key, but you’ll never know what awaits you , or what's in store.

╰┈➤. ♰⠀𝖍𝖞𝖊𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖕𝖔 𓈒 previous 、next ⠀⠀⠀♰⠀

.☘︎ ݁˖ ➤ 𝜗𝜚 AUTHORS’ + 2ND POV

Getting ready for school was probably the worst part. Sure, it gave that unruly release of dopamine, but waking up and having to do your makeup and put on your terribly unfitting uniform was the worst. “Everything looks good, just kind of hoping nobody swarms me as soon as I walk in.” Looking in your pocket mirror, making sure everything is natural and cute-looking. The car ride was the most awkward thing in the world; starting your first day of school wasn’t going to be so bad, right? I mean, it’s Gotham; nobody is going to know you. If you were a theorist, you would immediately get fired on the first day of your job. You were dead wrong; trying to find the principal’s office was the hardest thing known to man. “Wait, wait, can I get your picture?” Of course you didn’t want to seem rude, but also you just woke up and didn’t want to be late to your first day of school. “Sure!” As you watch the girl pull out her camera, you pose whilst she takes the photo. And of course, they all run off afterward; it kind of sucks.

Being used to the core, people are asking for photos every time you try to get to the office. However you got there on time, with an unpleasant Damian sitting down. “Hi, I’m sorry for the holdup, photos and everything, you know how it is.” You then sat down next to Damian. You could hear him muttering something under his breath, obviously too vague to hear properly. “This is Damian Wayne, Damian, this is ____.” You then reached your hand to give him a handshake; he gave you a firm and gentle nod instead, putting your hand down embarrassed. “You’ll be her tour guide. I also trust that you two will find comfort in each other since you’re both young and influential.”

You looked down; you didn’t know that he was of high status. I mean, by the last name, how did you not spot it? But it’s whatever; all that matters is that you have someone to relate to. You then give him a warm smile that was more of a peace treaty to not get on his bad side. “Well then, go.” As you two go outside, it is fairly awkward and quiet; you decide to break the silence by saying something, "So, Damian, I don't know much, but are you Bruce's son?" He looked at you as if you said the most utterly noticeable thing in the world. He just gave you a light nod just to show that he was listening, not wanting to give you small talk.

"We share the same classes, so just follow me, ok?' He was blunt but also tried showing a bare minimum of hospitality to you. You then nodded back to him as you approached the door of the classroom, slowly creaking the door open. You decided to sit next to Damian due to the fact people just want photos and pictures all the time; you were kind of surprised that Damian was able to push most of it off. You could feel stares darting at you left and right. You could hear the flash and flicker of cameras and phones, people snapping photos every now and then. As class started, you decided to prepare yourself. "Today we will be working on a project, that project being pretty simple. You and your partner will have to write separate papers and switch every ten minutes. This is an at-home project, but first pick your partner and let's begin from there." As the teacher gave the signal, everyone huddled around you and Damian.

All you heard was, "Can I be your partner?" or "You should pick me!' Honestly, they were glazing you to the core, overbearingly bad. I mean, you weren't as popular in the western world as you thought you were. But now this is bad, and you just have to sit here and pick. Making an intuitive decision, you had looked to your left. Seeing Damian, you decided to pick him out of everybody. You had whispered to Damian, asking if you could be his partner, "Could I work with you? Being totally honest, I don't even know half of these people, and you probably hate most of them."

He listened to your opposition and decided that you may be right, but he sits in contemplation wondering how smart you can really be. By all means, you were young and inexperienced, and this could go downhill quickly if he doesn't play his cards right. If he lets you get too close, you could potentially know everything and potentially risk your life. However, he would have an excuse to not go to his dad's events for a while. He sighed in defeat and gave you a tiny, "Sure." As everybody heard that you had asked him instead, they had retreated to their seats, picking their own partners. As partner picking came to an end, the teacher had described the instructions in more detail to the best of their abilities.

As class ended, the day had slowly progressed coming to an end. Of course many things had happened in-between, but that would be a boring story. So when Damian had met up with Jon, his best friend he was hoping there would be a bit of peace and quiet from the world; the world to him being you. "So you and that new girl, what's up with that?" Damian looked as pissed off as he was about to sound. "Nothing is up, she's new and inexperienced, I have to tour her." Jon can sense things from a while away. "Is that so?" Damian nodded his head in response complete oblivious as to what Jon was about to say to him. "So why is she now currently behind you?" As Damian had turned around, you were right there. Jon chuckling a bit to his core. "So, with that I'll leave you two be." He then gave both of them a soft smile and left.

"Damian, I was wondering, can we start the project tonight, I'm really busy throughout most of the days so I really want to get started. And it can it be at your house? I share a house with all of my members and staff so yeah.” Damian looked at you crazily, as if you had said something out of line. He understood your point of view and how you were, he tried to be helpful because you were just trying to get your stuff done. “Alright, we can do that.” Luckily he had chosen to become a tad bit nice, it was more for his own benefit of course.

As you were about to exclaim your absolute joy, he paused you. “But, on one condition. You can’t exit my room, you stay in there the whole entire time, don’t go wondering on.” You were a tad bit skeptical but you accepted it as this was your best option. He saw that you agreed with simply just a hint of gleam in your eyes, so he immediately started walking on with you trailing behind to the car. As you two had ventured off to Wayne manor, you were immediately greeted by Alfred.

However due to Damian just being, Damian, he immediately went off and started to show the path to his room. “Are you coming?” Of course you had to stop the chit chat with Alfred and immediately follow Damian as if you were a lap dog to him, which obviously bothered you. As you stepped up and went Damian’s room, you took all the supplies you needed and he closed the door shut; it was for the best he didn’t want anyone to walk in having you in there. But of course all good things come to an end, like keeping you cooped up in there just so you don’t see his family.

END OF CHAPTER 1

— I really spent a long time with this, and there’s obvious errors but I hope you enjoy it^^

[coolgrl111]

Idk if you're taking bot rqs rn, but if you are, can you do a Connor Murphy bot and his gf has to attend his funeral

-🪱

a/n: STOP this is so sad!! i wanted to try my best to write it as well, hope you enjoy…. shedding tears as we speak 😖😖

connor murphy bot link

—

you don’t cry at the funeral.

everyone expects you to, of course. you can feel their lingering eyes on you. hear their soft whispers. their pitying glances. teachers who recognise you from the hallways but don’t know what to say.

mrs. murphy pulls you in for a hug that lasts a little too long. she smells like vanilla and maybe something artificial. when she lets go, she presses a single red rose into your hands, her fingers cold and shaking.

“thank you for coming,” she murmurs, like you could have stayed away. like you would ever consider not attending, standing in the damp grass, staring at a casket that shouldn’t even exist.

you place the rose on top of it with the others. red against the reflecting polished wood. it looks wrong. all of this looks wrong.

the priest is talking, something about healing and grief, but his voice fades in and out like a radio signal that won’t quite tune in. you don’t want to hear it anyway. the grief you are feeling isn’t irreversible. you already know there’s no healing from this. no coming back from the space connor left behind.

someone sniffles behind you. you wonder if it’s real. if they actually miss him, or if they just feel like they should. no one treated him kindly while he was alive. why pretend to care now?

there are too many people here. more than he would have expected. more than he would have wanted. some of them are people who hated him. people who laughed at him in the halls, who whispered his name like a sick joke.

you want to turn around and ask them where all this kindness was when he was alive. maybe to even sock them in the face, like they truly deserved. some sick fantasy in your head wished that it was them in the casket and not your beloved boyfriend.

but you just stand there, your hands curled into fists at your sides, your nails biting into your palms.

you think about the last time you saw him.

the way he looked at you, like he was already halfway gone. the way his voice cracked when he said your name.

“i’m just so tired.”

you should have held on harder.

you should have told him that he was wanted. that he was needed.

that he was loved.

but the words are worthless now. they belong to the living.

connor is gone.

your connor is gone.

you think about all the widowed women around you. the ones dressed in black with their hands folded neatly in their laps, faces drawn tight like they’ve spent years practicing grief. most of them are old, the way widows are supposed to be. you wonder how they do it. how they wake up every morning knowing the person they loved is never coming back.

you always thought being widowed came with age. that it was something that happened after a long life spent together, when the hair turns gray and the bodies grow frail.

but you feel like a widow.

an 18 year old, a teenager. a widow. it just didn’t feel right.

connor was yours. even when he pushed you away, even when he got lost inside his own head, even when you fought and it felt like neither of you could ever win—you were his, and he was yours.

but now, there was nothing.

tag list: @newrochellechallenger2019 @melancholicmelanin @elliotlovesmacncheese

(if you want to be tagged in my work, dm or comment!)

[deezee112]

The good ending : Not Ready to Be a Parent

The worst ending 27 | Special ending

Yandere!Twisted Wonderland x GN!Reader

A/N : Everyone! I never thought we’d make it to this ending. Thank you all so much for following along until now I really appreciate it!

Right now, I’m planning a special episode ( which explores what would happen if we didn’t die ) for all the characters!

I’m also working on the storyline for Season 2. It shouldn’t take too long, but the special ending will probably be much longer than usual. This chapter might be a bit short, but I think it turned out really well!

Tags :

@iris-arcadia @yuu-twisted

If you want me to tag you please tell me.

English is not my first language.

You stared at the doll, now seated upright on your couch, its unsettlingly realistic features illuminated by the soft morning light filtering through your apartment’s curtains. It was a child almost somewhere between eight and twelve years old, with smooth skin, delicate features, and glassy eyes that seemed far too lifelike.

Your fingers drummed against your arm as you stood there, watching it. The clothes it wore were plain, just a simple shirt and pants, but they somehow made it seem even more human. Like a real child sitting there, waiting for you to say something.

You exhaled sharply. “ What the hell am I supposed to do with you? ”

Of course, the doll didn’t answer.

You turned away and headed for the kitchen, needing coffee before you could deal with this mess. The rich, bitter scent filled the air as you poured yourself a cup, taking a slow sip while trying to think logically. Crowley had given you next to no instructions beyond take care of it, as if that were a simple task.

Feed it. Talk to it. Treat it like a real child.

You scoffed, shaking your head. “ Right. Because raising a kid is so easy. ”

The longer you stood there, the more your mind started running through the realities of what Crowley was asking of you. Raising a child even an artificial one meant responsibility. And responsibility meant time, effort, and most importantly…money.

You glanced at the doll again, still sitting motionless on your couch.

“ Alright.. ” you muttered, walking over and sitting across from it. “ Let’s break this down. ”

You weren’t exactly wealthy. Your job covered your rent, bills, and food, but it wasn’t like you had stacks of cash lying around for extra mouths to feed especially not ones that came with unknown costs.

Would this thing need clothes? Medical care? Did it get sick? Did it grow?

You frowned, rubbing your temple. “ God, this is a nightmare. ”

You’d never even considered having kids before. Not because you hated them, but because they were expensive, time consuming, and required more patience than you had. And now you were being expected to raise this?

Your gaze drifted toward the grocery list stuck to your fridge, the numbers scribbled on the side reminding you of how carefully you already had to budget. If you took this thing in, that list would get longer. Food, water, maybe even extra furniture.

And what about emergencies? What if something happened to it? Could it get injured? Would you be responsible for repairs, doctor visits whatever it required?

You sighed, resting your forehead against your hand.

“ I think I should return it. ”

The words slipped out before you could fully process them, but once they were spoken, they made sense. The longer you thought about it, the more you realized just how unprepared you were for something like this.

Crowley could pretend this was some simple task, but it wasn’t. Raising a child even an artificial one wasn’t just about giving them food and shelter. It was about being ready to take care of someone else’s life, to be responsible for their well being.

And you weren’t ready.

Not financially. Not emotionally. Not in any way that mattered.

You let out a slow breath and looked at the doll again. It hadn’t moved, hadn’t reacted, but something about its presence still weighed on you.

Maybe, if things were different if you had more time, more money, more experience you might have considered it. But this wasn’t some stray animal you could feed for a few weeks and then decide if you wanted to keep. It was a child.

And children deserved more than someone who took them in on a whim.

Decision made, you grabbed your phone and texted Crowley.

" We need to talk. "

It only took him a few minutes to respond.

" Ah, wonderful! How is the little one doing? "

You exhaled sharply, already irritated. He always had this way of dodging real conversations.

" Come pick it up. I’m not the right person for this. "

This time, there was a long pause before a reply came.

" Are you certain? This is quite the opportunity, you know! A chance to raise a child, shape a young mind, be part of something truly groundbreaking! "

You scowled. Opportunity? Was that how he saw it?

" I’m not ready for this, Crowley. It needs someone with experience, someone who knows what they’re doing. Give it to them. "

Silence.

Then, finally

" Well, if you’re absolutely sure…I’ll make the arrangements. "

You put your phone down and sighed, running a hand through your hair. The weight on your chest loosened slightly.

It was the right choice.

Raising a child real or not wasn’t something you could do just because someone told you to. It required commitment. And if you weren’t ready for that, then the best thing you could do was step aside and let someone else take care of it.

You looked at the doll one last time.

“ Guess this is goodbye, huh? ”

It blinked slowly.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “ You probably don’t even understand what’s happening. ”

Maybe that was for the best.

When Crowley finally arrived, he was all smiles, acting as if this was just another minor inconvenience in his day. You didn’t bother explaining yourself again. You’d made your decision, and that was all that mattered.

As he carried the doll away, you watched from your doorstep, a strange sense of relief settling in your chest.

It wasn’t your responsibility anymore.

And that was okay.

But the last thing you saw was that doll staring at you one final time before it disappeared.

[distinctlywhumpthing]

Demo Time

Immediate follow-up to More Than This. Honestly, probably my second-longest standing idea for these two. Once I knew what Leo did for work, I knew they'd be doing this someday...

Previous — Masterlist — Next

Aiden looks like the sullen teenager he should be, pulled out of bed too early on a Saturday, dragging his feet as he follows Leo into the house. Jacket unzipped so he can bury his hands in the pocket of his sweatshirt and both hoods pulled low over his forehead. From afar, he looks cagey but Leo can see the wariness in the way his gaze never rests and the defensiveness in his hunched shoulders. 

There’s no telling what he’s actually thinking but Leo would hazard a guess that he’s assuming the worst. They’re walking a thin line. This could go south any second, but it’s supposed to help. It could help. 

They stop in the kitchen. Leo’s been dying to demo this room since laying eyes on it. The maroon tiled countertops and dark vinyl cabinets feel like a personal insult. Everything’s already covered in a fine layer of dust from ripping the floors out. He sets his bag down softly and fishes out two of everything before turning. Aiden visibly braces, shoulders inching closer to his ears. 

“Easy, it’s all good.” 

The kid is too quick to cooperate, shucking his jacket when he’s told and pulling on the pair of work gloves Leo hands him. Instinctively trying to earn back goodwill after what he did. Or ahead of whatever he thinks is about to happen. It twists Leo’s stomach. 

“You’re good,” he repeats, for both their sakes. Aiden bites his lips together and nods. 

Leo helps him put a mask and goggles on. He doesn’t bother trying to get him out of the beanie and into a hard hat. He’s already pushing his luck. 

“Alright, here.” He hands him the smallest sledgehammer he had in the van. 

Aiden accepts it like a live explosive, palms up, fingers spread. He won’t curl his fingers around it. Not a great sign.

Leo picks his up but holds it below his waist. “It’s all going so just start swinging.” 

Aiden’s eyes widen and he takes a step back, away from Leo, shaking his head. 

Shit. 

He should have expected this. It was hard enough getting him out of the house.

~~~

“Let’s go for a drive—” 

Aiden’s back hits the cabinets. “Nnn-no-no, I’mmm…fine…” He lifts his hand, making a show of flexing his fingers through every joint. The fresh tears in his eyes and the set of his jaw tell a different story.

“Easy, not for that.” The kid’s so busy clocking an escape route that he jumps when Leo catches his wrist. He uses his other hand to still Aiden’s fingers. “I don’t think you broke anything. I’ll give you ice for the car ride and you could take some ibuprofen if you—”

“Yes,” he says quickly, dropping his gaze before Leo can give him a look for the implied sir. It’s one word Leo’s glad still doesn’t come easy in spite of the fact that he’s overheard Aiden practicing. 

Leo gets a glass of water and brings the ibuprofen just in case. “You don’t have to take these if you don’t want to.” 

Aiden blinks at him, expression guarded.

“It’s entirely up to you. Nothing will happen if you don’t take them.” 

He drops his gaze. “Mmm’I…know.” 

Leo waits. 

Aiden toes the edge of the living room area rug, stalling. He’s cradling his hand up against his chest, like he used to after the hospital. “W-w-will…you…mmm’tell…Delia?” He asks quietly, peeking up to search Leo’s face. 

“It depends how it looks tomorrow, if it’s any worse.”

“The-the..mmm…” He eyes the bottle in Leo’s hand. “Will…it…mmm’help?” 

“They’ll reduce the pain and swelling but if you tore something, it’s only a temporary fix.” 

“But…I’m-I’m…I’m…fine…” His chin starts to wobble. 

“I’m not calling her right now. I might not even have to call her to— Hon, don’t look at me like that. You know I’d only call if I was worried you weren’t okay.”

Aiden nods miserably, swiping a stray tear off his cheek with the sleeve of his hoodie. The sight of him trying to keep himself together makes Leo’s heart ache. 

“C’mere.” Leo pulls him into a hug, wrapping him up a little tighter once he finally lets out the shaky breath he’s been holding. 

After a few more breaths, he pulls back with a sniffle. “I-I-I’ll…mmm’take…it.” 

Leo works to keep his reaction neutral. Aiden’s hand shakes as he accepts the green capsules and it takes him three tries to actually swallow them. He chugs the whole glass of water after like he’s trying to dilute the dose. 

“Good?” 

He nods. 

Leo takes the glass to the dishwasher and grabs an ice pack. “Do you want anything else for the ride? Something to eat maybe?” 

After a beat of silence, he turns to find Aiden barely holding back tears. “But…I-I…” 

Leo’s heart falls. So, Aiden only took the pills because he thought it might get him out of having to leave the house. Leo doesn’t say anything. It’s bad enough watching the realization dawn on Aiden’s face. 

“M’sorry—” His voice breaks and he shakes his head. “I…don’t…mmm’I didn’t….mmm’sorry.” 

“It’s okay. I know. You’re good.” 

He exhales shakily, avoiding Leo’s gaze and keeping his eyes trained on the ceiling, trying so hard not to cry. After a few breaths, he surrenders his hand. Leo cradles it in his, carefully laying the towel-wrapped ice pack over the backs of his fingers. He holds it for him longer than he needs to. 

Aiden drops his forehead against Leo’s shoulder. 

“You’re good, sweetheart,” Leo whispers, just in case there’s any ounce of him doubting it. He lets his cheek rest on the crown of Aiden’s head. Aiden puts his good hand on Leo’s, holding onto him for another moment, before he takes the ice pack. 

“There’s some stuff at one of the houses I think you could help me with.” He keeps it simple, doesn’t want Aiden to overthink it or doubt himself. 

Aiden blinks at him, biting his lower lip, visibly trying to control his reaction. 

“This isn’t code for visiting Delia and it should go without saying we are not going to the hospital,” Leo adds. “I promise, no crowds, just you and me. Come on, it’ll be good.” He looks unconvinced but lets Leo lead him to the door. Leo doesn’t blame him for not wanting to go. The Target-panic-attack-fiasco is still fresh for him too. 

At least twice more on the drive over, Leo has to repeat that they’re just going to one of the empty houses. Aiden grows more and more unsettled the longer they drive, alternating between sitting in sullen silence and looking like he wants to slide across the bench seat and cling to Leo’s side. He thought Aiden would settle being out of the house. Walks always seem to help, even in the snow or rain. They never go very far though so maybe that’s part of why it’s easier. 

“M’sorry,” Aiden whispers, a hail mary plea when Leo cuts the engine in the driveway. He won’t look at him, keeps his eyes trained on the windshield. 

“Kiddo, you’re not in trouble.” He offers his hand and Aiden grabs onto it with both of his. Leo runs his thumb over the back of his hand. “You and I are good, I promise.”

He probably should have turned around right then and there. Seen the signs that Aiden was not up for a new adventure. His efforts would have been better spent getting Aiden settled back at home. They could have started fresh tomorrow or, better yet, the day after when this wouldn’t feel like a direct consequence of his actions. Leo put it all on the line too soon and now something that could have genuinely helped might be ruined forever. 

But they’re already here. 

“I…don’t—I don’t…” Aiden shakes his head again, eyes filling behind the goggles. “M’sorry,” he tries, panic creeping into his voice. 

“Easy, hon. Time out.” Leo sets his sledgehammer down slowly, propping it against the wall behind him. 

Aiden still flinches when he steps forward, eyes darting down to his own hammer, extended between them like he’s serving drinks on a platter because he won’t grip it. 

“You’re good, we’re all good.” He takes it out of Aiden’s shaking hands and helps him pull down the mask, partially to make sure he can breathe but mostly so Leo can read his whole face. 

“I’m sorry. I should have explained better.” Aiden can’t stop clocking the hammer in his free hand so Leo leans it against the wall too. The guys are supposed to demo this kitchen on Monday and I thought it might get your mind off things to help me for a bit but I’ll take you home right now.”

He knows better. There has never been a time that less information bought more of Aiden’s trust. After taking a swing at one of Leo’s cabinets, this would seem like some sideways punishment. Especially when Aiden’s whole outlook is stripped down to actions and consequences after anything raw. God, Leo sucks at this sometimes.

Aiden’s brow creases. “You…w-w-w— mmm’brought…me…to-to…mmm’work?” 

“Yeah…pretty much. At the time, it seemed like a good idea. But we can just go.”

He searches Leo’s face, expression unreadable before he turns to look at the room for the first time. His eyes trace the U-shape of the counter, the line of frosted glass-paned uppers, the border of the circular sink, and finally land on the bigger sledgehammer against the wall. 

Leo grimaces internally. “Come on, I’ll—” 

“—it?” 

“Sorry, say it again?” 

Aiden drops his chin against his chest and peeks up at him from under his eyelashes. Something he used to do all the time, equally heartbreaking and endearing, that always made Leo want to pull him into a hug. He didn’t realize he missed it. A thought he extinguishes immediately, feeling like it’s a betrayal of their progress, of Aiden’s progress.   

“You-you…mmm’think…I…can?” The timid hope in his voice makes Leo want to hold him even more. 

“Yeah, of course I do. I wouldn’t bring you here if I didn’t think so. You have to tell me if any of your fingers hurt too much though.” 

He looks down at his gloved hands, weighing the words. 

Leo has no idea what he could be thinking. He doesn’t dare bring up Dr. Delia, but he even got her okay a week ago, when the idea started kicking around his head as a distant hypothetical. “At least until you’re tired or want to stop,” he qualifies. 

Aiden waits another beat, either making sure Leo’s finished or isn’t going to retract everything. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” Leo repeats dumbly. 

He nods. “I…w-w— I’ll…try.” Aiden fumbles to pull the mask back up but can’t get the elastic over one ear. Leo reaches over and does it for him, brushing his cheekbone with his thumb. 

It’s never gotten easy, navigating this. On one hand, Leo feels guilty for underestimating him and not even considering that he’d want to try. On the other, he’s worried this will be the painkillers all over again, just something Aiden does to try to impress Leo or earn something. It’s impossible to tell but Leo has to leave room for the kid to prove himself, which he’ll never do with constant double-checking and second-guessing. At least by now, the wins aren’t so few and far between. That has to count for something. 

Aiden leans into his hand. “Mmm’will…you-you…go…mmm’first?” 

Leo takes that as a good sign and starts with the oblong-circle end of the peninsula. He resists the urge to keep looking over his shoulder to check on Aiden. Instead, he pulls every single swing so it takes three times as many to break up the tiles and grout before he can splinter through the wood underneath, breaking it off with a final blow. 

When he does turn around, Aiden’s still watching and, more importantly, still breathing.

“Want to try?” 

He nods tightly and accepts the smaller hammer Leo holds out for him. He glances at Leo as he wraps his fingers around the handle, testing his grip. Leo gives him what he hopes is an encouraging nod. 

“Here?” Aiden asks, pointing the end of the hammer at the lower cabinet closest to where Leo just shortened the counter. 

Leo realizes he’s holding his breath. “Yeah, good. Go for it.” 

Aiden takes a step forward, then a step back, brow furrowed as he tries to gauge the distance. His solemn concentration would normally melt Leo’s heart a little but the image of him starting to panic still hangs on Leo’s conscience. Aiden swings the hammer into the front of the cabinet but it barely dents the surface and the momentum mostly bounces back at him. He glances up, just long enough to show he’s self-conscious but isn’t expecting any encouragement. 

Leo gives it anyway. “Put a little more weight into it, don’t be shy.” 

This time, he breaks through the cabinet front, cracking the wood into a yawning mouth of splinters that collapses on itself once he pulls the hammer back out. He over at Leo, eyebrows lifting. 

Leo sidesteps the heartbreaking realization that he still thinks this could be a punishment. “‘Atta boy. Keep going.” 

It’s not Leo’s imagination that he stands up straighter. 

God, this kid. 

Aiden starts in on the next chunk of tiled counter, swinging down onto it with enough force that pieces of tile fly from the point of impact. A few more blows and he’s through the grout. The wood cracks away even easier, he’s getting more and more certain with the weight of the hammer. He moves onto the frame beneath it without stopping, takes down the side in three swings and the back in two. It just takes a final tap on what’s left of the front before he’s left with a pile of rubble. 

When he looks at Leo this time, his eyebrows are raised in a good way.

“How’d that feel?” 

He must be beaming behind the mask because he almost ducks his chin to hide before remembering it’s already hidden. “Mmm…good.” 

Leo grins. “Keep going then.” 

Without hesitation, he starts on the uppers, breaking through the glass panes with systematic little taps. Once the door is gone, he starts on the bottom. It’s a little high for good leverage so he has to hit it a few times. Once, twice, three—

The anchoring for the entire set of uppers gives out. Leo loops an arm around his waist and pulls him stumbling away. Aiden drops the hammer and claps his hands over his ears as the cabinets fall onto the remains of the counter and immediately tip forward. They hit the concrete subfloor with an even louder crash, all the glass fronts shattering on impact. Aiden flinches, back pressed against Leo’s chest. 

Leo doesn’t wait for the dust to settle. He turns Aiden in his arms, not sure what to expect but hoping it’s not abject panic. His eyes are wide, his shoulders still raised defensively. He holds his hands up between them, arms caught above Leo’s and nowhere to rest them now that they aren’t covering his ears. Leo’s reminded of Jesse’s daughter years ago, constantly tripping in her toddling and the moment in the balance where they’d wait to see if she’d brush it off or start crying. He realizes he’s holding his breath again and that the kid in his arms has zero frame of reference. 

“Damn, slugger.” Apparently, he goes with joking brevity. “You alright?” 

Aiden nods and pulls off his goggles and mask. Leo could collapse with relief when he sees that he’s biting back a smile.  

Leo squeezes the tops of his shoulders. “I gotta say, I’m impressed.” 

Aiden huffs and shakes his head. 

“I mean, that was some shotty anchoring, I’m surprised those cabinets could even hold plates, but you still made quick work of them.” 

“Can…I…” He chews his lip. “Can…we-we…do mmm’more?” 

Leo laughs. “Absolutely.”

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[noxiatoxia]

thanks for answering my questions! that was a super interesting read! i feel like in the english it feels like he suddenly got an “im better than you” attitude while in the japanese he’s just talking to them in a way that better reflects how he thinks they should be talked to based on their (for lack of a better term) status in his mind. it makes me wonder if he realizes what hes doing (dementia moment)

i did have another question about his lines specifically when he runs into hinata after the final dead room (the bits where he’s asking if hinata wanted to “become hope”) as i always thought that implied he knew he was kamukura at that point. and i want to know what he’s saying in japanese.

i’m also very curious about that line before the trial where komaeda is wondering why he still cares about hinata! if there’s any nuances there that are left out of the translation

You're welcome! I'm terribly sorry it took so long but I had to recover from being sick and then re-look over Ch.4 again. It was fun!

You bring up a really interesting point about the dementia thing...I wonder, does Komaeda's FTD still affect him in the NWP, does he have flare-ups? I'm unsure...Komaedaologists with better analysis skills than me probably could answer that.

Besides that, let me answer your questions.

So, the part where Komaeda talks to Hinata about admiring hope is interesting for a few reasons...before we even get to the admiring hope part, Komaeda says this:

When supposedly talking about Hinata's lack of talent, but then when he talks about why Hinata is talentless, he says this:

Which is confusing. He's implying Hinata "perhaps" doesn't have a talent because he wasn't determined enough (meaning, he didn't work hard enough) only to then say having a talent/being hope actually has nothing to do with working hard, and it's about how you're born.

When I answer these asks, I watch the ENG and JP version side-by-side, so I caught instantly what the issue was.

This line actually has nothing to do with talking about Hinata being talentless. Keep in mind, the line before this is Hinata saying, "Wh-What the hell...does that mean...?"

Combined with that, it's easy to see this is what the line is supposed to read:

KOMAEDA: Perhaps...you weren't prepared for this to be the answer.

For some reason I'm having a tough time wording it in English right now, so please excuse me. But Komaeda is saying, basically, "Were you not ready for the truth behind this question you've been wondering so long (aka his talent) to be this bleak? Had you not prepared for it to be this undesirable of an outcome?"

He was not commenting on Hinata being unable to get into HPA, he was commenting on his shocked reaction.

Moving on to the part you were actually asking about...

I actually kind of like the ENG translation. It's more liberal but in a good way. I'll provide a more literal translation in this case to better explain.

KOMAEDA: You yearn to posses hope...so you entered Hope's Peak Academy with the plan to devote yourself to that goal, isn't that so?

My only qualm with the official translation is a nitpick; "admire" is not how I would put it...I don't think?

I may be wrong, but in English, "admiring" something doesn't always mean you want to be it. I hear a lot, "I admire his ability to do such hard work" and such. It sounds like you hold a lot of praise for him, but you could never do that yourself. "I admire firefighters, I'd never want to put my life on the line like that" and stuff...

憧れ is better thought of as "aspire", I think. It has the nuance of you want to embody it. "Admire" works, but it's the kind of admiration where you want to be that, too.

Besides that, "Were you willing to sacrifice your body and soul" is a very powerful way to write その身を捧げるつもり, and I really have to give it to the team for this one.

Literally speaking, その身 means "That body", but 身 is an abstract way to refer to a person's self. その then makes it "one's self", and it sounds kind of...grandiose? Serious? I'm unsure how to word it.

Point is, turning その身 into "your [very] body and soul" is a perfect way to put it in this situation. 捧げる has an equal level of importance in feeling, it's like wholly dedicating everything to one thing. Sacrifice is apt.

This translation is also fine, but I wrote my own version too.

Komaeda: Or maybe...you were just a mindless sheep who looked up to Hope's Peak Academy [because everyone else was doing it].

Hinata then interjects, saying, "That's not why I joined at all!" (In the Official translation, he says "I-It's not like that! I...!")

And then Komaeda replies:

KOMAEDA: No, it's because you "wanted to become hope yourself" or something like that. Seriously, quit saying such idiotic things!

Also, I must amend my post here where I said I didn't recall Komaeda ever using ~てくれ outside of his laptop video. In this line, he does use てくれ. I'm sorry >.< my memory truly does suck.

Also, this line after Komaeda explains you either are born with talent or aren't is a mistranslation:

KOMAEDA: That's why...just "aspiring" to be something isn't enough.

I think it's pretty obvious that it's a mistranslation even in English because it reads like a totally unrelated non sequitur. In Japanese, it makes a lot more sense.

Komaeda's ideology can be quite confusing for a first time player, it doesn't help that there's so many mistranslations that make him say basically the opposite of what he means...I wonder why that is.

Only 2 lines later, we get these lines:

Which are, weirdly, way meaner than they are in Japanese.

KOMAEDA: In short...you're nothing more than a Reserve Course student who never had a talent to begin with. KOMAEDA: You just happened to forget. That's all there is to it.

He never calls him a "nobody" - the closest is 予備学科でしかない, where でしかない has a negative connotation to it. So, it's saying "you are merely just a Reserve Course student" with a bit of an edge, but that's it. I guess this could be read as "a nobody from the reserve course" if you interpreted it in the meanest way possible. It's not necessarily wrong; it's up to the reader to decide how "mean" Komaeda intends it to be I suppose. A bit of ambiguity.

I only translate it as more "neutral" as the follow up line does not sound mean to me, so I'm just keeping it consistent...but I would actually love to hear some theories on this. Do you think he's trying to be mean? Or is he just emphasizing Hinata is nothing more than, in a neutral way? Very interesting...

That's all for that part...there's nothing that would allude to Komaeda knowing Hinata is Kamukura based on these lines, I don't think. I'll let everyone theorize though, I'm just here to write translations haha

To your other question, I've actually looked into this before! I only discussed it with a friend privately though, so I never posted it here. Let's fix that.

KOMAEDA: Even so, why...? KOMAEDA: I know that you are an insignificant human being, so why is it that I care about you?

I know nuance is important in lines like these, so let me elaborate more on the Japanese text.

KOMAEDA: 取るに足らない人間だとわかっているのに、どうしてキミの事を気に掛けちゃうのかな?

取るに足らない means something not worth devoting any time to, something so small and trivial, hence insignificant.

どうして is a bit tricky to explain, but it means why/how. You're asking why in the sense of how...which is usually the same as an English "why", I think. In this way, it can be worded also as "so how come I care about you?"

キミの事 is "kimi no koto", and puts emphasis on Hinata's person.

Like, for example, in love confessions, a person will not say I love you (kimi), because it sounds stilted or insincere. You say "you" as kimi no koto, which literally translates as "your thing"...which sounds weird, but all you need to know is that it emphasizes the person's being - their personality, their feelings, their everything. It's a way to make whatever you're saying about this person sound more warm/intimate. Of course it's used for more than just love confessions!! That's just the most popular example. Komaeda uses kimi no koto in his love confession with Hinata in his FTE.

In short, he is just emphasizing Hinata as a person beyond a surface level. This isn't shocking, as this sentence would sound kind of weird if he did not use this turn of phrase.

気に掛けちゃう confuses me for one specific reason and I'll explain that soon. But 気に掛け means "care", specifically this English definition:

being concerned/weighing on one's mind is an integral part to 気に掛け。

The ちゃう attached to it gives the nuance that this is against Komaeda's will, and/or it is something he is doing to his chagrin. Basically, "despite the fact I shouldn't, I care about you [and I can't force myself not to]".

Back to what confuses me. It's how 気に掛け is written. Most commonly, it's written in Hiragana alone as 気にかけ and means the same thing. You can 100% write the second part in Kanji as it is here, but when it comes to written works like this, typically there's a reason for choosing one over the other. Which is to say, the reason it's written in Kanji here as opposed to Hiragana makes me think there's some sort of implied nuance...I could be totally wrong, but it's what my mind goes to.

The issue is, I don't know of any special nuance of using 気に掛け over 気にかけ...so, if this is indeed the case, my theories for why it is written in Kanji, from most likely to least, are:

to emphasize the word's meaning.

to imply a level of sophistication or eloquence to the speech.

to make the sentence easier to read.

If it were written in Hiragana, I think it would be just as easy to read. But it's always a possibility.

I'm very unsure on this last part here...so I'm open to all types of thoughts and theories.

I hope this answers your questions! Thank you again!