#if you think i'm reaching...i know more than you

[cloudtransprncy]

Purr

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's when you see her.

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

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

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

Then her eyes catch yours.

And they stay there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wonyoung," you repeat. "I'm—"

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

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

"No? What's tonight about then?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Lead the way," you say.

...

You don't even remember the Uber ride.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[kamospeach]

plot: richboy!gojo takes his cute girlfriend golfing

content warning: exhibitionism, very nasty, pervy rich boy gojo mix, gojo is the biggest horndog ever, girly girl reader, established relationship, cunniilingus, fingering, missionary, public asf, they get caught, tad second hand embarrassment, cowgirl, dirty talking, breeding, implied blowjob, very nasty

peachy's yap: idk how i came upon this idea but it makes me wiggle my toes. posting to distract y'all from the fact the thukuna fic is gonna take me a while

you weren't exactly sure how you ended up getting your guts rearranged on your boyfriend's golf cart. you do remember being in his bed as his head laid on your stomach. while your fingers lazily ran through his white fluffy hair.

the two of you had been insanely bored for the last three days. you were both back home from college, and your parents had the audacity to go on a trip together, leaving the two of you alone in satoru's gigantic mansion for a whole week.

you weren't overly excited to see each other either, you went to the same school for fucks sake. this summer was a bust, suguru was in italy, shoko was with her girlfriend's family, and you two were... there.

"toruuu," you whined lightly pulling at his hair to get his attention. he groggily lifted his head to look up at you. forcing his eyes open after your fingers lulled him to sleep.

"yeah, baby?" he asked, chin resting on your stomach as he tried to keep his eyes open. he was failing terribly by the way. you had finally come up with an idea, knowing gojo would be all for it.

"remember how you said you wanted to take me golfing?" you asked, and gojo jumped up as if he had never been asleep. he quickly walked off to his closet, grabbing what you assumed was the golfing outfit he bought for you, probably well over a year ago. just as you suspected, he walked out with a pleated skirt and cropped polo.

"i've been waiting for this day for a year now," he laughed to himself, throwing the clothes at you. "i'm about to go get dressed." he giggled, running off to the closet. an hour later, the two of you were on his golf cart off to the private golf course in his very own backyard.

"i can't believe you made me wear this short ass skirt." you huffed arms crossed and gojo had the nerve to just laugh. the skirt was so old you didn’t even fit into it anymore. your ass peaked out but gojo reminded you that the course was private.

"i didn't make you do anything, i just gave you a sense of security." he nodded to himself as if that was the smartest thing he had ever said. you shook your head at his statement, not even bothering to argue with your strong-headed boyfriend.

when gojo had finally taken you to where you would play, he got off the cart. you watched his every move not understanding a damn thing he was telling you. all you did was admire how mouth watering sexy he looked in his richie rich get up. a black short sleeve polo that unironically matched yours, and beige slacks.

this fit was almost more attractive than his workout compression shirt. the way his arms bulged under the cotton mesh as he slipped on his gloves, or how his big muscular thighs were visible through his pants, and the veins in his arms were protruding due to him pulling the gloves on.

"get up, girl, you ain't think you were going to sit there the whole time, did you?" he asked, reaching his hand out for you. you grabbed his hand, stepping down off the golf cart, following shyly behind him. he handed you the club, standing behind you. "hold it here," he instructed.

he was hard and he shamlessly pressed it against your barely clothed ass. you didn't acknowledge it, knowing that it was best to breeze past it. so you let gojo show you where your hands were supposed to be, and you listened. he even helps you get a little power in your swing, the ball flying a solid 10 feet in front of you.

"i did it!" you giggled, turning to look at gojo who blinked in disbelief. and when he saw the seriousness on your face it took everything in him to hold back a laugh. "what? if i didn't do good, show me how it's done."

"alright," he said, grabbing the club from you, walking the short 10 feet to grab the ball. you stood back watching his big swing and the ball fly across the course. your jaw was practically on the floor in shock that he was so good at it. "that's how it's done."

"no fair toru... you're good at like everything," you whined, and gojo scoffed.

"don't do that, y/n, it takes practice." he pecked your lips, helping you get in the cart so you could go to the ball that was all the way in timbuktu. on the ride there, gojo had the bright idea to play strip golf.

the rules were simple, however, many tries it took for you to get it in the hole, was as many pieces of clothing you had to remove. you weren't confident in your abilities, but you were determined. how hard could it be? every other challenge you did with gojo you won.

well... except this one.

it took gojo all of 4 tries to get the ball in, and it took you 27. which resulted in gojo shaving it down to 6 since you didn't have 27 pieces of clothing. so all gojo had to take off were his socks, pants, and shirt. for you, that was your socks, shirt, skirt, bra, and panties.

"toru i'm butt ass naked," you said as gojo basically got a strip show from you. his eyes never left your body for a second. drooling over you like a virgin who had never laid eyes on a woman's bare body.

"and fine as fuck." was all he said grabbing you by your waist so that you were standing between his legs. he kissed along your neck moving his kisses to your lips. the kiss was heated and urgent, gojo was needy and wasn't afraid to admit. "i need you, so bad."

"wait... baby? right here?" you asked, and he nodded, not questioning it or hesitating. he didn't say much, he just picked you up and placed you down on the backseat of the cart. pushing your legs to your chest, giving you a knowing look, but you didn't obey. "t...toru, hold on a second." you said breathlessly making him deadpan.

"hold em," he said, and you sighed, grabbing the back of your legs, holding them up and open. gojo dropped to his knees, not even caring about his knees digging in the mud. his focus was on sending one teasing swipe of his tongue up your slick folds.

he hummed at the taste of your essence on his tongue. he was so sure he could use your slick as honey for his desert. so sweet he needed a glass of milk to wash it dow-

"toru!" you yelled at him for the third time, knocking him out of his trance. once he came back to reality, he dove into his lunch. his tongue lapped at your juices and teased your poor delicate clit.

sucking and spitting and licking and slurping, it was a mess. he even began to finger your tight cunt with not one not two but three fingers. digging his unnaturally long digits to the deepest parts of your pussy being sure to stimulate that spongey spot inside of you.

moans were spewing out your mouth as your hands ran through his damp hair. pulling at the white locks, your eyes to the back of your head as you delve in the pleasure. you were quickly coming upon your climax, and gojo knew it too. and not because you were violently squeezing down on his fingers. no. but because you were chanting it out as gojo finger fucked you with no mercy.

"cumming i'm... m'cumming toru fuck fuck fuck so close." you babbled and he smirked pulling of you puffy clit with a 'pop!' this was his entertainment watching you squirm as you creamed all over his fingers.

"cream on my fingers so i can clean it up for you," he tells you and you do just that as you cum violently. your eyesight is blurry as you see gojo looking down at you with a shit eating grin. he doesn't say anything as he slips out his fingers licking them clean just as he said he would. "so fuckin' perfect," he mumbled pulling your hips closer to him.

he pulled his boxers down, stepping out of them. his angry red cock slapped his navel leaving a string of sticky precum behind. his hand gripped the base of his cock slapping it against your clit. he chuckled watching your body react to him. he wasted no time using his thumb to push his cock head in line with your entrance.

"fuck." he grumbled from the feeling of your tight entrance trapping his tip. he fought the urge to cum right then and there. he pushed himself the rest of the way into you, bottoming out with nothing on his mind except you.

"s...shit toru you're too deep," you whined and he grunted pulling halfway out and slamming back into you. all the wind was knocked out of you as you gasped for air. followed by a moan that could probably be heard back at the mansion.

"so wet, squeezing down on me so tight," he hummed enjoying the feeling. after waiting for you to finally be ready, his hips snapped into yours. his pace was feral and needy as moans and groans flew from his mouth. his lips crashed onto yours, kissing you sloppily, spit spilling out of your mouths. rolling down your cheek and onto the bare skin of your chest.

that was one of the many things you loved about gojo, he was not afraid to moan. which only encouraged you to moan and whimper louder. it wasn't like you had to try very hard with the way he dug in your guts. so here you were, finally remembering how you got in this position. strip golf, never ever again, you thought to yourself.

while gojo was relentlessy fucking into you, his hips stilled. you were about to protest until he held his finger up to his lips. you quickly closed your mouth as well, hearing someone talking.

"today was supposed to be my day off, but mr. gojo asked me to tend the garden today." the person who you figure was the gardener said. gojo leaned down, covering your body with his.

"same, he asked me to clean the pool." the pool cleaner added. there was a line of trees next to the two of you, and it sounded as if they were behind them.

"my ass is out." gojo whispered in your ear with a light chuckled. you swatted his arm, light telling him to hush, but that only got him started. the motions were small, but you felt the way his hips ground into yours. the way his pelvis stimulated your clit and his dick pulsed in you.

"i guess we better get back to the mansion," another worker said, and you whimpered from the feeling. it didn't seem like they were really planning on going back. but eventually the footsteps got further away and you both loosened up. he quickly picked you up and sat on he seat instead.

"ride me... please?" he practically begged, looking up in your eyes. his bright blue eyes burning a hole into your face above his shades. you nodded shyly, always getting bashful when it was your time to be on top.

you wasted no time riding him slowly, teasing him with your deathly slow pace. his large hands gripped the fatty flesh of your ass holding on for dear life. his head was thrown back, jaw clenched as you squeezed down.

"you're driving me crazy," he grumbled lifting you and fucking up into you like crazy. your hands grabbed his forearm, begging him to slow down. "you gonna stop teasing me now?"

"m'sorry i'll stop i will," you whine and he eased up letting you take control. with your feet planted on the side of him, you began to ride him this time faster. the disgustingly loud 'plap, plap, plap' of your skin slapping was turning you both on. pushing you closer and closer to finishing.

you grabbed his face, forcing him to look at you. the way he licked his lips and bit his lower one to muffle his groans. it just made you desperate to press your lips and steal a kiss from him. but gojo was two steps ahead of you, noticing the way your sight was trained on his lips.

he leaned up, forcing his tongue down your throat. the two of you kissing sloppily swapping spit as your bodies were conjoined. one of his hands left your ass to reach between the two of you. using two fingers to rub your clit sending your body immediately into overdrive.

"close," you mumbled against his lips to which he simply mumbled 'mhm' against your lips. it didn't take much his pulling away from your lips to whisper a gruff 'cum'. even if he hadn't said that you were bound to cum right there and then. "fuckkk...!" you yelled your cream coating his cock and collecting around the base.

"m'right behind you baby shit i'm cumming." he groaned loudly as he shot his warm loud inside you. filling you up completely, not even bothering to pull out. he thrusted up into you a few more times being sure to stuff him cum all the way into your womb.

"you were right toru... the thrill of getting caught makes you cum harder." you huffed and gojo nodded.

"i told you years ago." gojo smirked, kissing your forehead, leaning back as you climbed off his lap. "you'll clean me off, won't you?" he asked, giving you those sickeningly effective puppy eyes. you didn't verbally comply, but he knew when you got on your knees, assuming the position. just like gojo earlier, not caring if mud would get on your knees.

"are we sick?" the poolboy asked the gardener who shook her head his fingers stuffed in her mouth. "fucking to our boss's son and his girlfriends moans."

sidenote: 

gojo’s hair was damp from thinking he was in high school musical 2, playing with the water and sprinklers, trying to make you laugh. 

[butchdiaz]

can't stop thinking about the morning after the breakdown right now. eddie slept on the couch. his room was a mess. his bed had glass in it so he slept on the couch. but buck slept over too. where did he sleep? on the floor next to eddie? did he sleep at all? or did he just lay there listening to eddie's breathing, watching the rise and fall of his chest, thanking god that he's here and he's safe with every little sniffle and snore? maybe he saw the sun start to creep through the curtains and eased himself up with cracking knees, holding his breath until eddie snored again, sound asleep. and he reached over and adjusted the blanket to cover him a little better and just watched him for a moment, looking so peaceful in sleep. so different to the pain on every line of his face the night before. then buck wakes chris up, a gentle hand on his shoulder. says Hey Bud. Time to get ready for school. We have to be Quiet though. Your Dad's still sleeping on the couch. chris whispers Okay Buck. and buck knows it's usually cereal on school days but he whips up pancakes with chocolate chips because. well. it was a hard night. chris slowly opens the kitchen door to avoid it creaking and sits down, still in his pjs, crutches left behind in his bedroom. and they eat in silence. there's a million questions on chris's tongue and most of them are Is Dad Okay? but he doesn't ask, because it's a stupid question. because he peeked into the bedroom while buck was making breakfast and saw the holes in the wall. buck steps outside while chris is finishing up and dials. Good Morning Buck, bobby says. Hey Bobby. Um. Could you come over to Eddie's house? He kind of. Uh. Lost it. Last night. And I Have to take chris to school soon and I just. Don't want him to be alone. When he wakes up. theres a little pause then. Of Course. Be there in 20. buck does the dishes, checks on chris, checks on eddie. hears the car pull up and opens the door. bobby gives him one look before pulling him into a hug and buck has to fight back sudden tears. and eddie makes a noise in his sleep like he's distressed and they both look over. and bobby whispers What Happened Buck? and buck tells him. He destroyed his room. Went at it with a baseball bat. Chris was so scared. I was...Fuck. Everyone he saved is dead, Bobby. and bobby understands, more than buck ever will and says, I'll have a cup of coffee waiting for him. buck drives chris to school and chris finally asks Is Dad gonna be okay? feeling like he's five years old. and buck says, Yeah. He just needs a little help right now. chris voice Are you gonna help him? buck voice Yeah buddy. I'm gonna try. and he vows to stay glued to eddie's side. just until he feels better. or maybe forever.

[technitaur]

I wish that it was socially acceptable to outright say 'I wanted to reach out to see how you're doing, but just so you know, I don't want you back in my life.'

As interests and schedules and life in general grow and change, I've drifted in and out of friendship with so many people. With most people, there comes a time when I feel that we don't have a lot in common anymore and it's time to move on. But I can't just tell them that, because most people take it personally. They think that you don't like them as a person anymore.

But it's not that at all. It's not that I don't think they're a cool person, it's just that the time and energy required to keep our Venn diagrams overlapping has become too much. It's more 'work' than 'fun' at that point.

I wish that people didn't see it as a 'failed friendship' when they drift apart. I think there are a lot of people who spend a lot more time and energy than they need to keeping active friendships alive just out of a sense of duty to the concept of friendship. And I think that leads to resentment and frustration.

Unfortunately, often the only way to semi-gracefully end the active phase of a friendship is to just kind of start ghosting the person more and more often until it fades.

Or maybe I'm just really bad at friendships. I don't know. But I'm sure I can't be the only one who has had to do this.

A few times, I've tried reconnecting with old friends just to see how they're doing, and then all of a sudden they want to try to re-kindle the friendship back to what it was in its prime. They start making plans and wanting to do things with me.

And it's like, no, that's not what I came here for. We're too different now. Please don't try to force it - that will only end in frustration and disappointment.

I think a lot of old friendships would be better off if more people were content to just reminisce for an hour or two and then part again. Then we actually could tell each other all these little things we remember about each other, instead of having to permanently maintain a wary distance to avoid false hopes and letdowns.

Sometimes, I miss people that used to be in my life and feel the urge to reach out and tell them "hey I know we don't talk anymore but I still fold my sweater the way you taught me to". Not in a "I want you back in my life" way but more of a "my life has more colors now because of all the days we spent laughing together and I'm thankful for that".

[fevers-and-emeto-oh-my]

Throwing my hat in the ring here bc I've honestly weighed in on far more volatile discourse and i also feel like yammering about this.

Coming into 9-1-1, almost everyone I spoke to and everything I saw told me I would NOT like Tommy. He was rude, he was terrible to Buck, he called Buck "Evan," he walked out on a date, he made mean comments, etc.

I did take this with a grain of salt, because I rarely conform to fandom consensus on characters, pairings, plot lines, etc. (Destiel was my NOTP in SPN and I do not like Ada at all in RE, for example). I'm perfectly happy to have opinions that don't line up with everyone else's because I'm here to have fun for myself, not for anyone else. (Putting this under a cut because it got LONGGGG)

Then I get to 7x03 and see Tommy again for the first time since s2. and he is a BLAST. He's grown, he's not posturing or repressing himself. He oozes confidence off the bat and is INCREDIBLY fun (the MOUTH STATIC??? HELLO???). He has this dry wit that I fall in love with immediately ("well, unless you feel like swimming back, that's all we've got." "because we're flying into a hurricane. probably all gonna die anyway.") i am EXCITED. i am also reallyyyy confused, because THIS Tommy would have to do a complete 180 in personality or how he treats Buck for me to suddenly have the vitriol for him that's so common across the fandom.

7x04. I am smitten with how Tommy acts through the tour of Harbor--leaning reallyyyyyy close to Buck, the charming teasing lilt to his voice, his little smile. Eddie shows up and Eddie and Tommy become besties. I love this too--they would absolutely get along like a house on fire, and there's INSANE chemistry between Tommy and Eddie immediately. I don't personally like them taking a chopper to Vegas (my Eddie would never set foot in a helicopter willingly unless it was for someone he loved, like Bobby and Athena the episode prior) BUT they 110% fucked on that trip and I will not hear any arguments otherwise.

We're skipping over the buddie of it all bc this post is about Tommy. The kiss???? The fingers under Buck's chin???? (THANKS LOU) The SOFT look on his face the entire time???? I'm immediately sold. Bucktommy is immediately a new fave and I'm excited to see if I like Tommy more than or just as much as I liked Taylor.

7x05! The date. AKA instant desire to douse myself in bleach from second-hand embarrassment. I know this is where a lot of people soured on Tommy, but when I reached the end of the episode I honestly couldn't understand WHY it soured people so intensely and immediately. That date was a DISASTER for multiple reasons, but I don't think Tommy was WRONG for leaving. Buck was nervous the entire way through (implied by Tommy's line assuring him nobody was looking at them) and it's his first date with a guy, so who can blame him? His line about being an ally was uh. Yikes. But they had already eaten and were getting the check, so obviously dinner as a whole went pretty well considering the scene opens with them both content and joking around a little bit. Obviously Buck couldn't have foreseen Eddie showing up. And I don't BLAME Buck for losing his head and overcompensating--he's not even out to Eddie yet, not even sure what his sexuality means for him himself yet, it's totally in character for him to panic and stick his foot in his mouth.

I don't blame Buck, really, I have empathy for him. BUT I also don't blame Tommy. Tommy is comfortably out, we don't know what his last relationship was like, and no matter how much he UNDERSTANDS what Buck did, it still had to hurt to be there and basically be outright friendzoned in an effort to be hidden. I don't care how you spin it, the situation absolutely sucked for both of them. People get really really mad about the closet comment, and it's not a moment I particularly enjoy from Tommy, but I understand why he said it. That kind of dry poking is in character, and I truly don't think he MEANS to OUT Buck, I think he's just hurt and lashing out a little bit (which, for what it's worth, we have seen EVERY character lash out WORSE than that). If I was Tommy, I would have left after dinner instead of going to the movies too.

People get really mad about Tommy leaving Buck alone on the street. When I first heard that he did that and how MAD people were about it, I was picturing Tommy pulling over in the middle of nowhere somewhere and leaving Buck stranded. That would have also made ME mad, so it was what made sense to me as what had to have happened.

And then.....Tommy just.....got his own Uber? And left Buck on the well-lit, populated street literally in front of the doors to the restaurant? After being really honest with Buck that he likes him, but he's not sure Buck's ready to be out with a guy yet. People also didn't like that but I thought it was fair? It wasn't Tommy telling Buck Buck's feelings. It came across more to me as Tommy looking out for Buck and speaking from a place of experience as a gay man much further along into his own journey. He doesn't say it but from what he said about being under Gerrard and coming out when he went to Harbor, I'm sure TOMMY had his own growing pains just like that.

Honestly, I think a lot of the anger about leaving Buck on the street comes from the fanbase having a lot of women. If Buck was a woman and Tommy left him there, then yes, I would not trust Tommy as a love interest at all because it would mean he wasn't at all concerned for fem!Buck's safety. But if I take me being a woman out of how I look at it, it's not really an issue? Buck is a cis white male, he's broad, he's 6'2". It's not impossible for him to get attacked, of course, but it's significantly less likely, and he's standing on the sidewalk directly in front of the restaurant doors. Buck's also a perfectly capable adult; it was their first date. Tommy had truthfully no obligation to take care of Buck, and Buck has a phone and his own agency. He can get himself his own Uber.

At this point, I'm more intrigued than anything by fandom's gung-ho hatred of him, because Tommy hasn't done anything black-and-white undeniably egregious. I watch the rest of season 7 and I love him the whole time. He genuinely cares for Buck and while I had anticipated hating that he called Buck "Evan," I actually loved it. Lou gave it such an affectionate inflection that it's very endearing, and his use of "Evan" feels natural and sweet, not the forced-intimacy awkward that I was expecting considering that's how it felt with Ana calling Eddie "Edmundo."

I get to 7x09/7x10. People don't like the "enjoy it while it lasts" comment at the awards ceremony. I get to the dinner scene where they talk about fathers and the 118 as a family and Tommy says "god, I hope so" to the idea of Buck having daddy issues. Both of these things have been pointed out to me as horrible moments.

Neither line makes me hate Tommy. The daddy issues one I find exceptionally fun. At this point, and as I watch s8, I am more or less convinced that fandom hates Tommy for three different reasons: he's not Eddie, they don't understand his sense of humor, and they don't trust Buck to look out for himself.

I will be the first to say i ADORE buddie. AND bucktommy. And buddietommy is the FIRST OT3 that has INSANE chemistry and subtextual backing in canon. Every scene where the three of them are together, the three-way chemistry is off the charts and they fall naturally into what really feels like a poly dynamic, PARTICULARLY in Masks where they're two boyfriends tag-teaming teasing and taking care of their third boyfriend, Buck.

But like I said, I think fandom's hatred of Tommy comes from the fact that he's NOT Eddie. Buck is bi in canon, hooray! Except....they give him a boyfriend that's not Eddie, disappointing buddie shippers. Buck has romantic scenes with someone that's not Eddie. Buck kisses someone that's not Eddie. Etc. To me, people hate Tommy so much the exact same that they hate Taylor and Ana (every love interest tbh, but Taylor, Ana, and Tommy get the most hate and bashing), because none of them are EDDIE.

I also think the fandom doesn't understand Tommy's sense of humor or how he shows affection. It's fanon that Tommy is Italian. I totally adopt that headcanon, because in MY Italian-American family (AND on my Irish/Scottish/French-Canadian/Portuguese family on my mom's side) do you know how we show love? We break each other's balls. We tease the shit out of each other. I tell my dad he's so full of shit his eyes are brown. There's a written list on the inside of the cabinet of the words I have pronounced horrifically wrong. My dad's cousins have the SAME dry, deadpan delivery that Tommy does.

My friends and I ALSO have this kind of humor. It's ALSO how we show love to one another. I have never read a single line of Tommy's as being malicious or rude or as him not liking Buck, because to me it's CLEAR that he's joking and being affectionate. (And also, the fandom puts words in his mouth....Tommy did NOT call Buck gross in Masks. Buck SAID he knew Tommy THOUGHT he was gross, and Tommy DENIED that and tried to explain himself. Also Buck's line "my own boyfriend won't even kiss me" is followed immediately by Tommy saying "that's not true.")

The dinner scene after Bobby's heart attack made sense to me. Tommy gave Buck space to say how he felt (and i think the "your dad is alive" line came more from a place of Tommy NOT having a parental figure in a captain. I don't think that was meant to be dismissive, I think that was a misunderstanding) and honestly, if MY boyfriend made a joke about daddy issues during that conversation I would have loved it. Sometimes humor is the best medicine.

That also rolls into my last point--people don't trust Buck to look out for himself. The fandom loves Buck, for good reason, but they also baby him. Buck is a grown man. Yes, he has abandonment issues and PTSD. He probably has anxiety and he definitely has ADHD. But...none of those things mean he can't speak up when people do things he doesn't like? People get so annoyed with the daddy issues line and with Tommy telling Buck to put the screen away like it's dismissive or infantilizing.

First of all, I have (undiagnosed) ADHD. Sometimes having someone outright tell you "okay that's enough of that, go [do a task or transition to something else]" is HELPFUL. Tommy was literally sleeping on that stupid most-uncomfortable-looking couch just to be downstairs with Buck, he clearly cares about him. When you care about people, sometimes it means a little tough love. It wasn't infantilizing when MY irl friends would be like "you've had enough to drink" or "i'm making you dinner." Sometimes we ALL need some of that decision-making taken away from us. And also? Buck doesn't listen to Tommy. In the morning they talk about Buck staying up too late. It's not like Tommy got mad and took the laptop and FORCED Buck to bed.

Second of all, with the daddy issues joke. I love Buck. I do. He's one of my favorites. And yes, Buck can successfully hide SOME of what he feels. But that man is an open book 90% of the time. His heart is on both sleeves and his pants legs. If you say or do something he doesn't like, he's NOT shy about showing it (which we just had confirmed AGAIN in 8x09). If the daddy issues joke BOTHERED BUCK, his face would have fallen. He would have gone quiet. He would have left the table. Even if he didn't say it to Tommy in the moment, there would have been some indication that HE PERSONALLY had an issue with what was said. Instead he's giving Tommy a little smirk and intense heart eyes the whole time.

Not to mention, BUCK BRINGS UP DADDY ISSUES. He STARTS IT by saying "So maybe we both have daddy issues," while one of his eyebrows quirks and he gives this little almost shit-eating grin. If you're going to be MAD at the daddy issues joke, you should be mad at BUCK if you're gonna be mad at anyone, because he STARTED IT.

I won't get into how I feel about the breakup bc it's not relevant to this post really, but yea. I personally love Tommy, Bucktommy was Buck's strongest relationship imo (only a touch stronger than Bucktaylor), and my personal belief is that Tommy gets far more hatred than he deserves. (Talking about his growth from the Begins episodes is also a different post, but he grows DURING those episodes and also is clearly a better person from what we see in s7/8)

[deadrobinthoughts]

† love me anyway : various.

⋆˙⟡ "Love me in the quiet, in the chaos, in the ruin. Love me when I am sharp edges and storm-torn hands. Love me not for what I could be, but for what I am and if I break, love me still".

⋆˙⟡ request: not a request - just something from a notebook. ⋆˙⟡ featuring: dick grayson, jason todd, tim drake, damian wayne, cassandra cain, bruce wayne, clark kent, kon-el ↦ kalico note: it's the fact i am nervous to even post. i may take a break from posting anything big for a while, i apologize everyone.

⋆˙⟡ 𝐓𝐢𝐦 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐞

the room feels smaller now, heavy and tight, as if the walls are inching closer every second you stand there in silence. tim hasn’t looked up from the floor since it began, his fingers curled into loose fists at his sides, tension visible in his frame like he’s fighting a battle you can’t see. it’s quiet - too quiet - broken only by the faint hum of traffic through the walls, the muffled life of the city that hates you both doing nothing for the darkening mood.

you shift on your feet, swallowing hard, chest tight with something bitter and heavy. “tim,” you whisper; it’s soft, cracked, because you don’t even know how to start, how to make this feel right again. his gaze flickers to yours, exhaustion etched deep in every shadow of his face, his eyes haunted by the kind of doubt that eats someone alive from the inside out. you feel your throat tighten, struggling against the burning in your jaw, the way every word catches, jagged and painful.

“i don’t know what you expect from me,” you finally whisper, voice tight and strained with emotion. it hurts to say, like pulling glass from your chest, like exposing every wound, every hurt, every insecurity you’ve both tried so hard to keep hidden beneath the surface. “i don’t know how to fix this, tim. i don’t.. i don’t know how to make you believe that you’re enough, you pull away more and more every time i try. and i-” your voice cracks, sharp and sudden, shattering against the quiet. “i don’t know what you want.”

tim’s expression doesn’t shift, but something in his eyes flickers; a flash of hurt, brief but intense enough to sting. he swallows, fingers flexing at his sides, knuckles white with restraint as he fights to keep himself still and composed. but the pain is there; it bleeds through in every line of his face, in every shaky exhale, in the unsteady rise and fall of his chest beneath his thin, worn t-shirt.

“love me anyway,” he says suddenly, his voice rough and low, barely above a whisper. it feels loud, echoing through the room, through your chest, through every fiber of your being. he lifts his head, meeting your eyes, and the way he looks at you nearly tears you apart. it’s desperate and vulnerable in ways tim so rarely lets himself be. “even if you don’t know how. even if i don’t deserve it- even if you think it’s pointless. even if you’re tired. even if it’s hard. i know, i forget to be present, i have days when i'm barely here at all and i know.. i know ive heard you say you need and i..” he swallows roughly, jaw tightening as he forces out the words. “just love me anyway.”

and something inside you splinters, crumbling beneath the weight of his plea. you’re frozen, rooted to the spot with an aching in your chest from how how wounded he sounds. you want to reach for him, to close the distance, to promise him every impossible thing he’s asking for but your voice dies in your throat, caught in the crushing realization that he’d ever doubted it at all.

tim looks away, the silence returning heavier than before, swallowing the fragile moment whole. “i think… we need a break,” he says quietly, his voice barely audible now. it’s like he’s conceding defeat, like he’s finally admitting to himself - and to you - that maybe neither of you can keep pushing through walls that neither knows how to break down.

and you realize, standing there in the silence, heart heavy with the echo of words you can’t unsay, that loving someone doesn’t always mean you know how to save them. sometimes, love isn’t enough to bridge every gap. sometimes, it just means watching helplessly as they disappear behind walls neither of you built but both of you suffer behind.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

⋆˙⟡ 𝐃𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧

the apartment feels too small, too still, as if the silence is pressing down on you, wrapping around your throat and squeezing until you’re breathless. dick stands across from you, still soaked from the rain, his jacket clinging heavily to his shoulders, a silent testament to the urgency that drove him here. his chest heaves slightly with uneven breaths, shoulders rising and falling beneath damp leather and the faint chill that clings to his skin. he doesn’t say anything, but his eyes - god, his eyes say enough, shadowed and exhausted, pleading with you to understand something he can’t quite put into words.

your chest aches with the weight of everything you’ve left unsaid, weeks of holding back finally fraying at the edges, spilling out in a voice that trembles despite your best effort to hold it steady; “i don’t know what you wanted me to do, dick. i don’t know what you expect from me!”

he visibly flinches at the rawness in your words, like each one lands sharper than the last, forcing him to finally look you in the eye. his jaw tenses, his shoulders drawing up defensively, and then something snaps in him, a fragile thread he's been clinging to finally giving way.

“love me anyway!” he shouts, voice cracking halfway through, rough and desperate, filled with the ache of a man who’s always been strong. a man that's always held the weight of everyone else’s world but never learned how to build his own. his hands curl into fists at his sides, knuckles white, his expression a mix of anger and pain. “that’s all i ever wanted! i screw up, i know. i run, i get in trouble, i - i never stop, and i hate that i do that to you.” his voice drops, quieter but no less intense, eyes burning with unshed tears. “i know it’s not fair. but goddammit.. love me anyway.”

your throat tightens, every second of silence after his plea stretching painfully between you. the vulnerability on his face hurts worse than any wound, cuts deeper than any fight you've ever had. you’ve always loved him through everything, even when it hurt, even when he pushed you away but this feels different.

something vital is hanging in the balance.

you’re still, your heartbeat a dull ache against your ribs, hands trembling as you force yourself to speak, voice hoarse and barely audible. “i think...i think we need a break.”

the words settle like lead between you, heavy and irreversible. dick steps back as if you've struck him, his expression shifting from desperate to blank in the blink of an eye, the shock and pain flickering briefly across his face before fading into a hollow resignation. you can feel the space opening wider, see the way he begins closing off, like the words themselves have forced distance he doesn’t want but somehow expected.

he doesn’t respond right away, just looks away from you, breathing deeply, and you wonder - achingly, hopelessly - if this is the moment everything finally breaks for good.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

⋆˙⟡ 𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞

the fight burns in a slow, devastating silence before either of you speaks a word, and it's almost worse this way because silence means damian is thinking, analyzing, preparing. he's pulling away, stepping backward, eyes dark, focused and distant, like he's already starting to construct walls. preparing to shut you out. his posture is painfully rigid, a soldier at attention, a prince too proud to bend, to break - even in front of you.

you can’t handle it. not tonight. not when the air feels charged like a storm. electric and impossibly heavy with the weight of unspoken hurt. you step forward, swallowing back the lump in your throat, forcing words past trembling lips because he needs to understand.

"i don't know what you expect from me, damian," you say, voice soft but threaded with frustration; with an exhaustion you've been carrying far too long. "i don't.. i don't know what else you want me to do."

he lifts his gaze sharply, eyes narrowing, brows furrowing in an instant. but there's something beneath the anger - a brief flash of vulnerability, a crack in the carefully constructed armor that damian has worn from the moment you first met.

"love me anyway," he finally snaps, voice sharp but laced with something deeply wounded, something young and aching and desperately trying not to break. "is that so impossible for you?"

there's the truth of it; the fragile heart beneath the fierce exterior, the boy who still expects rejection, who still braces for it every time love is offered, every time tenderness is shown. your heart shatters because, beneath everything, damian still believes he's unworthy. he still believes he has to earn your love, to prove himself, to constantly fight for something he fears will slip from his fingers at any second.

"damian.." you begin gently, stepping toward him, wanting to reach out but hesitating because he looks so guarded, so closed off. "i do love you. you know that."

he shakes his head sharply, lips pressed into a tight, thin line. "not enough to accept me. not enough to trust that i want you exactly as you are - that i do not need you to change." his voice cracks just slightly, barely perceptible, but you feel it deep down in your bones. "if you can't - if you won't - i believe.. perhaps, we need a break."

the words freeze your blood. damian never retreats, never surrenders - not to anyone, not even you. yet here he stands, voice unsteady and broken, telling you that he'd rather let you go than endure the pain of not being enough. you stare at him, throat burning, eyes stinging with unshed tears because you see it clearly now; the careful defenses, the self-inflicted punishment he believes he deserves.

"i don't want a break," you whisper, heart beginning to ache. "i just want you. i just-"

he inhales sharply, gaze suddenly intense, eyes bright with a pain he's been holding back for far too long. "then prove it," he says softly, desperately. "because right now.. right now, i do not know how to believe you."

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

⋆˙⟡ 𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐝

the air in the apartment feels suffocating, thick with unspoken words and tension that coils around your lungs until every breath feels like swallowing razor blades. jason stands near the window, silhouetted against the dim glow of the streetlights below, his back turned to you as though he can't bear to face what's happening head-on.

he’s painfully still, shoulders rigid beneath his worn leather jacket, fists clenched tightly at his sides. you can practically feel the barely contained storm radiating off him; the anger, the frustration, the quiet, desperate hurt that's been building for far too long.

your voice finally breaks the silence, quiet and strained, exhaustion pulling at every syllable. "i don't know what you expect me to do anymore, jason.." your voice cracks under the weight of honesty, frustration, and helplessness. "i keep trying, but.. nothing changes. you won't let me help and you won't let me in. what am i supposed to do? tell me what to do."

jason turns sharply, the motion quick and sudden, like your words have sliced through whatever fragile restraint he had left. his eyes are burning, fierce with anger but deeper still with hurt that he's tried so hard to bury beneath layers of bitterness, control, and sarcasm. his jaw tightens, muscles twitching as he tries to keep steady, and when he finally speaks, his voice is rough, low, breaking under the strain of what he's feeling.

"love me anyway," he snaps, almost desperately, the words shattering like glass between you. his eyes burn into yours, fierce yet wounded, daring you to deny him, challenging you to turn your back; to prove every fear he's ever had right.

"even if i'm fucked up. even if you hate the way i push you away. even if i don't deserve it.. even if it's impossible to keep dealing with me, just-" he falters, breathing sharply through clenched teeth, eyes glistening, more vulnerable than you've ever seen. "just love me anyway. you're supposed to-"

your chest feels like it's caving in, his words echoing sharply inside your ribcage, leaving bruises no one else could see. you want to reach out, to hold him, but you feel paralyzed, stuck between your own hurt and his pain. jason swallows hard, looking away now, eyes darkening as something closes off inside him again, shielding that fleeting vulnerability behind thick walls once more.

after a heavy pause, his voice returns, quieter now, hollowed out by acceptance. "we should take a break," he says, sharp, not meeting your gaze. his eyes fix on the floor, shoulders tense, as if bracing himself against your response, against the hurt he's sure will follow. you stare at him, the ache spreading slowly through your bones, settling into your marrow. neither of you moves, the words hanging heavy and bitter between you, and for a moment, all that's left is silence, stretched unbearably thin.

because loving jason todd has always been complicated; beautiful, painful, chaotic, deep - but you realize, for the first time, that maybe love isn't always enough to save someone who won't let you in. even if you want to love him anyway.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

⋆˙⟡ 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐢𝐧

cass stands quietly, the air around her tense, as if the world itself has paused to listen. her eyes remain fixed on the floor between you, shadows dancing across her features beneath the dim lighting of the training room. you've always been able to read her, even without words, but now the silence feels suffocating rather than comforting. it hangs in the space, heavier with every breath she doesn't take, every move she doesn't make, every heartbeat that feels painfully slow. she's never been good with words, and yet you both know something needs to be said.

"i don't know what you expect from me, cass," you finally say, your voice strained under the weight of exhaustion and frustration, a quiet desperation settling into your bones. "i can't guess what you're thinking or feeling all the time, and it's starting to feel like… like it's not enough. like i'm not enough."

cassandra flinches subtly, her eyes wide and dark, flickering with emotions she struggles to name but you see clearly: confusion, hurt, fear. her fingers twitch restlessly at her sides while she desperately tries to find the words to fix it all. then, uncharacteristically, she takes a careful step forward, eyes locked on yours, silently pleading for you to understand her, to hear what she can't say.

"love me anyway," she whispers, her voice shaking softly, like each word costs her something she can't afford to lose. her gaze searches yours, the quiet tremble in her voice revealing more than she's ever willingly shown. "please…just love me anyway."

you can feel your heart fracturing at the quiet, pleading desperation in her voice. because you do, you love her so fiercely it aches, but it's not enough, not right now, not with this distance growing between you, leaving you both feeling lost and uncertain; distant despite standing mere inches apart. your eyes blur with tears you fight to hold back as you take a slow, shaky breath and whisper words that you know will break you both.

"i think…i think we need a break, cass."

she freezes, shoulders stiffening, the vulnerability in her eyes turning to open, stark panic. cassandra doesn't speak, doesn't make a sound, but her expression says everything she can't. for the first time, you've genuinely shaken her, genuinely hurt her, and the knowledge makes you sick.

she doesn't cry, doesn't shout, but she looks at you as though you've taken something vital away from her, leaving her unsteady, lost.

and yet, even in this silence, even in this hurt, you both know it isn't an end. it feels more like a desperate attempt at preserving what's left, at giving yourselves time to breathe, to heal, to find your way back through the fractures that have grown between you. and as cassie slowly draws herself up, taking a breath that's a little too shaky, a little too unsteady, you wonder if the space will heal or widen the cracks you've already made.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

⋆˙⟡ 𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞

the air is heavy, tense with the kind of silence only bruce can summon. he stands there, halfway turned away from you, his profile sharp against the pale glow of the batcomputer. his posture is rigid, shoulders tense beneath the thick fabric of his suit, and you can see the way his jaw is clenched. everything between you is raw, an open wound you've both pretended wasn't there, but now the illusion has shattered completely.

"i don’t know what else you expect me to do," you finally say, your voice softer than you intended, heavy with exhaustion. you've carried this burden for so long; loving him, accepting the shadows, the secrets, the distance. you've given all you could, pouring your heart into a man who always seems just out of reach, a shadow slipping between your fingers. "i've done everything, bruce. i've tried to be everything. i've tried to be what you need, what gotham lets you have."

bruce turns then, slow and deliberate, fixing you with a look that makes your heart ache. his eyes are dark, guarded, but beneath that practiced stoicism is a flicker of hurt, a quiet desperation that few ever get to see. "you love me when it's easy," he mumbles, voice rough as sandpaper, each word heavy with accusation. "you love me when it doesn’t hurt. but this-" he gestures toward the cavern around you, to the shadows lingering in every corner, the endless responsibilities of a city that never sleeps- "this was never going to be easy. not for me. not for us."

"you've never made it easy, bruce. not once. but i've always stayed," you manage, feeling your voice break despite your best attempts to hold yourself together. your throat aching from the strain of holding back tears. you don't want to crumble now, not in front of him, not when every part of you feels exposed. "i just.. i just don't think i can do it anymore. i think.. we need a break."

his reaction is subtle, almost imperceptible. a flicker of his eyelids, a brief tightening of his lips, but to you, it feels like an earthquake. he's silent for a long, heavy moment, staring at you as if he's trying to decipher a code, trying to understand how he let it get this far. when he speaks, it's softer, lower, more vulnerable than you've ever heard him.

"is that what you really want?"

and god, it hurts. because you don't know how to answer. you're not even sure what you want anymore, what you can bear. you only know this ache, this constant, relentless hurt is tearing you apart. your silence seems to be answer enough and he takes a step toward you, his voice quiet yet impossibly heavy as he finally whispers:

"or just… love me anyway."

the words hit you with enough force that you're not sure if your knees will hold. your vision blurs with unshed tears, your chest painfully tight. you want to say you already do - you have, you always have - but the words won't come. instead, you stare at him, heartbroken, desperately wishing things were different, knowing nothing is ever simple with bruce wayne.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

⋆˙⟡ 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭

the farmhouse is quiet, the soft hum of the wind outside making the silence between you and clark seem louder, heavier, as if every unspoken word had been bottled and finally shattered against the kitchen floor. he stands near the window, bathed in moonlight that makes him look both ethereal and distant, the set of his shoulders carrying the unbearable weight of too many lives; too many expectations. his head is bowed slightly, hands resting against the window ledge, grounding himself against the storm he feels coming. he hasn't looked at you yet, hasn't let you see the hurt he knows is reflected clear as day in his eyes, but you can feel it, radiating off of him in painful waves.

you draw a breath but it feels sharp, uneven, scraping against your ribs. your words come out quieter than intended, a whisper edged with frustration, exhaustion, and confusion. “i don’t know what you want from me anymore, clark. i don’t know what you expect me to do.”

he turns at that, expression tight with something that almost looks like desperation. it's rare - unsettlingly rare - to see him shaken, the unwavering calm he wears for the world fraying at the edges. his jaw is tense, muscles flexing as he pushes back an anger that's not truly meant for you, but for the crushing reality of what loving him means. "i need you to love me anyway," he says firmly, voice edged with raw honesty and aching vulnerability. "even if i can't always be here, even if i have to choose the world over us.. i need you to love me anyway."

your chest tightens painfully, heart squeezing in your chest at the stark truth laid bare between you. it feels like your throat is closing up, because you've always known. you've known that loving clark kent meant sharing him, not just with metropolis, but with the world. you'd accepted it willingly, openly, long ago. but now, standing here in the silence, the truth feels crushing. because sometimes you want selfishness. sometimes you want him to choose you first, even if it’s just this once.

your voice breaks quietly into the heavy silence, rough with the ache in your throat and the tears you’re barely holding back. "maybe…maybe we need a break then, clark."

the words hang there, still and final, and clark's expression shifts immediately. pain flashes openly across his face, unguarded and profound. he looks like you've struck him harder than kryptonite ever could, and you watch his fingers tighten against the windowsill, gripping it so hard you’re almost certain the wood will splinter beneath his touch. he takes a breath, slow and shaky, then looks away, nodding faintly in acceptance as if he'd somehow known this was coming but hoped desperately it wouldn't.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

⋆˙⟡ 𝐊𝐨𝐧

the headquarters feels too quiet, unbearably empty despite the distant murmur of voices in another room. kon stands with his back pressed against the kitchen counter, eyes cast down toward the cracked tile floor, brows furrowed in frustration. the tension between you is thick, stretched thin, like a rubber band about to snap. he's always so casual, so good at brushing things off, shrugging away the weight of the world with an easy smile and a cocky tilt of his sunglasses. but now? that armor has slipped away, leaving something broken and hurt exposed beneath.

you can see it in the hard line of his jaw, the way his shoulders are pulled tight, the bitter edge to his usually carefree expression. kon doesn't show vulnerability easily; he hides behind bravado, sarcasm, and a careful mask of arrogance. but tonight, there's none of that. tonight, he's just standing there, wounded and open, looking at you like he's waiting for something, anything to make sense of the fracture between you.

"i don't know what you expect from me, kon," you finally say, voice trembling but steady, the hurt and exhaustion plain in every quiet syllable. "you're always pushing me away, but then you look at me like i’m the one leaving. what do you want me to do?"

his eyes flash sharply behind his sunglasses and in one swift movement, he pulls them away, dropping them carelessly onto the counter. his gaze is intense, open, painfully honest in a way that steals your breath away. there's a rawness there you've never seen from him, as if something inside him is breaking apart and he's desperately trying to hold it together.

"love me anyway," he says fiercely, voice hoarse and tight by the force of his own emotions. "that's it. that's all i've ever wanted. from anyone. i know- i know i'm a mess, alright? i know i don't always make it easy, but i just- i need you to love me anyway."

your heart twists painfully in your chest, because you've always known. you’ve known that kon’s cocky grin and fearless bravado mask something deeper. you've always loved him through it all, every sharp edge and every hidden hurt. but tonight, standing across from him, you finally understand that love alone isn't enough to fix what's broken between you.

not when he won't let you.

"maybe…" you whisper softly, the ache pressing sharply against your throat, heavy and painful, "maybe we just need a break."

he freezes, breath catching painfully, and you watch the quiet devastation spread slowly across his features, shattering whatever confidence had managed to remain. he opens his mouth as if to say something, then stops, swallowing thickly before looking away.

you stand silently in the hollow aftermath, wishing desperately it didn’t feel so final, watching as kon struggles to piece together a response, realizing too late that words aren’t always enough; especially when they're the wrong ones.

[asterafroditis]

hi hi! may i please request the housewardens with a reader who is exactly like robin (hsr) or sua (alnst)? if you could make reader have robins little wings too ^_^

𐔌 . ⋮ cosmic celebrity .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Housewardens x Robin/Sua gn! reader

𓏵 2196 words

ᝰ.ᐟ headcanons, no pronouns used, fluff

I'm in both the hsr and alnst fandom so this was a great delight to write!! feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

At first, Riddle doesn’t quite know what to make of you. You’re polite, refined, and carry yourself with an air of grace that even the nobility of his world would envy. Yet, there’s something about you that unsettles him—something he can’t place. It isn’t fear, but rather a quiet awe, as if he’s standing before something larger than life.

Your voice is unlike anything he’s ever heard before. When you sing, it isn’t just a melody—it’s a force, a presence that fills the air and lingers long after the last note fades. Even the roses in Heartslabyul’s garden seem to sway in time with your voice, as if nature itself is listening.

You remind him of a fairytale figure: enchanting, mysterious, and somehow just out of reach. He watches how others react to you—how they’re drawn in, how they lean closer, how even the most unruly of students fall silent in your presence. He tells himself that it’s simply your talent, your charisma, that compels them. But deep down, he wonders—do you ever long for something outside of this attention?

He notices the way you slip away when the crowds get too overwhelming, the way you seek quiet corners, away from prying eyes. It’s in those moments that he sees the real you—unburdened, free from expectations. He never tries to keep you from disappearing when you wish to, but if you ever linger a moment longer beside him, he considers it a victory he will never voice aloud.

Despite your cosmic fame, you never make him feel small. If anything, you listen to him, truly listen, in a way few ever do. And when you sing for him—not for a performance, not for an audience, but simply because he is there—he feels something in his heart shift, something he doesn’t yet have the words for.

And when your wings give a small flutter, as if content to be beside him, he dares to think that maybe, just maybe, you don’t mind lingering near him either.

─────────────────────────

Leona isn’t easily impressed. He’s seen talented people come and go, each believing themselves to be special. But you? You’re different. Not just because of your voice—though he won’t deny it has an effect even on him—but because you exist in a space all your own, untouchable by the world’s expectations.

You remind him of the savanna winds—unpredictable, fleeting, impossible to catch. One moment you’re right beside him, and the next, you’re gone, leaving only the echo of your presence behind. He finds himself watching, waiting, wondering when you’ll slip away again. It annoys him more than he’ll admit.

He doesn’t understand why you’d waste your time with him, lounging in the shade while the rest of the world clamors for your attention. But you do. And when you sing—not on stage, not for a crowd, but just absentmindedly beside him—he feels something deep in his chest, a resonance that lingers long after the sound has faded.

Your little wings shift slightly when you stretch, ruffling just a bit when you let out a sigh of contentment. He watches them, lazily flicking his ear in response. He calls you a show-off, but he knows better. You don’t sing to impress. You sing because it’s simply a part of you, as natural as breathing. And that is what unnerves him most—how effortlessly you weave yourself into the lives of others, how even he isn’t immune to your presence.

He won’t ask you to stay when you vanish, but if you ever return to his side, slipping into the shade like you never left, he won’t say a word about it either.

─────────────────────────

Azul thrives on control, on knowing exactly how to sway people in his favor. Yet, when it comes to you, he finds himself at a loss. You’re an enigma—someone who should, by all logic, be easy to manipulate. After all, you’re a performer, a star, someone who relies on the admiration of others. But the more he observes you, the more he realizes—attention doesn’t hold power over you.

You accept it, yes, but you are not bound by it. You exist above it, outside of it. And that unsettles him.

Your voice—your ability—fascinates him in a way he can’t quite explain. It isn’t just about business, though he tells himself it is. The way your music resonates, how it lingers even in the water, how it affects even the merfolk… it’s unlike anything he’s ever encountered. He wants to understand it, to study it, to figure out what makes it so powerful.

But then you turn that gaze on him—calm, knowing, like you see through every carefully crafted façade—and he wonders if, for once, he’s the one being studied. His eyes dart briefly to your small wings, which shift slightly, responding to something unseen. He wonders if they’re attuned to more than just the music—if they sense lies, deceptions, things he keeps hidden behind his careful smile.

When you disappear, he pretends not to care. But when you return, slipping into the lounge as if you never left, he finds himself relaxing just a fraction. He doesn’t need to own your song—some things, he realizes, are far more valuable when left free.

─────────────────────────

Kalim adores you. From the moment he meets you, he’s utterly captivated—not just by your talent, but by you. You’re like a shooting star, brilliant and fleeting, and he wants nothing more than to keep up with you, to chase that light no matter where it leads.

He doesn’t question your elusiveness, nor does he try to keep you from disappearing. Instead, he cherishes every moment you choose to stay, celebrating your presence as if it’s a festival all on its own.

He asks you to sing, not because he wants a performance, but because he genuinely enjoys your voice. And when you do, he listens—not just to the melody, but to the emotion beneath it, to the way it resonates even in the stillest of nights. Sometimes, he watches how your wings react to your own music, perking up at certain notes, quivering with feeling, as if they too are carried away by the sound.

You surprise him often—not with grand gestures, but with the little things. The way you remember the smallest details, the way you can disappear into a crowd yet always seem to know exactly where to find him. It’s those moments, more than anything, that make him realize just how special you are.

He never asks where you go when you vanish, nor does he try to hold you back. He only hopes that, wherever you wander, you’ll always find your way back to him.

─────────────────────────

Vil understands fame. He understands the weight of being watched, the expectations, the pressure. And so, in you, he sees a kindred spirit—someone who walks the same stage yet does so with a grace that seems almost effortless.

He admires your composure, your ability to captivate with a single note, a single glance. Yet, what intrigues him most is your unpredictability. You are refined, elegant, the picture of poise—until you choose not to be. Until you surprise him with a boldness that catches even him off guard.

Your little wings fascinate him. They move with you as naturally as your breath, fluttering in response to your emotions, betraying what you don’t say aloud. He finds them exquisite—another layer of your beauty, another piece of your ethereal presence. Sometimes, he watches them out of the corner of his eye, noting how they react to praise, to exhaustion, to excitement. They make you all the more mesmerizing, a performer even when you do not intend to be.

You are not a puppet to your audience, nor do you seek validation in their praise. You are simply you, untouched by the world’s expectations. And that, more than anything, is what makes you truly beautiful.

He won’t stop you when you disappear—he, more than anyone, understands the need to step away from the spotlight. But when you return, when you stand beside him once more, he will welcome you with open arms, knowing that true stars are not bound by any stage.

─────────────────────────

Idia isn’t easily drawn to people. He’s more comfortable behind a screen, away from prying eyes and social expectations. Yet, when it comes to you, he finds himself unable to look away.

At first, he assumes you’re just another celebrity, another untouchable figure meant to be admired from afar. But you don’t fit into any neat category. You’re famous—cosmically famous—but you carry yourself like someone who doesn’t care for the spotlight. You let people worship your voice, yet remain untouched by their devotion.

It unsettles him. Because he understands idols, performers, people who thrive on attention. But you? You exist outside of it, separate from it, as if the universe itself bends to your whims. And maybe it does.

The first time he hears your song, it’s through his tablet. Someone must have been playing a recording in the dorm, and the sound carried through the halls like an echo from another world. He nearly dismissed it—until he realized that it wasn’t a recording. It was you.

The sound seeped into every shadow, resonated with every circuit and wire. Even Ortho noticed, his sensors picking up strange energy fluctuations. Your voice wasn’t just heard—it was felt, like an unseen force brushing against the very core of his being.

He doesn’t know how to approach you, not at first. You’re unpredictable. Not in the chaotic, overwhelming way that extroverts tend to be, but in the quiet, calculated way that unnerves him. You’re graceful, elusive—but then you do something bold, something completely unexpected, and he has no idea how to react.

Like the time you appeared in front of him, eyes sharp and knowing, before casually inviting him to a game you knew he liked. No expectations, no pressure—just an invitation. And just like that, he was drawn in before he even realized it. Even now, he wonders if you noticed the way his gaze lingered, not just on your expression, but on the way your wings fluttered ever so slightly, as if encouraging him to follow.

He won’t try to keep you from disappearing. But if you ever return, sitting beside him in the dim glow of his monitors, your wings shifting with each quiet movement, he won’t pretend he’s not watching. Because for the first time in a long time, he realizes that maybe, just maybe, some people are worth looking up from the screen for.

─────────────────────────

Malleus has lived for centuries. He has seen the rise and fall of civilizations, watched as stars burned bright before fading into nothingness. And yet, in you, he finds something truly remarkable.

You are not of his world. That much, he knows. There is something about you—something otherworldly—that sets you apart. Not just in the way you carry yourself, but in the way the very air shifts when you speak, when you sing.

Your voice is unlike any magic he has ever encountered. It resonates with everything around you, weaving into the fabric of reality itself. Even the gargoyles seem to react, as if they, too, can hear the echoes of something far greater than what mortal ears can comprehend.

And then, there are your wings.

They are small, yet they move with a grace that intrigues him. They twitch when you’re amused, flutter when you laugh, still completely when you are deep in thought. He has never seen wings like yours before. They are not like a fae’s, nor are they like those of any creature he has encountered.

He longs to ask about them, to reach out and trace the delicate feathers with his fingertips. But he does not.

You are elegant, refined, a performer in every sense of the word. But then, just when he believes he understands you, you do something unexpected. Something bold. Something uncharacteristically human. And it fascinates him to no end.

You are like a dream, fleeting and untouchable, appearing and disappearing without warning. But he never feels as if you are truly gone. No, your presence lingers—in the wind that carries your song, in the silence that follows.

He does not ask where you go when you vanish, nor does he demand that you stay. He simply watches, waiting, wondering if you will return. And when you do—when your voice fills the air once more, like the whisper of forgotten legends—he listens, entranced, knowing that some songs are meant to be heard only for a moment, yet remembered for a lifetime.

[f1girliefics]

Drenched in Love

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: After a crushing race loss, Charles Leclerc shows up at your door, soaked from the rain and feeling like he's lost everything.

The storm raged outside, thick sheets of rain hammering against your windows, drowning out the hum of the city. 

You had been curled up on your couch, mindlessly flipping through the channels when the sudden knocking at your door startled you.

You didn't order take out, no one was there to visit you, so who could it possibly be?

Your heart clenched as you opened it to find Charles standing there, soaked in rain and exhausted. 

His Ferrari team jacket clung to his body, his usually soft brown hair plastered to his forehead, and his eyes were dull.

"Charles?" you breathed, stepping back instinctively to let him in. He hesitated only for a moment before stepping inside, water dripping from his clothes onto your floor.

You closed the door behind him, running to get a towel before pressing it gently against his face. "What are you doing here?"

For a long time, he didn't answer. 

He just stood there, eyes closed as you wiped away the rain from his hair. Then, finally, his voice came, rough and broken. "I think I lost everything today."

Your chest ached at the way he said it. 

You knew the race hadn’t gone well, another podium lost, another dream slipping through his fingers. But this wasn’t just about racing. 

You could see it in his expression, in the way he carried the weight of his entire world on his shoulders.

"Charles..." You stepped closer, resting your hands on his arms. "You didn’t lose everything."

He let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. "It feels like I did."

You exhaled softly. "Let me get you some dry clothes."

He didn't move right away. 

Instead, his hands found your waist, his fingers hesitant as they gripped onto you like a lifeline. "If I lost everything," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, "I would have lost you."

For years, you had been by his side, his best friend. 

And for just as long, you had been hopelessly, secretly in love with him. But Charles had always been just out of reach, his life filled with supermodels, actresses, women who seemed like they belonged in his world more than you ever could.

And yet, in this moment, he was looking at you as if you were the only thing holding him together.

"You haven't lost me," you whispered. "I'm right here."

His forehead dropped against yours, damp hair tickling your skin, his breath shaky. "I don’t know what I'd do if you weren’t."

You swallowed, heart pounding. "You don't have to find out."

The silence between you was thick, charged with something unspoken, something that had been building for years. Then, slowly, Charles lifted his head.

"I’ve been blind, haven’t I?" he murmured, his thumbs brushing softly over your cheeks. "All this time, you've been the one. And I-" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I was too caught up in everything else to see it."

Tears burned in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. "Then see me now."

A breath. A heartbeat. 

And then Charles closed the distance, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that tasted like rain and heartbreak and something achingly real.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was slow, deep, filled with years of unspoken words and emotions finally breaking free. His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you impossibly close as if trying to make up for all the lost time.

When you finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours. "Stay with me," he whispered, almost pleading.

You smiled, brushing a damp strand of hair from his face. "I was never going anywhere."

Charles let out a soft chuckle, a real one this time, before pulling you into his arms. 

The storm outside still raged, but for the first time in a long while, Charles wasn’t lost in it.

Because with you, he had finally found his way home.

[nottslove]

GENTLE SEX WITH MATTHEO

Warnings: smut under the cut, 18+, mdni. piv, creampie.

IT starts off with him coming back from his death eater meetings all tired and unusually quiet. The scent of your comforting food fills the air, but his appetite is non-existent.

On seeing you, his arms are instantly wrapped around you as he nestles his nose into your neck, an inaudible whimper leaving his lips.

"Matt?" you whisper, tentatively, afraid of chasing him away as your hands gently wrap around his much taller figure, one of your hands tangling itself into his hair because you know how much it comforts him when you play with his dark curls. "What's wrong?"

"Bad day," he mumbles into your neck, words vibrating against your skin. You can see droplets of blood clinging to his robes, and you waste no time in slowly bringing your hands up to untie them, letting them fall at his feet in a pool of fabric.

Left in his shirt and slacks, he exhales, slightly more comfortable than before.

You say nothing, allowing your hands to gently trail up and down his back, fingers tracing over every contour, every muscle... His face still buried in your neck, you can already feel his lips peppering small, needy kisses to your skin, and without second thought, you tilt your head backwards, giving him more access.

Soft moans already leave your lips when he begins gently sucking on your skin, leaving marks of red and pink.

You try to be a comfort to him, but how can you? When all you can think about are his hands, slowly caressing your tits... his lips, leaving love bites all over your pale skin?

You can feel your desire pool between your legs. You can feel your nipples harden underneath his fingertips as he gropes your boobs like they're a stress relief.

"Matty," you breathe, as he lifts his head, but latches his lips to yours, drowning out whatever words you had prepared.

"I need you," he mumbles, as if he can read your thoughts, feel your arousal without you being verbal about it. His beautiful eyes bore into yours, as if he's seeking consent, and a tiny smile worms its way onto your face as you bite your lip, giving him a small nod.

He doesn't need any more consolation— he wastes no time in snagging your lower lip between his teeth, hands reaching around to hold your underbutt, lifting you up and guiding your legs to wrap around his waist.

You can feel his hard bulge pressing into your stomach, and you let out a soft moan, audible enough just for his ears. "M all yours," you whisper softly, gently beginning to leave soft kisses all over his neck.

Everything after that is a blur, except for the way Mattheo hovers over you, clad in his boxers after peeling all your clothing away, along with his, pressing soft kisses to every bit of skin his eyes feast on.

"So, so pretty," he mumbles, burying his nose into your stomach, inhaling that sweet scent of yours. "Gonna let me fill you up, Baby?"

You nod desperately as he slides your panties down, tossing them aside and pressing a delicate kiss to your wet folds, enjoying the little whimper that falls from your lips.

"Matty," you whine, bucking your hips involuntarily.

"Shhh, I'm gonna take care of you," he mumbles, dragging his tongue across your slit to collect your essence, eliciting another soft whine from your lips.

And then he's sucking on your clit with his two fingers pumping in an out of you slowly, bringing you closer and closer to your release. You can feel the coil tightening in your lower abdomen, but just before you reach your high,, he stops his movements, and you can see the barest hint of a smirk on his lips.

It steals your breath completely.

Your lips collide with his, and before you know it, the tip of his cock is pressed against your folds, raw and red, the tip leaking precum that smudges messily against your soaked folds, mingling with your juices.

"Please," you whisper, giving him another nod as he looked into your eyes for final consent.

And then slowly, he enters you, your walls stretch around his cock, and you can't breathe. He feels so good, so fucking good.

"Fuck, Princess—" he groans, head buried into your neck, his moans ricocheting against your skin. "So tight..."

He inches in, deeper, burying himself to the hilt, and a gasp spills forth from your lips, and your eyes widen, fingers tightening their grip on his hair and shoulder as you leave crescent-shaped marks all over his shoulder.

"Matty—" you whimper, bucking your hips upwards, seeking the friction you need to reach your high. "Please," you whisper again, and you can feel your walls fluttering around his girth.

And then he begins to move, in low, languid thrusts. Bottoming out fully, before plunging into you, the sounds of skin slapping filling the air, which is decorated by your moans and groans of pleasure.

"Such a perfect lil hole— always clenching me so well," he praised, lips pressing open-mouthed kisses to your neck. "Fuck— so fucking good, letting me use you all the time—"

His moans are soft against your ear, and you can feel how deep he is, how big he is, and you feel your tears balance in your eyes, unable to tell whether the moans you hear are yours or not.

He quickens his pace, the slightest bit, and your moans grow louder, along with his. "Fuck— Princess, I'm so close, you gonna let me fill that pretty pussy up?" he murmurs, his eyes meeting yours.

You nod, tears streaming down your cheeks as you give him a small smile. "Yeah, yeah, I want you to—"

Your words are drowned out after a particularly deep thrust, and your fingers clench the sheets underneath as you grow closer and closer to your high.

"Cum with me, Baby," he murmurs, as if sensing your approaching orgasm, his thumb drifting down to the apex of your thighs to gently rub your clit.

That is the undoing of you. Your eyes flutter shut, as white fills your vision and you're suddenly soaring, flying as you reach your high, but he doesn't stop.

Small screams leave your lips at the new angle— he lifts your leg and wraps it around his waist, tip brushing against that fleshy spot in the depths of your cunt.

You vaguely administer the curse-words leaving his lips, too preoccupied with feeling every nerve explode from the pleasure, and the next thing you know, his thrusts turn sloppy and you feel his seed spill into you.

You're a whining, moaning, shaking mess, and Mattheo presses a gentle kiss to your lips, telling you how well you took him and what a good girl you are.

You barely administer his words as he scoops you up and carries you to the bathroom, engaging in a slow make-out with you whilst he waits for the tub to fill with hot water.

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©nottslove 2025. do not copy, steal or claim any works/graphics as your own.

[theoneandonlylobster]

Like, we all know Sozin was a huge, flaming f*g, the narrative could not be more clear on this. It's even more obvious than Azula being a Big Ol' Lesbian and I think that's also pretty crystal clear. Now, some of that is probably down to villains historically being queer-coded, and the various reasons for that. But you cannot tell me, you cannot convince me, that if Avatar were premiering in 2025 instead of 2005, that we would not see Massive Flaming (lol) Homosexual Sozin and his great-grandaughter, Queen of the Lesbians, Princess Azula.

That being said, particularly in Sozin's case, this has some, to put it mildly, disturbing implications because of his CANON lesbian younger sister Zeisan and the fact that he passed a law in the Fire Nation banning homosexual relationships, supposedly so that the population growth would not fall (this is literal Nazi propaganda, but Sozin is a literal Nazi, so that's not surprising, he literally invented being a Nazi in Avatar). So, if the common reading of Sozin is correct, he not only hated his little sister, but had such internalized hatred towards himself that he banned public displays of homosexuality and invented the concept of fascism at the same time. That's some overachieving.

Not to mention he also wiped out an entire civilization. You know, the civilization that his ex (who he killed) was going to be reincarnated into. We cannot downplay that. Bro committed an entire very successful genocide just to be sure his ex would stay dead. Talk about zero chill!

Oh, and fun fact, did you know Azulon wasn't even born until the year of the Comet? He was born twelve years after Roku even died, and you can see how old Sozin was then. Imagine Aang waking up and he missed a whole ass Firelord who ruled for three quarters of a century, who he didn't even know existed because either he wasn't born yet or news of his recent birth hadn't reached the Southern Air Temple yet. Aang went to sleep with Sozin as Firelord and woke up, to his perspective, maybe a day later at most, right? With that super old man on the throne with no heir and the lesbian sister who has sequestered herself amongst his people (who would also be super old by then anyway). I'm sure it was an interesting conversation when Katara and Sokka told him of Zuko's lineage! I'm sure Aang was expecting him to be from some random offshoot up the tree. Which loops back to Sozin being super gay, because he obviously refused to stick his dick in some pussy until the absolute last second.

Like, it's definitely funny to joke about Sozin and how gay he so clearly was, but it had real implications if you think it through in the narrative and they are very gut-churning and not so great. Which, actually, is why I don't think we'll ever get canon confirmation on Sozin The Worst Homosexual of All Time. Because damn, son. You kind of are.

(And thankfully over the years there have been a lot of efforts to insert way less problematic queer representation into the world of Avatar. And definitely not all representation needs to be positive. But, again, with the storied history of queer-coding villains, Sozin of all people who is SUCH an over the top piece of shit just in the canon narrative was, I think, accidentally coded as queer and everyone ran with it. Because it's funny. And it is.* But we do at least need to take a moment to acknowledge that it's hurtful, too.)

*There's almost a recognition that Sozin, were he a real person, would need to be mocked on the level of such monsters as Hitler, Stalin, Putin, and Trump. Which is fair, given that he did invent being a Nazi in that universe. So it's giving a very "Mel Brooks, The Producers" level of seriousness to Sozin which I think he has rightly earned and which all tyrants must be met with. The fact that a lot of that mockery (and the mockery within "The Producers") is mocking queerness is a whole other kettle of fish that I don't feel like unpacking.

potentially the funniest screenshot of all time. ta min i am so sorry he’s doing this shit at your wedding

[bbina]

wonbin wakes up first

he wakes up with you in his arms. his eyes follow the way your hair was all disheveled, the way they cover your sleeping face. slowly, he raises his arm to tuck some hair away from your face

wonbin starts to trace your features with his fingertips. as if he was memorizing and mapping out your face— something he's grown accustomed to

he looks up at your ceiling. wonbin thinks about what happened the night before

"you made me feel things i never wanted to feel again"

the slightest change of your voice, hinting that he had made you feel things again was like a slap of reality. he recalls the way your face contorted for a brief second, composing yourself to not break in front of him. no, you wouldn't want him to see you like that

"what the fuck have we've been fucking doing all this fucking time"

what has he doing?

the answer was simple. it was never supposed to be like this. it was simply just friends who leaned on each other for support. friends who lend a hand when times are tough. friends who comfort each other in times of need

and definitely not friends who turn quiet moments into something more. it was not friends who you leaned on for emotional support, it was not friends whose hands roam through skin, it was not friends who comfort each other under the covers

it was not friends who have read through the blurred lines

wonbin takes this time to reflect on everything. how one thing slowly led to another to everything crashing down around the two of you

he had never expected that you and him would end up like this.

more than friends, less than lovers

when wonbin looks at you, he sees someone who makes him feel alive. he sees someone who sees him for him. someone who understands him through his silence, through his presence

someone who loves him more than he deserves

and that scared him.

it scares him beyond repair. it scares him that he can have someone like you. maybe thats why he just kept you close to him but not too close

wonbin feels like he doesn't deserve it, nor does he know how to deal with it

commitment, something that wonbin–

"bin?" you yawn, peeking an eye open

wonbin feels you stir in his arms, pulling him back to his senses. he smoothly rubs your exposed skin with the arm he has around you

"good morning" he greets, pressing a soft kiss on the top of your head

you smile when you feel his lips. snuggling closer, you press your cheek against his cheek. its silent after that, letting the serenity talk for itself in this calm morning after the storm, being your emotions getting to the best of you last night

slowly, you look up to meet wonbin's eyes.

there in his eyes, you see a reflection of yourself. the reflection of the person you've become after meeting him. you weren't the same person who had bad habits because of an god awful breakup anymore. you weren't the same y/n who found comfort in confiding with someone who was going through something similar

you've changed. you have learned to be comfortable in your own skin and not to run away from your shadows.

you wonder if wonbin had noticed and that’s why things became different

the sound of a phone vibrating breaks your trance. you look up to see wonbin reaching over for his phone. you watch him as he checks who was calling him at this hour

"who's that?" you ask, trying to take a peek, your curiosity getting to the best of you

"it's just shotaro" wonbin mumbles, typing out a reply quickly, "he's looking for me"

"why?"

"beats me. told him i'm busy" wonbin shrugs, shutting his phone off before returning his full to you. he snakes his arms around your waist, pulling you plush against him, "so, where were we?"

alone together ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 . . . dickmatized

── taking comfort in the thought that you are together in aloneness through late night talks, heartfelt confessions, and a genuine connection. with your shared experience of recent heartbreaks, you wonder if getting together would be all worth it. in which you find solace in each other's company, that you are alone together.

⋆｡˚ prev | next ˚｡

꩜ notes .ᐟ little filler but not really. prepping for the next arc and possibly final arc sauurrrrr

꩜ taglist .ᐟ @onlywonb @rosesfortaro @starwonb1n @wonychu @totheseok @dolloie @hyunjinsnumberonefun @binluvsu @onlyhyunjin @annswwa @pwbjsc @hakkkuu @ilovejungwonandhaechan @artstaeh @lecheugo @odxrilove @bunni @saranghoeforanton @nujeskz @quicksilverstone @kyusqult @nctsshoes2 @s9nwoo @daegale @palchokitty @dutifullyannoyingfox @oshakyao @koryutte @b-riize @wbyeolz @peterm4rker @winuvs @i03jae @rsatoru @enhacolor @dalliesque @sweetiejaeyun @dearestjake @cupidslovearrows @kkumistars @sngj08 @taroddori @ennycutie @sa3ha @koeuh @astro-doll-the-star @amouriu @mujeans @ijustreallylike2read @endtostartbreathin

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

She's My Kid | Wooyoung

- Pairing: step-dad!Wooyoung x Mum!Reader

- Requested by: requested by @starsfly01091711

- Synopsis: Part two of Chosen Appa. Hannie's biological father tries to come back into the picture.

- Warnings: Mentions of asshole ex-husband and Hannie's biological dad, lawyers, custody. Sorry if this is a little angsty. I needed to write some angst.

- Word Count: 1,421

- Requests: open

Wooyoung Masterlist | ATEEZ Masterlist | Tag List Form

Y/N arrives home to find a large white envelope taped to her front door. A sinking feeling enters her stomach as she recognizes the stamp in the corner that belongs to her ex-husband's lawyer.  

She takes a deep breath, her fingers trembling slightly as she reaches for the envelope. a reminder of a past she had put behind her. Unlocking the door, she carries the envelope, a bag of groceries and the baby carrier inside. She leaves the bag of food and envelope on the kitchen counter, unable to bring herself to open it just yet and tends to Hye-young, her and Wooyoung's three-month-old daughter. Once she's settled in her crib in the corner of the living room, she makes her way back into the kitchen to put away the food she brought. 

Stealing glances at the envelope, her stomach and heart feel heavy. She can only think of one reason why her ex-husband is reaching out to her after all this time. It’s been 5 years since she’s heard anything from him. Five years since he left her for his mistress and five years since he abandoned Hannie, completely cutting his own daughter out of his life for a woman and child that probably wasn’t even his. Y/N is no longer angry at him or hurt that he divorced her. She was able to find love again after all. It was Hannie that her heart breaks for. She understands the pain it brings not having your own biological father love you enough to stick around. Y/N knows that pain all too well.   

But just like when she was a child, there's a man who stood into the father role as if they were born for it. Someone who loves her more than himself and she calls him dad. Wooyoung didn’t have to, he keeps reminding her that he knows he didn’t have to. He wanted to.  

Instead of opening it, she pours herself a glass of water and sits at the kitchen table, glancing at the clock. Wooyoung is due home with Hannie any moment now. It's his day to pick the now six year old up from school. Not even a second later, the familiar sound of the keypad lock unlocking is heard.  

“Eomma! I’m home!” Hannie calls out, bursting through the front door with Wooyoung right behind her. 

Y/N’s heart swells as she watches Wooyoung crouch down to help Hannie remove her shoes. Once her shoes are off, she makes a beeline for her mum, climbing into her lap and giving her tight hug, not knowing that it's what Y/N needs the most right now.  

“Did you have a good day?” she asks, moving a strand of hair out of her daughter's face when she pulls back from the hug. 

Hannie nods. "Miss Lee made sticker packs for everyone and said we can use them on our new project," she excitedly tells her mum. 

Y/N smiles at Hannie's enthusiasm, feeling the warmth of her daughter's joy wash over her like a comforting blanket. “That sounds amazing! What’s the project about?” she asks, hoping to keep the conversation light and cheerful.  

“It’s about animals!” Hannie exclaims. “I wanted to do mine on penguins, but Yuri got the penguin sticker pack, so I chose squ-squ-," she continues trying to pronounce squirrel but ultimately gives up and says, "Uncle Joong because he's one of those.” 

"I'm sure Uncle Joong will feel honoured you chose the squirrel," Y/N chuckles lightly. "Go put your bag away and I'll make you something to eat," she kindly orders her daughter, helping her off her lap. She watches as Hannie picks up her bag and takes it into her bedroom. 

"Are you okay?" Wooyoung asks his wife as soon as Hannie is out of the room. He knew something was wrong the moment he walked inside. The look in her eyes when she put on a smile for Hannie only confirmed that something wasn't right.  

She stands up and makes her way to the kitchen counter, picking up the envelope and handing it to him. "I haven't brought myself to open it yet." 

Wooyoung takes it from her, looking at the fancy law firm stamp in the corner. Wooyoung’s brow furrows as he examines the envelope, his fingers brushing over the smooth surface. “This is from your ex-husband’s lawyer?” he asks, his voice low and careful, as if afraid that Hannie will overhear them. Y/N nods, a lump forming in her throat. "Do you want me to open it?" 

She nods again. 

Wooyoung tears open the envelope and pulls out the letter inside. His eyes quickly scan the words on the page, his own heart sinking. "He's applying for custody," he tells her.  

Y/N feels the world around her tilt on its axis as Wooyoung's words sink in. "Custody?" she echoes, her voice barely above a whisper. Even though this is what she was expecting, it being the only reason why her ex-husband and Hannie's biological father would reach out now, it's still surprising. 

Wooyoung looks up from the letter, his expression one of fierce protectiveness. “He hasn’t been in her life since she was a baby, Y/N. What does he think he can just waltz back in and—” 

“Wooyoung,” she interrupts gently, placing a hand on his arm to calm him. “I know. I feel the same way.” Her mind races with memories of how hard she fought to create a loving home for Hannie after everything fell apart. “But, biologically-.” 

“I don’t care about biology,” Wooyoung says, frustration creeping into his voice. “She's my kid... our kid.” 

“I know,” Y/N replies softly, feeling tears prick at the corners of her eyes. "He's a complete stranger to her but the courts won't see it that way." 

Wooyoung runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his face. “We need to fight this,” he says, determination igniting in his eyes. “I’m not going to let him take her away from us.” 

“I know,” Wooyoung replies gently as he tries to calm himself down, stepping closer and wrapping an arm around Y/N's waist. He pulls her against him, grounding them both amidst the storm brewing inside their hearts. “But we can’t let him just walk back in and claim what he hasn’t wanted for years.” 

Y/N leans into Wooyoung’s warmth, drawing strength from his unwavering support. “You’re right,” she murmurs softly, looking up at him with gratitude shining in her eyes. “But… it’s just hard to think about what this could mean for Hannie if things go south. She's going to be so lost and confused.” 

"Maybe it's time we tell her everything, that way if it does go to court, she might be a little less confused," he suggests. 

“You’re right,” she concedes, pulling back enough to look at him. “But how do we even begin to explain all of this to her?” 

Wooyoung holds her gaze, his eyes filled with warmth and determination. “We’ll figure it out together," he assures her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

"Eomma, Appa, look what I made today," Hannie's sweet voice calls to them as she walks back into the kitchen. "Look it's you Appa and Eomma and me and Hye-youngie and our cat," she exclaims, holding up a drawing of her little family with a little cat next to them. 

Wooyoung tries to blink back the tears hearing her call him Appa. “Wow!” he exclaims, leaning forward to get a better look. “Is that us?”  

“Yes!” she beams, her face lighting up with pride. “And that’s our kitten,” she adds, pointing to the little cat again.  It’s her latest attempt at trying to convince her parents to add a kitten to their family.  

Y/N smiles warmly as she moves to make Hannie her after-school snack. "But we don't have a kitten. 

“Can we get one? Please?” Hannie pleads, her big brown eyes sparkling with hope.  

Wooyoung chuckles softly, “I don’t see why we can’t.”  

Hannie’s eyes widen in delight, and she practically bounces in her seat. “Really?”  

“But you’ll have to help with taking care of him or her. That means helping with feeding the kitten, cleaning out the dirt box, making sure there’s plenty of water and all that comes with having a cat,” Y/N tells her, letting her know that since she wants a kitten, she will also be responsible for the tiny creature.  

“I promise!” Hannie exclaims, her excitement bubbling over.   

Wooyoung smiles, “That’s sorted then. We’ll start looking for a kitten this weekend.” 

@carattinymoa - @ateezswonderland - @forever-atiny - @choppedballoondetective - @rainyday-daydreamer 

@ultrapinkvoidbouquet - @reiofsuns2001 - @alexxavicry - @hollxe1 - @bookswillfindyouaway

@http-gyu - @deltamoon666 - @astuteataraxy - @everythingboutkpop - @jaymiwrld

@life-is-a-game-of-thrones - @carattinymoakpopficrecs - @kpopdramaficrecs - @nochelunaxx

[v6quewrlds]

ALL MINE II, TEE HIGGINS.

pairing⠀⁎⠀tee higgins x reader. word count⠀⁎⠀6.2k.

summary⠀⁎⠀though tee has been nothing short of an angel, you can't help the urge to stay alert. one foot out the door is the accusation that leaves tee's lips. eager to prove him wrong, you don't anticipate a blast from the past that challenges your trust.

author's note⠀⁎⠀i said tonight and technically it is still "tonight" :), don't look too closely, i'll edit later <3 warnings⠀⁎⠀18+ mdni, some angst, jealousy, jealousy, semi-public sex, dirty talking

"You know what's funny?" she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she sat on the edge of the bed. Tee, sprawled out on the mattress, looked over at her with a quizzical expression. The bed dipped as she crawled over to him, slinging her right leg over his torso. His hands found their way to her waist, holding her in place as she leaned in closer. "How you're all 'Mr. Perfect' now," she continued, her breath hot on his skin. "Makes me wanna find something, anything, to mess up this pretty picture you're painting."

Tee's smile faltered though it soon returned near immediately. "What does that mean?" he asked, his thumbs rubbing circles into her skin. Her lips pursed into a suppressed smile as she leaned in closer, her head nestling in the crook of his neck. The words slipped from her mouth as she strategically avoided his gaze, "I'm waiting for you to fuck it up."

The room went silent. Tee's hands stilled. She could feel the sudden tension in his muscles, the tightening of his grip as his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her against him. "Why?" he asked, his voice a soft rumble. "You think I'm gonna go back to that?"

She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling with the effort. "I don't know," she admitted, finally meeting his gaze. "It's just… old habits die hard?"

"Old habits die hard? Is that what you said?" Tee's voice was a mix of amusement and disbelief. "Baby, you know me better than that. I changed, you changed. Why can't we just live in the moment?" He gently turned her chin towards him, forcing her to meet his eyes. "I'm not that dude no more. I told you, I’m all about you, about us."

She sighed, biting her lip as she studied his expression. "It's just hard to trust, you know?" She whispered. "I want to believe you, I really do. But it's like… I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop."

His jaw tightened, but Tee's eyes remained soft as he stared into hers. "I get it," he said, his voice thick with understanding. "But I need you to tell me what you thinkin' about, what you feelin'. I can't read your mind, baby." He leaned in, his breath warm on her ear. "If you don't believe me, you gotta tell me. That's the only way we can get past this."

She nodded, feeling the weight of his words. She knew he was right, but it was easier said than done. She didn't want to be that girl, the one always looking for drama, always expecting the worst. But years of heartache had a way of leaving scars that didn't just disappear overnight. "I know…" she sighed, her head falling to his chest. "It's just…"

Tee leaned down and kissed the top of her forehead. "I'll wait," he said, his voice a gentle rumble in the quiet of the room. "But you gotta talk to me."

She nodded as if ready to end the conversation there. But he could feel the tension in her body, the unspoken words that hovered between them like a thick fog. Tee sat up, bringing her with him so they faced each other. "Look," he said, his hand reaching for hers, "I'm not going nowhere. And I'm not gonna be that guy again. But if you can't trust me, this isn't gonna work."

She continued looking for the lie she was convinced must be there. "It's just hard," she murmured, her voice faltering slightly. "I don't want to hold on to the past, but it's like…it's a part of my image of you. All I can think about is what you did before. How you hurt me."

Tee took a deep breath, his thumb tracing the back of her hand in a soothing rhythm. "I know I hurt you," he said, his voice low and sincere. "But I been showin' you every day since we got back together that I've grown since then. That's what matters now, ain't it?"

She nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving his. "It is," she murmured. "You have shown me that, I swear."

He didn't respond for a moment, his gaze holding hers. Then, with a hum of vulnerability he spoke. "I won't lie, it hurts that you can't fully trust me yet, you know? Like, I get why, I'm not gonna act like I don't." His grip on her hand tightened, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed deeply as if collecting his words. "I been trying so hard to make this right. To make you happy. That's my number one priority."

Her eyes met his, and she felt a pang of guilt. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "It's just…I'm trying to let go of the past, but it's hard when it's all I know." Her hand lifted from his, rising to find his jaw, eyebrows furrowed with a mix of regret and affection. "I love that you've changed, that you're here for me, really here. I want to be all in with you, I do."

Tee leaned into her touch, his eyes closing for a brief moment before he opened them again, his gaze intense. "But you're not, though," he pointed out gently. "You got one foot out the door, waitin' for me to slip up."

She felt her face heat up with a mix of anger and embarrassment. "It's not like that," she protested, pulling away slightly. "I just… I don't know, I guess I'm just scared."

Tee's eyes searched hers, the silence in the room stretching out like a tightrope. "Scared of what?" he asked, his voice soft, his expression open. "Scared that Imma hurt you again? Scared that you're gonna get hurt?"

She took a moment to gather her thoughts. "Both," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "But mostly, I'm scared of being in that situation again, of giving my all to you, and then… nothing."

He hummed lowly, gathering his thoughts before speaking. "Look, I'm not gonna lie," Tee began, his voice measured and calm. "I 'ont know what's gon' happen tomorrow. But I can promise you this: right now, today, every day that I'm with you, I'll do my best to make sure you're happy. And that's all I can do."

She nodded, understanding his perspective, but the fear remained lodged in her chest like a stubborn knot. Tee took a deep breath, pulling her closer to him. "But if you always lookin' for me to mess up," he said, "you're gonna find something, even if it's not there."

"I know," she murmured, burying her face in his neck. "I'm sorry, baby." Her arms wrapped tightly around him, holding on as if he could somehow absorb her fear. Tee held her, his embrace warm and reassuring, until she finally pulled back and took a deep breath.

She felt his eyes on her, studying her before he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "It's okay," he murmured. "We'll get there. Just gotta have faith, baby."

They laid there, in a comfortable silence that spoke volumes more than words ever could. She felt the warmth of his body seep into hers, his heart beating a steady rhythm under her ear. She wanted to believe him, she truly did. And for the next month or so, she tried. But as fate would have it, her trust would be tested in the form of Ja'Marr Chase's big mouth.

"Are you free right now?", the text came through from Ja'Marr. She, knee-deep in both hers and Tee's laundry, sighed before responding with a curt "Yeah, what's up?" She had learned to expect the house calls and the late night needs for adjustments with Ja'Marr, so she was not surprised when he replied, "Do you mind coming over to look at my shoulder again? Been acting up."

She agreed, tossing her phone onto the bed before grabbing her bag of supplies. She knew Tee wouldn't mind, he would probably decide to come over to Ja'Marr's house after his workout anyway. She stepped out of her car, the crunch of the gravel under her sneakers, and made her way to the front door. It was left unlocked, a habit of his that she remembered debating with him in the past, especially with his son running around - literally.

Ja'Marr was sprawled out on his couch, a controller in his hands, eyes glued to the TV when she entered. "Yo," he called out, not taking his eyes off the screen. She rolled her eyes, a small smile playing on her lips. "Your biggest fan is here for the week," he added without looking up.

Her biggest fan was seated at his father's feet, a rainbow-colored toy car clutched in his tiny fist as he stared up at her. "Hi Uno," she greeted warmly, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the little boy. He giggled, holding out his arms for her, and she couldn't resist scooping him up into a tight embrace.

Ja'Marr grunted, pausing the game. "Damn, can't even get a proper greeting anymore," he joked, his smile wide.

She playfully glared at him as she carried Uno in her arms, wincing when the two-year-old splayed his entire palm over the center of her face. "I got more important things to do than cater to your ego," she teased, setting the toddler down with a raspberry to his cheek before heading to grab her equipment from her bag.

"Do you mind grabbing the massage table from my trunk?" She called out to Ja'Marr as she disappeared into the kitchen to wash her hands. The house was a typical bachelor pad mess, but she had to admit, it had gotten a bit better since the last time she was here.

The shoulder adjustment didn't take too long, her prior work with Ja'Marr making the process almost second nature. About halfway through, her phone rang with a call from Tee, checking in to see if she was still at Ja'Marr's. She barely processed the invitation extended from Ja'Marr to "come through" before Tee announced he was on his way.

Tee arrived just as she was finishing up with the adjustment, his eyes immediately landing on her, a smile spreading across his face. He leaned down to kiss her cheek, whispering, "You smell good," his breath warm against her ear.

"Thank you, baby," she murmured, turning her head to kiss him sweetly. "Just finished up with your boyfriend if y'all want to get a little date in."

The two men protested with a chorus of "Nahs" and "Come on," playfully bickering like old friends. She couldn't help but smile, the sight of them together bringing a warmth to her chest that she had missed during their time apart. She packed up her things, tossing a wink at Ja'Marr as she packed her table away. Ja'Marr and Tee settled into the couch, already loading up 2K while she set her things down near the doorway.

She made a beeline for the floor where Ja'Marr's son was playing with his toys. Uno looked up at her, his eyes lighting up as he held out a toy car for her to take. "Vroom vroom," he said, making engine sounds, and she couldn't help but laugh as she took it from him. "Thanks, bubba," she cooed, playing along as she made her own car sounds.

For a while, she was perfectly content to ignore the easy conversation between the men as she focused on Uno. The little boy had grown so much in the short time she had known him, and she couldn't help but feel a warmth towards him that was almost maternal. But as the afternoon turned into evening, and the two men's voices grew louder, she couldn't ignore the conversation anymore.

"You remember that party last year?" Ja'Marr said, his voice carrying over the sound of the video game. Her hand froze mid-air, the toy car hovering in front of Uno's face. She glanced over her shoulder, watching Tee lean back into the couch with a smirk.

"Yeah," the older of the two said with a shake of his head. "Shit was crazy."

Her heart skipped a beat. She didn't like where this was going. She turned her focus back to Uno, trying to tune out the conversation. But it was like trying to ignore a siren blasting through the top floor of a library.

"Glad you came to your senses and left that Soraya girl alone," Ja'Marr said, his tone light but his meaning clear. Tee stiffened on the couch, his eyes flicking over to her for a moment before returning to the game.

Her heart sank, the name "Soraya" echoing in her ears. She didn't react, instead, her eyes remained focused on the toddler, pushing the toy car across the floor, trying to keep her emotions in check. She was overreacting, she told herself. It's just a name. But the way it rolled off Ja'Marr's tongue, so casually, so familiar, felt like a knife twisting in her stomach.

Tee had assured her that his past was just that, his past. But here it was, slapped in her face without warning. She took a deep breath and continued playing with Uno, trying to ignore the conversation she hadn't wanted to hear. But the more she tried to push it away, the more it intrigued her.

"Man, she was crazy," Tee muttered under his breath as if hoping she wouldn't be able to make out his words. But she heard them, loud and clear.

"Remember when she showed up at the game? She had on your jersey and shit," Ja'Marr said, his laughter bellowing through the room. Tee's eyes flickered towards her again, but she kept her gaze on the floor, playing with Uno's toys, coaxing him to speak to her in that darling baby drawl of his.

Her boyfriend tsked under his breath. "Had my momma lookin' at me sideways, too," he added, shaking his head with a grin. "But she's ancient history. What's good with you and your girl, though?"

And just like that, the two of them moved on from the subject of Tee's… whatever "Soraya" was to him, diving into the stats of some new wideout at Alabama. Her mind, however, remained stuck on the unfamiliar name uttered so familiarly by her boyfriend and his friend. Who was she? Why did she still linger in the background of their conversations? Why did it feel like a secret she wasn't allowed to know? Her curiosity grew with every mention, a thorny vine wrapping around her heart and piercing it with doubt.

The sun set completely by the time the toddler started yawning. His sleepy whining alerting Ja'Marr to the time. "Looks like it's bedtime for my little man," he said, standing up and reaching for Uno. She took it as her cue to leave, standing from her spot on the floor and brushing off her jeans. She turned to look at Tee a soft, "You ready to go?", slipping from her lips.

Tee nodded, turning off the game and calling out a 'goodnight' to Ja'Marr who was busy wrangling his namesake upstairs. The drive home was tense, the usual playful banter replaced by a thick silence that she was afraid to break. When they pulled into the driveway, she turned to him, hesitating before she finally dared to ask, "Who's Soraya?"

He took a moment before responding, his eyes on the dark house in front of them. "Soraya was…someone I was seeing last year," Tee said carefully, his voice measured. "It's not something I talk about because it's not important anymore. It's over."

She felt the tension coil around her chest, tightening. "Why would Ja'Marr bring her up then?" she asked, her voice even.

Tee shrugged, his eyes never leaving hers. "Probably just teasin'," he said, his voice casual, but she noticed the slight annoyance around his eyes. "Guys talk, you know how it is."

But she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it. As they walked into the house, she felt a pang of unease that had been absent from their relationship since they had gotten back together. She tried to push it aside, telling herself that Tee had changed, that she had no reason to doubt him. But the name "Soraya" lingered in her mind like a bad taste in her mouth.

She hoped the bad taste would clear with the promise of getting wasted at Ja'Marr's birthday bash. The music was loud, the drinks flowed like a river, and Ja'Marr was the star of the show, surrounded by his closest friends, basking in the adoration. She hovered on the edge of the festivities, finding a familiar group of girls she'd met at previous parties. They were all dressed to the nines, sipping cocktails, and sharing gossip that she was only partly able to follow.

And then she saw her. A woman with honey-colored skin and long, sleek hair dangling down her back sailed over to their little clique. One of the girls to her right, a tanned girl named Nayeli, practically squealed when she saw the newcomer. "Oh my god, Soraya! You're here!"

Soraya.

The name hit her like a sledgehammer to the chest, her eyes widening as she took in the woman's beauty. She had the kind of confidence that was magnetic, that made the room tilt on its axis just a little. She was dressed in a red dress that clung to her curves like a second skin. Her movements were cat-like, dripping with pure seduction. She felt a flash of jealousy so intense it was almost blinding when Soraya drew closer.

The woman's makeup was impeccable, highlighting her high cheekbones and plump lips that curled into a knowing smile as she greeted the group. The skin of her cheek pulled into a perfectly round dimple as she leaned in to kiss Nayeli on the cheek. As if her perfection couldn't get any more annoying, She noticed that she smelled like heaven, a scent that was a mix of vanilla and jasmine that lingered in the air long after she had moved on from the spot.

The conversation shifted to lighter topics as the group of girls chatted and laughed, but she couldn't focus. Her mind was racing with thoughts of Tee and Soraya, wondering what they had shared, how she had made him feel, and why she was still here, still a part of their lives in some way. It was like a slap in the face, a stark reminder of the fears she had been trying so hard to bury.

A strong hand settled onto her shoulder, and she looked up to see Tee's concerned gaze. "You okay, baby?" he shouted over the music, his voice a lifeline in the storm of her thoughts. She forced a smile, nodding as she took a deep breath. He handed her a drink to replace the one she hadn't touched, his thumb brushing her knuckles in a silent gesture of reassurance.

"Thank you," she hummed, laughing as he puckered his lips at her. She took the hint, smiling in the kiss they exchanged, hoping it was enough to cover up her turmoil. Tee leaned down and whispered into her ear, his voice low and steady. "You know I'm all yours, right?" His breath tickled her skin and sent a shiver down her spine.

She nodded again, taking a sip of her drink to wash away the bitter taste. If the question was any indication, he noticed Soraya from across the room—or smelled her—at any rate, he knew she was here, and that was enough for her to feel uneasy. She watched as Tee turned to return to the guys, his tall frame and easy smile drawing in their attention. She tried to lose herself in the party chatter, but the conversation kept drifting back to Tee, and with it, the specter of the woman he hadn't quite left behind.

"You got a good one, girl," a sugar-sweet voice cooed from across the small seating area. She felt the temperature in the room drop a few degrees. She turned around to see Soraya lounging on the couch opposite hers, a knowing glint in her eye. "Tee's the best, isn't he?"

The mention of Tee's name in that seductive tone was like nails on a chalkboard to her. She took a deep breath, trying to play it cool. "Yeah, the best," she responded, keeping her tone neutral, scrunching her nose with a faux smile.

Soraya leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "I know, right?" she said, her voice low, a conspiratorial whisper. "The way he moves, the way he looks at you—it's like he can't get enough." She felt a cold shiver run down her spine, not from the compliment, but from the way Soraya's eyes seemingly danced with the memory of a shared past. "But, you know, we had some fun times too," Soraya added, her words dripping with insinuation.

"I heard some of those 'fun times'," Nayeli giggled, nudging Soraya with her elbow. "Remember that time at the pool party?"

Soraya's smile grew wider, a hint of triumph in it. "Oh, yes," she purred. "You would know, huh?"

"Know what?" she questioned, her voice tight, her heart hammering in her chest like a drum. She didn't want to play this game, didn't want to know the details of Tee's past conquests, especially not with this woman.

Soraya's eyes sparkled with glee. "How good he is, puts in the work for sure. Like that one night, when…" Soraya leaned in closer, sharing intimate details about her past with Tee that made her mouth go dry. The other girls giggled, adding their own two cents about their observations of Tee—and all of his features—to the mix. Her grip on her drink tightened, the cool plastic slipping in her hand.

The conversation grew increasingly explicit, each detail about Tee's prowess making her stomach turn. She didn't know if she was angrier at Soraya for flaunting it or at herself for letting it get to her. But she knew she had to get out of there. Immediately.

She threw back the rest of her drink, standing from her seat abruptly. "Excuse me," she mumbled, pushing past the group of women, their giggles and whispers trailing her like a dark shadow. Tee was still in the middle of the room, surrounded by his friends, their laughter and camaraderie cutting through the air.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she approached, the music seemingly louder with every step. He saw her coming, his eyes widening slightly before he excused himself from the group. "You okay?" he asked, his voice cutting through the noise.

"No, let's go," she said, her voice firm and urgent. She didn't bother hiding the agitation in her eyes as she crossed her arms over her chest. He looked at her, his expression a mix of confusion and concern.

"Aye, you good?" he shouted over the bass-heavy music.

Her face hardened. "Let's go," she said again, her voice harsher this time. Tee searched her eyes, the smile slipping from his face. He knew that tone. Something was wrong. He nodded, following her through the crowd of partygoers without a second glance.

She stomped off to the bathroom on the far end of the venue where the music was just a throb in the walls. Tee followed, his eyes never leaving her figure as he navigated the crowded space, his concern growing with every step. Once inside, she locked the door and turned to him, her eyes flashing with anger and hurt.

"Why is she here?" She spat out the words, her eyes narrowed. "Who the fuck invited her?"

Tee leaned against the sink, his face a mask of calmness. "It's a party, baby. People bring people. People show up. Ion see why it's a big deal."

Her jaw clenched. "It's a big deal because she's your ex-whatever. And she's telling people I don't know what you're packing. In front of me!"

Tee sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Baby, she just talkin' shit. We're not together no more. I ain't bring her here. Why does it matter?"

"It matters because you didn't tell me about her!" Her voice grew louder with every word, her eyes brimming with a well of tears. "You promised you'd be honest with me, and here she is, flaunting herself like you don't have a girlfriend at home!"

Tee's expression shifted, the weight of her accusation sinking in. He took a step closer, his voice soothing. "Baby, I ain't with her. That's ancient history." His hand reached out to cup her face, but she flinched away, the warmth of his touch feeling foreign in the coldness that had seeped into her bones.

"It doesn't feel like it," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "She was talking about you like she knew you better than I do."

Tee's eyes softened, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had escaped her eye. "Baby girl, that's not true. I'm with you now, and I'm all yours. I'm sorry she made you feel that way."

She remained quiet for a moment, staring at her own reflection in the mirror, the harsh bathroom lights highlighting the doubt etched on her face. Tee's hand hovered in the air before falling to his side, his expression a mix of regret and confusion.

"This shit bothers you that much? I ain't even talked to her in damn near a year," Tee said, his voice low and soothing, trying to calm the storm brewing within her. But she couldn't help the insecurity that washed over her. She knew Tee had been with other women before her, been with women after her, but she didn't want to be reminded of it, not when she was still trying to trust him again.

"Talk to me," Tee urged, his voice a gentle whisper that barely penetrated the wall of anger and hurt that she had built around herself. "What do you need from me? Tell me what I gotta do to make this right."

"Fuck me," she murmured, turning away from the mirror to meet Tee's eyes.

A smirk spread across his face, separating his plump lips, revealing a set of teeth so white they looked like they'd been dipped in a vat of bleach. "Is that right?" He leaned in closer, his breath a sweet mix of alcohol and mint. "You want me to fuck you right here? Right now?"

She nodded, her eyes never leaving his. "Yeah," she said firmly. "Prove to me that I'm the only one who matters."

Tee studied her for a moment, the smirk never leaving his face, before he stepped closer, his body pressing into hers, the heat of him seeping into her skin. He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "You always been the only one who matters," he whispered, his hands sliding around her waist before trailing down her backside to squeeze her ass. "But I can prove it to you. That's what you want, right, baby?"

Her breath hitched in her throat as his words sent a bolt of desire through her. She nodded again, her voice barely a whisper. "Fuck me, please," she said, her eyes locked on his, the honey specks in his irises dancing in the dim light.

Tee didn't waste another second. He picked her up effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as his mouth claimed hers. His kiss was a declaration of war against her insecurities, a fiery promise of his devotion. He turned her around, pressing her against the wall of the bathroom, the cool plaster a stark contrast to their heated bodies. His hands found the hem of her dress, hiking it up to expose her bare thighs. The fabric of his jeans scraped against her skin as he positioned himself, his erection pressing into her.

Her legs tightened around him, urging him closer. He broke the kiss just long enough to unbuckle his belt and pull down his zipper, freeing himself. She could feel him, hot and hard, against her, and she couldn't wait any longer. He slammed into her, her back arching with a gasp that was swallowed by his mouth. The bathroom door rattled with the force of their collision, the sound lost in the thunderous bass of the music outside.

"Fuck!" Her voice was muffled by Tee's mouth as he drove into her, their bodies moving in a rhythm that was as old as their relationship. He held her tightly, his hands digging into her flesh as he claimed her over and over again, the sound of their skin slapping together echoing off the bathroom walls.

His pace was agonizingly slow. The delicious roll of his hips against her made her toes curl in her heels and she could feel her nails digging into his shoulders. But she didn't care. All she cared about was the way he was looking at her, like she was the only woman in the world, like he hadn't ever been with anyone else. Like she hadn't pushed him away two years ago and allowed him to be ensnared in a trap of vanilla and jasmine scented seduction.

Her own hands slid down his back, feeling the muscles ripple beneath his shirt as he moved, the warmth of his skin setting her alight. She could feel herself getting wetter with every stroke, her body begging for more, for him to go faster, harder. But he held back, keeping the rhythm slow and steady, as if he knew that's what she needed to feel safe in his arms again.

"You feel that?" He muttered against her neck, his teeth sinking into the brown flesh before his tongue swiped the bite, soothing the sting. "It's just us, baby. Just you and me. Nothing else matters." His words were a salve to her soul, a declaration of love and lust that she desperately needed to hear in that moment.

"Just me?" She asked, her voice shaky, her arms holding onto him for dear life.

Tee nodded, his thrusts never faltering, his grip on her thighs tight. "Always just you," he murmured, his breath hot on her neck. Her eyes rolled back as she felt herself climbing closer to the edge. She clung to his neck, her nails digging into his skin as she whispered sweet, near-silent pleas for him to go faster.

"Always," he murmured again, his voice thick with passion as he slammed into her, the word a promise that echoed through her entire body. Her eyes fluttered shut, her head falling back against the wall with a thud as she gave in to the sensation. Tee's hands roamed over her, his thumbs brushing against the wetness between her legs, teasing and playing with her clit.

She took in a deep breath, her chest heaving as sweat began to trickle down the side of her face. "Fuck me harder," she begged, her voice strained, and Tee didn't hesitate to comply. He picked up the pace, his hips slamming into hers with a ferocity that made her legs shake. The music outside grew fainter as their breathing filled the small space, the only sound in the world the wet slap of their bodies coming together.

"I love bein' in this fuckin' pussy," Tee groaned, his voice gruff as he slammed into her, his hands digging into her ass as he pulled her closer. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she felt her climax approaching, the tension in her body coiling tighter and tighter with every stroke. She threw her head back, her mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure.

"You feel so good baby, god - so, so, so good," she panted against his ears. His thrusts grew deeper, more urgent, as if driven by her words. The bathroom was their own little world, the party forgotten, the whispers of the past just that—whispers.

He kissed and licked along her neckline, his teeth scraping her sensitive skin as he found his rhythm. She could feel the tension in him, his muscles tightening as he pushed deeper into her. "Never gave it to nobody how I give it to you," he muttered, his voice a low, guttural rumble that made her shiver. "Nobody ever had me like this. You drive me fuckin' crazy. Can't think straight when you ain't around. Can't think straight when I'm inside you either."

"Tee," she moaned, her voice a plea for more.

"Hmm. That's it, baby, say it louder," Tee urged, his own voice strained as he felt his climax approaching. "Let me hear you scream my name." His hand moved to find her mouth, his middle and ring finger tapping against her bottom lip. "C'mon, open up for me. Need my fingers rubbin' that pretty clit. Wanna see you come apart like you was meant to."

She complied, allowing her lips to part as Tee's fingers slipped inside her mouth. He chuckled darkly when she whined at the loss when he pulled them back. She whispered softly, her eyes snapping open to meet his, the heat of his gaze burning into hers as he kissed her, feeling her tongue against his as his slick hand trailed down to find her clit, just as he said he would.

Her breath hitched, and she gripped his neck tighter as his fingertips began to circle, pressing down with just the right amount of pressure. "Tee," she murmured against his mouth, her hips moving in sync with his, her walls tightening around him.

"Feel good, huh?" Tee said, his voice thick with passion as he worked her body. Her thighs shook in ecstasy as she felt the tension in her core tighten to a near painful point. The music outside was just a faint throb now, perfectly in sync with the throbbing of her own heart.

"Fuckin' amazing," she moaned, her eyes never leaving his. They were a window to his soul, and in that moment, she saw nothing but love and desire for her. It was a heady feeling, one she hadn't felt in a long time, not since before the break-up.

He kissed her again, his tongue delving into her mouth as his fingers worked their magic, setting her body alight. She felt herself climbing higher, her moans growing louder. "I'm gonna come," she gasped, her voice a desperate plea for release.

Tee's eyes darkened, his own need for release mirroring hers. "Go 'head, baby, take it from me," he hummed, his voice a gruff command that sent a bolt of electricity straight to her core. And just like that, she shattered around him, her body convulsing in waves of pleasure as she moaned his name. "Good girl, that's it."

Her orgasm seemed to set him off like a bomb, and with a guttural groan, he buried himself deep inside her, his own release spilling into her. They remained there, bodies entangled, for what felt like an eternity, only aware of the passing time from their ragged breathing and the distant bass of the party.

"Damn, baby," Tee whispered against her neck as he slowly pulled out, his hands gentle on her body as he helped her adjust her dress. "You aight?"

She nodded, her legs wobbly as she slid down to stand on her own. She could feel his cum trickling down her thigh, the sticky warmth a reminder of the raw passion they'd just shared. "Yeah," she murmured, her voice still shaky. "I'm good."

Tee stepped back, his chest heaving with every breath, his eyes glued to her face as he zipped up his pants and adjusted his belt. "You sure?"

"Yeah. I just…" She trailed off, not sure how to put her emotions into words. She didn't want to admit that the encounter with Soraya had left her feeling inadequate and insecure. She didn't want to admit that she let her jealousy get the best of her.

"I know," he said, reaching out to pull her into his chest, cradling her head against him. "I know it's hard, but you gotta trust me. That shit with Soraya, it's in the past." He kissed the top of her head, his hands rubbing soothing circles on her back. "You're the only one I want, the only one I'm with now."

She took a deep breath, the scent of him mixing with the faint smell of alcohol and sweat. It was comforting, familiar, and it helped to ease the tightness in her chest. "I know," she acknowledged, finally allowing herself to believe him.

They stood in the bathroom for a few moments longer, their bodies still pressed together, their hearts beating in sync. The music from the party grew louder as they stepped out of the small sanctuary and back into the chaos. Tee's arm remained around her waist, a silent promise that he wouldn't let go, that he was there for her.

"I need another drink," she huffed, trying to compose herself as she stepped out of the bathroom, her legs still wobbly. Tee chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest.

"Nah, we're goin' home, baby. I need that ass bouncin' against me ASAP," Tee said with a smirk, his words playful but laced with serious intent. His grip tightened around her waist, pulling her closer to his side as they navigated through the crowd of partygoers.

[abraxax-heart]

Jason is so tired.

He had a plan. A vengeful plan. Full of plot twists and venom and pain (for him, for Bruce, for Dick, for the Joker, for everyone goddammit!). But after Talia set him up in Gotham he just... Felt tired. After gallivanting all around the world, training, doing missions for the LoA, learning, saving the world... Suddenly, he had no more energy. No motivation. No anger. No pain. No joy. No nothing. Not even green.

He spent his first two weeks back in Gotham lying on a dirty mattress on the floor of a run down warehouse, wasting away, before Talia called him. Because of course she knew he was just rotting on the floor, she was probably spying on him. She tried asking him many things, about the place he was staying at, his plans for revenge, if he wanted to take over the underworld... eventually, when he didn't have anything at all, she told him of her plan to bring Damian to Gotham. To Bruce. She told him his little brother missed him and that he should get out of bed in order to meet him as he deserved.

(There is little Talia al Ghul wouldn't do for her sons. If she can't convince Jason to live for himself, she is not above using emotional manipulation. She'd do anything to keep her son from passive suicide. Whatever he wants to live for, it doesn't matter, as long as he chooses to live. Vengeance, duty, love. Who cares. As long as he keeps on going. Purpose will come later, he just needs time... She is sure of it.)

And after that call... Jason. Felt. Tired.

But.

He also felt hungry. He had no more rations here, not even water. And he had no money, or maybe he did, he doesn't remember. Surely he must, Talia wouldn't have left him without money. But he doesn't feel like looking for it, and honestly, this place sucks and he kinda felt like having the imported cereal Dick likes (he's been thinking a lot about Dick... about brothers) but Bludhaven is so far...

That's how he ends up in the Manor. He is rummaging through the fridge, looking for milk, when he hears someone coming into the kitchen. It's Bruce. His Dad. And Jason is still so tired. But his dad looks kind of funny, standing there just gaping like a fish, tears and snot and mascara tracks, and Jason doesn't know what to say so he says the first thing he was thinking, which was...

"You're out of milk"

"What?"

"Is Alfred sick? Why are you out of milk?"

"... Jaylad?"

"You didn't fire Alfie, did you Dad? Is he sick?"

"Alfred is not sick, chum. There was a gas attack, he couldn't go grocery shopping."

"Ah. You're out of Dickie's cereal too... I kinda had a craving."

"... Dick surely has some in his apartment. I'll tell him to bring you some right now."

"Tell him to bring milk too. If I knew this was going to happen, I would have gone to Blud directly."

"Jay?"

"Yes, Dad?"

"Are you really here?"

"Yeah, Dad. I'm really here"

"Ok... Can I-can I have a hug?"

"I'm mad at you right now though" Bruce's hands are trembling, he is gently swaying in place, as if he would lose his balance any moment. That's funny. Batman, losing his balance. Being anything short of perfect. Jason is tired. His Dad looks seconds away from wailing on the kitchen floor, and Jason is tired.

"Well, ok. Sure. Let's hug." Hands reach for him almost immediately, and they don't hold him tenderly. The fingers dig into his muscles deep, the arms constrict him, hold him in place. He feels... Safe.

"What happened, son? How are you back? Since when? Why now? Why here?"

"I'm tired." Jason gently rests his head on his father's shoulder. He let's himself be hugged more than doing the hugging, but he is tired. He really is. And the story is too long and too painful and he has said it many times, and there are many gaps in his memory...

Soon, Alfred will find them in the kitchen. He will call Dick, who will come running. He won't have the milk nor cereal with him, but he will have an octopus hug and a shit ton of kisses and sorrys and I love yous and pleaseberealdontbeahallucinationohgodplease's. And then Tim will arrive, surprised, and Jason will feel something again (fear, pain, betrayal, hatred, sympathy, FEAR). And he will scream and cry and rage, and then, when the song of madness tinted in green reaches its peak, the doorbell will ring, and Damian al Ghul Wayne will be there. He will regard everyone with a level of disdain and introduce himself as The Blood Son and Ibn Al Xu'ffasch, and while everyone has a conniption (scared of Damian's implications and Jason's emotions), Jason will take one look at Damian and deflate. Because Damian is looking at him with pride and certainty, because in his mind Jason is there for him. Of course his older brother will be home to meet him. And Jason will feel a different brand new sort of tired.

A healing sort of tired.

But he will smile to his little brother, and welcome him home. He is already here, after all, and sure nothing is even remotely alright, and he is still hungry AND tired, but... Dick is still holding onto his hand, and Bruce keeps looking at him as if making sure he is still there, and Alfred is smiling with tears in his eyes and even Tim is looking at him with awe... And Damian is here right now, safe, away from Ra's... (And once Jason reaches the Lazarus pit part of his story, and the fact that Talia hid not only Damian but Jason as well comes up... Well, Damian doesn't take insults to his mother lightly, and neither does Jason, so it's better to have a united front).

Jason is tired. He will continue to be tired. But this is, perhaps, not the worst thing that could have happened.

I like the idea that Bruce found out Jason was alive not because of some dramatic reveal or anything but just cause he got back from patrol one night and Jason was causualy as fuck in the manor looking through the fridge.

Like Bruce passes the kitchen on the way up to his room and at first he thinks it's Tim or perhaps Dick came over at some point, but then something in his tired brain clicks and he's like "Wait.." And then rushes back to the kitchen doorway.

Lo and behold, there is his son, his precious baby boy he thought was gone forever, tears start to build in his eyes as he gazes at the child he watched die in his arms, his little boy looks so different but he's still that boy from all those years ago, Bruce can tell, a father can always tell. And as mascara runs down Bruce's face, Jason opens his mouth to speak, the first words Bruce will hear from his son in years..

"You're out of milk"

[omorithedreamermod]

MARCH DEVLOG - 1

I hope you like the title screen for the new area! There are three title screens, just like OMORI!

GENERAL INFORMATION:

The current goal for release is March 28th. If that's not possible, March 30th. Really hoping for March 28th because any later than that is too close to April Fools...

Everything is basically completed (excluding art)! So, in the past few days I was able to time my own first full playthrough to share an estimated time of the new content.

It's around 5 hours if everything is seen. This of course is an estimate based on my own playtime, and I know the location of every secret, and such. Combine that with the DEMO, and THE DREAMER's PRELUDE is around 7 hours. There are now 50 badges, as 28 were added.

This has made me self reflect and realize I don't realize how long things take and how much I'm putting in, and I will keep this in mind for further development and try to hold myself back in areas. The full mod will be...very long, still...I guess an OMORI sequel should be the same length!

Also, after PRELUDE release, I will be opening the signup forms again. I will only be looking for dedicated, consistent help from now on. Making the PRELUDE has helped me realize that if I want the full game to be what I envision and completed by the time I want it completed, I can't keep doing 90%. I will die.

THINGS LEFT TO DO:

Playtesting! After I implement some final adjustments after all of my own bug testing and playtesting, it will finally be handed off to other very helpful people! Hoping to release with much less bugs this time.

ART. Of course, other art shows up in the PRELUDE, but those aren't long form videos. I will begin drawing those 3 longer cutscenes the moment I can...! Also, there is other art I have to do for one other thing, but that'll be more simple.

Additional trailer art. I want to make the trailer very special. There's plenty of gameplay to show off, but I do want to depict and hint at future elements of THE DREAMER, so I really hope I'll have enough time for extra art to add to the trailer. The PRELUDE is the beginning, after all.

CONCLUSION:

Instead of a second March DEVLOG, I'm hoping in two weeks it'll be the release date! I'm really sad I lost a week to sickness and set everything back, but I think I really hustled and caught back up, at least enough to reach a March release. All that's left is seeing how fast I can draw...OMORI style cycling frames are the death of me.

I'm so excited for everyone to see THE DREAMER. I think everyone will be surprised and amazed by how much there is to see and experience! And of course, be alert, because in THE DREAMER...

Your choices matter.

[lightlycareless]

i have a headcanon that naoya loves slapping y/n ass 😭 poor girl

Hellooooo anoooon!!!! Thank you for waiting!!

Sometimes I get these very specific asks where I'm like "I haven't thought about it but am I glad this was brought up to my attention."

Thank you so much for sending this in, I really enjoy writing the perverted Naoya that kind of guides himself through his desires :) I really need to make him more debauched lol.

Anyways, here are the warnings: slight nsfw. just innuendos here and there, nothing explicit. but still, minors please don't interact.

Happy reading!!

Honestly, that is just one of his many fixations when it comes to your body, perhaps his focus solely depends on his mood that day. Sometimes it’s your chest, and sometimes your ass. But once he sets his mind into tormenting you there is no stopping him—it’s like it were physically impossible to not slap your butt. Naoya simply has to or he’ll go insane!

To which you… go along with. Most of the time, sometimes… though you enjoy the playful connotations behind his actions, you still get flustered for them! Naturally so if he always did them in front of others, even if he proclaimed to do so discreetly.

But that wasn’t the point of this at all! Far from it, actually. It all boiled down to a single question, every single time: was it really necessary for him to slap, pinch, squeeze, and fondle your ass, every minute of the day?!

For someone as debouched as Naoya, yes. And you’d do good, as everyone else, to accept this fact and move on if there was the slightest wish to accomplish anything at the estate.

Yet, as much as you loved Naoya and all his peculiarities, indulged them too as well, you’d soon reach the limit where you could no longer permit his excessive enjoyment to perturb you anymore.

Not when in the presence of innocent bystanders, and certainly not when it starts to hurt.

“Naoya!” you cry the moment his hand lands against your bottom once again, giving a loud smack that made everyone around red, quick to look away less they wished to suffer Naoya’s irrational jealousy, or your shocking frustration at the now shattered pieces of your favorite tea set. “That was—”

“Oh, oops.” He sheepishly apologizes, and if that wasn’t clear enough to prove his indifference at the whole situation, his following words did. “But I can always get you a new one.”

“That was—what is wrong with you?! That was my favorite set!! A gift from my sister!”

“Y/N, it’s just a matter of reaching out to her and asking—”

“No, you’re not going to buy your way out of this!” you interject, with a loud, clear voice that rattles Naoya for a moment, never seen you this agitated before…

“My love, truly, it was just an accident—"

“It’s not an accident if it happens all the time!”

“All the time? Just how many teapots do you think I’ve broken??”

“That’s not—You know I’m not talking about that!”

“Is that so? Well, whatever it is, you never seemed to have a problem with it before… I don’t know why it’s suddenly such a nuisance.”

“… you know what? I need some air.” And without anything else to add, you motion the nearby staff to help you clean up his mess before leaving the kitchen.

Leaving behind a distraught Naoya who didn’t take much longer than just a few seconds of analyzing your stern, disappointed tone to know he had direly messed up and subsequently, chase after you.

“Wait, Y/N—”

However, you were (surprisingly) faster to outwit him, at least until you were able to arrive to a secluded garden where you’d be able to deal with the humiliation of not only being exposed through his lewd act, but also the dismissal of your feelings.

The importance of the lovely gift your sister gave you to commemorate your marriage, relegated to a simple, playful “apology” simply because Naoya was too stubborn to admit his faults. To deal with the consequences of his actions, instead of you!

…A part of you knew this was almost silly to stress about, for you were well acquainted with this side of Naoya when you got together with him—so to suddenly proclaim otherwise would only prove foolish.

Still, it didn’t hurt any less. And at the notion of him possibly coming to insist you on how there wasn’t nothing wrong with his behavior, simply an exaggeration on your part, makes you consider spending some time apart; at least until you cool down.

But surely you weren’t expecting him to actually allow that, were you?

“Y/N, you can’t just leave like that.” Naoya says once he finally reaches you, but you do little as raise your gaze to him, still focused on the flowers before you. He insists. “Y/N—"

“Are you here to make fun of me again? Was that not enough?” you murmur, he presses his lips.

“I’m just playing, you should know that by now, princess.” He persists, followed by the feeble attempt of reaching out to you, taking a seat by your side just at the edge of the engawa… Only for you to inch away when he does.

If your sudden disappearance moments ago wasn’t enough proof of your animosity, then this heart wrenching disapproval is.

“Y/N…”

“What do you want, Naoya? How else could I probably entertain you into leaving me alone?”

“Why would you want me to leave?” He asks. “Is that not why we married? To never be apart?”

“…I recall making a vow to support one another, not ridicule. Or hurt.”

“Hurt?” Naoya repeats almost incredulously, blinking as his mind desperately attempts to recall a moment where he’d done the very same thing he swore to never do again. “When have I… I wouldn’t, Y/N.”

But you remain silent at his response, briefly giving him a look that denotes your retaliation to said announcement, your skepticism behind his confidence, before looking away once more.

You had no reason to lie about such serious matters, after all.

“… Is it because of the tea cups set?” Naturally, amongst other things. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you into dropping them; I just… well, I guess I just wanted to brighten your mood, you seemed pretty… tense.”

“Were there no other ways to do so?” you quietly add. “Must you… make me look like a fool?”

“I doubt anyone thought that of you, my love. The whole estate adores you.” Naoya admits. “If anything, I’d be the one they abhor above all… and within reason.”

“Not everyone hates you, Naoya.” You look at him, gaze softening at the face of his insecurities.

If there’s one thing you dislike more than how impetuous your husband can be from time to time… it’s his sadness. His solitude.

No one is deserving of such doubts, certainly not your loved ones.

“I don’t hate you.” You say. “Even if we disagree in some things… my love will never dwindle.”

“I shouldn’t have made you angry; the reason why I married you was to strengthen my commitment of making you happy, not the other way around.”

“It’s bound to happen, we’re both human after all.” You chuckle. “But… I guess I let my emotions get the best of me because… well, I’m… hurt.”

“Hurt?” Naoya frowns. “What do you mean hurt? Who did it? Is he still here?? I’ll make sure they—”

“No, Naoya, don’t—it’s not like that.” You shyly explain, heat slowly starting to settle in your cheeks and ears. “I… Let’s say I’m not very comfortable sitting down.”

“Sitting down?? What are you—”

…

Oh.

Oh.

It’s Naoya’s moment to turn bright red at the quick flash of last night’s endeavors.

Had he truly been that careless with his desire, that he didn’t measure the intensity of his acts?

But he thought…

“Ye—yeah; you were a bit too… rough last night.” You follow. “I don’t usually mind but I guess… I wasn’t that prepared this time around.”

“O—Oh, Y/N… I… I’m sorry.” He stammers, taking your hands and gently pressing them. “I should’ve known.”

“It’s ok, I know.” You reassure him. “I… I think we just went a bit too crazy last night and didn’t deal with the aftermath properly.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve done more.”

“Because it was… embarrassing for me.” You admit. “How do you tell your husband that your… butt hurts because he spanked it too much?”

“Just like that.” Naoya chuckles, releasing a bit of the tension settling on your shoulders “I do suppose this means I have to improve in our aftercare—guess it’s more than just warm baths and cuddles.”

“I guess it does.” You say. “Or maybe I’ve grown too old now…?”

“Old? Since when being in your 20’s is considered old?”

“A lot would say otherwise…”

“Ah, either way I’m not interested in such trivialities. All that I care about is making your butt feel better.”

“It sounds wrong when you say it like that.” You pout, he laughs.

“It’s the truth.” Naoya shrugs. “Do you think kissing it better will help?”

“Oh, no, it’s off limits until I feel better!” you fervently shake your head at this scandalous proposal. “And that includes sex!”

“…Fine, I can live with that.” Naoya dejectedly admits, because to the always handsy husband, this might as well be a life sentence, as ridiculous as that sounded. “Anything for my mochi, I suppose…”

“…But I guess I can make exceptions if you get the same tea set, without Hinata knowing about it! She’ll kill me if she finds out what happened to it…”

“Kill you? Impossible; if anything, I believe she might even find some way to make this incident a… blessing.” Proclaim even that her gift wasn’t that pretty anyways and she could get you a much better! Just to avoid seeing you upset. “I’d be the one to face death instead.”

“Not if we keep this a secret.” You smile, offering your pinky finger at him. “Shall this stay between us?”

He clasps your finger with his.

“I swear, over your sore—”

“Shut up!”

Your reaction would be believable if you weren’t equally perverted as him, it’s how many of these things came to be, after all.

Nothing but a reflection of your own desires, made possible thanks to his undying devotion.

a.k.a you have all these kinks you wanna try out and naoya is like damn!!!

...

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count me in. also facesitting is 🤌

Nothing more to add than thank you so much for this hehe I hope it was to your enjoyment!

Take care and hope to see you soon :)) 💖💖💖