#in meme words ... we been knee

[oflights]

Top five songs/lyrics that make you feral?

oh anon, you are speaking my language!!

Glory, Radical Face

A bird, caught in the wires Bleating for help I can't provide, I'm not that big I hope for the best but nothing changes, I'm sorry But I was blessed with bad eyes There's a lot that I miss but I don't mind, I'm not that old I'll find out what broke me soon enough

2. The Trapeze Swinger, Iron & Wine

But please remember me, fondly I heard from someone you're still pretty and Gleam and resonate just like the gates Around the Holy Kingdom With words like, 'Lost and found' and 'Don't look down' And 'Someone save temptation' And please remember me as in the dream We had as rug burned babies Among the fallen trees and fast asleep Beside the lions and the ladies

3. More Adventurous, Rilo Kiley

I've felt the wind on my cheek coming down from the east And thought about how we are all as numerous as leaves on trees And maybe ours is the cause of all mankind: Get loved, make more, try to stay alive

4. champagne problems, Taylor Swift

"This dorm was once a madhouse" I made a joke, "Well, it's made for me" How evergreen, our group of friends Don't think we'll say that word again And soon they'll have the nerve to deck the halls That we once walked through One for the money, two for the show I never was ready, so I watch you go Sometimes you just don't know the answer 'Til someone's on their knees and asks you

5. Servants and Kings, Radical Face

When all was fire, and the weather's out for blood And the boys, still too young to drink, were drownin' in the flood I'd hear you laughing as I'd come on out for air And I'd laugh with you, pretending that we care

[sealmisuyu]

Seventeen and their baby💭

─┈ ۫  ˖  ⊹ ୨sealmisuyu◛ ˚₊🍈 ֹ ׅ ɞ more content under the cut!

You were convinced that being an idol was supposed to be cool.

You were also convinced that being the youngest in a company full of older idols should not mean you were treated like a lost puppy at all times.

But Seventeen had other plans.

The first time you met Seventeen, you were starstruck. The second time you were ambushed.

"She’s so small" Seungkwan announced, staring at you like you were a rare animal at the zoo.

"I’m literally a normal height" you deadpanned, but it didn’t matter because Mingyu had already picked you up off the ground like a sack of rice.

"HAVE YOU BEEN EATING WELL?"

"PUT ME DOWN THE FUCK—"

And from that day on, the teasing never stopped. You were practically a baby to them, and they took their big brother roles seriously.

"Did you drink water today?"

You blinked up at Minghao, who had materialized out of nowhere with a bottle of water in hand.

"Uh… yeah?"

He squinted. "Drink again."

You sighed but took a sip anyway, because you knew better than to argue with him.

And it wasn’t just that.

When you tried ordering coffee, Joshua intercepted with a horrified gasp. "You’re too young for that!"

"Josh, I’m literally an adult"

"You’ll stunt your growth!"

"I’M ALREADY GROWN?!"

Dino nodded solemnly. "This is how they treat me, too. There’s no escape"

Unfortunately you learned that the hard way.

One time, you tripped during a music show rehearsal, and before you even hit the ground, Joshua had already caught you, Jeonghan was checking your knees, and Hoshi was yelling at the floor.

"WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO HER?!"

(Hoshi please it’s just a floor)

And don’t even think about dating.

"Who are you texting?" Woozi asked casually, glancing at your phone.

"No one."

"You smiled."

"I was looking at a meme!"

But it was too late.

"WHO IS IT?"

"DO YOU HAVE A CRUSH?"

"IS IT SOMEONE WE KNOW?"

The way they interrogated you, you’d think you were committing a crime.

"Guys, I don’t even like anyone!" you huffed.

"Good" Vernon nodded"Boys are scary"

"…Aren't you a boy?"

"Exactly."

If you posted a selfie, they flooded the comments with embarrassing uncle energy.

"Our baby is so cute!!!" – Hoshi

"Why is she posing like that?" – Woozi

"POCKET SIZED" – DK

If you did a weevers live, they showed up in the chat like overbearing parents.

"Did you eat?" – Seungcheol

"Why are you still awake??" – Jeonghan

"She’s not even reading our comments, betrayal." – Jun

It wasn’t just words. They really did treat you like a younger sibling in every way. If you were lost in a music show building, you called Mingyu. If you were stressed about choreography, you messaged soonyoung for tips. If a sunbae was being intimidating, Wonwoo would just... stand next to you silently until they backed off.

And whenever you had a comeback, they made sure to cheer the loudest.

"She’s so tiny!" Dino cooed when he watched your latest stage.

"That’s crazy" Vernon muttered. "She’s literally our age gap in physical form"

You rolled your eyes at them but couldn’t help the smile creeping up your face.

They acted like you couldn’t even breathe without their supervision, but you kind of… loved it? They never let you feel alone in the industry, always making sure you had people to lean on.

So, after your first music show, when you turned your head instinctively to find your members, your eyes instead landed on them— Seventeen, screaming their heads off in the crowd like proud dads at a school play.

And when you cried after winning your first award, they didn’t tease, didn’t joke.

They just hugged you one by one, whispering, "We’re so proud of you little one"

And suddenly you realized.

They weren’t just your sunbaes.

They were family.

[fuckitupfelix]

Hear me out,

A soft spoken hero reader. He's mainly for damage control and healing. He is well liked by the public and even gets cutesy nick names and edits on the internet.

And jealous Mark, who's slightly possessive over reader. But it never goes beyond thoughts because the reader is his own person.

But the variants obviously have to have different thought processes and morals. It would be interesting to see how they react to this universes version of reader.

(You can choose the variant(s) because I really suck ass at remembering their names.)

never letting you go.

invincible x male reader

chars: full mask, no goggles, mohawk, sinister mark variants

warnings: canon compliant violence + mild suggestiveness (no goggles, mohawk, sinister) + straight up cannibalism ? (sinister)

mainstream mark has liked you for a while. the two of you have grown close during his time as invincible— mainly due to him absolutely wrecking himself every time he fights and you're the one healing him— but he's grown fond of you over time. you both like seance dog, even though it took him months to squirrel that information out of you; you're always so quiet, so soft-spoken and nervous and shy. but now he knows you better, and you've warmed up to him.

you jokingly scold him more when he comes to you for stupid little injuries, and you send each other memes and edits that you find of your hero personas. he really cares about you, and he'd never want you getting hurt. thats one thing that never changes; even across universes.

full mask!mark

when he came during the invincible war, he had two people on his mind; debbie and you.

when he finds you he's absolutely pathetic

-> im talking practically on his knees, clutching at your waist, fingers digging into your sides (only slightly)

he was so convinced he'd lost you forever, but now that he finally had you back? oh he's never letting you go..

very gentle with you. he knows you aren't technically as fragile as a normal human, but compared to a viltrumite? you're like glass to him

used to HATE when you healed him because it fatigued you so much with how many injuries he bore

he lost you once. he's not losing you again.

you're out in the city, doing your best to help anyone that was unlucky enough to get caught up in the carnage. the amount of times you expected to pull out people and only got detached limbs made your stomach churn. you've been at it for a while when you notice mark descend next to you, his suit dripping with blood.

"mark...?" you murmur, eyes wide. without hesitation, your hands are on his shoulders, placing your forehead against his as you wait for your healing powers to work. a subtle but warm blue light envelops you both. "are you okay? you look... terrible."

he doesn't respond, instead leaning into your touch. he wraps his arms around your waist and lets his head dip into the crook of your neck. "god, its been so long..." he murmurs, lips ghosting over your neck. you tense up at his choice of words— this isn't your mark. fuck.

you stop your healing slowly, and try to gently peel yourself away from this.... imposter.... but his grip tightens on you almost immediately. "please, [name].. i can't believe its you." he almost whines into your neck, pressing soft kisses into it. "i know im not your mark, but let me bring you home with me. i'll keep you safe. I promise. i'll be a better boyfriend than your mark is."

"mark and I... we aren't..." you trail off, but he gets the hint, and immediately shoots up into the sky, cradling you flush against his chest.

"shhh, my love, it's okay," he murmurs, even though you hadn't made a sound. "i'll take care of you, i promise. you and mom are coming home with me. this time I'll keep you safe."

no goggles!mark

he's absolutely obsessed with you

in his universe, you used to heal him no matter how badly he got hurt

-> the healing process hurt equally as much at the actual fighting, your powers working overtime to set his broken fingers back into place and regrow adult teeth in a matter of minutes

-> yeah he got off to it. he would sometimes let himself get a little more beat up just to see you

stalked you back in his universe! he's got your daily schedule and mannerisms memorized, down to what mugs you prefer

you haven't even stepped foot out of the kitchen when mark comes in through that window with loose bolts— some things really don't change, even across dimensions. you hear the window creak, and you turn to see him there. you know this isn't your mark; his mask and suit are slightly different, but also his expression. he looked too.. calm. too cheerful.

"hey, mark," you murmur, your voice dying in your throat. there's a solid chance he's going to hurt you, you think. your grip on the counter behind you tightens. "what're you doing here?"

before you can blink, he's floating inches away from you, bringing his hands up to cup your face tenderly, rubbing his thumbs over your cheeks. he leans close, inhaling your smell; fresh laundry mixed with mild rosemary. just like his [name].

"hey, you," mark coos, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your nose. he sounds too happy; too giddy. "missed ya sooo much, babes."

this isn't your mark. your mark is touchy, yes— but he knows his boundaries. his touches are arms thrown over shoulders, loose hugs, and light shoulder punches. not this. not tight squeezes on your shoulders, wet kisses across your face, or thighs rubbing against crotches. definitely not.

"we aren't dating," you whisper, gently curling your hand around the one holding your face, carefully peeling it away from you. mark snorts at that, and grasps the hair on the back of your head, gripping tightly. "sorry."

"well, in my universe, we are. isn't that good enough, [name]?" he giggles, and he pulls you so your lips crash against his, but its softer than you'd expect. it was almost sweet, if not for the intense grip on the back of your head. you bring your hands up to push against mark's chest. he chooses to ignore that, pressing you harder against the counter, forcing his tongue into your mouth and nibbling on your bottom lip.

"mark," you mumble against his lips, finally shoving him off of yourself, ignoring the little flip your stomach does. "i need to go help people."

"come on, i'd end up killing more people than you could save," he groans, letting his thumb trace over your bottom lip. "actually, I think you're saving more people staying with me here, dont'cha think? come onnnnn, [name]. don't you wanna keep all those people safe?"

mohawk!mark

hates how nice you are. like actually loathes it, and he tells you that

-> always talking about how you should be meaner, how you're a little pussy. his version of you doesn't take it to heart as much anymore

prob one of the few variants that won't be extra gentle with you because of your powers

-> "im not even being rough— you can just fix yourself later, stop bein' a crybaby."

definitely mocks you whenever you cry but licks the tears away anyways

he finds you when you're looking for your own mark. you tried calling him, texting him, asking cecil if he knew. nothing. then mark comes along, hovering over you with a nasty grin on his face. only... he's got the sides of his head shaved. of course you find a knockoff and not your actual mark..

you hold your hands up in a placating manner, as if you were dealing with a feral animal; you were, in a sense. except this was a more unpredictable situation.

"finallyyy," mark groans, floating down closer to you, arms crossed. "i was starting to think they didn't have you in this universe." he then pins you to the ground, his hands trailing and groping every inch of your body as he practically straddles you. "fuckin' missed this," he grins.

you tense up, and try to knee him in his crotch. he winces a little, spitting out a curse, and his thighs tighten around you. "come on, cutie, don't be a bitch," he scoffs, staring down at you. he grabs you hair, yanks your head up, and then proceeds to smash it down into the pavement. a strangled yell leaves your lips, your hands pawing pathetically at the pavement beneath you as a blue light circles around your shoulders. your head is throbbing, and you can feel a small sticky puddle forming under your head. you resist the urge to throw up.

"why're you.." you grit out weakly, hand grabbing at mark's thigh, nails digging into the flesh.

"awwwh, is little [nickname] tryna heal himself?" mark laughs, grabbing you by your throat and wrapping his hand tighter and tighter, pressing you down into the pavement. "you know only I can make you feel like this, yeah? i know you like it, so quit fucking struggling and be a good boy, hmm?" he coos, leaning down and messily smashing your lips together.

sinister!mark

uses you as his chewtoy. deadass

you're less of a romantic partner, more his property

-> if he's badly hurt and needs medical attention, he goes to you. if he needs sexual relief, he goes to you. if his teeth ache and he needs something to gnaw on, he goes to you.

keeps you close to him whenever he does anything; he can't have his property getting damaged, now can he?

finds you and your powers very interesting.. keeps you like a little science specimen

-> he talks down to you all the time, and he always expects an answer. nods or little noises won't cut it.

you're trying to help people, attempting to heal the people you just dug out of rubble. there was one more person you had to bring, but when you turn around, you see a floating figure clad in yellow and black, and wearing a cape. you've been at it for hours now; long enough to know this mark is fucking dangerous. even if he is anything like your mark, the chances of him being actually nice are.... pretty slim.

"ahhh. i was wondering when i'd find you. this is cute, trying to save all these people?" mark hums, hovering just in front of you. he smiles. its unnerving.

"mark. hi." you say, trying to keep your voice steady. you can feel the heat radiating off of his body. keeping your breathing consistent, you continue. "it's, uh, good to see you."

he doesn't bother acknowledging what you said. "you really think you can help these people? why?" he scoffs, and in an instant, he darts behind you. the warm blood splattered on your back processes faster than the screams. you turn around slowly. there he stood, atop the corpses of the civilians you had just struggled to save, his arm poking straight through a person's chest.

"m-mark—" your voice dies in your throat when mark turns to look at you. he hovers over, the metallic smell of blood filling your lungs. his feet finally touch the floor. he rolls his shoulders, muscles flexing.

"i told you. it's pointless. you're more useful for other things." he chuckles, his crimson-soaked hand squishing your cheeks together with one hand and grabbing you by the waist with the other . he tilts your head an uncomfortable amount, and bites down into your shoulder. he shoves your head into the crook of his neck to muffle your pained scream, but the sound still cuts clean through the silence. He moans at the taste of your blood, his teeth ripping off a chunk of your flesh. he runs his tongue over the newly formed crevice in your shoulder, lapping the blood up.

"go on. heal it." he says, digging his tongue into the wound. your hands dig into his back, clawing at the fabric of his cape and suit, your yells of pain barely muffled by his shoulder. you can feel your knees buckle underneath you, and your head feels heavy as you try and heal yourself. it's not working as fast as you'd hoped— you're long since exhausted from working for hours saving the now corpses behind you.

"god, are you even trying?" mark scoffs, and his hands dig into your side, fingers piercing the flesh by your ribcage. "come on, pet. you can do better than that," he sneers, dragging his nails down and through your skin.

the writing blurbs are so uneven im so sorry :< if you want me to do other variants lmk!! I might continue this with shiesty and viltrum mark at some point...

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 18

˗ˏˋ on your kneesˎˊ˗

"He didn't picture himself ever begging for pussy... but alas, here he is."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 8,7k

content: wet sloppy kissing, jungkook being too horny for his own good, vibrator usage, masturbation (f), jerking off while eating kitty (idk what possessed me but i had to), vanilla kink (are we surprised), begging, slight praise kink, comfort, endearing moments, these two being stupid as always, post-orgasm sharing bed (yeah sleeping together), thinking about maybes.

✧ author's note ✧

LISTEN. You’re so lucky I have multiple FMU chapters backlogged right now, because if I didn’t? I would have thrown an actual tantrum, declared a two-week hermit arc, and told you all to fuck off while I moved to the mountains. BUT. Thankfully, I’ve written up to around Chapter 23-ish and just need to edit, so you can all calm the hell down.

First of all, no—I still haven’t updated the update post, because I’ve been too busy prepping this chapter for release. I’ve had zero time to sit and ponder. That said, the only valid suggestion I’ve gotten so far is to keep the Tumblr note goal but ALSO require the Wattpad goal to be hit—so that’s what we’re trying this time around.

Also—BIG ANNOUNCEMENT—we now have an official Kiki Nation Community on Tumblr (yay!). That’s where you little gremlins can finally scream together in one place, throw theories at each other, and insult Jungkook and Nix in a safe, protected space. (Mainly Jungkook. Because he’s a man. And this is a matriarchy. HUSH.)

So please check it out! Join, comment under the official Chapter 18 discussion post, and if you feel inspired to make a meme or TikTok or post your spiral—DO IT. If it makes me laugh, I will absolutely reblog it.

NOW. About this chapter.

BAHAHA. Okay. First of all—I am so proud of the kiss. I wanted it to be sloppy and wet and messy and borderline excessive, and I think I delivered. It’s so long. I really put my whole kikussy into it.

And of course… it was time. The vibrator had to make its appearance. It’s literally law. I don’t make the rules (but I do).

Also: Rogue begging. crawling. STILETTOS. Why did I like this chapter so much. It was delicious. I love sexually down bad men. Wait until he’s romantically down bad. It’s going to be so satisfying. Trust me.

And the ending?? Made me soft. Actual progress?? Kind of??? They’re still filthy, but they’re also edging toward something stupidly endearing and I hate how much I love that. The way this story is progressing is so slow-burn it makes my bones hurt, but I’m obsessed with it. We are maybe… possibly… inching toward friendship territory. MAYBE.

I’m really looking forward to the next chapters—soon, we’ll meet a new LI on Jungkook’s side (YES!). Things are gonna get messy (eventually). Reminder: they have zero romantic feelings right now. ZERO. What you’re seeing is just… subconscious tension, subtle shifts. We’re nowhere near falling.

So please. I beg you. If I start getting asks about them being in love, I will throw my laptop out the window and revoke my dictatorship. Don’t test me.

Enjoy the chaos. Let me know how hard you spiraled. Love you forever.

OH. I said it before but I will say it again. This chapter is entirely based on the song "get on your knees" by Ariana Grande and Nicki Minaj so. Do with that what you will. Listen to it. Enjoy.

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

His kiss tastes like four days of wanting.

Your back hits the wall as his mouth crashes into yours—not gentle, not careful, just hungry. Like he's been starving for the taste of you since Tuesday. 

His tongue traces the seam of your lips, a question that isn't really a question at all, because you both know how this ends. You part your lips anyway, granting him access because denying him feels like denying yourself.

His hand comes to rest on your neck, thumb pressing lightly against your pulse point. It's a strange, suspended gesture—like he can't decide whether to pull you closer or hold you exactly where you are. The indecision is so unlike him that it makes your stomach flip.

Then his tongue flattens against yours, and any thoughts of indecision evaporate. He's not kissing you so much as he's tasting you, licking your flavor directly from the source. The sensation is filthy and intimate as his other hand comes to your cheek, fingers splaying across your skin, holding you in place for his exploration.

"Fuck," he breathes against your mouth, the word more vibration than sound. "Missed this."

Not you. This. 

The distinction matters, even as his tongue circles yours in a slow, deliberate drag that makes your knees weak. He's coating himself with your saliva, savoring you like you're some expensive whiskey he's been saving for a special occasion.

You should probably be grossed out by how wet this kiss is, by how thoroughly he's claiming your mouth.

Instead, you find yourself pressing closer, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

Because this is what you've been missing too—not him, not really, but this. The way he makes your body respond without even trying. The way he kisses like he's trying to memorize the taste of you.

And then his lips close over yours—soft but firm—like finishing the kiss just to start it all over again. Chained kisses. One bleeding into the next, seamless and endless.

You follow him because how could you not? The way he kisses—it’s not just skill; it’s instinct. Like he knows exactly what to do to keep you hooked, alternating between tongue and lips so perfectly that you never get tired of either. 

Not that you could ever tire of him. 

You’re pretty sure you could never erase the way he kisses—or fucks—from your mind even if you wanted to.

Maybe it’s him knowing what he’s doing. Or maybe it’s just the two of you—two mismatched pieces of completely different puzzles that somehow fit together anyway. 

Just like your mouths do now.

Just like when your tongue darts out to lick at his lower lip in a kitten lick that has him hitching against you, a small, desperate sound escaping his throat. His hips stutter against yours like his body is telling you to stop messing around and get your tongue back inside his mouth where it belongs.

So you do.

You push forward, tongue meeting his again in a slick slide that has him groaning into your mouth. Then you close your lips to transition into another kiss and he follows, tongues forgotten for three, four open-mouthed kisses before he’s lost patience.

He moves his tongue against yours, seeking more, always more. Because when it comes to you, Jungkook is just this eager.

But this time you catch it. Suck it into your mouth in a soft suction that makes him freeze for half a second before his hand tightens on your neck. 

And the sound he makes?

Undiluted filth.

It spurs you on.

You suck harder, dragging your lips down his tongue before releasing him with a soft pop that leaves both of you panting against each other’s mouths. He doesn’t let the pause last long—doesn’t let you last long—and dives back in with a hunger that feels less like kissing and more like consuming.

Tongues forgotten for other five or six kisses as his lips move against yours with bruising intensity—open-mouthed and messy—but he easily grows impatient and his tongue is soon back, sliding against yours like he wants it there.

You catch it once more—suck it again—and the way his hips jerk against yours tells you everything you need to know about how much he likes it.

Filthy sounds fill the space between you: wet kisses, soft moans, the occasional hitch in his breath when you do something particularly good with your tongue.

And when his teeth graze your lower lip before pulling back just enough to look at you?

You realize there’s no winning here—not for either of you—because this isn’t about who takes control or who gives in first.

It’s about this. About mouths fitting together perfectly even though nothing else about this situation should make sense. About tongues sliding together and lips bruising from too much pressure but neither of you caring because fuck—it feels good.

It feels better than good.

It feels addictive.

Your back hits the table near the entryway, and honestly? You never thought a piece of furniture could be an accomplice in your bad decisions, but here you are. Pressed against the entryway table. The one that holds your keys, Yoongi's forgotten mail, and now, apparently, your dignity.

Jungkook hasn't stopped kissing you—not for air, not for sanity, not for anything resembling common sense. It's like he's on a mission to consume you entirely, starting with your mouth and working his way through the rest of you.

These are not the kisses you exchange with people you tolerate. These are not even the kisses you exchange with people you like. These are the kisses of people who might actually hate each other but have found a much more interesting way to express it.

Your lower back presses against the edge. Hard wood digs into soft flesh, and you're about to complain when—

Fuck.

He lifts you. One hand. One fucking hand curves under your ass and hoists you onto the table like you weigh nothing, while his other plants itself firmly on the wood beside your hip. The display of casual strength makes something molten pool in your stomach.

Unfair. Completely unfair how stupidly hot he makes stupid things look. Lifting you shouldn't be attractive. It's basic physics, not foreplay. But your brain has apparently liquefied, pouring out your ears while he steals the oxygen straight from your lungs.

"Fuck, Nix," he mutters against your mouth, the words more vibration than sound. "Been thinking about this for days."

His mouth is relentless—wet, demanding, precise in a way that makes your toes curl in your shoes. He sucks your lower lip between his teeth and—god—applies just enough pressure to sting, like he's trying to extract something essential from you. Like he needs to squeeze you dry, drain you of whatever it is that keeps him coming back.

Didn't even know your bottom lip was an erogenous zone until Jungkook decided it was.

It's too much. The heat, the closeness, the way he seems to have forgotten where you are, who you are.

You push against his chest—not hard, just enough to create a sliver of space between your bodies.

"Jesus Christ," you gasp, chest heaving. "Let me breathe, you animal."

He grins at that—a scorching, self-satisfied smile that makes you want to either slap him or pull him back in.

Maybe both.

He bites his lower lip, swollen from your kisses, and immediately leans back in like your need for oxygen is a minor inconvenience to his plans.

Your palm against his chest stops him, firm this time.

"Wait," you say, voice rough.

Not because you want to stop—god no—but because your brain is finally catching up to your body. And there's something you want. Something specific.

His eyes find yours, dark and questioning. Patient, despite the hunger radiating off him in waves. He's holding himself back, you realize. Letting you dictate what happens next.

Your eyes drop, hair falling across your face as you gather your thoughts, your courage. When you look back up at him through your lashes, his breath catches audibly.

"Bring me the vibrator you chose for me."

His reaction? Pretty funny. Like watching a computer crash and reboot. His entire body goes still—processing, processing—then his eyes widen a fraction. He blinks once, twice, tension visible in the way his jaw ticks.

"What?" he asks, voice cracking slightly.

Something about his reaction makes hot satisfaction curl through you. You like throwing him off balance. Like matching his chaos with your own.

"The vibrator," you repeat, slower this time, savoring each syllable. "The one you picked out. Go get it."

His eyes dart toward your bedroom door, then back to your face. For a moment, you think he might refuse. Might challenge you. But then:

"Yeah," he nods jerkily, already stepping back. "Yeah, I will."

"Will you?" you press, because you can't help it. Because you like the way his pupils dilate when you push.

"Fuck yeah," he breathes, already moving toward your bedroom with a kind of urgent, stumbling grace that would be comical if it weren't so hot.

You watch him go, breathing still uneven, lips still tingling. 

And you think—not for the first time—that there's something dangerously addictive about the way Jungkook responds to you. The way he matches your energy, then amplifies it, reflecting it back at you until you're both caught in some kind of feedback loop of bad ideas and worse self-control.

Roommates with benefits, you remind yourself. That's all this is.

But as you hear him rummaging through your things, drawers opening and closing with increasing urgency, you can't help but wonder if "benefits" is too mild a word for whatever the fuck is happening between you two.

He sprints.

Jungkook doesn't walk to your room—he fucking jogs, like the vibrator might disappear if he doesn't get there fast enough.

Like this moment has an expiration date he can't afford to miss.

No shame. Not a single ounce of it as he bursts through your door, scanning the bedroom impatiently. The same room he's been in a couple of times, but never with this specific mission, never with this frantic energy coursing through his veins.

Where the fuck would a girl keep her vibrator?

No. Not a girl. You. Where would you hide it?

Under the pillow?

He lifts the edge of your pillowcase, peeks beneath it. Nothing. Definitely not there—you like sleeping too much, and having a hard plastic toy jabbing into your cheek all night would be uncomfortable as hell. You're smarter than that.

The wardrobe?

He eyes the wooden doors across the room, considering.

No way. Too far from the bed. You're too practical for that kind of inconvenience. If you wanted to get off, you wouldn't want to climb out of bed and trek across the room.

His eyes land on the nightstand. Bingo.

The drawer slides open with a soft sound. First thing he sees: a messy stack of panties, some lacy, some cotton, all of them instantly triggering mental images he doesn't have time for right now.

He fights—really fights—against the urge to pick one up. To feel the fabric between his fingers, to imagine it hugging the curves he's already memorized with his hands, his mouth. Maybe even bring one to his nose...

Focus, dickhead.

Pushing the underwear aside (what? sue him for wanting to fuel his imagination), his fingers brush against something solid. Hard plastic. Smooth curves.

There it is.

He pulls it out, a triumphant grin spreading across his face as he examines his find. It's exactly as he remembers from the store—sleek, purple, designed for both internal and external stimulation.

Still in its original packaging, which means you haven't used it yet.

Something jittery and hot coils in his stomach at the thought of being the first to see you use it.

He grips it tighter, already imagining what it'll look like pressed against you, already wondering if you'll let him control it or if you'll insist on doing it yourself.

Either way, he's about to witness something fucking spectacular, and his body knows it. His cock strains painfully against his jeans as he heads back to you.

He takes a deep breath before rounding the corner from the hallway.

Tries to center himself, to cool down just a little.

To not look as desperate as he feels.

But then—

Fuck.

The vibrator nearly slips from his suddenly sweaty palm.

You're naked on the table. Completely, gloriously naked except for those high heels that make your legs look like they go on for fucking miles. The dress is gone—discarded somewhere on the floor—and your panties dangle precariously from one ankle like an afterthought.

One leg bent at the knee, heel resting lazily on the wooden surface. The other straight up, creating a perfect right angle that showcases everything he's been craving since the moment he walked through the front door.

And your hand—Christ—your hand is between your thighs, fingers drawing lazy circles over your clit.

His eyes stutter back to one thing though.

The heels.

What is it about the fucking heels?

He's never particularly cared about shoes before, but something about the way they elongate your legs, the way they make your calves flex, the dangerous point of those stilettos against the wooden table-it's doing something to him. Something unexpected and intense.

He nearly stumbles. Actually has to catch himself on the wall because his knees go weak at the sight of you touching yourself, waiting for him, spread open on the goddamn entryway table like the world's most perfect welcome home gift.

His grip on the vibrator tightens until his knuckles go white. He forces his face into something resembling control—a smirk, he hopes, though it feels more like a grimace of restraint.

"Needed it that badly?" he manages, trying to sound casual and cool, though he guesses he fails spectacularly at that.

Your eyes meet his, challenging. "Didn't you?"

The question catches him off guard, but he doesn't falter. Not much, anyway. Just a slight hitch in his breathing that he hopes you didn't notice.

"Yeah," he admits, the word barely audible. Then, louder: "Yeah, I did."

He starts walking toward you, vibrator clutched in his hand, but you stop him with a single raised palm. The universal sign for wait.

"Crawl to me."

His feet halt. He opens his mouth. Closes it.

What?

"What?" he asks, not sure he heard correctly.

"You heard me." Your fingers never stop their gentle circles. "Crawl."

He doesn't know why he does it. Doesn't pause to analyze why the command sends a jolt of electricity straight to his cock.

He just... does it.

Drops to his knees, then to all fours, the vibrator still clutched in one hand.

Maybe it's the novelty—you taking control like this when usually he's the one calling the shots.

Maybe it's the way your eyes darken as you watch him approach, like seeing him on his knees for you is doing something for you too.

Or maybe—most likely—it's just the promise of getting his head between those fucking glorious thighs again.

Whatever the reason, he crawls to you across the hardwood floor, too turned on to care about how it looks, too desperate to worry about his dignity. All he can think about is how wet you'll be, how good you'll taste, how he wants to make you come on his tongue before introducing the vibrator.

He's almost there—close enough to smell you, close enough that if he stretched forward just a bit, he could press his mouth to your inner thigh—when the sharp heel of your stiletto plants firmly against his forehead.

The pressure isn't hard enough to hurt, just enough to stop his forward momentum. To keep him back.

He looks up at you, disbelief warring with arousal.

Surely you're joking?

There's no way you're genuinely stopping him when he's this close, when you're this wet, when everything about this moment has been building toward his mouth on you.

Right?

"The vibrator," you say, extending your hand, heel still pressed lightly to his skin. "Give it to me."

His throat works as he swallows, suddenly parched. "Don't you want me to—"

"The vibrator, Ro."

The nickname, combined with the firm tone, makes his cock make a mating dance against the zipper of his jeans. He places the toy in your outstretched hand, watches as you examine it with curious eyes.

You turn it over in your palm, studying it like it's a puzzle to solve. Your brow furrows slightly as you locate the power button, press it experimentally, and soon enough its low hum fills the space as the toy comes to life, vibrating gently in your hand.

"I've never used one before," you admit, and he already knew.

You told him that much before buying it.

Nonetheless, the idea that he gets to witness this first for you—it does something to him.

Makes him feel special in a way he has no right to feel.

"Let me help," he offers, voice strained. "I can show you how—"

"I think I can figure it out," you interrupt, but there's uncertainty in your eyes as you look at the different buttons, the various settings.

Fuck, you're adorable. Even spread-eagle on a table with a vibrator in your hand, there's something so endearing about your determination to figure this out on your own.

He watches, mesmerized, as you press another button. The vibration intensifies, making you jump slightly at the change. Your finger slips, pressing yet another button, and suddenly the toy is pulsing in a rhythm that has him imagining it pressed against you, imagining your reaction to that particular pattern.

He can't take it.

"Here," he says, reaching up, a bit desperate, a tad impatient. "May I?"

After a moment's hesitation, you nod, removing your heel from his forehead and allowing him to rise up on his knees. He takes the vibrator from you, quickly familiarizing himself with the controls.

"This button cycles through the patterns," he explains, demonstrating as the toy shifts from steady vibration to pulsing to waves. "And this one controls the intensity."

He presses it, the vibration becoming stronger under his thumb.

"Start low and work your way up."

He hands it back to you, then you glare at him and okay, he immediately settles back on his heels, waiting. Watching. Fucking aching to see what you do next.

You take the toy, reset it to the lowest steady vibration, and then—God help him—you bring it to your breast first. Circle your nipple with it, eyes fluttering closed at the sensation.

"Fuck," he breathes, the word barely audible over the hum of the vibrator. 

He shifts on his knees, trying to adjust himself without being too obvious about it. His jeans have become a torture device, constricting him painfully as he watches you explore.

The vibrator trails down your stomach, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He can see them form on your skin, can see the way your muscles tense in anticipation as the toy moves lower, lower—

And then it's there, pressed against your clit, and the sound you make—a soft, surprised gasp followed by a deeper moan—nearly ends him.

"Good?" he asks, voice wrecked.

You nod, eyes still closed, hips already starting to move against the vibration. "Good. Really good."

He leans forward instinctively, mouth watering at the sight of you pleasuring yourself. He wants to taste you, wants to feel the vibrations against his tongue as he licks around the toy.

Wants to be part of this moment in a way that's more than just watching.

But as he moves closer, your eyes snap open, fixing him with a look that stops him cold.

You extend your leg, the one that was dangling off the table, pressing the point of your stiletto against his chest this time.

"Just watch," you command, voice breathy but firm.

He blinks, sure he's misheard. "What?"

"I said watch." You adjust the vibrator slightly, finding a better angle that makes your breath hitch, toe of your shoe pressing more firmly against his sternum. "Don't touch. Just... watch me."

Is he dreaming? Having some kind of bizarre hallucination? There's no way you're asking him to just sit here while you get yourself off right in front of him.

No fucking way.

"You're joking," he says, but the steady look in your eyes tells him you're not. "Nix, come on. You can't expect me to—"

"I can," you interrupt, increasing the vibration intensity with a press of your thumb. The change makes you gasp, hips lifting slightly off the table. "And I do."

He blinks, eyebrows tugging upwards in a cross motion. "Do you want me to bust untouched? Is that it? Because that's cruel, even for you."

A smile curves your lips, mischievous and knowing. "Maybe I just want to see if you can behave for once."

"I behave," he protests, even as his eyes remain fixed on the vibrator, on the way it glides through your wetness, on how your thighs have started to tremble already.

On those fucking shoes that, for some inexplicable reason, are making this whole situation at least ten times hotter.

"Prove it," you challenge, and fuck—he's never been able to resist a challenge from you.

Never really been able to back down when you push him like this.

So he stays where he is, on his knees, hands fisted at his sides, watching as you explore the toy, as you find what feels good, as you experiment with different patterns and pressures. Your foot still rests against his chest, not pushing him away now, just... there.

A point of contact that feels both like ambrosia and agony.

It's torture. Beautiful, exquisite torture to be this close and not touch you. To smell your arousal and not taste it. To hear your moans growing louder and know he's not the direct cause.

But it's also—strangely, unexpectedly—one of the hottest things he's ever witnessed.

Because you're not performing for him. You're genuinely discovering what you like, what makes you feel good. And there's something incredibly intimate about being allowed to witness that, about being trusted enough to see you this vulnerable, this real.

"That's it," he encourages as your movements become more focused, as you settle into a rhythm with the vibrator that has your breathing turning shallow. "Just like that. You look so fucking good, Nix."

Your eyes meet his, heavy-lidded but alert, and for a moment, he can’t help but stare back.

Then you close your eyes again, lost in the sensation as the vibrator buzzes steadily against your clit. Your free hand comes up to your breast, pinching your nipple in time with the pulsations of the toy, and he groans at the sight. 

Your foot presses harder against his chest, whether intentionally or as an unconscious reaction to your growing pleasure, he doesn't know.

Doesn't care.

"Cruel," he mutters, because he needs to at least let you know. “You're fucking cruel, you know that?"

His eyes are fixed on your pussy like it's the only thing in the universe worth looking at. Maybe it is. The way you're working that vibrator against yourself, the little circular motions, the way your hips lift occasionally when you hit just the right spot—it's driving him fucking insane.

His dick is so hard it hurts at this point, and he thinks it's going to start a mutiny. He shifts his weight, trying to get some relief, but it only makes things worse. His forehead thumps against the corner of the table in frustrated surrender.

"God fucking hell," he groans, the wood cool against his skin. "Nix, I need to lick you. Please. Just—let me taste you."

You look down at him, eyes heavy-lidded but gleaming with amusement. Your stiletto traces a path down his chest, and when it reaches his stomach, you press slightly, the point digging into the muscle there. 

A warning. 

A tease. 

He's not sure which, but it makes his cock throb painfully either way.

"What was that?" you ask, lifting the vibrator just enough that he can see how wet you are, how your pussy glistens in the low light. "I didn't quite hear you."

Fucking tease. Fucking gorgeous, evil tease.

"I said I need to lick you," he repeats, louder this time, pride completely abandoned. "Let me put my mouth on you. Let me make you feel good."

You pretend to consider it, tilting your head like you're weighing your options. Meanwhile, he's about to combust from the inside out.

"I don't know," you muse, trailing the vibrator up to circle around your clit, making yourself gasp. "I'm doing pretty well on my own, don't you think?"

Your stiletto moves again, tracing along the inside of his thigh. He tenses, breath catching as it moves higher, closer to the straining bulge in his jeans.

“Phee,” he bites back a groan. "You're doing amazing. Fucking incredible. But I can make it better. You know I can."

"Hmm." You press the vibrator directly against your clit again, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before fixing back on him. "Maybe if you ask nicely."

Is this really happening? Are you really making him beg? His cock twitches at the thought, answering that question with an emphatic yes.

He swallows, throat dry.

"Please," he says, voice rough. "Please let me help."

The word lies suspended between you. 

Please. Such a simple word, but one he doesn't use often—not like this, not with this much raw need behind it.

Your eyes widen slightly, like you weren't expecting him to actually do it. To actually beg. But then a slow smile spreads across your face, and you nod.

"Since you asked so nicely," you say. "Go ahead."

He doesn't need to be told twice. He surges forward, hands gripping your thighs, spreading them wider as he buries his face against you.

The first swipe of his tongue makes you both moan—you from the sensation, him from finally, finally getting to taste you.

You taste amazing.

Like always.

Like something he could get addicted to if he's not careful.

"Fuck," he groans against you, the word vibrating against your sensitive flesh. "So fucking good."

He could honestly cum like this. Right now. Just from the taste of you on his tongue, from the way your thighs tense around his head, from the little gasps you make. 

He knows he's got blue balls at this point. Knows his cock is probably leaking precum into his boxers, making a mess he'll have to deal with later. But he doesn't really care.

Until you kind of make him care.

"Jerk off."

He freezes, tongue mid-lick.

Did he hear that right?

Looking up at you, genuinely confused, he asks, "What?"

Your answer is a knowing smile and a slight increase in pressure as the heel traces the outline of his cock through the denim. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make him incredibly aware of how hard he is.

"I want you to get yourself off while you eat me out, Ro."

Jesus Christ.

When did you get so fucking bossy? And why is it turning him on so much?

"Yeah," he says, almost to himself, fumbling with his zipper. "Yeah, okay, absolutely I can do that."

His hands shake slightly as he undoes his jeans, shoving them and his boxers down just enough to free his cock. It springs up against his stomach, hard and flushed and so sensitive that even the brush of air against it makes him hiss.

"Shit," he warns, wrapping a hand around himself, already knowing this isn't going to last long. "Just a heads up, but this might be embarrassingly short."

You laugh, the sound turning into a gasp as he dives back in. Your leg dangles over his shoulder now, heel pressing slightly against his back.

"That's okay," you manage to say between breaths. "I'm pretty close too."

Thank fuck for that. Because the moment his hand starts moving on his cock, he knows he's on borrowed time.

The vibrator hasn't stopped. That's the thing that's driving him absolutely fucking insane. You've got it pressed right against your clit, humming on its lowest setting while he licks at your lips, tasting every inch of you except the one spot you're keeping for yourself.

It's maddening.

It's genius.

It's the hottest thing he's ever experienced.

His tongue traces your entrance, dipping just slightly inside before retreating to lick broad strokes along your folds. He's taking his time despite his own desperation, despite the way his hand is working his cock at a steady, measured pace.

Because he wants this to last, wants to savor the privilege of having his face between your thighs while you take your pleasure so confidently.

"More," you breathe above him, and he's not sure if you're talking to him or yourself.

But then your fingers move, pressing a button on the vibrator, and the hum intensifies. The sound changes pitch, grows deeper, more insistent. Your hips jerk in response, a gasp falling from your lips that sends blood rushing to his already throbbing cock.

His fist tightens instinctively, pace quickening to match the vibrator's new rhythm. It's like his body is syncing with the toy, with your pleasure, his own arousal tied directly to yours.

"Fuck, Nix," he groans against you, the words muffled but still audible. "You're so fucking wet. So fuckin’ good, I swear—I swear I could do this for hours.”

“But you won’t last hours,” you tease, rolling your hips against his face. “Will you?”

He shakes his head, not even bothering to deny it. Not when his balls are already drawing up tight, not when each stroke of his hand brings him closer to the edge.

“Nngh—no,” he admits, the word punctuated by a particularly firm stroke that has his hips bucking into his fist. “Not gonna—ah—not gonna last long at all.”

Because the truth is, he’s dizzy with it—your taste, your scent, the sounds you're making above him. It's overwhelming in the best possible way, a sensory overload that makes his cock pulse in his grip, precome slicking the way as his fist moves faster, more urgently.

You shift the vibrator slightly, angling it for better contact, and your free hand finds his hair. Fingers tangle in the strands, not quite pulling but definitely directing, holding him exactly where you want him.

"Inside," you command, voice breathless but clear. "I want your tongue inside me."

He doesn't hesitate. Doesn't even think. Just obeys, tongue pushing past your entrance, delving into the wet heat of you while the vibrator continues its relentless assault on your clit.

The angle is awkward, his neck craned to accommodate both the toy and his mouth, but he doesn't care.

Can't care about anything beyond the way you clench around his tongue, the way your thighs tremble against his cheeks, the way your grip tightens in his hair.

His cock throbs in his hand, so sensitive now that each stroke sends sparks shooting up his spine, and fuck he's close—so fucking close—but he's determined to make you come first. Wants to feel you pulsing around his tongue, wants to experience every tremor of your orgasm firsthand.

Above him, your breathing has grown ragged; little gasps and moans that tell him you're getting close too.

"Don't stop," you gasp, basically riding his face at this point. "God, don't stop."

As if he would.

As if he could tear himself away from this even if the building were on fire.

Your thighs start to shake in earnest now, little tremors that grow stronger by the second. The hand in his hair clenches, your stiletto digs into his back, the pressure increasing as your body tenses, and now he just knows; knows how close you are to the edge.

It makes his strokes faster, more desperate.

“Shit,” he gasps, pulling back for air. “Fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Don’t stop,” you command, lost in a whine. “Don’t you dare stop.”

And he feels it the moment you start to come—the way your inner walls flutter around his tongue, the sudden flood of wetness, the sharp cry that tears from your throat. His name, maybe. Or just a sound of pure pleasure. He's too far gone to tell the difference.

But it doesn't matter. What matters is that you're coming on his tongue, coming while he tastes you, while the vibrator buzzes against your clit, while his cock throbs in his hand, so close to his own release that he can feel it building at the base of his spine.

He pushes his tongue deeper, wanting to feel every pulse, every contraction of your orgasm. The vibrator keeps buzzing, prolonging the sensation, pushing you higher and higher until your hand finally yanks at his hair, pulling him back when it becomes too much.

"Fuck," you gasp, voice wrecked, vibrator still humming in your grip though you've pulled it away from your oversensitive clit. "Fuck, Ro."

The sound of his nickname—that stupid nickname you’ve given him—paired with the sight of you flushed and trembling from an orgasm he helped create, is what does it. What finally pushes him over the edge.

His release hits him then, stealing his breath as his cock pulses in his hand, spilling onto the hardwood floor in hot spurts that seem to go on forever.

He groans against your thigh, face pressed into the soft skin there as his hips jerk, chasing the last waves of pleasure.

“Ffff—shit,” he slurs as he strokes himself through the aftershocks. “Holy sssh—oh—fuck… Ahhh.”

For a moment, there's nothing but the sound of breathing, harsh and uneven. The vibrator still hums softly, forgotten in your hand until you fumble for the off button, plunging them into sudden silence.

Jungkook rests his forehead against your thigh, trying to catch his breath, trying to remember how to form coherent thoughts.

His hand is sticky, his knees ache from the hardwood floor, his back tingles from the trail your heel left across it, and he’s pretty sure he’ll never be able to look at the entryway table the same way again.

But fuck if it wasn't worth it.

He pulls back, gasping for breath, his hand still loosely gripping his spent cock. He probably looks a mess—hair wild from your hands, face shiny with your wetness, expression dazed and satisfied.

"Christ," he breathes, looking up at you with something close to awe.

"Yeah," you agree, equally breathless.

A moment passes where you just look at each other, both trying to process what just happened. Then, because he's Jungkook and he can't help himself, he grins.

"So," he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his clean hand. "I guess you like the vibrator I picked, huh?"

You roll your eyes, but there's no real annoyance there. Just a kind of fond exasperation that makes his chest feel weird and tight.

"It's alright," you say, casual as anything, like you weren't just having what looked like the most intense orgasm of your life. "Could've been better."

He laughs, full and genuine. "Liar."

Your lips twitch, fighting a smile. "Maybe."

He sits back on his heels, suddenly aware of the mess he's made on the floor. "We should, uh, probably clean up before Yoongi gets home."

You nod, both legs dangling off the table. “Wouldn’t want to scandalize him.”

"He's seen worse," Jungkook says without thinking, then flinches. "I mean—not with me. Just, you know, in general. Living with roommates and all."

You give him a look that's equal parts amusement and skepticism. "Right."

Awkward silence falls as the reality of what just happened settles in, because this? Yeah, it was sex. But this time you took control, you made him beg, you saw him at his most desperate and needy.

And he... liked it. More than he probably should have.

"So," he says, tucking himself back into his jeans with as much dignity as possible. "That was fun."

You snort. "Such a way with words, Ro."

"What can I say? I'm a poet."

He gathers the dress from the floor and gives it to you. You throw the dress at his head, but you're laughing, and he thinks—not for the first time—that he likes that sound. Likes being the cause of it.

He doesn’t analyze it further than needs to be.

He catches the dress, handing it back to you with exaggerated chivalry. "Your garment, m'lady."

"You're an idiot," you say, but there's no bite to it. Just that weird, fond tone that makes his stomach do strange things.

Fully on both legs now, he places both his arms between your spread thighs, his face hovering close to yours, tilting to the side.

"Yeah," he agrees, because sometimes the simplest truth is the easiest to admit. "But I'm an idiot who makes you cum really fucking hard, so..."

And there it is—that flash in your eyes, that hint of heat that never seems to fully dissipate between you two. 

"Don't get cocky," you warn.

Too late, he thinks. Way too late for that.

He stands there with the taste of you still on his lips and he can't help but feel satisfied.

Good.

“Does this mean we’re not fighting anymore?”

You laugh, the sound bright and genuine in the quiet room. “I guess not.”

“Good. Because that was a fucking stupid fight anyway.”

“It was,” you agree. “But the makeup sex was worth it.”

“Always is with us.”

And that’s the truth of it, isn’t it? No matter how much you argue, no matter how much you drive each other crazy, this thing between you—this chemistry, this connection—always brings you back together. 

No strings attached, just pure, perfect understanding of what the other needs.

It’s not love. It’s not even like, most days. But it’s something. 

Something that works for both of you.

And then, Jungkook feels your forehead press against his shoulder, which catches him off guard. Not because it’s heavy or anything—it’s not—but because it’s you.

You, who usually keeps your distance unless you're actively trying to rile him up. You, who just made him beg on his knees like some desperate idiot a few minutes ago.

And now you’re here, leaning into him like this is normal. Like this is fine.

It’s... nice. He hates that it’s nice.

His lips twitch upward despite himself, a soft smile breaking through the lingering haze of post-orgasmic bliss. His hand moves before he can think better of it, sliding up your back in a slow, deliberate stroke. His palm presses lightly between your shoulder blades, fingers splaying out as he rubs soothing circles into your skin.

Your back is warm under his touch—soft in places, firm in others—and he thinks about how strange it is that he knows what you feel like now. Not just your skin but the way you move under his hands, the way your muscles tense and relax depending on what he’s doing to you. 

It’s intimate in a way that makes something uncomfortable stir in his chest if he lingers on it too long.

So he doesn’t linger.

“Cleanup?” he asks, voice low and rough from everything that just happened.

You grunt. Not a word, not even a real sound—just a grunt. Like the idea of moving is physically painful to you right now.

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through both of you. 

“Alright,” he says, hand still on your back as if that’s going to keep you from sliding off the table and face-planting onto the floor. “Let me get some wipes.”

Another grunt. This one sounds more annoyed than tired, but he can’t tell for sure because your face is still buried against his shoulder.

“Don’t tell me…” He pauses for dramatic effect because he knows how much you hate when he does that. “You’re a cuddlebug?”

That gets a reaction. Your head snaps up so fast he almost flinches, and then you’re shoving at his chest with both hands like you’re trying to push him off the planet.

“Fuck you,” you mutter, but there’s no real heat behind it. Your hands stay on his chest for a second longer than necessary before falling back to your sides.

He snorts, stepping back and giving you space because even though he likes teasing you (maybe too much), he knows when to quit.

Most of the time, anyway.

“Stay there,” he says over his shoulder as he heads toward his room. “Don’t move.”

You don’t respond this time—not even a grunt—but when he glances back, you’re still perched on the edge of the table looking thoroughly unimpressed with life.

Very you, indeed.

Then he's stepping into his bedroom, and of course, it is dark when he steps inside, the only light coming from the hallway spilling in behind him.

He grabs the container of wet wipes from his nightstand (don’t ask why they’re there; that’s none of anyone’s business) and heads back out before his brain can start overthinking anything.

When he returns to the entryway, you haven’t moved an inch. You’re still sitting there with both legs dangling off the table.

And for a moment, he can’t help but think the sight is oddly cute.

“Alright,” he says again as if this is some kind of official business meeting instead of… whatever this is. “Let’s get this over with.”

He crouches down first, wiping at the floor where his cum has left an embarrassing mess that Yoongi would absolutely kill him for if he saw it later. The hardwood glistens faintly under the light as he scrubs at it with more force than necessary—partly because it needs to be cleaned properly and partly because maybe if he focuses hard enough on this task, he won’t think about how close your legs are or how good you smelled earlier or how fucking soft your skin felt under his hands.

When he's done with that part (and only when he's sure it's spotless), he straightens up and turns toward you.

Your eyes are on him—soft but unreadable—and it makes something twist in his stomach that has nothing to do with hunger or exhaustion or anything else logical.

“What?” he asks because apparently silence makes him nervous now.

You shake your head slightly, lips curving into something that might be a smile if it weren’t so small and fleeting.

 “Nothing.”

He doesn’t believe you—not for a second—but decides not to push it because pushing things with you in this state never ends well for him.

Instead, he steps closer until he's standing between your legs again and tilts his head toward yours like he's trying to figure out what you're thinking without actually asking outright.

"Hold still," he murmurs after a beat of hesitation that's barely noticeable but feels significant anyway.

The wipe is cool against your skin as he starts cleaning you up—gentle but thorough in a way that surprises even himself. Your eyes stay on him the whole time—watchful but not wary—and it makes him feel weirdly self-conscious even though there’s no reason for it.

When he's finished (and only when he's sure you're clean), he tosses the used wipe into the trash can by the door without looking away from you entirely.

"Sleep?" he asks after another moment of silence stretches between you like an elastic band ready to snap at any second now if someone doesn’t say something soon enough.

“Yeah.” You murmur. “Your bed.”

Jungkook blinks at you like he’s not sure he heard right. 

Not because it’s weird—okay, maybe it’s a little weird—but because you said it so casually. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world to ask to sleep in his bed after everything that just happened.  

He doesn’t know what to say at first. He’s not used to this part—the after part. Usually, there isn’t an after part. It’s just sex, then goodbye, then see you whenever.

But this? This feels different in a way he can’t quite put his finger on, and it makes his brain stutter for a second before he finally manages to respond.  

“Uh… yeah,” he says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Sure.”  

You don’t say anything else, just lift your arms slightly like you’re expecting him to do something.

He stares at you for a moment, confused, until it clicks.  

“Oh, come on,” he mutters, rolling his eyes but already stepping closer. “You’re not serious.”  

You just raise an eyebrow at him, and yep—you’re serious.  

“Lazy ass,” he grumbles under his breath as he bends down to scoop you up.  

Your arms loop around his neck automatically, and your legs wrap around his waist like this is something you do all the time instead of… well, never. He tries not to think about how natural it feels or how warm you are against him or how your breath brushes against his collarbone when you settle into his hold.  

It’s fine. Totally fine. This is just… practical. 

Yeah. 

Practical.  

He carries you with ease because let’s be real—he could probably bench press you if he wanted to—and nudges his bedroom door open with his foot. 

“Alright,” he says as he approaches the bed and leans forward slightly to deposit you onto the mattress. “Here we go.”  

But instead of letting go like a normal person, you cling tighter for half a second before finally releasing him with a grunt that sounds suspiciously like reluctance. He doesn’t comment on it because honestly? He doesn’t trust himself not to make it weird if he does.  

You flop onto your back with all the grace of a drunk cat and immediately start wiggling around like you’re trying to make yourself comfortable in record time. Jungkook just stands there for a moment, watching you with an expression he doesn't even know how to describe.

“You good?” he asks once you’ve finally stopped moving and are lying still with your eyes closed like this is your bed and not his.

“Mmhm,” you hum without opening your eyes.

He shakes his head but doesn’t bother arguing because what’s the point? 

Then he’s going to lay down too, but you sprawl onto his bed like you’re claiming it for yourself, arms and legs stretched out in every direction like some kind of human starfish. 

Jungkook snorts, standing at the side of the bed with his hands on his hips like a disappointed parent. 

“Move,” he says, nudging at your foot with his knee. “I want to sleep too.”  

You crack one eye open, squinting at him.

“Then sleep,” you mumble, voice muffled by the pillow your face is half-buried in.  

“I can’t sleep,” he says, gesturing dramatically at your starfish pose. “Not unless you move your limbs out of my personal space.”  

You grunt something unintelligible but make no effort to move.  

He sighs—long and exaggerated—before climbing onto the bed anyway, shoving at your leg until you reluctantly curl up enough to give him room.

He flops down beside you with all the grace of someone who’s been awake for far too long and immediately starts adjusting himself into what he considers optimal sleeping position.  

Except there’s one problem: his arm.  

It’s stuck under him, bent awkwardly against his side instead of stretched out under the pillow where it belongs. He tries shifting around to fix it but quickly realizes there’s no way to do that without encroaching on your territory.  

“Hey,” he says, nudging at your side with his foot now.  

“What?” you snap, voice sharp despite how tired you sound.  

“Let me extend my arm under the pillow.”  

“No.”  

“What do you mean no?”  

“I mean no,” you repeat stubbornly, turning your head just enough to glare at him over your shoulder. “Figure it out without bothering me.”  

He stares at you for a second like he can’t believe what he’s hearing before deciding that negotiation is clearly not going to work here. 

So instead, he does what any reasonable person would do in this situation: he forcefully shoves his arm under your neck like it belongs there.

You jerk upright immediately, twisting around to face him with wide eyes and an expression that screams 'what the actual fuck'.  

“Bro,” you say, voice incredulous as you try—and fail—to push his arm away. “Get off me.”  

“Bro,” he says simply, already settling back down like this is perfectly normal behavior between roommates who occasionally hook up but definitely aren’t friends yet (or whatever this is). “You’re in my bed. Shut up and act like a plushie or something.”  

“A plushie?” You sound so offended that he almost laughs but manages to hold it back because laughing right now would probably get him kicked out of his own bed.  

“Yes,” he says firmly, pulling the blanket over both of you with one hand while keeping his other arm firmly in place under your neck. “A plushie.”  

You open your mouth to argue—because of course you do—but he shuts it down with a loud, drawn-out “SSSSHHHHH” that’s so over-the-top, so him, it stops you cold.

“Sleep,” he adds a second later, voice low, eyes already shut like the matter’s settled and he’s the authority on bedtime now.

The room stills. One of those dumb, drawn-out silences where neither of you wants to move first. Like shifting even an inch might make it real. Might make it weird.

But then you sigh. Loud. Dramatic. Flopping back down beside him like you’ve just made the ultimate sacrifice.

“Fine,” you mutter, sharp as ever, head hitting the pillow with a thud. “But if I wake up with a crick in my neck because of this stupid arm thing—”

“You won’t,” he says, already drifting, smug and certain and way too casual for someone who just turned a routine argument into a full-body tangle.

You mumble something under your breath—probably rude, definitely deserved—and go quiet.

And for a second, he just lies there. Listening to your breathing even out. Feeling the slight pull of your body next to his.

The ridiculousness of the situation should hit harder than it does.

But it doesn’t. 

It actually feels…weirdly good.

Not in the usual way. Not in the easiest way.

Just—solid. Like he hasn’t fucked it up yet.

Which is a surprise, considering he really thought he had. 

After Tuesday. 

After the whole Jason thing—the fight that was never really about Jason. The way the guy had looked like every goddamn red flag Jungkook had ever ignored. Too neat, too careful, too condescending behind a smile that felt fake even from a hallway away.

He’d projected. Hard. Got scared on your behalf. Angry in that twitchy, irrational way he hates. Like he couldn’t stand the thought of you falling into something he knew could break you. 

But that wasn’t fair. Wasn’t his choice. You’re not fragile. You’re you. You can make your own calls without his fears bleeding into them.

And he should know better by now. Should’ve remembered that you’ve survived things he doesn’t even ask about.

Instead, he snapped. Like he always does when things get too close. Like he’s got some built-in timer that detonates as soon as someone sees more than they’re supposed to.

So yeah. He’d assumed it was done. That he’d pushed too hard, too fast—again.

That whatever fragile thing had been building between you would crack right down the middle, just like every other almost-connection he’s tried to hold onto.

But then… you’d talked. Actually talked. 

And—somehow—you’d listened.

Not just tolerated him. Heard him. 

And tonight, he thinks—for the first time in a long, long time—he feels…comfortable. With a woman. With you.

And yeah, okay—he kind of likes that.

It’s not some life-changing moment. Not some movie scene epiphany.

Just this quiet flicker of maybe. Of could be.

Maybe he can have this. A woman beside him. No pressure. No angle. No romantic feelings. No attachments, no entanglements. Not drama, not hurt.

Just a dumb, chaotic almost-friendship built on late-night arguments and questionable sleep arrangements.

And fuck—he’s kind of proud of that.

So he lets his eyes fall shut. Lets the warmth settle. Lets the thought linger.

Not friendship. Not yet.

But maybe.

goal: 500 notes, but the wattpad goal has to be reached too

next | index

⋆｡°✩ taglist✩°｡⋆

@cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @jimineepaboya @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7 @jkrailme @rpwprpwprpwprw @mar-lo-pap @jeontae @whothefuckisthishoe @mikrokookiex @minniejim

© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[gilbertscurls]

live from tour: the simp — chris sturniolo

“Alright, next question!” Matt grinned as he leaned into the mic, scanning the crowd of eager fans seated for the VIP soundcheck. The venue echoed with soft murmurs and squeals, the faint thrum of pre-show excitement buzzing in the air.

Nick leaned back in his chair, balancing the mic lazily on his knee like a seasoned rockstar, while Chris sat between them, practically bouncing in his seat.

"Hi!" A girl from the second row stood up. "This one's for all three of you—what's your favorite thing to do on your days off during tour?"

Matt nodded like it was a solid question. “I like finding weird thrift shops in random cities,” he said. “Like, if it looks like it might have been haunted in the 1970s, I’m going in.”

"Yeah," Nick agreed, “and I usually end up buying some really questionable vintage jacket that I think looks cool but makes me look like a ‘70s magician.”

Chris raised his mic, smile already tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well, personally…” he began, stretching the word out like he was savoring it, “my favorite thing to do is FaceTime Y/N.”

A few people in the crowd let out soft “awwws” while Matt’s head whipped toward him like a bird spotting a snack.

Nick squinted. “You mean to tell me we’ve been in Chicago for 24 hours, surrounded by Chicago-style pizza and majestic old buildings, and your highlight was a FaceTime call?”

Chris didn’t even blink. “She showed me her cat in a little sweater. It was life-changing.”

Matt snorted, barely holding back a laugh. “You’re down cat bad.”

The fans cracked up as Chris waved him off, though the blush spreading across his face betrayed him.

“No, no, wait,” Nick leaned forward, feigning seriousness. “You mean the same Y/N who called during dinner last night and Chris answered on speakerphone in the middle of the restaurant like we weren’t actively being stared at by half the staff?”

“She had an emergency!” Chris defended.

“What was the emergency again?” Matt asked, smirking.

“She couldn’t remember if she liked blueberries or blackberries better.”

“Oh, crucial life moment,” Nick deadpanned. “We’re lucky you saved her.”

The crowd erupted with laughter again, and Chris held his mic up like a shield. “You guys don’t understand, okay? Y/N is funny and smart and—”

“—and clearly holding you hostage,” Matt interrupted.

Nick leaned toward the crowd conspiratorially. “Blink twice if you’re okay, Chris.”

Chris rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the grin on his face. “You’re all just jealous you don’t have someone who sends you memes that are actually funny.”

“Oh, I see,” Matt said. “So when you were laughing uncontrollably in the back lounge yesterday and said it was ‘a podcast moment,’ that was actually a Y/N meme?”

“I plead the fifth,” Chris mumbled into his mic.

Nick leaned back, fake-exasperated. “Man’s in his Lover Era and dragging us all into the montage.”

“She’s got him in a chokehold,” Matt added, miming it dramatically.

Chris folded his arms. “You know what? I hope Y/N sees this clip. She deserves to know how bullied I am.”

Matt turned to the crowd. “Someone please record this and send it to her. Title it: ‘Chris Can’t Go Five Minutes Without Saying Y/N.’”

“Oh, that should’ve been the tour name!” Nick gasped.

“The Y/N World Domination Tour,” Matt declared, pointing at the invisible marquee. “Starring: Chris and the two bitter side characters.”

Chris shook his head, but his smile gave him away. “Whatever, keep laughing. At least I have someone who’ll make me banana bread when I get home.”

“Okay, now that’s unfair,” Matt muttered. “No one’s ever made me banana bread.”

“I’ve never even touched a banana that wasn’t a smoothie,” Nick added, scandalized.

The girl who’d asked the question was still standing, beaming, as Chris finally looked back at her and said, “So yeah. On our days off, I hang out with Y/N. It’s the best part of my day. Sorry, not sorry.”

Nick turned his mic toward her. “We regret to inform you the question was hijacked.”

“Please direct all further inquiries to Y/N, since clearly she’s the fourth Sturniolo Triplet now,” Matt added, pretending to scoot his chair over to make room.

Chris gave a little bow. “She says thank you.”

The crowd roared. Somewhere, probably already recording a reaction TikTok to this moment, Y/N was laughing her head off—knowing full well that no matter how far Chris traveled or how loud the fans screamed, she was still the main character in his mind.

And, to be fair, she did send some pretty elite memes.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove, @ghostlythinggoingaround, @sturmatt, @chris-hallelujah, @goingtojohnkramershouseee, @wurlibydominicfike, @shadowthesim237, @courta13, @frankdelreyy, @evansturn, @bamsblooming, @backwardshatnick

[syluriar]

please...help me - sylus x mc!reader. part 2

sypnosis: the aftermath of caleb catching you on the phone to escape him.

part 1

a/n: part 2 is finally here!! i apologise that this took me awhile, i just wanted this chapter to be right and i feel good about it now. there will be a part 3 to this, not sure about part 4 but we'll see how this goes.

warnings: some angst but with comfort. caleb being possessive and genually confused why you want to leave. mc (you) finally letting your fustrations out. sylus appears. caleb gets punched :) not for caleb girlies (sorry!)

word count: 3091 (insert spongebob exhausted meme)

taglist: @eternityjune @swissschees3 @notomyrr @jilly-xox7 @mizunareader @monticarlo @leiakitty @wiiieeeeeee @lynnaredfield3383 @idrkgurr @cms399 @ladycrown109 @capribun @crimsonlittlecrow @bi-goth-energy @rik0shii @letharue @sylusjinxedpaw @mcdepressed290 @kaeyasfuturewife @magicatemyvanishingdreams @deethedolly @beautifulthingsiadore @katykibbs @futuristicdefendorfart @qinluna @lemonn015 @magpie-the-goblin-girl @beewilko @thechaoticarchivist @aikonecrosis @gianchan-de @gamergirl31201 i think that's everyone? i apologise if i forget to tag you, there was a lot of people who wanted to be tagged which makes me fell so happy - thank u!!

When was the last time you ever felt this scared?

Perhaps your first time facing a real Wanderer? That time you had a creep not taking no for an answer when you were alone in a nightclub? Or maybe that time where you were walking alone and came across a thief with a weapon? 

But you had overcome them. The Wanderer died by your pistols, the creep getting punched in the face by your fists and thrown out by security, and the thief getting it’s weapon knocked out of it’s hand by you and arrested by the police moments later. 

The adrenaline that had rushed through you pushed it all away within those moments, and it was only after you had reflected on the experience that almost had you buckle your knees and grab the nearest thing to keep you standing, your heart bounding and your thoughts and absolute mess. It had taken you a while to calm down and look back on those moments without fear, and instead of what you had accomplished.

Unlike right now.

“Still not talking?”

You hadn’t spoken a word to Caleb after he caught you ending the call with Sylus, begging him to come and save you from the man you once felt safe and secure with. 

The tracker on your wrist reminds you of anything but those feelings and more.

Caleb sighs from his seated position in the kitchen and stands, the sound of his footsteps getting closer to you fills you with dread. He seats himself on the edge of the coffee table in front of you and you instantly move back so his feet don’t touch you, your eyes finding a spot on the floor to stare at.

He chuckles. “You won't even look at me, how mean of you.”

Retorts sit on your tongue that you hold still. Your already deep in trouble, you don’t want to know what will happen if you fall more. 

By the corner of your eyes you see him angle his head to try and catch your eyes, but you look away quickly. What would you see in them? Pity? Annoyance? Anger? Even if it was soft, you wouldn’t fall for it, your not that naive anymore.

You gasp as he grabs your chin and forces you to look at him, his told had a certain tightness to it that could choke you in seconds - you wouldn’t put it past him to do it, though it still scares you to know that.

“There we go.” He smiles, and everything about it screams it’s not the one from the past, the warm one you remember. “Now all that's left is for you to talk, but since you won’t do that, I guess I have to play a little guessing game.”

It doesn’t matter, you think. He can guess all he likes and you won’t answer him. Let’s see how he likes to be the one ignored now.

“Now who would you be calling at this hour when everyone is asleep, like you should have been.” There’s a mocking tone in his voice that makes you want to punch him. It should have made you worried about doing such a thing to someone you saw as a friend, but all you saw in front of you was a creature that enjoyed your torture. 

“It can’t be your dear Dr. Zayne, he’s too busy and has things far too important then calling you.”

It hurt you a little to hear Caleb talking about Zayne like that, the three of you had a good friendship growing up, it had amused you of the little arguments they would get into. You knew that no matter what happened you would always have them to fall back on and pick you back up. Zayne had greatly helped you ever since you thought Caleb had died, and the thought of the three of you being back together made your heart warm when you found Caleb again. 

How unfortunate that wouldn’t happen.

“Someone the Hunters Association? Hmmm possibly. But who exactly?” Caleb tapped his chin with his other hand, your chin still firmly held by his other that it was starting to ache. “No one there can come in here and sneak you out without anyone onboard knowing, even if a team banded together. So let’s rule that out.”

He clearly underestimated your Association. You might not know everyone there, but the only reason those people have been made Hunters is because they have the power to do so, they’ve all been through the hard training it takes and passed. You remember all the training you had to do and your sure Caleb does too, as you had called him after sessions, complaining about it all and the aches and bruises on your body.

“You keep complaining about it but I never hear you say that you’re gonna leave.”

“Of course I'm not! Quitting would mean that I’m not cut out to be a Hunte. You’ve said I am so many times, do you not think it anymore?”

“Not at all. I believe in you more than anyone that you’ll pass, and become the world's greatest Hunter.”

“Ok, not that much Caleb.”

He laughed then, full of warmth and joy. “Just keep going Pip-squeak, and before you know it, you’ve passed and got your license. Just don’t forget about me when you're off saving everyone from Wanderers, ok?” 

Does he still believe in you now? Do you even want to know? You’re still surprised he hasn’t told you to leave them and just stay with him.

“I guess that only leaves one other place.” He muses, and you feel like he’s close to the answer.

Just don’t react. Don’t let him know.

“But would you really call someone from there? And who? There’s not many good people in the N109 Zone.”

Your face remains neutral as Caleb scans it for any signs and frowns when there isn’t any. You hide your pride at this, though it probably thanks to him that your learning to mask your emotions well.

“Actually, scratch that, there’s no good people in that place. Illegal dealings and filled with violence and crime, there no better than Wanderers. Infact, I bet they’re worse than Wanderers. At least those creatures were someone innocent before turning, people in the N109 Zone have been black-hearted since the start. Like true monsters.”

You swing your cuffed wrists to smack him but they’re quickly caught in his free hand, a smirk now dancing on his lips. 

“Oh, it seems like I hit a spot. So your trip to the N109 Zone did have you in contact with someone there.” He pulls you forward by your wrists, noses just barely touching. His voice was laced with demand. “Who?”

A grunt falls from your lips as you try and pull your wrists back, but Caleb’s hold on them is strong.

It tightens.

“Who?”

You stop and look at him, his eyes so dim you wonder if they’ve truly turned black. You can see anything in them other than dark feelings that create goosebumps on your skin.

You swallow, a bit of courage coming to your throat. “I guess that’s round two of your guessing game.”

A thick silence hangs in the air and your ears pick up noises you don’t remember registering. The ticking of the clock on the wall, the sound of cars driving outside and the pitter patter of rain softly hitting the windows. Mixed with Caleb before you, it was starting to become stimulating, and you pray that Sylus will be here soon.

Caleb’s frown deepens. “Why do you want to go to him, hmm? Skyhaven is much more safer and secure then the N109 Zone.” 

“I have never feared more for my life than staying here.” You reply. To hell with staying silent, that’s what you’ve done more than anything since you’ve been here. You let Caleb have his way, let him ramble on and on and speak badly about a place - about a man you wanted to go back to more than anything.

You’re done with it.

“What can he possibly give you that I can’t?” He’s not glaring but close, he’s looking at you as if he just can’t phantom the idea of you wanting to leave. “How can you want to go to him when I’m right here?”

“Because he would never treat me this way!” You scream, and the look of shock on his face makes you keep going. “He’s never locked me in and he lets me have my freedom with no complaints or bargains. He never punishes me and never makes me feel afraid of him. He’s someone who treats me like I’m someone, not a possession. He's someone I can trust and go to without fear.” Your breathing heavily, the words keep coming out and your not stopping them, too fed up with the man infront of you. “He’s the opposite of you Caleb, and as soon as he comes here I’m going with him, and you can’t stop me.”

You didn’t realise you had stood up until you saw Caleb’s eye move to look up at you, for once you had gotten power over him, had made him look at you and made him speechless. 

Adrenaline runs through your body and you know you can’t let it go, no matter what happens next.

So when the look of shock vanishes over Caleb’s face and is replaced with a glare, you lock in and quickly pull your still bound wrists free from his hold, keeping them close to your chest. When he stands you step away instantly, creating space between the two of you. 

“And what makes you think I’ll let you leave?” His voice drips with venom. It’s a tone you’ve never heard before and almost falters you.

“Because she’s her own person.” a voice breaks out, one that’s so familiar that it makes your heart race. “Because she has the right to her own freedom.”

Both of you turn to the door that’s now locked behind a tall and imposing figure, his white hair gleaming in the ceiling lights. 

“Because she wants to.” 

He steps forward and the light shines on his face, that handsome face of your saviour. “Oh, and because I’m here to help her, isn’t that right, sweetie?” His gleaming red eyes fall on you, and you smile, hope filling you. 

“Sylus…”

Caleb sucks through his teeth, irritation clear all over his face. “How did you get in unnoticed? Every member had been alerted that you would be coming.”

Sylus shrugs nonchalantly, confidence oozing off him. “And despite that I didn’t get much of a welcome party. Your fleet needs more training.” 

The comment only makes Caleb’s irritation grow, and it brings some satisfaction to you. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m taking Miss Hunter home.”

Home. The word makes your heart swell. 

“She’s not going anywhere, especially not with you.” Caleb straightens and you feel his Evol approaching, it causes goosebumps on your skin once again and you instantly look at Sylus, who just looks bored.

“Seems like you need hearing lessons as well.” His own Evol floating around his fists, ready to release.

You knew there was going to be a fight once Sylus showed up, he would avoid it if he could if that’s what you wanted, but Caleb wouldn’t let you go without a fight. Even if Caleb hadn’t caught you and you managed to sneak past him with Sylus, he would only come and get you himself and cause a ruckus wherever you went to get you back. He would see it as you being kidnapped and brainwashed to turn against him.

Caleb needs to know that you want to leave on your own free will, and not just with words. The fact that you called for help should have already planted that seed somewhere in his head.

“Stop it Caleb. Let me go.” 

He turns to you, a flicker of disbelief in his eyes. “What?”

You stand straight, your voice calm as you speak. “I want to leave, right here, right now. So let me go.”

He stares at you, teeth gritted and brows furrowed, but his eyes are scanning you, hoping to find something he can use to make you stay, to blind himself that this isn’t your free choice of will. But he can’t find any, and his irritation and confusion grows. “Why? Why do you want to leave me? I thought after everything we’ve been through, you’d want to stay with me forever.”

And you had wanted that too. 

“I had never felt such relief when I found Caleb alive.” You tell him with a soft voice, the painful memories all coming back. “I spent night’s crying because I thought you were dead, days went past in a blur and I was always reminded to eat even the smallest thing because my mind wouldn’t register the simplest things that my body needed. All I could think about was you.” 

Tears brimmed at the corner of your eyes but you didn’t care to wipe them away, with showing Caleb your true emotions, you hope that he’ll finally understand. “Time passed and it got a little easier, but I still thought about you. I didn’t even think I would meet you here…and yet I did. I was so happy Caleb, I thought things would go back the way they were before. Always laughing and joking around, having you by my side to comfort me and give me strength…but you’ve done the exact opposite.”

Confidence flows through your veins as you take a step towards him, his figure still but has lost it’s tension. Your getting through to him. “The things I said before, about me being afraid of you, it’s all true. You keep me locked up and take away my things. You don’t let me have my freedom and even tell me when to go to sleep like I’m a child. It honestly scares me that you can’t see that your hurting me, hurting me so much that I want to escape from you.”

“I didn’t…” His aura falters, the dark and imposing man has been replaced with disbelief and confusion. “I never want you to be afraid of me, I didn’t do all those things to scare you. I want to protect you.”

“Was giving me medicine with the intention of me falling asleep protecting me?” You spat back, the memory of it still causing a shiver of unease down your spine. “I’m a Hunter Caleb, I don’t need this kind of protection. You said that you believed in me when I was doing my exams, but it looks like I’m weak to you.”

“You’re not! That’s…That’s not what I think!”

“I don’t care what you think anymore Caleb, except for the fact that I want to leave SkyHaven and I want to leave you of my own free will. That’s my choice Caleb.”

A noise leaves Caleb’s lips, something frustrated and perhaps sad. You don’t fully understand it but right now you don’t care. You take another step towards him, close enough to touch his chest if you reach out. 

You show him your bound wrists. “Take these off…please.”

He looks down at them, thousands of emotions dance through his eyes that you can’t decipher, but he waves a hand over them and you hear a click before the cuffs fall on the floor.

“Thank you Caleb…and I’m sorry.”

Before he can even respond you punch him square in the face, his body falling to the ground instantly, knocked out.

Whoops.

The slow clapping of hands erases the tense atmosphere from the room.

“An excellent performance, kitten.” Sylus smirks as he walks over. “You had him in your grasp and took matters into your own hands, just like I knew you could.”

There was something about his praise that brightens you, maybe it’s because you know he’s saying it sincerely that has your stomach filled with butterflies. You fight back the smile that threatens your lips. “I didn’t mean to knock him out..”

He chuckles. “Whatever you say, sweetie. You still wanted to punch him, not that I blame you.” His eyes scan over the unconscious body of your ex best friend, frowning at the sight. “I wanted to get some in.”

“You would have killed him then.” You commented, and despite everything Caleb has put you through, you didn’t want him dead - for real this time. “I don’t think the fleet would be too happy about that.”

“I don’t mind making a few more enemies, especially the ones that hurt you.” 

Air catches in your throat as Sylus turns back at you, his eyes looking at you softly. “Are you alright?”

Maybe it was because it was said so gently, full of comfort and genuineness, laced with true worry. that has you tearing up once more. “I want to go home Sylus.”

He gathers you in his arms, holding you close to his chest that you feel his warmth that engulfs you, bringing a sense of calm to your body. “It’s ok. I’m here, and I’m taking you home.” He lifts you in his arms that you don’t protest, you don’t ever want to leave his safe arms ever again. “Luke and Kieran have cleaned your apartment ready for you to come back.”

“No Sylus,” You croak against his neck, tears slowly falling down your cheeks. Apart from Skyhaven your apartment is the last place you want to be right now, there’s no sense of security that will calm you if you return back there. 

There’s only one place you want to be.

That mansion that started out cold that is now warm with your touches; the plushies on the sofa and the blankets on the bed. The fairy lights in his study and the colourful mugs in his kitchen, your skincare and make-up products sitting neatly in his bathroom cabinet and the photobooth pictures hanging by the vanity he had bought you.

“Take us home.”

He looks at you then, surprise written across his face that it almost makes you giggle. You never really called it home to his face, even with your things scattered across the building. 

Sylus smiles, it’s not the one his enemies see or the ones the twins get when they’ve pulled a prank. It’s a smile only reserved for you, and it shines brighter than any star you have ever seen.

“Alright, sweetie. Let’s go home.”

[gdinthehouseee]

One Take, One Chance: KANG DAESUNG x READER

summary: after opening up about his crush on you, you get invited as a guest on daesung's youtube channel. now neither of you can let this real opportunity slip by...

word count: 3829

tags: fluff; flirting, teasing, innuendos, jiyong and youngbae being little shits

ao3 link

Daesung should have known better than to let Ji-yong and Youngbae team up against him.

It started out as a normal Zip Daesung episode—just three old friends gathered around a table, eating delicious food, and reminiscing about their careers. But then, somewhere between bites of grilled meat and playful jabs at each other’s fashion choices, the conversation took a turn.

“So,” Ji-yong leaned forward, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Who’s your dream guest for this show?”

Daesung hummed, tapping his chin in thought. “Dream guest? That’s tough… I mean, I’d love to have so many people on.”

Youngbae smirked. “Oh, come on. Just one name.”

Daesung hesitated, but then a name slipped out before he could stop himself. Yours. Ji-yong and Youngbae immediately exchanged a look.

“Ohhh?” Ji-yong’s lips curled into a smirk. “That’s your pick?”

Daesung frowned, already regretting speaking. “What? She’d be a fun guest!”

“You think it would be fun?” Youngbae practically cackled, slapping his knee. “You’ve been crushing on her for years.”

Ji-yong gasped dramatically. “Wait—years?”

Daesung turned red instantly. “I never said—”

“Man, don’t even try to deny it!” Youngbae cut in, grinning. “Every time her name comes up, you get all weird. You talk about her performances like she personally invented music. And don’t even get me started on that one time you—”

Daesung lunged forward. “Shut up!”

Ji-yong was laughing so hard he had to wipe his eyes, he then moved to nudge Youngbae. “This is amazing. Should I play matchmaker again? You both know I have a good track record.”

“It’s not like that!” Daesung’s protests fell on deaf ears. 

Ji-yong held up a hand, cutting him off. “It’s okay, it’s okay. We get it. She’s cool, talented, really good-looking—”

“I hate you both.”

“You won’t for much longer…”

Unfortunately for him, that wasn’t the end of it. The internet saw everything—especially your fans. The moment the episode aired, they latched onto it like detectives uncovering a major scandal. Within hours, social media was flooded with reactions, memes, and demands for you to appear on his channel. Fans dissected every second of his flustered reaction, zooming in on the way his ears turned red, looping the moment he choked on thin air, and outright begging you to make it happen.

Your heart sped up and ached at the thought of it, in fact. You have met Daesung a couple times, but only in passing at various awards shows before getting swept away within a minute or two by demanding managers, and even more demanding schedules. So the thought of being able to sit down and talk properly—intentionally—with him? It was everything to you. If only your schedule wasn’t so—

“You’re doing Zip Daesung soon, by the way.” 

You paused mid-sip of your drink, finally snapping out of your thoughts, and staring at your agent across the table. “I’m sorry—what?”

She barely looked up from her tablet, scrolling through your upcoming schedule. “They sent the invite. I confirmed.”

You blinked. “You what?”

“They wanted you on. You’re free that day. It’s happening.” She finally glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “Why? You like Daesung, don’t you?”

That was besides the point.

“I just—” You bit your lip, barely stopping the smile threatening to form. “I mean… have you seen what’s been happening online?”

“Oh, I’ve seen it. The clip of him getting teased? Adorable. The fans demanding this episode? Hilarious. And let’s not forget G-Dragon himself declaring the fact that he’s a matchmaker.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“You’re smiling.”

You immediately wiped the grin off your face. “No, I’m not.”

She just snorted. “Sure. Anyway, I already let the show know you’ll be there. They’re excited. Daesung is definitely excited.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. “You’re evil.”

“I prefer efficient.” She glanced back at her tablet. “Now, do you want me to send a standard confirmation, or should I let them know you’re looking forward to seeing Daesung blush in person?”

You shot her a look.

She grinned. “I’ll keep it professional. But you are going to have fun with this, right?”

You picked up your drink again, a slow smirk forming. “Oh, absolutely.”

A couple weeks later, the day had finally arrived. You stepped out of the car, adjusting your outfit as you took in the cozy restaurant set up. Warm lighting, carefully arranged cameras, and the familiar hum of production staff moving around filled the space. Everything looked inviting, intimate—perfect for casual conversation over a meal. Perfect for messing with him.

One of the production assistants came out to happily greet you, leading you inside and attaching a lapel microphone to your collar as they informed you how excited the man of the hour was excited to see you. Of course he was. Naturally, you were too. Not that you said anything more than a polite return of the compliment. 

The cameras were already rolling when you walked in. Daesung sat at the table, holding up a sleek bottle, mid-sentence in what was clearly a sponsorship plug. His voice was smooth and confident as he looked straight into the camera. “…which is why this is the perfect drink to enjoy with any meal. It’s refreshing, healthy, and, most importantly—”

Then, his eyes landed on you, and everything fell apart.

His grip on the bottle tightened. His words stalled, lips parting slightly like his brain had just short-circuited.

Somewhere off to the side, you heard a quiet whisper. “Oh my God, did you see that?”

Another voice, barely stifling laughter: “He’s doomed.”

You paused for a second, glancing around. The restaurant set was dimly lit for ambiance, and beyond the bright filming lights, you couldn’t quite make out the source of the voices. Probably some staff members who were getting a kick out of his reaction.

You smirked, stepping forward as the cameras captured everything. “Oh, don’t let me interrupt.”

Daesung blinked rapidly, scrambling to recover. “N-No, it’s fine! I was just—uh—finishing up.” He turned back to the camera, clearing his throat like that would somehow fix everything. “Anyway, be sure to check it out. I highly recommend it.”

With extreme focus, he set the bottle down—carefully, like he was afraid even the slightest wrong move would send it flying across the table.

Another whisper floated through the air. “He’s gripping that bottle like it’s a lifeline.”

You resisted the urge to look around again, choosing instead to slide into your seat across from him, resting your chin in your hand. “You sure? You seemed really into that.”

His laugh came out slightly too high-pitched at first, but then something shifted. His shoulders relaxed just a little, and suddenly, there was a glint in his eye.

“I mean,” he mused, tilting his head, “I was into it. But I wasn’t expecting you to be this early.”

You raised a brow. “Oh?”

Daesung leaned back slightly, a slow smile forming. “Yeah. I thought I had more time to prepare.”

You blinked, caught off guard for the briefest second. You’d come in expecting him to be the flustered one—but now? Now, he was looking at you like you were the one who needed to catch up.

And damn it, that was actually kind of attractive.

Another whisper from the shadows. “Did he just—?”

“Oh, he’s fighting back. This is getting good.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly, ignoring the voices as you smirked at Daesung. “Oh, I see how it is. You needed time to brace yourself.”

“Something like that.”

Fine. If that’s how he wanted to play it, you’d just have to turn it up a notch. You leaned in slightly, voice softer. “Well… I hope you like surprises.”

“Oh, I love surprises,” he said smoothly, voice dipping just enough to make it clear he was enjoying himself. “Especially when they walk into the room before I’ve had a chance to properly welcome them.”

“Is that your way of saying you would’ve rolled out the red carpet if I was a little later?”

“No, that’s my way of saying I would’ve had time to mentally prepare before you walked in and completely threw me off.”

“You know, I’m starting to think you wanted to be caught off guard.”

Daesung leaned forward just a little, mirroring your posture. “And why would I do that?”

Your smirk deepened. “Maybe because you like it when I have the upper hand.”

For a split second, you saw something flicker across his face—something dangerously close to intrigue. But before you could claim victory, he exhaled through his nose in a soft laugh, shaking his head.

“You’re quick,” he mused. “But…” He tapped his fingers against the table, eyes flickering over you before locking back onto yours. “I do like a challenge.”

Your breath caught just slightly—not enough for the cameras to notice, but enough for him to see it.

Oh. Oh.

So that’s how he wanted to play it.

Another whisper, nearly choked with laughter. “They’re just flirting at this point.” “Just wait till the food actually gets here.”

You still couldn’t quite see who was whispering, but you had an idea. Not that it mattered. Because right now, Daesung was looking at you like he was enjoying every second of this, and damn it—so were you. Game on. A small pause settled between you, but it wasn’t awkward—it was charged, humming with amusement and something else you weren’t ready to name yet. Daesung’s eyes still held that playful glint, a quiet challenge lingering between the two of you, but before either of you could push it further, the soft clink of dishes being placed on the table shifted the moment.

The restaurant staff had begun setting down the first course, steam rising from the carefully plated dishes. The rich aroma of broth, spices, and grilled meat filled the air, making your stomach tighten in anticipation.

Daesung exhaled through his nose, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he picked up his chopsticks. “Alright, before we accidentally turn this into a staring contest, let’s eat.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Sure, let’s call it accidental.”

His lips quirked, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he gestured toward the dish in front of you. “Do you like this? I asked them to include some of your favorites.”

Your brows raised slightly, pleasantly surprised. “You did?”

He hummed, grabbing a piece of meat and dipping it into sauce. “Of course. I did some research, you know. I couldn’t invite you on and not at least pretend to be a good host.”

There was a teasing edge to his tone, but the thoughtfulness behind it made warmth bloom in your chest.

You picked up your chopsticks, giving him a small smile. “I appreciate it. That’s very…” You paused, tilting your head. “Dare I say—charming of you?”

Daesung chuckled, shaking his head. “You could say that. Or you could just admit you’re impressed.”

“I’m slightly impressed,” you admitted, picking up a bite of food and tasting it. The flavors melted on your tongue, perfectly balanced. “Okay, more than slightly. This is really good.”

He grinned, clearly satisfied. “See? And you doubted me.”

“I never doubted you.” You gestured with your chopsticks. “I just assumed you’d be more focused on trying to make me flustered than actually making sure I enjoyed the meal.”

His laugh came easy this time, smooth and genuine. “Who says I can’t do both?”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

The conversation slipped into an easy rhythm as the two of you ate, teasing remarks woven between casual questions about schedules, recent projects, and shared industry experiences. It felt natural—comfortable, despite the bright filming lights and the knowledge that thousands of people would be watching this later. Even the quiet murmurs from the shadows—who you still hadn’t identified—faded into the background as you found yourself getting lost in the push and pull of conversation.

Daesung was witty, effortlessly charming, and heart-warmingly attentive, making sure your plate was never empty and that you were comfortable. While the playful teasing never fully disappeared, there was something undeniably genuine underneath it all. And that? That was even more dangerous than the flirting.

You twirled your chopsticks between your fingers, watching Daesung as he took a bite of food. He was comfortable now, smiling easily as he spoke, completely in his element. The earlier nerves had faded, replaced by his usual warm charisma. Naturally, you had to ruin that.

You set your chopsticks down, leaning forward just enough to make him notice. “You know…” you mused, tilting your head. “I have to admit, I was really looking forward to this.”

Daesung’s chopsticks paused mid-air. He blinked, processing your words before offering an amused smirk. “Oh? My show, or… me?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable, and for a moment, it seemed like he was going to play along. But then you reached for your drink, casually taking a sip as you let your words sink in.

That’s when you saw it. The slight shift in his expression—the way his fingers tightened around his chopsticks just a little too much, the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips like he was suddenly aware of how dry his mouth had gotten.

Got him.

He cleared his throat, shaking his head as he picked up a piece of meat and placed it on your plate. “Eat. You’re getting too confident.”

You let out a soft laugh. “What? I can’t compliment my charming host?”

His jaw tightened for the briefest second, but then he exhaled a short laugh, shaking his head. “You are dangerous.”

You popped the bite of food into your mouth, chewing with exaggerated innocence. “Oh? I thought you liked a challenge.”

He let out his own breathy laugh and ran a hand through his hair. “I do.”

“You sure?” Your cheeks were almost starting to hurt with how long you’ve been smiling. “Seems to me like you could have used that mental preparation.” 

As much as you enjoyed getting under his skin, there was something equally enjoyable about watching him find his rhythm again. He wasn’t flustered so much as he was enjoying this—meeting you beat for beat, letting the conversation slip into a smooth back-and-forth that neither of you had to think too hard about. A natural rhythm. A comfortable challenge.

Daesung picked up another piece of food and placed it on your plate, eyes flickering up to meet yours. “Eat. I’d rather not lose to you on an empty stomach.”

You let out a soft chuckle, picking up the bite he’d given you. “Fair enough. Wouldn’t want you to tap out too early.”

His grin widened. “Oh, don’t worry. I never tap out early.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Daesung’s smile faltered for just a second. A single second of realization.

Then—

A sharp, choked sound came from somewhere off-camera. A full-bodied laugh followed, then a chair scraped against the floor as someone collapsed with laughter.

Daesung instantly straightened in his seat and frantically waved his hands, his ears turning bright red as his brain clearly scrambled for a way out. “No, no, wait! That is not what I meant! I just meant—I meant that I—I don’t give up easily! Like—I keep going! I mean, not like that! Not that I wouldn’t—wait, no, that’s not—”

The more he talked, the deeper he sank, and the moment he clamped his mouth shut, realizing the hole he’d dug for himself—

A loud, dramatic sigh.

“Alright, that’s enough,” a voice announced, followed by the unmistakable shuffle of footsteps.

Before Daesung—or you—could react, two figures emerged from the shadows, stepping into the frame like they owned the place. Ji-yong and Youngbae. Cackling. Absolutely delighted.

The crew lost it.

“Sorry, we couldn’t let this continue,” Ji-yong said, slapping a hand onto Daesung’s shoulder while grinning ear to ear.

“Yeah,” Youngbae added, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “He was drowning. We had to step in.”

Daesung let out a very real groan, dropping his head into his hands. “Oh my—”

You, meanwhile, just sat back and watched, thoroughly entertained. “So that’s where those whispers were coming from.”

Ji-yong smirked, winking. “You’re welcome.”

Daesung shot them a look. “I hate both of you.”

“No, you don’t,” Youngbae jumped in.

Ji-yong leaned in, elbowing Daesung. “So. You never tap out, huh?”

Oh, this was the best decision you’d ever made.

What was once a standard episode of Zip Daesung had quickly unraveled into something much less structured—and far more chaotic.

Ji-yong and Youngbae made themselves comfortable, as if they’d been invited rather than having quite literally crashed the shoot. Youngbae, in true older-brother fashion, took it upon himself to steal bites of Daesung’s food, nodding in faux approval as if he were a judge on a cooking show. Ji-yong, on the other hand, leaned forward with his chin in his palm, shooting you knowing glances every time Daesung so much as looked in your direction.

Daesung, to his credit, tried to regain control of the show.

Tried.

But every time he attempted to steer the conversation back to the meal, the questions, anything remotely professional, one of his so-called friends would derail it entirely.

“Oh, let’s talk about your crush,” Ji-yong had said at one point, eyes sparkling with pure mischief. “You know, the one you definitely don’t have.”

“Yeah, how’s that working out for you, buddy?” Youngbae added, far too pleased with himself.

Daesung nearly knocked over his drink.

“I mean… they do have a point.” You noted.

Daesung gave up.

He slumped back in his chair, sighing so deeply you thought he might just melt into the floor. “This is my own show. I invited you. And yet, here I am, suffering.”

Ji-yong patted his back. “Yeah, but it’s great content.”

By the time the meal neared its end, the restaurant was filled with laughter, empty dishes, and a camera crew that had long since given up on maintaining any sort of structure. What had started as a playful, casual interview had turned into a full-fledged comedy special. Eventually, the director called it a wrap.

Daesung exhaled, slumping forward onto the table.

You chuckled, stretching slightly. “That was fun.”

“For you, maybe,” Daesung muttered, glaring at his so-called friends. “I just lost all credibility.”

Ji-yong smirked. “Oh, you never had any to begin with.”

Youngbae stood, stretching with a grin. “Alright, we’ll get out of your hair now. Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do.”

Daesung’s jaw clenched. “That’s literally not helpful.”

Ji-yong just winked before the two of them disappeared into the background, still chuckling to themselves.

As the crew packed up, Daesung rubbed his temples, exhaling deeply. “I am never letting them anywhere near my show again.”

“I don’t know… I think they added a nice touch.”

“Of course you do.”

With the cameras off and the crew packing up, the once-buzzing atmosphere simmered into something quieter, more intimate. The overhead lights were dimmer now, casting a warm glow over the table where you and Daesung still sat.

And yet, for all the teasing and easy banter, something in him had shifted. He was quieter. Fidgeting. Stealing glances at you, then looking away just as quickly. You noticed, of course. How could you not? The normally playful and effortlessly charming Daesung was suddenly hesitant, almost unsure—like something was on the tip of his tongue, but he just couldn’t bring himself to say it. You waited, giving him the space to speak. But the words never came.

Instead, he exhaled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well… I guess I should walk you out.”

You tilted your head slightly but didn’t push. “Alright.”

The two of you stood, gathering your things as the last bits of the production crew wrapped up. A few of them shot you knowing looks—they had clearly been hoping for something more to happen on camera—but they said nothing as you made your way toward the exit.

The cool night air greeted you as you stepped outside. The streets were quieter now, the neon signs of Seoul humming softly against the darkness. You turned slightly toward him, offering a small smile. 

“Well, thanks for having me,” you said, keeping your tone light. “Even if your show got completely hijacked.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, that was… something.”

A beat of silence passed.

For a moment, it seemed like that was it—that he was just going to let you leave. That the teasing, the lingering glances, the undeniable tension had all been in your head. And then—

“Wait.”

His voice was quieter now, less sure, but there was urgency in it.

You turned back just as he took a step closer, rubbing his hands together like he was working up the nerve for something.

“I—” He exhaled sharply, then met your gaze, determination flickering behind his warm eyes. “Would you… wanna make a real date out of this?”

Your breath caught.

For the first time tonight, the teasing stopped. Your mind blanked for a split second, heart skipping an unsteady beat. A real date?

You searched his expression, almost in disbelief. He noticed it immediately—the way your fingers tightened slightly around the strap of your bag, the way your lips parted like you weren’t quite sure you’d heard him right. The way your usual playful, effortless confidence wavered just a little. Just like that, his entire demeanor softened.

He let out a quiet chuckle, stepping just a bit closer. “What?” His voice was warm, teasing, but gentle. “Did I break you?”

You blinked, snapping out of it. “I—” You cleared your throat, shaking your head. “No. Just… I thought maybe after tonight you’d—”

You stopped yourself, suddenly feeling ridiculous for even saying it.

“What? Change my mind?” He scoffed, crossing his arms. “Please. You think I went through all that just to let you get away?”

You stared at him, still thrown, and that was when he really saw it—genuine nerves flickering across your face, the disbelief that he actually wanted this for real. Wanted you.

Something in him melted. Then, just as quickly, his signature grin returned.

“Wow.” He let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. “You were so smooth five minutes ago. Where’d all that confidence go?”

Your jaw dropped. “Oh, shut up—”

“No, no, I liked that!” He grinned, pointing at you. “Should I make you nervous more often? You’re kinda cute like this.”

“I hate you.”

“Still wanna go on a date with me, though?”

“Unfortunately.”

Daesung laughed, bright and full, and you rolled your eyes before finally letting your own grin slip through.

“Alright,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets, still watching you with something undeniably fond in his gaze. “Then let’s go.”

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @maskedcrawford @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey @mattsturniolosbabymama @redhoodedtoad @bettelaboure @cinnamonbear22 @xxxicddbr88 @infinetlyforgotten @babygirlewis @loveesiren @tulentiy @babyrvis @ldydeath @wcnderlands @eru-vande

[devilish-cherry]

ᨳ♡₊➳ how they react to you getting a bad haircut

ᨳ♡₊➳ feat. gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack, fluff

ᨳ♡₊➳ a/n: request from this ask!

₊⊹. Satoru Gojo

You knew something was wrong the moment you stepped out of the salon.

It wasn’t the gasps of horror from innocent bystanders. It wasn’t the hushed whispers of “Oh no, honey…” from the elderly ladies on the bench. It wasn’t even the child who pointed at you and burst into tears before his mother yanked him away.

No.

It was Satoru Gojo.

The moment he laid eyes on you, his entire body short-circuited. It was crystal clear that he could not comprehend the eldritch horror that was your new haircut.

For the first time in his life, Gojo was speechless.

You, unfortunately, had no time for his nonsense.

You crossed your arms, trying to suppress the deep, bone-crushing regret of ever trusting a hairstylist named Destiknee. “Say a word, and I’m ending our bloodline.”

Gojo snapped out of his trance, raising his hands in mock surrender. “No, no, babe, I would never—” He broke off mid-sentence as his shoulders started trembling. His lips twitched. His fingers curled into fists.

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re laughing.”

“I’M NOT LAUGHING.”

He was, in fact, absolutely laughing.

Like, wheezing. Like, bent over, hands on knees, struggling to breathe. Like, Gojo-suddenly-develops-asthma levels of laughing.

You stood there, stone-faced, waiting for him to get it out of his system. But he was not stopping. His soul had left his body. His knees buckled like a man experiencing divine punishment. He clutched his stomach like he had been personally attacked by your haircut.

If it’s a botched bob, he calls you Lord Farquaad for three weeks straight. If they gave you uneven bangs? Oh, he’s pulling up pictures of coconut-head meme kids. If the stylist went full scissors-happy and took off way more than you wanted? “WHO DID THIS TO YOU? WHO HURT YOU?” Like you just got jumped in an alley.

But when he sees you actually start to get upset, he’s suddenly the most supportive person on Earth. He’s hyping you up, buying you expensive hair accessories or hats, bribing a different stylist to fix it. If you cry, he’s crying harder (for dramatic effect). “We will get through this TOGETHER.”

And if you want revenge? He is fully prepared to get the stylist banned from cutting hair ever again.

₊⊹. Suguru Geto

Geto notices immediately but has the emotional intelligence to lie.

The second you walk in, he registers the damage but does not flinch. “Oh, you changed your hair?” So neutral. So non-threatening. No visible reaction. No laughter. Nothing.

If you’re in denial, he will play along. He never outright says anything. Instead, he crafts the most polite, diplomatic responses possible.

“It’s… different.”

“It’s a new look for you.”

“I love that you’re experimenting.”

“You have the confidence to pull off anything.”

He is LYING. He is lying to protect you. But the second you crack, he’s right there with you and immediately enters supportive boyfriend mode. He holds you like you just received a terminal diagnosis. “It’s okay. Hair grows. We will rebuild.”

If you rant about how bad it is, he listens intently, nodding along like a supportive boyfriend should. He hates the stylist on principle. He comforts you immediately, reassuring you, telling you that you’re still stunning, that no bad haircut could ever change how much he loves you.

But lowkey? When you’re not around? He is laughing. Not at you—just at the situation. You leave the room, and he covers his mouth like Oh my god, it’s so bad. But he would NEVER let you know. He will take this to the grave.

He helps you find ways to style it so it looks less tragic. He takes you shopping and will not let you spiral. If he notices you looking in the mirror too long, he immediately distracts you.

That night, Geto personally helps you fix it. He learns how to cut hair on YouTube in real time, holding your hair carefully, his hands steady. If it’s completely unsalvageable, he wraps you in a blanket and orders your favorite takeout while you sulk.

“It’ll grow back,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “And I’ll love you no matter what.”

At the end of the day, Geto is the best person to have in a crisis. He will not let you suffer alone.

₊⊹. Kento Nanami

You should’ve known something was wrong the moment the stylist spun your chair around and went, “Ta-da!” with the same energy as a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat.

Except, instead of a cute, trendy haircut, you looked like a before picture in a hair restoration ad.

Your bangs? Uneven. The layers? Chaotic. The back? You couldn’t see it, but you were pretty sure it looked like someone took inspiration from a Minecraft block.

It was bad. Real bad.

Nanami has a reaction, but in true Nanami fashion, it’s mostly internal. When you walk in, he barely raises an eyebrow. But in his mind? Oh no. Oh, absolutely not.

You shift uncomfortably. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

Nanami, ever the gentleman, does not insult you. He doesn’t want to make you feel worse, so he plays it cool. He sets down his book, tilts his head slightly, and gives you a very careful once-over. “…Did you ask for this?”

The way he phrases it tells you everything. You groan. “No, Nanami. I did not ask for this. They just… did this to me.”

At that moment, Nanami’s jaw tightens like a man preparing for war. “I see,” he says grimly. “Do you want me to call them?”

“CALL THEM?”

“Or email,” he offers. “Whichever gets results.”

You have to physically grab his arm to stop him from drafting a strongly worded complaint. He’s already pulling out his phone like he’s about to single-handedly take down the entire hairdressing industry.

Instead, you distract him by asking if he can help you style it so it looks less terrible, and to your surprise, Nanami is actually very good at this. He expertly fixes it up—smoothing, pinning, doing whatever it takes to salvage the situation. He’s quiet the whole time, hyper-focused, and when he’s done, you almost tear up because he’s made it look decent.

“…Kento,” you whisper. “Are you a hair god?”

He just sighs, dusting off his hands. “No. I just had a horrible haircut once as a teenager and swore to never let anyone suffer like I did.”

₊⊹. Choso Kamo

Choso does not understand.

Like, at all.

You come home, looking like you just battled with a weed whacker (and lost spectacularly). Your eyes are puffy, your energy is drained, and your hair… oh, your hair. The stylist did you so dirty. It’s like they saw a picture of your dream haircut and then actively chose violence.

You dramatically collapse onto the couch, face down, and let out a muffled, grief-stricken wail. Choso, ever the devoted boyfriend, squats beside you like a confused but deeply concerned cat.

“Are you sick?” He tilts his head. “Do you require medicine?”

“No, I require a time machine,” you groan into the cushions. “I look horrible.”

Choso blinks, looking at you, then at your hair, then back at you. He sees nothing wrong.

Like, nothing. You could be bald right now, and he would simply nod and be like, Ah. A styling choice. Nice. But because you are clearly in distress, his internal ‘protect-you-at-all-costs’ protocol activates.

The first thing Choso does? He disappeared into the bedroom for approximately three minutes and returns holding one of his hoodies. With no warning, he pulls it over your head, yanks the hood up, and tightens the strings. You look like a babushka now.

“There.” He crosses his arms, pleased. “Problem solved.”

You blink at him from inside the hood. “This is not solving anything.”

He nods like it does, dead serious. “No one will know.”

He then pulls out his phone and shoves it in your face.

“Look. Baby ducks.”

You open your mouth to protest but then—oh. Oh, wait. They were baby ducks. Little guys. Just wobbling. Being babies. Doing duck things.

Your sniffles slowed. Choso, seeing his opening, started a full-scale attack. He queues up every cute animal video he had saved in his phone (which, shockingly, was A LOT). Dogs in sweaters. Cats getting stuck in bags. A raccoon holding a tiny croissant.

And then, the final move—he pulls you into his lap, arms secure around you, chin resting on your hooded head. “Forget your hair. Focus on the baby animals.”

“…This is manipulation.”

“Yes.”

Eventually, you start laughing because—let’s be real—how can you not? He looks so genuinely concerned but also so deeply clueless. To him, you are the most beautiful, perfect being in existence. Hair? Hair is nothing. You could be a floating entity with no physical form, and he would still follow you around like a devoted guard dog.

“Do you feel better?”

You sigh, sinking into his embrace. “Yeah. A little.”

He nods, satisfied. “Good.” Then, after a pause: “But do you want them gone?”

“CHOSO—”

₊⊹. Toji Fushiguro

You knew the haircut was bad the moment the stylist spun you around to face the mirror. It was giving DIY tutorial gone wrong. It was giving I let my sleep paralysis demon take the clippers. It was giving Who let Edward Scissorhands cook? But the real horror? The moment you stepped through the door, and Toji saw it.

At first, there was silence. A long, deafening silence. Toji just stood there, staring at you like he was trying to process a Blue Screen of Death error in real-time. His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out.

Once he got the giggles out of his system, he went into damage control mode. Toji sucks at emotional support, but he does try, and his version of helping is...questionable at best.

Then, he burst out laughing. Wheezing. Hunched over, hands on his knees, absolutely losing his mind like you just hit him with the funniest stand-up routine of the century.

"What the hell did they do to you?" he choked out between laughs. He tried to stop, he really did, but every time he looked at you again, it sent him spiraling. He had to turn away and stare at the wall to compose himself.

His first attempt at fixing your situation? He slaps one of his beanies on your head like it’s a bandage covering a fatal wound.

"There," he grunts, patting your head. Unfortunately, Toji is built like a fridge, and his beanie is somehow massive on your head. You look like a drowned rat trying to wear a bucket. But Toji nods approvingly, like he's just done the world’s greatest boyfriend duty.

When you start pouting about your hair, Toji does attempt comfort. "Eh, you still look good," he shrugs. "Kinda. If I squint." You glare at him. "I mean, if I was blind, you'd still be hot," he tries again. You glare harder. He sighs and finally just says, "Look, your face carries the team, alright?" Somehow, that’s the nicest thing he’s ever said.

Then, Toji somehow convinces himself that he can fix it. You, for some ungodly reason, let him. This is a mistake. This man holds scissors the way a toddler holds crayons. He does one snip, and you immediately regret every decision that led you to this point.

"Oh," he mutters. "Damn." That’s all he says. Just "Oh. Damn." You snatch the scissors away before he turns your head into an unintentional modern art piece.

At the end of the day, though, he sees you still sulking and finally does something actually sweet. He pulls you into his lap, rests his chin on top of your head (bad hair and all), and mumbles, "It’s just hair, babe. It'll grow back. 'Sides, you’re still mine, no matter how goofy you look."

[rabotimagines]

I keep rereading your decepticons with a cybertronian reader who calls them pet names, and j wanted to share the mental image I had.

Skywarp seeing them enter the room and sliding on his knees like “there goes my babyyyy” meme.

Meanwhile you, unphased just place a servo on his head as you inform Megatron of your lastest report.

I’m down bad 😔 and ily.

-Applin

*YouTubes meme* OH YEAH, totally 100% he would. Pspspsps Moot, come get your food @smallestapplin

Summary: GN Bot reader using human pet names!

G1 character: Skywarp!

Genre/Theme: Platonic but flirting

Pronouns: You, Your, Yours

Skywarps getting reamed out by you for a prank he pulled on Astrotrain. At least you didn't beat him if he didn't start slag himself first (like Screamer or Megatron). So Skywarp just stays where he is and waits for your mouth to stop moving. They won't punish him again for the same thing if you've already done it. But he's got more important things to do, y'know! Okay, maybe he stops listening and only starts again when you just up and grab Skywarp's jaw and yank him to focus back on your optics.

"Now c'mon babe, we both know we don't want to be here right now. Do us both a favor and focus the first time." Babe? Babe??? Skywarp didn't care a lot for the squishies and their culture but Skywarp knew what "babe" meant. His optics cycle once but he stays where he's staring at your faceplate as you keep ripping him apart with your words. You finish and Skywarp only realizes you're done after you wait for a klick for a response. When he doesn't respond you actually brush your em field up against his frame- You open your mouth again and Skywarp's still staring right into your optics when you start speaking again "Got that, sweetspark?"

Skywarp's wings hike up and his plating fluffs. "Uh yeah- yeah! I got it! Don't put dye in the communal wash racks- or something- got it!"

Your blank expression shifts and you smile at him. "Good boy. Don't do it again." Your em field brushes along the side of his helm and you just turn and leave him standing there. Skywarp watches you leave before his mouth shuts with a click.

Skywarps like a starved mech- it wasn't like any of them were getting any stuck on this mud ball in the middle of nowhere of the galaxy. He's not wasting the chance at something even if it was just affection and not interfacing. And slag it all it's been wayyyy too long since Skywarps even gotten flirted with by anyone. Yeah the violence and fighting of being a con was fun and all but he doesn't realize how much he missed the fun of this until you started flirting with everybody. Which, the fact you flirt with everybody? Skywarp gets annoyed over it. Skywarp wants your attention on him- c'mon he's doing soooo much better than Thundercracker right now! Stop calling him cute and start calling Skywarp cute instead!

It's like night and day suddenly when it's you he has to answer to vs Starscream or Soundwave. (Primus, below he's actually behaved- well as behaved as Skywarp can be.)

Then you come waltzing into the meeting room, and Skywarps warping out of his chair- Thundercrackers got his face in his servo already, and Starscreams already glaring in your direction knowing exactly where Skywarps going. You don't even flinch when Skywarp wraps himself around your waist. Servo petting Skywarp's helm while you just casually start reading off your report. Megatron bluntly asks if you rewired Skywarps personality module due to this being the first time he sees it. You just grin and give Megatron a look- which is apparently enough for an explanation and Megatron just scoffs and goes "I see." As they watch you praise Skywarp for completing what you asked him to do earlier in the cycle.

[darnell-la]

𝗟𝗘𝗧 𝗚𝗢 𝗢𝗥 𝗬𝗢𝗨'𝗟𝗟 𝗛𝗨𝗥𝗧 𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥

pairing: traumatized & emotional!logan howlett x mutant close friend!reader

warnings: heavy drinking, growing close, therapist friend, emotions, nightmares, a lot of blood, panicking, near death, regeneration, confessions, kisses, realization, conclusion, etc.

summary: after an unexpected night, Logan realizes the danger he is for sticking to the past. he had to learn to let go of the evil that never was right for him.

note: this story has NO SMUT, but we got Logan who’s an emotional mess and breaks apart after injuring y/n on a mistake.

follow our Instagram @ darnell.la so we can start posting random videos, photos, edits, and memes of the people we write about!

———

When Jean died, y/n was the only one there for Logan. The x men couldn’t see the pain he was in, but she could. When she’d make her nightly routine to get water from the kitchen, he’d be down there passed out on one of the kitchen chairs, or drinking until he got to that point.

Y/n would pass by him for weeks. They soon became a couple of months, but after a while, she felt bad. He wasn’t keeping himself up and any time he spoke to the crew, he had an attitude and was drunk.

Charles had banned him on missions until he got sober, but that wasn’t happening any time soon.

It took a while for y/n to talk to Logan without him pushing her away. One night he was crying in the living, and she walked in.

The woman sat next to him and softly patted his knee, trying to do something to calm him down. Before she knew it, the man pulled her into a tight hug as he sobbed.

That night he poured his heart out to y/n. She had to tell him that what he did to Jean wasn’t his fault and it had to be done. She asked, “How do you think Scott felt when he thought she was gone?”

Logan knew Jean, but she was confused about why her death hit him so hard. He explained that everyone he cares for eventually dies. He said he was cursed.

For the past year, y/n has worked with Logan almost daily as a side therapist. Some days she’ll have to force him to talk while others, he comes to her.

They grew close, now fighting by each other’s side, rarely being seen without the other, having their drinking nights and sometimes falling asleep together on the couch.

Logan would be the first to wake up, so he’d carry the young woman to her bed. The first several times, he would leave to his own, then after, he’d stay and sleep on her sofa.

“Jean?” Logan asked as he turned around in his bed, seeing the woman he killed, lying next to him in a white nightgown. “Is that really you?” He asked as he sat up, hand instantly rubbing her cheek.

“Yes,” her voice seemed low as her eyes stared into his. “I-I’m sorry, Jean,” Logan’s eyes began to tear up. “Please stay. I promise I won’t hurt you or anyone else again,” he begged.

Jean leaned into the man’s ear with a slight smirk and blinked slowly. “Too late,” she said. Logan had felt his hand tingle. He was confused until he looked down, seeing his claws inside of the woman’s stomach.

“No, Jean!” He yelled. There was a huge poodle of blood. “Jean, please, no!” He pulled his claws away before pushing down on her stomach. “You were born to hurt people,” she spoke before her eyes darkened.

Logan hated her hateful words. After she came back the last time, she’s been hurtful.

Jean’s mouth opened, now screaming at Logan’s face, making him close his eyes. “Logan,” I voice called which seemed so far. “L-Logan,” y/n choked as her hand wrapped around his wrists tighter, trying to wake him up.

Logan’s eyes slowly opened, realizing he was in a dream. “Logan,” y/n could barely speak as the blood in her throat began to form. The man looked down seeing his class in her stomach.

“No,” he spoke low, not believing it at first until her fingers slowly slipped from his wrists. Y/n’s body leaned back, about to crash onto the floor until Logan held her up with his arms.

“No — Y/n I-“ his words got stuck in his throat. He’s never done this to anyone before, and that someone had to be y/n. “Y/n, stay up,” the man’s hands now pressed on her stomach.

“O-Okay,” she looked into the man’s eyes as she tried breathing. The blood made it hard, and he knew that. Logan looked around the room, looking at a place to place her so he could go run for help.

“C’mon,” Logan got up, carrying the girl in bridal style for only a few seconds until he laid her on her bed. He had fallen asleep on her sofa again. Now he was regretting showing this little detailed affection towards her. If he just left her downstairs and went to his own bed, this wouldn’t have happened.

“Fuck- Why did you come near me. You know how I can get,” scared tears started slipping down Logan’s cheeks. How could he do this? To her or all people. “W-Wanted to h-help,” y/n has never sounded worse in her life.

“Shit- I-I need to get help,” Logan said before yelling through the house for Storm and Hank. “Storm! Hank!” Logan ran downstairs since that’s where their rooms are at.

“God,” Hank yanked in annoyance as Storm rushed out of her room. “What’s wrong? What happened?” Storm asked, not too worried until he looked down at his fist. It was covered in blood along with a few splatters on his white tank top and thick blue jeans.

“What the hell happened!?” Hank’s body froze. “Y/n, she was- She came up to me while I was sleep a-and I had a dream. A-A very bad dream and I stuck Jean but when I woke up-“ he tried finishing.

“You stuck her,” Storm imagined. Storm remembers when he stuck Rachel on her shoulder, but it has to be worse if that much blood is on his hands and he’s shaking.

“You stuck Jean?” Hank asked as Storm and Logan began jogging back upstairs. “No! No, it was a dream. A very bad fucking dream,”

“Where is she? In your room? Why was she in your room?” Storm grabbed Logan’s door handle until he stopped her. “No, she’s in hers,” he said before taking a deep breath, admitting that he was in her room.

“What?” She asked as she sped over across the hall to hers. “A-After we pass out on the couch, I’m usually the one who wakes up first so I- I carry her to her bed and pass out on her sofa,”

Storm sped through y/n’s open room door and gasped at the sight of her. Her middle body was covered in blood and her head was tilted to the side with her eyes closed. She looked lifeless.

“N-No, no!” Logan ran over to her to put pressure on the wound. “I told you to put pressure on the wound, y/n!” He yelled as he used one hand to slap at her face, he she wouldn’t wake up.

“How bad does it look- Oh fuck,” Hank quickly ran over to y/n. The man pressed his two fingers on her neck to check for a pulse, and he got one. A very slow and weak pulse.

“She’s still alive, but she needs to go to the lab. Now!” Logan quickly picked Y/n up, now running through the mansion as kids came out of their rooms. “I’ll get the kids back to bed,” Storm stated back to do her job.

“Please, y/n, don’t do this to me, please,” Logan could feel his heart rate rise as her body felt slumped. She gave no sign of any form of life.

“Place her on here, quickly,” Hank tapped the medical bed, and Logan did as told. “I’m going to have to sedate her before I work on her — I don’t think you should be in here for this,” Hank suggested.

“Why not!? I did this to her, so f-fuck how I feel about seeing you cut her open. I’m the one that stabbed her!” Logan felt all different emotions. He couldn’t help it.

“It’s not for your sake, it’s for mine. She’s my friend too, and I want to concentrate and keep her alive,” Hank said. “No, no — I-I can’t leave her. I don’t want to leave her!”

Logan shook his head side from side, refusing to leave. He has nothing else to do. He’d only be somewhere stressed and waiting for Hank to come to him with bad news.

“Logan — I’ve got this. But I need my space,” Hank said low as he touched Logan’s shoulder to calm the man down who was looking down at y/n with tears. The white nightgown was soaked in blood. She was losing so much.

“I-I’ll be back, y/n. Please don’t do this time me,” Logan tightly gripped the unconscious girl's hand, raising it to his mouth before he gave her a peck.

“Did she make it? Is she alive!?” Logan quickly got up as the door to his lab opened. The man sat there all night. Hank slowly walked out of the lab without saying a word.

“What? What, is she- D-Did I kill her? Is she dead!?” Logan felt his heart sink as he kept walking towards the man. “No — She’s actually just fine,” Hank spoke as y/n walked through the lab doors.

She had a medical gown on and looked healthier than ever.

Logan ran over to the girl and picked her up to hug her tightly as he cried in her neck. “I’m so sorry!” He sobbed as his fingers gripped her body, not wanting to let her go.

“It’s not your fault, Logan. Things happen, and I don’t want to hear otherwise,” she said, seeing his mouth open to argue. “You saved my life. That’s all you need to think about,”

Logan was lost for words as he placed y/n down. He couldn’t argue, and she looked alive. She was alive.

The man grabbed the girl's face a bit rough as he pulled her into a long and passionate kiss that was followed with apologies. Y/n’s soft hands grabbed his cheeks as well, pulling him in closer.

“No thanks to me, I guess,” Hank said as the two laughed in between their kiss. “Thank you, Hank,” Y/n pulled away from Logan and looked at the man who barely had to do anything.

“I’m completely joking. I barely had to do anything anyways,” Hank said which confused Logan. “What are you talking about?” Logan asked as he placed his hand over y/n’s wounds that he couldn’t feel. He thought the gown was in the way until he lifted the gown up to see no marks. Just her in a pair of medical tights.

“She regenerates, Logan. Just like you! — So perfect for each other,” Hank rubbed his hands together in excitement. “It only took awhile I’m guessing because this was the first time her skin was broken that bad,”

“I’m so sorry about that, y/n,” Logan instantly felt bad again. “No apologizing. I’m here now,” y/n softly grabbed Logan’s face again. “With me,” he added before kissing her again, but this time more passionately.

After that day, Logan and y/n built their relationship. He wasn’t so sure at first, but he couldn’t ignore the feelings he had grown for her. All the times he wanted to tell her this wouldn’t work, those pretty eyes would make him forget was he was going to tell her.

Logan has only had one nightmare after the night he almost killed y/n. He was furious when he saw Jean. She killed Scott, she killed Charles and almost had y/n killed.

He soon realized that women were never for him. He just grew feelings from the competition between him and Scott, but now that he’s gone, Logan couldn’t forgive and forget what she’s done.

It took a while for Logan to let Y/n lay in the same bed as him, but after she snuck into his room one night and he woke up to her wrapped around him peacefully — he couldn’t deny it anymore.

[bridgetotheskyyy]

Slip of The Tongue - Toge

Kinktober Masterlist

Warnings: 18+, dubcon, smut,

A/n: back to make up for Kinktober day 6! Dubcon.

Word count: 1.5k

Read on ao3.

It had been a simple slip of the tongue, a mere faux pas, but the consequences had been explosive. 

“Fuck me,” Toge had said ― groaned more like, in frustration, promoted from his third loss at Mario kart against you. 

You turned toward him just in time to see his eyes widen, the realization of what he had done living there. 

Toge���s watery voice washed away all reason in your mind as you flung yourself at him, arms around his shoulders, and planted your lips over his. 

Toge had dipped under your weight, falling to the floor by his side as your hands plucked feverishly at his clothes. Toge had opened his mouth to gasp only to invite the aggressive wet of your tongue to brush and lap against his cursed one ― 

Your hands traveled south, curled around his belt ― 

Toge had torn his head away from you ―

“NO!”

The word, imbued with cursed energy, rippled over the room like a sonic wave. At his mercy, you froze. Toge's eyes darted across your face. His hands angled you back to your knees and off of him. 

The clouds obscuring your eyes waned. You blinked. 

“What?” Your brows creased. “What... What happened?”

Toge's answer came only in the hanging of his head as his hands shrunk away from your shoulders. You studied his face as realization came over yours. 

The last few seconds relayed in your mind. “Oh, god ― Toge, it’s okay ― I'm ―”

"Salmon." Toge scrambled to his feet and passed the door before you could halt him. 

You hadn't seen Toge since that fateful night, surely avoiding you. 

You sighed as your fingers dragged fog from your mirror. You knew he would blame himself. It was his fault; typically he knew better, the severity of the damage he could cause with a simple word always at the back of his mind. But three nights ago, he had 

You didn't care. You just wanted your friend back. 

“Does anyone know where he is?” You asked in the Jujutsu University lounge. 

Yuuta and Panda froze. Yuuta swallowed, toying with the hilt of his sword. 

“I ― um ― I don't know, (Y/n),” he said. 

You crossed your arms. “You're a bad liar, Yuuta.” 

“He's not lying,” Panda said. “Truth is, we haven't seen Toge in a few days. Not even a single text.”

You straightened your back. That was strange. Toge was a chatterbox in texts, what with it being the only safe way he could truly express himself. “What? Not even a meme?”

“Not one.” Panda shrugged. “He’s fine. I’m sure of it! You know how he can be sometimes.”

You would not be fooled, especially when you had an idea of where Toge had gone.

It was a place he and you had discovered and claimed for yourselves, one fateful evening exploring the city. 

The weight of Toge’s disappearance weighed on you as you approached the warehouse. Doubt and worry held your stomach taut. What if you were wrong? Maybe Toge hadn’t come here after all? 

You had to check. You walked inside, caution slowing every step. 

“Toge?” 

Quiet.

BANG

You startled; it was muffled, and most likely had come from several rooms over. You swallowed. You didn’t sense a curse ― not yet, anyway.

You followed the source of the sound, trembling down a series of stairs until you came to a lower, darker area of the abandoned warehouse. 

Sitting on the ground, faced away from you. 

“... Toge?” You murmured. You hardly had to ask; you knew.

Toge spun. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, as though sleep had eluded him for days.

“It’s okay …” You walked toward him. “Please, just tell me what happened ―”

He shot his arm out as he stumbled away from you.

“Toge, please ―”

He turned away. Vaguely, you wondered why he did not voice to stop you. Silence was all you were met with as you approached.

You reached out. Just the slightest bit of skin between your finger and his neck touched ―

He grabbed your offered arm and you fell against his lips.

Shock overcame you as Toge’s hands cradled your face. You opened your mouth to speak only for his tongue to bridge the gap and find yours. He opportunized your shock to part your mouth with his tongue. Your eyes widened as he sucked your tongue, rutting into you. You had done all it took to ignore the thought of Toge’s lips on yours since that, and now your diligence was forfeit as his lips moved against yours with a fervor you struggled to match. Before you knew it you were against the wall, Toge’s greedy, frantic hands venturing your body, desperate for a slight of naked skin. 

“Toge ―” Something’s wrong with him. “Toge!”

No use; his mouth won over your words. He earned himself a gasp from you as his hips jutted into you, hands kneading into your breasts. You were so overwhelmed you did not feel the straps of your top come down nor the way your panties now hung past your skirt, hooked over your wobbling knees.

You understood now; he had kept himself away to protect you.

But no one could do that now.

It didn’t matter how your cunt throbbed with every touch, how saliva ran your mouth to taste him, have him splitting you open. You had to stop him.

“Toge, I ―” You trembled as he nibbled the skin. Already, you could sense the darkening of the bruises that would be left there. The hand on the small of your back held you in place as you squirmed. “I ― I don’t know if I want this ―”

“Yes, you do.” Toge licked the shell of your ear, heated breath on your lobe. “Of course you do.” A hand slipped in between your legs without ceremony, his fingers finding evidence of his truth. He met your eye, his collar low enough to showcase his smirk. His expression challenged you: See how wet you are?

You understood as his will lay over yours. Your cunt throbbed with gratitude as Toge played with your wet folds. You bit yourself as two fingers slid with ease into your heat. Pretty violet eyes remained glued to yours, dared you to deny, to lie.

You couldn’t lie to yourself. 

Again and again, you had dreamed of this since Toge’s slip up had allowed you to taste him for the first time. The night you had gotten just a taste. Why couldn’t he have put his morals aside for one night? Why couldn’t he have just let you finish the job ―?

Now, Toge scissored you from within, palm rocking into your clit as you whined into his shoulder. Your arms came around him to keep him close. He panted beside you. A third finger tickled your folds before letting itself in to be eaten by your cunt. You reddened; juices leaked down your inner thigh. You rocked shamelessly against his fingers, hungry for the length of them along with his palm brushing your sensitive clit. You drew blood on your lip as a tightening behind your abdomen ―

Toge withdrew his fingers and you whined against the cold emptiness. He brought his fingers to his mouth to lick and suck your juices from them, a moan stuck in his throat as he savored your taste. 

Another blink and you were on the ground. Shafts of sunlight from the poorly-boarded up roof warmed your skin as Toge toppled you. You shivered as the trails his tongue made left cool tracks over your heated skin. How long would he be like this? Panic jolted you, arched you into Toge’s frenzied hold. No one knew the two of you were here. And he wouldn’t let you go. How long would the effects of whatever Toge faced last? How long would he use you? The fearful thrill went straight to your aching cunt.

“Don’t move.”

Your body obeyed. Toge knuckled your panties and slid them down to bunch at your ankles. Toge faced you as he settled himself between your legs, beautiful violet eyes dilated by madness. Already, his hips rutted against you, erection probing you ― alleviated only by Toge freeing his cock and with a growl fixing to enter you.

Toge slipped a thumb into your mouth as he sank into you. “Suck,” he ordered, voice watery and reverbed ― and hoarse from the squeeze of your walls. He whined as you suckled his thumb. Your body bounced with his quick, unfiltered pace. Toge kissed down your jaw, pants huffing against your skin.

“Aah …” His face strained. Slap, slap, slap went his hips into you. He forced your hands over your head to possess you fully. “So good …!”

You were too worked up to withstand his bestial pace. Toge licked the shell of your ear before slipping his tongue into your canal ― 

“Cum.”

He ordered it, but he didn’t need to; you were already convulsing around him, his voice command adding another layer of chaos to your climax, doubling it, tripling it. Your eyes rolled back as your screams were muffled with Toge’s mouth. Your cunt overran with warmth but, as one command overcame the other, you wrapped arms and legs around Toge to prevent him from leaving.

When you were too weak to hold Toge to you, he pulled out. He stared at you from above, flushed face, spittle ran down his cheek. You watched him through heavy-lidded eyes.He surveyed the damage he had done.

And, apparently, felt nothing as he dragged you by your legs toward him to ruin you again.

[srue-on-fire]

Everything Comes Back To You

2. LIGHT IN THE DARK

Pairing: Eddie Diaz x Reader Rating: General Audiences Title: Niall Horan's Flicker Summary: After Shannon leaves, surrendering custody of Christopher, Eddie is left to raise him alone under the weight of guilt and his parents’ judgment. You try to hold everything together, but love, frustration, and a bitter argument leave you both fractured and silent. Tags: childhood friends, temporarily unrequited love, angst, emotional hurt. Word Count: 1300

read on ao3 ~ part one | tumblr

🐟

The days slipped by in strange shapes. Some were heavy, dragging behind you like wet laundry. Others passed so fast you didn’t remember what you ate or said or did, only that it had been one more day without them.

No Christopher. No tiny sneakers on the welcome mat. No Eddie. No worn jacket tossed over your couch.

After the first week, it felt like holding onto numbers was a way to keep the pain alive —like checking the wound every morning to see if it still bled. And it always did. You’d wake up and your heart would ache the same way it did the day Maria told you they were gone.

So instead, you learned to exist again. You started filling your days with the kind of things that didn’t make space for grief —going to work, volunteering at community center, walking shelter dogs, baking muffins you didn’t eat. You’d learned how to keep busy without feeling better.

You stopped checking your phone after the second week. It didn’t help. Not when there was no missed call. No text. Not even a dumb meme Eddie would’ve sent when he didn’t know how to say he missed you. 

And oh fucking hell, did you miss him . 

You told yourself it was better this way. You told yourself this was what love looked like sometimes.

But you never stopped glancing at the crayon drawing still pinned under the fading fridge magnet. The pictures on your walls. In your phone.

Especially Christopher’s. His laughter haunted the corners of your house.

You missed the way his arms would wrap around your waist and squeeze with everything he had. You missed how he’d ask questions you weren’t ready to answer —like the time he asked ‘ why do grown-ups cry when they think nobody can hear them?’ when Shannon had a bad day and left him with you.  

You missed the little things. Friday evenings at the park. Making him pancakes shaped like dinosaurs or spacecrafts.

You missed your little boy.

🐟

It happened on a Wednesday.

The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, spilling orange light across the kitchen floor while you stood at the counter, chopping vegetables without much thought. The house was too quiet, save for the soft hum of the fridge and the click of the knife against the wooden board.

Your phone buzzed.

You glanced at it without much interest— then froze.

New text from: Abuela Isabella

Your heart stuttered. Then stopped entirely when you read the message.

Abuela Isabel Hi 🐟 I miss u Dont tell bisabuela ok

Your knife slipped against the cutting board. You barely noticed. You fumbled the phone into your wet, shaking hands, breath caught in your throat.

You Who is this?

Three dots blinked.

Abuela Isabel Its me Christopher 🙂

Your knees went weak. You braced yourself against the counter, exhaling sharply, pressing a hand to your chest. It took another few seconds before your brain rebooted and you scrambled to type a reply.

You Oh my god, kiddo I miss you too! Are you okay??

The reply was instant. 

Abuela Isabel Yes We have fish I miss pancakes

You Fish??

Abuela Isabel Yes real ones One is named noodle She is my best friend now

You laughed. It came out rough and wet and more like a sob than a sound of joy. You covered your mouth with your hand and sat down slowly at the kitchen table.

You I’m so glad you have Noodle. I bet she’s lucky to have you, too.

Abuela Isabel Is daddy okay? He says weird things Like he's glad I am his kid

You stared at the question. Your thumbs hovered above the keyboard, unmoving. It shouldn’t be a hard thing to answer. But it felt like holding a glass sculpture in your hands —too fragile, too sharp in the wrong places.

You He will be. He’s trying really hard, huh?

The reply came quicker this time.

Abuela Isabel Yes He runs a lot He says others are fast but he is faster I think he is like a superhero

You chuckled as more tears welled up. Of course, Christopher thought that. That kid was so proud of his dad, if only the dad knew it.

You I bet he is. I’m proud of him.

There was a pause. Just a few moments, but it felt like time stretched thin between each bubble of dots.

Abuela Isabel Are you mad at daddy? He told abuela that you fought Dont tell him I was listening ok

You stared at the question. Felt the echo of it hit somewhere deep in your chest, just under the bone. It wasn’t fair —that Christopher had to ask. That he was the one threading the needle between two broken hearts, trying to sew something back together with hands still learning to tie shoelaces.

You pressed your forehead to the table.

Then you typed.

You No, sweetheart. I could never stay mad at your dad.

You paused. Watched the cursor blink like it was holding its breath.

We just said things that hurt. But I still love him. Very much.

More dots. And then, 

Abuela Isabel I think he misses u too Like I go to sleep He sits on the porch and looks sad

You gripped the phone tighter and squeezed your eyes shut.

You I sit on the porch too. The light is flickering. I need to fix it.

Abuela Isabel There is a light here too But it is too bright I like the your porch better

You Me too. I miss you, Christopher. Every day.

Abuela Isabel Miss you too Ok I told Noodle u missed me She says hi

You smiled, watery. Imagining a fish tank perched on abuela’s sun room table, sunlight dancing on glass. Tiny fingerprints where he probably tried to chase the fish. It was calm and warm and so Christopher.

You Give her a cuddle for me. And tell her I said thanks for keeping you company.

You hesitated again. Then, careful, 

You Can you do something for me, mijo?

Abuela Isabel Ok

You Tell your dad to be kind to himself. Even when it’s hard.

There was a longer pause this time. You could picture him, tongue between his teeth, thinking hard like he always did when he felt like something was too big for just words.

Abuela Isabel I will But only if he lets me eat ice cream first

You laughed again. This time, it didn’t hurt as much.

Another beat.

Abuela Isabel Ok I need to go

You Alright. Love you, kiddo. Give Noodle a high five from me.

Abuela Isabel Ok She does not have hands But I will try I love you too 🐟💙

You laughed again. A soft, shaky thing. Your hand pressed over your heart like it might keep it from breaking wide open all over again.

You didn’t move after that. Just sat there, phone warm in your hand, the kitchen bathed in orange light. It smelled like cut vegetables and lemon and something like hope.

He was okay. He was okay. They were okay.

Maybe the wound hadn’t closed. Maybe it never would. But for the first time in weeks, it didn’t ache so loudly.

For now, there was hope.

And one little boy with a fish emoji who still knew exactly where to find you.

🐟

A/N: Thank you so much for the response on the first part, guys!

[sssammich]

💘 supercorp bc its on brand for them

omg ok i finally have some time to write the rest of these so we're gonna tackle this one!

💘 fake relationship / mutual pining / dared to kiss

ask meme

---

Lena has to chew on her bottom lip to stop herself from laughing, forcing her face muscles to stay absolutely still. She covers her face with her hand, pressing her palm up to her lips as she attempts to make sense of what Alex is saying to her...to them.

She drops her hand down on her lap and is about to respond when Kara, having been equally quiet beside her on the couch, rests her elbows on her knees and asks the question that's on the tip of Lena's tongue.

"You want us to be in a pretend relationship?"

"I don't just want you two to be in a pretend relationship, I need you two to be in a pretend relationship."

"That's--"

"It can't be that hard," Alex reasons, almost talking to herself, her hands on her hips as she stands across the coffee table of Kara's apartment staring at them with a completely serious face. Lena and Kara share a shocked look with one another.

"And why not?" she challenges, unable to help herself.

"Because you two are best friends," Alex responds smoothly and stares at them expectantly. Hard to fault Alex about that. She and Kara are best friends with each other.

"Run it back again," Kara interrupts. "Explain one more time why we need to be dating."

Alex huffs, though by the way she drops to her knees in front of the coffee table, steepling her hands as she rests her elbows on the wooden surface, Lena suspects that Alex thinks that she's hooked them.

"Because the entire operation hinges on the fact that you're already in a relationship. And since this is so last minute, the most believable option we have going for you is your best friend who you already spend so much time with."

Lena tilts her head. It all makes sense, all things considered. She already spends almost all of her free time with Kara whether at her penthouse or at Kara's apartment (which, for the record, is where they are currently, and where she had been for the better part of the last three hours since finishing up some work earlier that afternoon).

"It makes sense," she says out loud, as if considering Alex's words.

"I knew you were the best Luthor out there," Alex quips, leaning forward. Lena can guess that Alex feels so close to attaining what she needs from the two of them, but Kara beside her doesn't sound as sold.

"I don't know, Alex. Don't you think we've done our fair share of deception and lying?"

Alex rolls her eyes, her hands pressed flat on the table in front of her. "Kara. You are a superhero vigilante with a secret identity. Deception and lying is literally part of your everyday life."

Kara turns to Lena for support, the corners of her lips tugged down and strained. Lena gives her a supportive albeit apologetic smile. "She has a point, darling," she says finally.

The pout on Kara's face is worth a hundred kisses to make go away, Lena thinks, but she doesn't move. "I thought you were on my side?"

"I am on your side. But so far, your sister is making good points. Even though the why is still a bit flimsy."

"I just said the operation--"

"But why does this supposed operation require Kara being in a relationship? Can't she simply be unavailable or that she's not currently in the headspace to date?" she asks, her hand placed on Kara's back, rubbing soothing circles between Kara's shoulder blades. She resists smiling when Kara leans a bit closer to her, as if Lena can't reach her. There's literally no space of distance between them already on the couch.

"Because," Alex starts. "There are going to be relatives and family friends from Kelly's side that'll be relentless--" and this is where Lena is baffled by how Alex is acting, "--to insist that they will have the best and most suitable eligible single daughter or son that's perfect for you, Kara. And you too, Lena. Don't think you'll get out of this scot-free."

Her face furrows in confusion. "Me?"

"Yes! They will, undoubtedly, ruin the wedding by trying to set both of you two up with other people, and we honestly can't have you two distract everyone from our big day."

Lena's eyes narrow at Alex whose own gaze is fixed in staring at her sister. It's an odd request, and her suspicions are raising alarms inside of her mind. Still, she keeps quiet, especially when Kara leans forward, her strong hand somehow landing on Lena's knee as she does so.

"You think we'll be distracting you and Kelly on your guys' big day?"

Lena pretends to scratch at her chin to try and cover her mouth knowing that she can just about hear the pout in Kara's voice.

"God, no. That's not--" Alex takes a deep breath as she straightens herself up from where she's kneeling by the coffee table. "Kara. It's not you two I'm worried about, it's them. They are going to make a big deal and I'm just trying to protect the both of you. And, of course, my wedding day with Kelly. And the truth of the matter is that there's no reason to wait for things to happen when we can prepare and cover all of our bases. That's all."

The truth of the matter. That's an interesting choice of words, Lena ponders, but she keeps those thoughts to herself.

Kara worries her bottom lip between her teeth even as her hand stays on Lena's knee. From the corner of her eye, she catches sight of Alex's gaze dropping to Kara's hand and Lena's leg, no doubt making a mental note of what she's seeing. But Lena's attention is pulled back to Kara who has now twisted her body to better look at Lena beside her. For her part, Lena stays in her exact position, hand on Kara's back, and waits for Kara's lead.

"What do you think?" she asks, her face serious, though something flashes in her eyes before Lena could really read what it had been.

"I think..." Lena begins to say, weighing every word that comes out of her mouth. "It's better to be safe than sorry."

Kara stares at her for a long moment, like it's just the two of them in the room, before sighing and leaning back, suspending Lena's hand between her back and the couch. Lena doesn't mind in the slightest, instead lets the tips of her fingers gently scratch Kara's back.

"That's all?" Kara asks, this time the question directed to her sister.

Lena turns her face enough to witness how Alex strains from smiling too wide when she nods emphatically and says, "That's all. That's it."

The longest five seconds seem to pass over all three of them until Kara sighs. "Fine. We'll do it."

Alex struggles to keep her fist pump under control and Lena wants to roll her eyes.

"Great. Figure out whatever cover story you two think will work the best. Remember, closer to the truth works best."

"I think we'll figure it out just fine, Alex," she comments, her voice taking on an airy tone. "It's not the first time we've had to give a cover story."

Alex nods again before rising to her feet. "Right, right. Okay, I'm gonna go home to the missus, and you two can work on your cover story."

Kara's just about to get up when Alex stops her. "You stay put, I'll let myself out. Have your story figured out by brunch this weekend. Sound good?"

She and Kara glance at one another before returning their focus on Alex. With her free hand, she offers a mock salute just as Kara nods up at her sister.

When Alex shuts the door behind her and leaves the two of them still on the couch, it's Kara who breaks first, tugging at Lena's arm from behind her so she can perch it around Kara's shoulder, their fingers tangled by Kara's bicep, before slumping further down on the couch with a loud exhale. She rests her head on Lena's shoulder, and Lena places a soft kiss on the crown of her head.

"You know, she used to be so much better at lying. Like I didn't even know she worked for a shadow government organization."

Lena chuckles, despite herself, and pulls Kara closer to her. "She was laying it on rather thick, I thought."

Kara tilts her head up, her ear resting on Lena's shoulder as their faces sit only a few short inches apart.

"Good work on the pouting, though. I think you really sold it."

The sleepy smile on Kara's face widens into a proud one. "You like that? I was really considering the waterworks but I think I would have given it away if I did."

"Mm, probably."

"You're a little actress yourself, Luthor," Kara comments with barely contained laughter. "Better safe than sorry. Pfft. You were practically having Alex eat out of the palm of your hands with how much you were agreeing with her. So devious."

"If there's anything Lex ever taught me, it's having the theatrical range."

Kara snorts before shuffling to sit back up. "How mad do you think Alex will be when she finds out that we're already dating?"

Lena shrugs, thinking about all of Alex's possible reactions. "Oh, I'm sure she'll never let you live it down."

"Us, babe," Kara says, leaning forward, the tips of their noses brushing with each other. "She'll never let us live it down."

"She shouldn't assume then," Lena answers before closing the remaining gap between them. Their lips slotting perfectly in place pressed against each other. It's still new, this feeling, but Lena thinks that she'll never tire of it.

Her breath hitches when she feels Kara's strong hand release her fingers only to grip her nape, followed by the smirk she knows is on Kara's lips.

"Wanna figure out our cover story in bed?"

She raises a brow, but Kara just shrugs. "So is that a no?"

Lena rolls her eyes before wrapping her arms around Kara's neck as Kara carries her towards the bed.

"I was thinking we tell people it was love at first sight," Kara muses.

Lena throws her head back in laughter, just in time for Kara to place a kiss on the hollow of her throat. She thinks love at first sight is not too far from the truth at all, and didn't Alex say the closer it is to the truth, the better?

[cumplanecrash]

Shizun Babies update, but I also wanna try doing WIP Wednesday so you get a way earlier update. About another 500 words, the conclusion of the previous scene. Shen Yuan Fucks Up™

🔗 just the updates | memes and updates | first | prev ← did you miss it? I tried posting on Saturday this time.

"Right," Shen Jiu said slowly, hand under his chin as he thought. "I think Return to Childhood might be a qi deviation Huan Hua seniors get pretty often? I don't know much about it, to be honest, my sources on that aren't exactly cultivators themselves."

No, paranoia would drive Shen Yuan unnecessarily insane. So, presuming Shen Jiu was sharing everything he knew, Shen Yuan would do the same. Err, the relevant bits. "Proud Immortal Demon Way is told from an omniscient point of view, so as long as we don't mention anything that's forbidden, we don't necessarily need an audience, but it'd probably help to get the named characters involved -- Luo Binghe, Ning Yingying, Ming Fan, maybe get Liu Mingyan up here somehow?"

Shen Yuan turned his head down to face a blinking Shen Jiu. "So," Shen Jiu said slowly. "When the System calls Luo Binghe 'the Protagonist'..."

Ah. Fuck .

Shen Yuan nodded. "In the early arcs, he's the one that all the whump happens to, and then when it goes from Torture Porn to Revenge Porn to just Porn, he's the one inflicting poetic justice and marrying calamitous beauties by the hundreds."

Shen Jiu mouthed the words 'torture porn', horror on his face.

Look, okay? Sorry to everyone involved, but Shen Yuan had been trying to workshop how to nail down those bonus points, since he couldn't be sure how much time they'd have alone together. He'd kind of forgotten that Shen Jiu didn't have the same World Knowledge the System had, alright??

"So in this book," Shen Jiu said, rubbing his temples in the way of someone who already had a headache that was about to get worse. "Shen Qingqiu is...?"

No point in sugarcoating it. "The principal villain of the first arc."

"The torture porn arc," said Shen Jiu.

"The first of three torture porn arcs," said Shen Yuan, in all fairness. "And the Endless Abyss is by far the worst of them, Binghe would have died several times if it weren't for certain artifacts that this master would really rather have available later on!!"

"During the revenge porn arcs." Shen Jiu said before falling to his knees, clearly on the verge of huge toddler tears. "Plural, because one of them is just me, isn't it?"

That... isn't something Shen Yuan wants to think about with the emotional regulation of a toddler, much less describe to another, already distressed, toddler. "I... don't believe in spoilers?"

Shen Jiu looked at Shen Yuan.

Shen Yuan looked at Shen Jiu.

They both took off running at the same time, Shen Yuan screaming fearfully, Shen Jiu screaming angrily.

Their combined screams reached a peak above what the privacy wards were prepared to deal with, and both Shens Qingqiu yelped in surprise as the door burst open in that same instant.

"Xiao Jiu?!?" shouted the Sect Leader, drawing talismans from a pocket as he surveyed the scene.

Shen Jiu eeped again, and ducked behind Shen Yuan.

Next

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

if I remember right, a year or two ago you made a list of recommendations for the Edinburgh Fringe. Any recommendations for this year? Already got Steffan on the list, obviously

I did! Okay, okay, here's what I've got this year. Caveat: I personally have not been up there yet (I'm going in a few days), but these are things I saw in preview/have heard great things about.

Steffan Alun: Free Standup, but at What Cost

Venue 156: PBH's Free Fringe @ Banshee Labyrinth - Banquet Hall, 21.30-22.30

Back again! Eighth Fringe, this. The show is an hour, but that includes a 15 minute warm-up act, then Steff for 45 mins. He does this so that reviewers won't come and ruin the vibe.

Anyway this year he talks a bit about being Welsh and how he is therefore grumpy with Bristolian Tesco self-checkout machines

.

Jake Baker: Rule Breaker!

Venue 78: PBH's Free Fringe @ Canons' Gait - Lower, 16.30-17.30

I love Jake, he's lovely. He's a gentle soul and has an excellent delivery style; very warm and deceptively witty. Normally he goes with Just The Tonic and is given a searing hot basement in the sky that smells of mould for a room, but this year he's in Canons' Gait, which is much much nicer.

His blurb: A rule-breaker, a risk taker, a wave-maker and a convention-shaker – all phrases never before used to describe Jake Baker. But when a frustrating game of Alan Turing-themed Monopoly leaves him questioning the laws of the game, he finds himself turning that analytical impulse to bigger things.

.

Stephanie Laing: Rudder

Venue 300: Underbelly, George Square - The Wee Coo, 14.50-15.50

This show is particularly Tumblr-friendly, actually; it's described as 'neurodiversity-led'. However, it's a show with a content warning, although all the ticket page is saying is "themes" (insert Stephen Fry meme here); so, <SPOILER> she talks about withdrawing consent while sleeping with a FIB, and him continuing anyway. She talks about it in a very gentle way, avoiding Big Words, and it's very heavy on aftercare </SPOILER>

Her blurb: A comedy dance show about balance. Stephanie has a history of falling over a lot, accidentally kneeing herself in the face, and falling in love with total kn*bheads. In this show she uses a mixture of stand-up and dance to talk about bodies, sex, dancing, liking yourself, consent and healing. Also, there are cartoon bears and burlesque.

.

Erin McKinnie: The Faff Chronicles

Venue 108: Hoots @ The Apex - Hoot 4, 16.50-17.50

An Edinburgh local! Good solid standup for those who like such things. New-ish, but one to watch, she's very good. Don't be surprised to see her take off

Her blurb: What a faff! Erin McKinnie, a rising star on the Scottish comedy circuit, talks about faffing through early adulthood – from rogue adventures to living the "below-deck life" on cruise ships – she finds the funny in every bizarre encounter in this uplifting show that asks: Do we really need a life plan? Or... are we all just winging it? A brilliant, snort-worthy giggle-fest about exiting your 20s, facing life indecision and chasing answers for those big questions, all the while trying to convince your mother that this is a real job...

.

Alexander Bennett: Emotional Daredevil

Venue 24: Gilded Balloon Patter House - Coorie, 18.20-19.20

Dark feelings show with a really positive, optimistic message and a fun concept. It uses audience participation, but that's not compulsory, you're safe.

Blurb: I'm the emotional daredevil, and for my next feat, I need someone's help. A show about risk, for the unsatisfied and traumatised, from a Chortle Award nominee

.

Alex Franklin: Gurl Code

Venue 61: Underbelly, Cowgate - Delhi Belly, 20.25-21.25

Alex does a fun thing each year where she takes her publicity budget and rather than spending it on publicity, she hides it somewhere in Edinburgh and then reveals a clue to its location every day. This tells you something about her, I think

Her blurb: In 2024, trans girl Alex (me) started HRT. Now she (me) feels the most alive she's (me's) ever felt; and she wants to make you feel alive too, or die trying. A ludicrous, musical, chaotic, joyful show about the colours of the world becoming slowly brighter and giving people furniture via the tube. Also being trans.

.

Character Building Experience

Venue 49: Bedlam Theatre - Bedlam Theatre, 20.00-21.00

It's a D&D show - the MC Sasha Ellen makes a bunch of 40-minute simple campaigns and a selection of pre-rolled characters to do them, and then gets three comedians each time to play them. You know the drill. Good quality fun, and different each time, since you'll never see the same campaign/comedian mix.

.

2 Truths, 1 Lie

Multiple venues and times (search the EdFringe app or website to see them all), but I recommend catching the 3pm show on either the 25th or 26th August at Venue 108: Hoots @ The Apex - Hoot 1 for reasons I shall not share here (ooh, mysterious)

Fun panel-like show! Often MC'd by Steff, especially if you catch one of the 3pm shows. The format is:

Three comedians each declare a statement. Two are true, but one comedian is lying. The MC doesn't know the liar, nor does the audience. The audience gets to ask questions of the comedians; at the end, they vote on who they think the liar is.

(The prize for winning is a smug sense of satisfaction.)

.

Anyway, once I'm up there I will possibly have more, but currently, that's my list

[chiiyuuvv]

can you do bestfriends!riize who has a crush on you reacting to you calling them babe or baby? thank you and anyway i love your works!! it's so well written :]]

• PAIRING — bestie!riize x fem!reader

• GENRE — their a little slow.. fluff, my attempt at humor, honestly shit

• WORD COUNT — 462

• AUTHOR'S NOTE — sorry for not posting a bunch ive been working on some other stuff

• TAGLIST — @moonlightdarlings , @cake1box , @babigriin , @soul-is-a-strange-kid

MASTERLIST! – JOIN THE TAGLIST!

SHOTARO ☆

You had called him babe in of the members

Shotaros face red and his jaw dropped, along with the members looking around like, "their dating and their keeping it a secret?? 🤨"

Hes stuttering so much, someone help him.

Theres this stupid smile on his face and laughs bubbling out of him and hes staring at you with hearts in his eyes, hes so in love damn 😞

Definitely pulls you to the side, saying smth like "what are we??? :DD" praying on the inside you say "your girlfriend" ♡

EUNSEOK ☆

yes, you called him babe. Wait what????

"What?" Blinking at you repeatedly. give him a second hes malfunctioning

Lets out this smile that gives you the shivers, trying to calm down his racing heart

"No, youre just joking. Funny, actually."

Almost kisses you when you say you arent ♡

SUNGCHAN ☆

Goes along with it

"Yes im her babe whatcha gonna do huh?? 😡"

Drops down to his knees to kiss the back of your hand

What a damn minute..

YOU CALLED HIM BABE YOU CALLED HIM BABE YOU CALLED HIM BABE ♡

WONBIN ☆

Tries to laugh it off

Youre obviouslyyyyyyyyyy joking. He doesnt like the joke but he'll just accept it anyways

Theres noooooooooo way you like him too

So what if youre stroking his red cheek with this pretty, soft smile on your face and hes smiling back, feeling like he could fall in love all over again?????

Shoot- hes leaning it. Wait, what.. you are too???? ♡

SEUNGHAN ☆

Hes so gigglyyyyyy gosh

Wants you to say it again so he can let out a series of giggles, his face burning red as he hides it in your neck

Doesnt find your joke funny even though hes laughing his heart out :<

Looks up at you with hearts in his eyes. he wants to kiss you

He wants to make you his, call him baby forever. Will you let him? ♡

SOHEE ☆

Feel like he wouldnt notice at first, until someone like shotaro would have to slap some sense into him

"What, she just called me baby beca- OH MY GODDDDDDDDD"

feel like he would sing "love is an open door" idk why

Your words were like an energy drink, a gallon of sugar.. sugar rush rush sugar rush rush ahh????

But gets so shy when he sees you the next day ♡

ANTON ☆

Hes gone. Hes dead. Hes jumping of a bridge

Reminds me of that kermit the frog meme, the one where it falls of a building with its arms out all happily and such

Will not take his eyes off of you because what. Did. You. Just. Say????

Hes screaming, crawling up the walls on the inside (source: trust me)

Will dream about this the next 25 business days plus weekends thank you very much ♡