#it was actually to save paper and effort)

[dashflashy-arts]

[neuromantis]

aw2 gave me perhaps, one of the most important realizations of my life. just now. "how do you run from an idea?"

the world i created when i started writing. i liked it. and i liked my characters. they were real to me. but. i could escape there. but i couldn't live there. with my family and friends and loved ones, the only ones i've had then.

i needed to stay outside and keep writing them. i could never join them. so i kept writing. every day i would write more of it, obsessively. and with that came a realization of the genre of the story it was shaping up to be.

i keep calling it "automatic writing", because i really never felt like i was in control of it. ideas just used me as a conduit. the story was telling itself. and it wasn't. a nice story. not one with hopes or happy endings.

i once told someone a long time ago that i couldn't stand writing anymore because i loved those people. loved their world. but if i made more of it. they'd have to suffer for it. so i quit. i kept meeting new ideas and characters and i only wrote down the barest of outlines. because the narrative would inevitably doom them, there had to be no narrative anymore.

i think what also made me stop it, was meeting Adam. a guy i knew like 10 years ago who suddenly messaged me. he re-sent me my own message to him from 2013. "well what about the fact that perhaps there IS a god, but he just specifically hates you?"

the last couple of years made me accept it. Adam is me. N(adam)ian. The one who made it all. The one who set up the rules. The one they'd be suffering for. And I don't want to be that. So I chose to leave them. They don't let me. But at least I can not write.

[apatheticsunday]

Dead Tired College AU

AKA "Danny Fenton and Tim Drake go to college at Gotham-U together" headcanon!!

Maybe Danny moved to Gotham to avoid his parents finding out about Phantom and Tim is a part-time college student trying to get his business degree so people stop accusing Bruce Wayne of nepotism after Tim inherited WE. (It absolutely still is, but at least this way Tim is at least somewhat more qualified on paper.)

Anyways, they both took Anthropology as their humanities/pre-requisite elective and they're discussing death rituals, afterlife, etc. Now imagine Danny, officially Half-Dead, and Tim, who's brothers (Jason and Damian) literally died, getting into a heated discussion about spirits.

I also find the idea of them arguing via fucking Canvas (or whatever discussion forum/platform Gotham-U uses) so, so funny.

Imagine it's like 3am;

Danny, insomniac, been awake for 42 hours and popping melatonin gummies like gummy bears, furiously typing: i'm literally THE KING of infinite realms?? i know what i'm talking about, i fucking died

Tim, also been awake for 42 hours, chugging an energy drink, sending a response in 0.2 seconds: Half of Gotham has died at some point. You're not special, dumbass.

Give me "group of scientists losing their minds and climbing over the table to assault one another during scientific conference" vibes!!

And then they get paired up to do a group presentation (and Brad, who they ignore because they're both Experts, so this poor frat dude just slowly sinks into his chair between two sleep-deprived maniacs screaming at each other in the library). But Tim notices something weird about Danny, aside from his insane views on afterlife. Danny... glows? And sometimes doesn't really touch the floor when he walks. They're going to get coffee (so they can keep arguing debating, obviously, not because they enjoy each other's company or anything), and Tim watches as Danny just kind of... floats. Like, he's still walking but he's not really touching the ground.

Danny's hands are also super cold. Tim knows this because he grabbed Danny's hands once or twice (or more) to do... something, idk. But since his hands were so cold, Tim figured he should probably keep holding them; y'know, to warm them up.

And when Tim leans in to ask a question or insult him, Danny's breath comes out almost like a mist. Visibly white, like exhaling a hot breath in winter. Which... what. Holy shit, is his presentation partner actually sort of dead??

Danny, on the other hand, has no idea that Tim doesn't know. He literally said he died? And Tim took it so well, snarked back that he's not special - it was so nice to just feel normal. So he lets his guard down a bit. Maybe isn't as tangible, maybe is a bit more floaty, lets his body temperature drop enough to be comfortable. Doesn't put a whole lot of effort into making himself look so alive (because it's really tiring to pretend to be something you're not) when it's just him and Tim because Tim already knows, right?

They could be friends or they could be more! Whatever floats your boat.

But I could totally see Danny squinting at Tim holding his hand, remembering how Tim bought his favorite coffee, saved him a spot a the library, constantly texted him (because, c'mon, Tim is a bit obsessive and you don't think he'd be texting his new "friend ;)" every minute he has the chance?), and always leaned in super close to "ask a question"...and be like, are we flirting?? Oh, Hells, am I into him??

For plot reasons, Danny could be like, "I can't tell Tim I like him! What if I ruin our friendship? It'll be my secret."

And then, one day, Tim is like, "Hey, I know you're keeping something from me. I think I know what it is." And Danny's like ohshitohfuck. This cumulates into them saying, at the same time, I know you're a ghost and I have a crush on you.

Tim and Danny: *shocked Pikachu face*

Then, Danny's like, "I can't believe I have a crush on a fucking idiot."

[phoebelovingcare]

THE NEXT PERSON WHO SAYS IT DOESN'T WORK GETS PUBLICLY EXECUTED VIA HAMMERCAR (check reblogs for further info)

"what's it like to use nightshade/glaze?"

so based on my own experience I thought I'd make this more transparent since I know a lot of people hesitate to take action on some things if they do not know Exactly what happens. it's me i'm people. So;

Nightshade takes about 30 minutes on its fastest setting. The end result tends to look like mild jpeg artifacting, very slightly creased paper, or just brush texturing. Looking at it normally, it is undetectable. Glaze is very visually similar, given the strategy, except that Glaze's longest time setting is 5 minutes.

You put in a file, select how much you want it affected and for how long you want it to render. For Nightshade, you also attach a tag to it, that way AI finds what it's looking for with an associated word. You select a folder for the final result to save to, then hit run.

It takes a lot of GPU/CPU. The fans on my laptop sound a bit like I'm running Minecraft, and it refuses to run if you have too many programs open. I could run Youtube and Nightshade at the same time, but Youtube did Not like it. Best to just take a break while you let it do its thing. Run Nightshade before you go out or something.

It does NOT like transparent png backgrounds. Makes me wonder how AI does with 'em. Anyways, running a backgroundless drawing through Glaze and Nightshade respectively makes it turn out like this:

creasing effect is more noticeable, and it adds strange blocky black and white backgrounds to it. If you want good results for your time, be that less than 1 minute or 180 minutes, consider getting rid of the transparency.

I would post a before and after picture of a Nightshaded piece but of course, I would like to post exclusively poison on this site.

As one last note, it took me a lot of effort to find where you're actually supposed to download these tools, so Glaze is here and Nightshade is here. Overall I highly recommend using them if you can. Don't let AI run you off of your sites: run the AI out yourself.

[reiding-writing]

Can you write something for Spencer and cold reader where they’re on a case and a police officer has been flirting with Spencer heavily the whole time and he’s just been laughing it off and being his typical self but reader is jealous and finally realizes she wants to be more than friends who kiss. Ur cold reader fics r soooo good btw like u ate.

MAKE IT OFFICIAL. /spencer reid/

the limits of your patience are pushed further than usual seeing spencer’s oblivious kindness whilst being flirted with.

s10!cold!reader 1.7k flangst series masterlist. main masterlist.

a/n | thank you girliepop 💅

You’re halfway through a sip of bitter coffee when she laughs again. It’s the same laugh she’s been using all morning—breathy, melodic, and entirely directed at Spencer.

It flutters too long in the small space of the precinct, stretching over the clatter of keyboards and the low murmur of detectives briefing each other. You tilt your head slightly, observing from your spot near the evidence board.

The officer—Mitchell, her name tag says—leans closer to Spencer than necessary. She rests her hand on his forearm, which should be a brief touch but somehow lingers long enough to make your fingers tighten around the paper cup in your hand. Spencer’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles at whatever nonsense she’s just said.

You press your thumb against the edge of the cup, hard enough that the cardboard buckles slightly.

“Wow, you’re really good at this,” she purrs, too saccharine, too eager, watching him fill out some report. “All those big words,” She laughs again.

You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling the sharpness of it cut into your skin. The burn is grounding.

Spencer just chuckles softly, light and disarming, probably completely unaware of how deliberately she’s touching him. He barely reacts when she pushes a strand of hair off his forehead, her fingers lingering too long for a casual gesture. His attention is on the paper, and he doesn’t pull away. Of course he doesn’t. He’s Spencer.

You glance at the clock. 3:37 PM. You have been here for hours. You’ve combed through reports, stared at maps, gone over timelines—and still, none of that has been as frustrating as standing here watching her flip her hair over her shoulder every time she speaks to him.

Spencer looks up and catches your eye. His smile brightens automatically, a familiar warmth in his eyes. But you turn away before it has a chance to land. You shove the rest of your coffee into the trash and stride toward the conference room without a word.

—

You hear Spencer before you see him. His voice carries softly into the conference room, spilling through the half-open door.

“Hey,”

You don’t turn. You’re shuffling papers across the table without focus, avoiding looking at him as he steps inside. You hear the faint click of the door closing behind him.

“You okay?” he asks lightly, but there’s that soft edge of concern under the surface.

You nod, once, briskly. “Fine.”

You’re not.

Spencer hesitates for a moment. You know he’s searching your face, trying to interpret the sharpness in your voice. He’s always been annoyingly good at reading you. It doesn’t stop you from keeping your eyes on the case files, scanning words you don’t actually see.

There’s a long pause before he speaks again. His tone is teasing. “You stormed out of the room so fast, I thought maybe you remembered you left the car on or something,”

You exhale sharply through your nose. He’s trying to lighten the mood. You know it’s meant to be endearing, but it irritates you instead. You stack the papers into a neat, rigid pile and stare at them.

“Why didn’t you just give her your number?” The words slip out before you can stop them.

Spencer blinks. “What?”

You don’t look at him. “The officer. Mitchell. She was all over you. You could’ve saved her the effort.”

He lets out a breathless laugh, caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”

You finally glance at him, and his expression is one of genuine confusion. His lips are slightly parted, his brows furrowed just enough to create that little crease above his nose. The one you’re too familiar with.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Your voice is flat. Measured.

Spencer’s head tilts slightly, blinking at you in that slow, owlish way he does when he’s processing. “She was just being nice,”

You let out a short, humourless laugh, shaking your head once. You stare down at the case file again. You’re gripping the edge of it so tightly that the paper threatens to crumple.

“She touched you like four different times,” you say, tone clipped. “And you didn’t seem to mind.”

Spencer frowns. “I didn’t even notice,”

Of course he didn’t. Because he was too busy being Spencer—kind and soft-spoken and so oblivious that he doesn’t even register when someone’s blatantly flirting with him. The worst part is that he probably doesn’t even realise why you’re angry.

There’s a stretch of silence. His eyes are still on you, searching.

You finally look up at him and hold his gaze. Your voice is steady, cool, and unyielding.

“I want you to be my boyfriend.”

The words come out without any warning. Blunt and matter-of-fact, like you’re stating a weather report. There’s no emotion in your voice, no softness, no trace of vulnerability.

Spencer’s eyes widen slightly. He blinks once. Then twice.

“What?” he says softly, and you can see the confusion flit across his face. Like he thinks he misheard you.

You exhale sharply, irritated by the way your chest tightens. You keep your eyes on him, refusing to look away, even when you feel the weight of your words hanging in the space between you.

“I want you to be my boyfriend.” you repeat evenly.

There’s no flourish to the statement. No tenderness. It’s clinical and cold, like you’re stating a simple fact. Like you’re asking him to pass the salt.

Spencer blinks again. You watch his throat bob slightly as he swallows. His voice is careful when he speaks, slow and measured.

“Why… are you saying it like that?”

You cross your arms loosely, feeling exposed despite your detached tone. “Does it matter how I’m saying it?”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “Yeah, it kind of does,”

You clench your jaw. You’re suddenly aware of how loud the blood is in your ears.

“It doesn’t have to be a big thing, Spencer,” you say plainly. “I’m just… telling you what I want.”

His eyes are soft, searching. His brow furrows slightly, and you can tell he’s trying to read between the lines. You hate how easily he can see through you.

“Do you—” He stops himself and exhales slowly. He tries again, quieter this time. “Do you mean that?”

You scoff softly, feigning exasperation, even though your hands have curled into fists at your sides. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

He takes a half step closer. The warmth in his eyes softens into something gentler, something achingly familiar.

“Hey,” he says quietly. His voice is so soft it almost makes your throat tighten. “Your tone isn’t really… reassuring,”

You roll your eyes slightly, trying to keep your voice steady, unaffected. “I didn’t realise there was a proper tone for this sort of thing.”

But Spencer’s still watching you, gaze steady, almost too steady. His voice is barely above a whisper when he says, “You sound like you’re scared of it,”

Your stomach tightens sharply, and you hate how exposed you feel. You glance away, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

“I’m not scared,” you say quietly. It’s almost convincing.

Spencer steps closer, slow and deliberate, until he’s right in front of you. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body, close enough that his scent—faintly woodsy, familiar—pulls at you.

“Then say it again,” he murmurs softly. “But… more— genuinely? Vulnerably?”

You let out a sharp breath, heart tightening. You stare at the floor, feeling your pulse in your throat. Your hands are cold and damp, and you want to shove them into your pockets, but you don’t.

You force yourself to look at him, and the moment you meet his eyes, your voice comes out barely louder than a whisper.

“I,” You breathe. “would like you to be my boyfriend,”

It’s softer this time, but the edges of it are still stiff and unfamiliar. You sound uncertain, and you hate it.

Spencer’s lips part slightly, and he exhales slowly, eyes impossibly gentle. He reaches out, carefully, deliberately, as if giving you time to pull away. But you don’t. His hand skims over yours, fingers brushing lightly against your knuckles, and his touch is steady, grounding.

“Okay,” he says quietly.

You blink at him. “Okay?”

His mouth curves into the faintest smile, and his voice is barely above a murmur.

“Yeah,” He nods. “Okay,”

For a moment, you just stare at him, unsure if you’ve even heard him right. But then he’s leaning down, slow and deliberate, and your breath catches when his lips brush softly against yours.

His hands frame your face, tentative at first, as though afraid you might bolt. But when you don’t, his fingers settle more firmly along your jaw, thumbs brushing lightly over your skin.

And when you pull back slightly, breath unsteady, his eyes search yours with a quiet intensity.

“No one’s going to see,” he murmurs softly against your lips. “It’s alright,”

Your chest tightens sharply, and you hate how warm his words make you feel. You pull him down again, into a kiss that makes the papers on the table blur into nothingness.

And this time, you let yourself want it.

[extinctionstories]

It was never a common species, the blue-grey warbler that locals called the jack pine bird. A belated discovery among American birds, it was undescribed by science until the mid 19th century—and then, known only on the basis of a single specimen. The bird's wintering grounds in the Caribbean would eventually fulfill the demands of collectors and museums, but the intricacies of its lifecycle remained a mystery for decades, the first nest only found in 1903. As the already-rare bird became rarer, people could only guess at why. There were just so few birds to look for, their breeding habitat inscrutable amidst the dense, impassable woodland of their Midwestern home. The one clue was the most apparent thing about the bird: its affinity with the jack pine (Pinus banksiana).

Over time, more nests were found—not in the eponymous trees, as might be expected for a songbird, but on the ground at their feet. Data points converged, leading to the realization that not only did the bird nest almost exclusively in proximity to the scrubby pines, but only utilized trees that fell within a specific range: new growth, between five and fifteen feet tall, with branches that swept shelteringly close to the ground. Subsequently, it would be noticed that the greatest volume of specimen collection for the bird had corresponded with years in which historically significant wildfires had impacted the Midwest—fires that, for decades afterwards, had been staunchly suppressed. The pieces fell into place, like jack pine seeds, whose cones open only under the heat of a blaze.

With the bird's total population having dwindled to the low hundreds, a program of prescribed burns, clearcutting, and replanting was instituted, with many acres of land purchased and devoted to the preservation and maintenance of suitable breeding habitat. Concurrently, efforts were made to protect the vulnerable bird against brood parasitism by the brown-headed cowbird.

When the first federal list of protected species was put forward in 1966, the name of the small grey warbler was inscribed beside birds such as the Kauai ʻōʻō and the Dusky Seaside Sparrow.

The ʻōʻō, last of the genus Moho, would be removed from the list in 2023 due to extinction, after thirty-six years without a sighting.

The endling Dusky Seaside Sparrow, a male named Orange Band, would die of old age in captivity in 1987, with his species being delisted three years later.

in 2019, fifty-two years after the creation of the Endangered Species Protection Act, the name of Kirtland's warbler, too, was removed from the list: it had been determined that, with a population now numbering nearly 5000, the jack pine bird could be considered safely stable.

Conservationists continue to work to preserve the breeding habitat of Kirtland's Warbler in the midwestern US, as well as its winter roosts in the Bahamas and neighboring islands (though selective logging has replaced actual burning in recent years, due to the dangers posed by unpredictable fires). It's the kind of effort that it takes to undo the damage we've caused to the planet and its creatures—the kind of hope that we need, to not give up on them, or on ourselves.

-

The title of this piece is Prescribed Burn (Kirtland's Warbler). It is traditional gouache on 18x24" watercolor paper, and is part of my series Conservation Pieces, which focuses on efforts made to save critically endangered birds from extinction.

[dior-luxury]

hi!!! could you write a reaction where y/n says that (karasu, shidou and barou's) hair looks better down? Tyy! 😋

𝐓𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞

( ✧ ) ────── 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 . 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚 - 𝐬𝐡𝐞/𝐡𝐞𝐫 .

- [𝐜𝐡.] karasu tabito . barou shoei . shidou ryusei - [𝐩:𝐬] sfw

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: This is such a funny prompt (￣▽￣)! I have always loved how these three looked with their hair down and it sucks that the manga/anime didn't show it.. (>_<) cause I would've eaten it up lol.

Karasu Tabito

He takes great pride in his hair and spends a lot of time styling it each day. His unique, gravity-defying hairstyle is his trademark look. However, light-hearted comments about his hair can annoy him, as he feels they show a lack of appreciation for the effort he puts into it. For Karasu, his hairstyle is a crucial part of his identity.

Once you gently explained to him that his hair was perfectly fine just the way it was—and that you simply preferred seeing it down—he seemed to relax a bit. Although neither of you would openly admit it, there was an unspoken understanding that he actually favored the feel of his hair without all the gel weighing it down. There was a sense of liberation in letting it cascade freely, and he might find himself embracing that look more often now, simply because it pleased you.

Karasu had always been a bit sulky when anyone dared to touch his hair, as if safeguarding his autonomy over it.

At that moment, he lay comfortably on his pillow, watching you with interest as you sat at his desk, engrossed in your homework for Science class. The room was quiet, save for the occasional sound of your pen scratching against the paper, and it was clear you were wrestling with the material, trying to catch up.

Sighing with a hint of boredom, you put your pen down and turned your gaze towards him. The sight of Karasu, with his dark purple hair spilling over the pillow, captivated you. His hair looked free and unrestrained, the soft strands framing his angular face. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight; he looked ethereal, almost like he belonged in a painting.

He caught your gaze and raised an eyebrow, a subtle hint of curiosity dancing in his eyes. “Ya? What do you want?” he asked, his tone betraying just a hint of playful skepticism.

You couldn’t suppress your smile as you responded, “You look so much better with your hair down, you know, Karasu?” You stood up from your chair and approached him, allowing yourself to appreciate the way his deep purple locks shone slightly in the soft light.

Karasu narrowed his eyes, regarding you with a mixture of suspicion and intrigue, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Compliments weren’t something he was used to receiving, especially not about his appearance.

A flicker of joy crossed his face, despite his best efforts to mask it. “Ya, I guess it looks good,” he replied, the defensive tone ill-fitting against the slight smile that crept onto his lips. It was clear that, deep down, he relished the attention you were giving him, even if he tried to play it off. The connection between you both felt alive in that moment, marked by unspoken feelings and newfound understanding.

Barou Shoei

Barou would certainly resonate with your thoughts on hairstyles. He finds a certain joy in allowing his hair to cascade freely, savoring the liberating feeling it provides. There’s an undeniable allure to the way it frames his face, giving him a relaxed yet striking appearance. However, in the heat of competition on the field, he often encounters frustration with the untamed strands, as they tend to become a distraction during intense moments of play.

Yet, despite these challenges, he holds a particular fondness for wearing his hair down. Much like Karasu, he embraces this style not just for himself, but because it brightens your day, bringing a genuine smile to your lips.

You found yourself at Barou's house, spending quality time with him and his family during the winter break. This rare respite was one of the few occasions he had off from BlueLock, allowing you to enjoy each other's company without the pressures of training or competition hanging over you.

As laughter filled the air downstairs, you could hear the chatter of everyone gathered around the television, engrossed in a family movie. Meanwhile, you and Barou's younger sisters occupied the cozy space upstairs, engrossed in a world of colorful Barbies. The room echoed with giggles and imaginative play, creating an atmosphere of pure joy.

After a while, Barou quietly made his way upstairs, having just spent some time washing out the hair wax he typically styled his hair with. You and his sisters were too caught up in your fun to notice him at first, until his younger sister caught sight of him and exclaimed, drawing your attention. You turned your head toward the doorway, and your breath caught in your throat for a moment. There stood Barou, framed by the doorway in an almost ethereal way, his hair cascading down in soft waves without any product weighing it down. The transformation was striking—his normally slicked-back style giving way to a more relaxed and natural look that accentuated the sharp angles of his face.

With a bright smile, you couldn't help but exclaim, "I’ve never seen you with your hair down; you should do it more often!" Your admiration was clear in your voice, genuine and infectious.

Barou, caught off guard by the compliment, flashed a teasing smirk, his cheeks slightly flushed. "Oh really?" he mumbled, clearly enjoying the attention.

His younger sister, ever the honest critic, piped up, looking between the two of you with a frown. "Seriously? I think he looks terrible like that!" she said, scrunching her nose in exaggerated disapproval, which only made you giggle more. The playful banter added warmth to the already delightful afternoon.

Shidou Ryusei

Shidou is someone who stands firmly in his beliefs, especially when it comes to his appearance. He is entirely dismissive of others' opinions regarding his hair; no matter what anyone says, he remains unshaken and unbothered. In fact, Shidou tends to be more easily annoyed than someone like Karasu, which often adds a playful tension to interactions.

During one of your conversations, you casually mention how much you prefer his hair down instead of styled up. He raises an eyebrow, a hint of irritation flickering across his face. “What do you mean you like my hair down more?” he replies, a mix of incredulity and an underlying challenge in his tone.

Once the discussion continues, your relentless insistence nudges him closer to submission. After some back-and-forth, he finally relents and agrees to wear his hair down more often, though he’s far too proud to openly admit he actually enjoys it. Instead, he will make cheeky, suggestive comments about your fascination with his hair when it's down, teasing you in a light-hearted manner, which only adds to the dynamic between you two.

Today marks a joyous milestone for both of you as you revel in your first anniversary at a vibrant arcade, a dazzling realm awash with colorful lights and the lively cacophony of games echoing all around. The atmosphere hums with excitement, each corner alive with laughter and the joyful shouts of fellow players. Shidou, who typically embraces a more reserved style, has taken a bold step today, styling his hair in a way that beautifully frames his face. The softer look is striking— a refreshing shift from his usual spiky, gelled hairstyle. He seems aware of the newfound charm, casting playful glances your way while a teasing smile flits across his lips. His eyes sparkle with an undeniable mischief, hinting that beneath his laid-back exterior, he’s secretly reveling in your attention.

As you glide through the arcade, your laughter rises above the clatter of tokens and the beeps of machines. There’s an exhilarating array of games just waiting to be conquered—everything from fast-paced basketball shootouts to delightful claw machines overflowing with plushies begging to be won. You and Shidou dive into the fun, playfully ribbing each other while erupting into fits of giggles. Each of his playful, yet comically unsuccessful attempts to snag one of those adorable plushies only makes you laugh harder. The way he misjudges the claw’s reach is a comedy show in itself, and each blunder seems to bring you closer together, weaving a tapestry of joyous moments that feel oh-so-precious.

As the day dances on, you find a cozy table amid the arcade chaos, the mouthwatering aroma from nearby food stalls both tempting and irresistible. With steaming plates brimming with deliciousness in front of you, the conversation flows like a river. You delve deep into discussions about your favorite movies and anime—when the name Jurassic Park pops up, Shidou nearly leaps from his seat, a broad grin lighting up his face. His enthusiasm is infectious as he passionately shares the brilliance behind the plot and his enduring love for dinosaurs, exclaiming how “cute” it is when they eat people. His insight is both amusing and concerning, but knowing Shidou, it feels right in its quirky way.

Amidst this delightful exchange, the subject shifts to hairstyles. You can’t hold back your curiosity and wonder out loud how he might look with his hair down. The suggestion takes him aback, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “My hair down? Y/N-chan, are you pulling my leg?” His teasing tone is underlined with genuine bewilderment, making you smile.

Quick to clarify, you reassure him, “It’s not that I dislike your hair up! I just think it’d be fun to see it down, that’s all.”

As your words hang in the air, Shidou blinks, his expression shifting from confusion to realization. “That makes more sense, Y/N-chan,” he finally responds, amusement sparkling in his eyes once more. “But I swear, I would have to tackle you if you said otherwise… just kidding~” His laughter is utterly infectious, wrapping around you like a warm embrace, and in that moment, the bond between you deepens even further, filled with warmth, humor, and a touch of mischief.

[violetszn]

four

summary ✩ when vi asks you to wear her jersey to the big game, you start to realize that maybe your relationship isn’t so platonic.

warnings ✩ 8.87k ✩ smut !!! so definitely no minors (or men) interacting w/ this pls, oral & fingering (r receiving), ✂️✂️✂️

notes ✩ so i tried really hard to make the smut scene feel right but it’s definitely been a while so? i’m pretty content w/ it though and i hope you enjoy it <3

⇦ chapters ⇨

The art room is quiet, save for the scratch of your pencil against paper and the occasional shuffling as Gert shifts in her seat beside you. She props her crutches against the table, resting her injured ankle on the chair opposite her.

You glance up from your drawing, peering out the window where the field is spread out below. You can see the team still practicing from here, the floodlights casting long shadows over the grass. You can’t spot Vi from this distance, but knowing she’s out there sends warmth creeping up your cheeks, a familiar flutter settling in your stomach.

Gert sighs dramatically. “Man, I hate sitting out. I feel useless.”

You snort. “You literally sprained your ankle. I think you’re allowed to take it easy.”

She hums, then nods toward your sketchbook. “You mind if I take a look?”

“Go for it.” You hand it over, turning your attention back out the window.

There’s a pause as Gert flips through the pages, the sound of paper turning filling the space between you. Then, she lets out a small laugh.

“You, uh… You draw Vi a lot.”

You blink, glancing over at her. “Huh?”

She smirks, tilting the sketchbook to show you. True to her word, there are a lot of sketches of Vi scattered throughout the pages—her profile, her hands, the slope of her shoulders, the sharp focus in her eyes when she’s concentrating. Some are quick, rough doodles, others are more refined, shaded with detail that you don’t put into just anything.

You chuckle, trying to brush it off. “She’s an easy model. I see her every day.”

Gert hums again, flipping to another page. “Mhm. Sure. And I guess these little hearts next to her freckles just appeared on their own, huh?”

Your stomach flips.

She turns another page. “And this one? You really nailed the way she looks at you.” She taps her finger against a sketch of Vi, one where you’d clearly spent extra time getting the expression just right.

You swallow, suddenly very aware of how much effort you’ve put into these. How much you see Vi, not just in passing, not just as a friend or a roommate, but in a way that feels impossibly intimate?

You laugh it off, but there’s a nervous edge to it. “What can I say? She’s expressive.”

Gert eyes you, a knowing look in her gaze. She doesn’t push, but the smirk on her lips tells you she’s figured out more than you’d like to admit.

“So…” she drawls, closing the sketchbook and handing it back to you. “When are you gonna tell her?”

You freeze, fingers tightening around the book. “Tell her what?”

Gert just grins. “You know what.”

You play dumb for a moment longer, stubbornly avoiding Gert’s gaze as you tuck your sketchbook back into your bag. But she just keeps looking at you, waiting. No teasing smirk, no sarcastic remark—just a knowing, expectant look that has you sighing in defeat.

“I don’t know,” you admit quietly. “When. Or how. Or if I ever will.”

Gert’s expression softens, but before she can say anything, the door swings open, and Vi steps in. Her hair is damp, a clear sign she just showered after practice, and she’s changed out of her gear into a loose T-shirt and sweats.

“Hey,” she greets, running a hand through her hair as she takes in the scene. “Sorry for taking so long. I know I’m technically early, but I didn’t wanna make you wait.”

“You’re good,” you say, watching as she leans against the table beside you.

She hesitates for a second, then shifts her weight like she’s considering her next words carefully. “Actually… there’s something I wanted to ask you.” Her blue-grey eyes flick to yours, searching. “But it’s no rush. Take your time.”

You tilt your head, curiosity sparking. “Alright…?”

Vi shakes her head, dismissing whatever it is for now. “We can talk about it later. You ready to go?”

You nod, grabbing your bag as you say goodbye to Gert. She sends you a pointed look as you leave, but you pretend not to notice.

Once you’re alone, making your way to Vi’s car, she glances over at you. “So… the big game’s coming up soon.”

You nod. “Yeah, I heard. It’s what you've been training so hard for, right?"

Vi clears her throat, eyes focused ahead. "Yeah. Apparently, it's a tradition for the team to give their jersey to someone special that day. Like, we get special jerseys and everything. According to Gert, they've had this tradition for a million years. I think that's a bit of an exaggeration but hey."

Your steps falter slightly, but you recover quickly, glancing at her. “Oh?”

She hums in confirmation. Then, finally, she turns to face you, her expression casual — too casual. “You gonna come watch me play?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Of course I am, Vi. When have I not?”

A small, almost relieved smile tugs at her lips before she nods. “Cool. Then, uh…” She exhales, shoving her hands into her pockets. “You wanna… wear my jersey?”

Your heart skips a beat. Vi’s jersey. Your stomach flips, but you don’t let your nerves get the best of you. Instead, you offer a small smile and a soft, “Yeah. I’d really like that.”

Vi grins, and for a brief second, she looks almost shy. But the moment passes, and she nods, leading you the rest of the way to her car as if she hadn’t just made your heart race.

You play it cool, nodding like Vi asking you to wear her jersey is no big deal. Like it’s just some casual request between friends. But internally? You’re losing your mind.

She just said they give their jerseys to someone special. And then she asked you. Does that mean you’re special? Are you just overthinking it? Were you just the most obvious option? You two have become essentially best friends over the many months you’ve spent together, who else would she ask?

But when game day rolls around and you see the other players handing off their jerseys to their significant others, a warmth blooms in your chest. They’re treating it like a big deal, like a symbol. And Vi… she’s treating you the same way.

That thought lingers in your mind, especially during her last practice before the big game. You’re sitting on the bench beside Myrah, who’s enthusiastically cheering for her partner as they race across the field. When Kai successfully completes their play, they don’t hesitate. They sprint straight to Myrah, pulling her in for a quick, celebratory kiss before jogging back.

And then, of course, there’s Vi. Who obviously lives to see you suffer.

The team takes a breather, and while some of her teammates gather around their coach, Vi makes a direct beeline for you.

She’s still catching her breath, sweat dampening the strands of pink hair sticking to her forehead, but that lazy smirk of hers is intact. She grabs her water bottle from the bench beside you, taking a long sip before finally speaking.

“You know,” she says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, “I really gotta do well at the game.”

You raise a brow. “Oh? Giving yourself extra pressure?”

Vi chuckles, eyes gleaming as she leans in slightly. “Well, yeah. Kinda hard to slack off when such a pretty girl’s gonna be wearing my jersey.”

Your brain short-circuits. Completely malfunctions.

“S-says the pretty girl that’s usually wearing… the jersey.”

Vi grins, her fingers brushing your knee.

Before you can even think of what to say next, she nods toward Myrah, who’s still grinning from the kiss. “Kai gets kisses when they score,” Vi muses, tilting her head at you. “Maybe I need some kind of motivational prize, too. Maybe… something similar?”

Your breath catches, heart stammering at the suggestion, even though she says it like a joke. But her eyes, those gorgeous damn eyes, hold something teasing and expectant, watching your reaction like she’s waiting for an answer.

You swallow, forcing yourself to roll your eyes like you’re unaffected. “Guess you’ll have to play well, and we’ll see,” you manage, praying your voice sounds steady.

Vi’s grin widens—oh, she likes that answer. She squeezes your thigh gently, the touch light and lingering, before standing up and jogging back onto the field. 

You exhale, gripping the edge of the bench to keep yourself grounded. Wearing her jersey was already going to be bad enough. But now, with that thought in your head? 

You’re doomed.

Game day comes sooner than you expect, and as you’re gathering your things, Vi leans against the doorway of your room, arms crossed with an apologetic tilt to her lips.

“Hey, gotta head out earlier than I thought to get ready,” she tells you, sounding almost guilty. “Wish I could drive you there, but I’ll see you there, right?”

You wave her off with a small smile. “Yeah, of course. Don’t worry about me. Go get ready to win that game.”

She lingers for a second, looking like she wants to say something else, but instead, she just gives you a little smirk before pushing off the door frame. She’s just about to walk away when you reach out.

“Vi—wait.”

“Everything okay, beautiful?” She tilts her head curiously, stepping back into your room. 

You sigh, looking down at your shoes for a second as you really contemplate what you’re about to do.

“Just… wanted to give you an actual good luck charm.”

“Yeah? I think you're all the luck I need, but I am curious.” She smiles softly as you step close to her.

You take another deep breath, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you gently tug Vi forward, placing a soft kiss to the corner of her lips. Before you can pull back, her arm instinctually finds your waist, keeping you pressed against her. You lean back just enough to see her face–all red and bashful as she avoids your eyes.

“Good luck, Vi. Not that you need it, I mean, I’ve seen you play. You’re incredible.”

“I… fuck, um… thanks. For the luck… yeah…” She releases your waist and awkwardly runs her fingers through her hair. “I’m gonna head out now. I’ll see you at the game.”

Fuck. If you’d known she’d react like that… maybe you shouldn’t have done that? Did she regret it? Maybe she just didn't know how to take it? 

Once she’s gone, and you brush off the anxiousness that had filled you, you return to your desk, where her jersey is neatly folded, just as she left it yesterday. A small note sits on top, her handwriting scrawled in casual, slanted letters:

For the prettiest girl ♡

Your heart flips over itself. Maybe… it’s not as bad as you’re convincing yourself it is? Maybe she really was just nervous. You brush your fingers over the fabric before picking it up, holding it to your chest for a moment, feeling the warmth that spreads from the inside out. It’s just a jersey. Just a tradition. 

You shake your head, refocusing on getting ready. You take your time with your makeup, adding a soft pink hue to your look. It’s the same shade as Vi’s hair—purely coincidental and not at all planned. You write her number on your cheek which, funny enough, is six–or VI. Your nails are already painted a soft blue-grey, a recent favorite of yours. 

When you finally slip on the jersey, the fabric falling comfortably over you, you feel… cozy. Warm. Special.

A knock at the door pulls you from your thoughts.

When you open it, Powder stands there, looking around expectantly. “Hey, where’s Vi? She said to meet her here before the game.”

“She had to leave early,” you explain, stepping aside to let her in. “The team wound up needing to get ready earlier than planned.”

“Oh. Cool,” she says, then turns to face you fully, only to gasp dramatically.

“Holy shit,” she exclaims, eyes wide as she tugs at your sleeve. “She asked you to wear her number?” She shakes you slightly for emphasis. “Do you know how big that is?”

You roll your eyes, attempting to wave it off. “It’s not that big of a deal, Pow.” 

She groans, letting her head fall back. “Oh my god, you’re so dense,” she mutters before leveling you with a look. “This isn’t just her letting you borrow a hoodie. It’s a thing! She’s literally showing you off in front of everyone. Everyoneknows what it means when you give someone your jersey for the big game!”

You chew the inside of your cheek, trying not to let her words affect you too much. “I don't know, Pow. I can’t just assume she wants me the way I want her. I mean I kissed her earlier, and she couldn’t wait to leave. Like it’s fine when she flirts and teases but when I do it–” You freeze, realizing what you’d just admitted to Powder of all people. Her eyes widen, and she seems to practically vibrate in excitement.

“I fucking knew it! You're so into my sister—I knew it all along but you two want to play dumb, and it’s actually driving me insane. I know her. She’s literally practically in love with you at this point.” She shakes your arm in excitement. “You have to make another move, please. I’m literally begging you, I cannot handle the push and pull you and Vi have going on right now. She was probably just nervous, maybe the anticipation of the game was really getting to her?”

“I’m not going to make another move, Pow.” You sigh, gently tugging your arm away. “I’d rather just… leave things how they are than risk fucking it all up by pushing for something she might not even want.”

Powder stares at you for a long moment before throwing her hands in the air. “I give up,” she announces. “You two are hopeless.”

You huff, ignoring the way your face warms under her scrutiny. “Can we please just go to the game now?”

“Fine, let’s go support your girlfriend,” Powder grumbles, grabbing the poster she’d put together. It’s bright, bold, and very eye-catching, with a message that reads:

Let’s go, Cherrybomb! Blow them all away!

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you both head out together.

The energy in the stadium is electric, buzzing with the chatter of students, families, and alumni filling the stands. The school band plays a lively tune while cheerleaders pump up the crowd, their synchronized chants echoing across the field. The scent of popcorn and fresh grass lingers in the cool evening air, mixing with the anticipation that thickens as the game’s start draws near.

You and Powder find your seats in the student section, surrounded by a sea of school colors. People are holding up handmade signs, some waving pom-poms, others already chanting for the team. Powder is vibrating with excitement beside you, holding her Cherrybomb poster high above her head.

The announcer’s voice crackles through the speakers:

“Hello everyone, welcome to tonight’s game between your Zaun Firelights and the Piltover Enforcers!”

A roar erupts from the crowd. You sit up straighter, your fingers subconsciously clutching at the hem of Vi’s jersey.

The opposing team enters first, jogging onto the field in a neatly organized line, their navy-and-gold uniforms practically glowing under the stadium lights. A few cocky players wave at the crowd, soaking in the boos and cheers alike.

Then, it’s Zaun’s turn. The school anthem plays over the speakers as the home team bursts through a massive banner held up by the cheer squad. The energy shifts, thunderous applause and chants of “ZAUN! ZAUN! ZAUN!” rumble through the stands as the team takes the field in their black-and-crimson uniforms.

And then there’s Vi.

She’s near the front of the team, helmet in hand, her pink hair a striking contrast against the dark uniform. But she isn’t hyping up the crowd like some of her teammates. No, the first thing she does is scan the stands, eyes searching. 

Your breath catches in your throat as her gaze sweeps over the crowd, until suddenly, her head tilts just slightly, and then — there. Her eyes lock onto you.

A slow, almost smug grin spreads across her face when she sees you in her jersey. She doesn’t have to say a word; the look in her eyes says it all.

You wave her way as warmth floods your face and Powder elbows you excitedly.

“Oh, she’s so gone for you,” she whispers, barely containing her glee.

You don’t respond. You can’t. Because Vi’s still looking at you like that, like you’re the only thing in the world she cares about seeing before this game.

Then, with a small wink and a sharp exhale, she finally turns back to her team. The game is about to start.

And you? You have a feeling you won’t be able to look away from her the entire time.

The game is intense, every play sharp and deliberate, but your attention never strays far from Vi. She moves like she was made for this—fast, powerful, utterly determined. Every block, every sprint, every perfectly executed play is a display of sheer will, and you’re captivated by it. She’s not just playing to win. She’s playing for you.

When she scores, the crowd erupts, and you and Powder leap to your feet, screaming in excitement. You both grab the poster, holding it high as you cheer Vi on. She catches sight of you in the stands, in her jersey, holding her sign, and something in her expression shifts—like she’s soaking in the sight, letting it fuel her.

That warmth carries her through the rest of the game, pushing her to be faster, sharper, better. And when the final whistle blows, the scoreboard flashing their victory, the entire stadium goes wild.

Zaun Firelights: Reigning Champs.

The field turns to chaos as the team celebrates—helmets are thrown in the air, teammates are hugging and yelling, and some players are already rushing to their partners in the stands.

You barely register them, though, because Vi is already sprinting toward you. She barely slows as she reaches the stands, eyes bright with adrenaline, pink hair damp with sweat but looking unfairly good regardless.

“Did you see that?!” she practically yells, grinning at you and Powder. “Tell me you saw how good I was.”

“You were insane out there!” Powder exclaims, still buzzing with excitement.

“You were amazing,” you add, the warmth in your chest blooming as Vi’s gaze flickers to yours.

Her grin somehow widens before she suddenly reaches for you, tugging you up from your seat and pulling you in close.

You gasp, but don’t resist. Not when her hands find your waist, holding you there like she needs you close. Not when she looks you over with a gaze so warm it makes your knees weak.

“And you,” Vi murmurs, her voice low, meant just for you. Her fingers play with the hem of her jersey on your frame. “Look so damn good wearing my jersey… and my colors too, huh?”

Your breath catches.

It feels like the entire world is still moving around you—people celebrating, laughing, cheering—but for a moment, it’s just you and Vi. Her hands on you, her eyes drinking you in, her voice sending shivers down your spine. And god, you don’t think you’ve ever wanted her more than you do right now.

You let out an awkward laugh, trying—and failing—to match Vi’s confidence. “Well, you look good in it too. I mean—not that you don’t look good out of it! Not that I’ve imagined what you look like out of it—”

Vi laughs, squeezing your waist, holding you against her just a little longer before finally turning her attention to Powder.

“You two are stressing me out. Truly, I think I’ve got my first grey hair thanks to you.” Powder, crosses her arms, setting her sign down. Vi laughs, throwing her other arm around Powder’s shoulders.

“Thanks for coming, Pow,” she says, ruffling her sister’s hair. “That poster was real sweet.”

Powder swats her hand away, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, champ. I have to head out, I’m meeting Ekko. But I’m down to celebrate your big win tomorrow after class. And maybe she wants to tell you something, hmm?” Powder comments, raising her brows at you. You huff, shaking your head at her, but she just narrows her eyes at you. “Fine, whatever. Tomorrow?”

Vi nods, grinning. “Sounds like a plan.”

As Powder disappears into the crowd, Vi turns back to you, her expression softening. She reaches up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary.

“I’m gonna go get cleaned up,” she says, voice quieter now, just for you. “Wait for me?”

You nod, swallowing down the butterflies in your throat. She smirks, stepping back—but before she turns to leave, she gives you that damn cocky look, the one that never fails to make your stomach flip.

“Oh, hey. Y’know, I won,” she says, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You know what that means?” She leans in slightly, like she’s telling a secret. “I think I deserve a prize.”

She winks and disappears into the locker room before you can even think of a response.

You’re left standing there, replaying her words, trying not to combust on the spot. A prize. God, you hope she means what you think she means. You were about to officially make your move, and you really hope it's the right move to be making.

The field slowly empties out as time passes, the adrenaline of the game dying down, leaving the night feeling quieter, more intimate. You wait, fidgeting slightly as you watch the last few players trickle out. Then, finally—Vi steps out of the locker room, fresh from her shower, damp hair tousled, dressed in a hoodie and sweats that somehow still manage to look so fucking good on her.

And when she spots you, her whole face lights up.

“Did you think about my prize yet?” she teases, tilting her head as she walks up to you.

You hesitate for only a second. But then, something inside you just decides. If you’re wrong, if you’re misreading this, so be it. Life is about taking risks, right?

So you step closer.

Vi stills slightly, her eyes flickering with something unreadable. But she doesn’t move away.

You press even closer, tilting your chin up as you grab the front of her hoodie, just enough to tug her to you.

“If… you don’t want this…” you start, and she huffs, her cheeks turning a deep shade of pink.

“Of course I fucking want this—I’ve been practically begging for it, baby. Especially after that tease of a kiss you gave me this morning? I've been thinking about it all day. About you and those really fucking soft lips.” There’s an almost desperate tone in her words, a low hint of a whine in the way she clings to you.

And so, finally, you kiss her.

Slow, deliberate, deep.

Vi lets out a quiet noise of surprise before melting against you, hands finding your waist again, holding you like she’s been waiting for this just as much as you have. And apparently she has.

The world around you fades—there’s no roaring crowd, no distractions, just the feeling of Vi’s lips against yours, warm and certain.

And if the way she pulls you even closer is any indication—she thinks this is the perfect prize.

You pull back just enough to catch your breath, your forehead resting against Vi’s as your heart pounds against your ribs. She’s looking at you like she can’t believe this is real, like she’s scared to move too fast and shatter whatever moment you’ve found yourselves in.

So you take a deep breath, steadying yourself before speaking.

“Remember what you said that night?” you murmur, your fingers still gripping the fabric of her hoodie. “That if I still wanted you when I was sober…”

Vi swallows, her hands flexing against your waist.

“I remember.” Her voice is quiet, careful.

You tilt your head, searching her face. “Well… I am sober now… and I do still want you.”

Something shifts in her expression, something soft but full of longing. Then she smiles, just slightly, and her fingers press just a little firmer against you.

“Then I guess I’m all yours, baby,” she murmurs.

And then she kisses you again.

This time, there’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. Just the heat of her lips, the way she moves like she’s trying to memorize every part of you, the way she pulls you against her like she never wants to let go.

It’s dizzying but oh-so-perfect.

She tilts her head, deepening the kiss, her hands trailing up your back. You hum, wrapping your arms tighter around her.

“Damn, Vi, get a room!”

A sharp whistle pierces the air, and you both jolt apart.

You turn just in time to see one of Vi’s teammates grinning as they walk by, waving lazily over their shoulder.

Vi groans, pressing her forehead against yours again. “Of course,” she mutters, half-laughing. 

You’re still catching your breath, face burning, but you can’t help laughing too.

“You’re the one kissing me in public, superstar.”

Vi smirks, her grip on your waist tightening. “Hey you kissed me first. Who am I to stop you? Damn, you kissed me first the first time too, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away.

“And Powder says I need to make a move.”

“C’mon,” she says, lacing her fingers through yours like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Let’s get out of here.”

And just like that, she leads you away—hand in hand, the lingering taste of her kiss still on your lips.

The entire drive home, Vi can’t seem to keep her hands to herself. Her fingers trace absentminded patterns on your thigh, squeeze lightly at the flesh, brush just above your knee before moving back up again. It’s like she needs to be touching you—like the high from the game, from you, hasn’t worn off yet.

You try to focus on the road, on the city lights passing by in a blur, but every brush of her hand sets your skin on fire. The tension is thick, buzzing between you like static, neither of you daring to break it.

By the time you make it home, the moment the door swings shut behind you, Vi is on you.

She presses you against the door, one hand cupping your jaw as her lips crash into yours in a deep, heated kiss. You gasp against her mouth, and she takes the opportunity to deepen it, her body flush against yours.

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up between kisses. “You really can’t contain yourself, can you?”

Vi grins against your lips. “Not even a little.”

She trails her lips down your jaw, then lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your neck. You sigh, tilting your head to give her more access, your arms winding around her shoulders.

Her hands slide down, gripping your thighs before lifting you with ease. You instinctively wrap your legs around her waist, breath hitching as she holds you up effortlessly.

“My room or yours?” she murmurs against your skin, voice low and teasing.

You can barely think past the heat between you, fingers tangling in the short strands of her hair. “Don’t care—whichever will get your clothes off fastest.”

Vi lets out a breathy laugh, her grip tightening around you. “God, I love the way you think.”

Still grinning, she carries you through the apartment, both of you laughing softly between kisses, until she kicks open the door to your room.

Then neither of you are laughing anymore.

The door slams shut behind you, the sound barely registering over the rush of blood in your ears. Before you can even catch your breath, you’re being pressed into the mattress, Vi’s body hovering above yours, her hands planted firmly beside your head.

She looks down at you, eyes dark and burning with something that makes your stomach flip. A slow smirk tugs at her lips as she drags a hand along your side, fingers toying with the hem of her jersey on your frame.

“Can’t decide if I want you in or out of this,” she murmurs, voice thick with want.

You huff a breathless laugh, your fingers slipping into her pink locs to tug her back down to you. “Let me know when you decide,” you tease against her lips before kissing her deep, pouring every ounce of longing into it.

Vi groans softly into the kiss, her hands slipping beneath the jersey, calloused fingers gliding over your stomach, tracing slow, deliberate patterns against your heated skin. You shiver at the sensation, at the contrast of her rough touch and the way she handles you so carefully.

She hums against your lips, her voice a quiet vibration against your mouth, sending another wave of warmth through you. Your fingers curl into the fabric of her hoodie, tugging at it insistently. She gets the hint, sitting up just long enough to strip it off in one motion.

Your breath catches at the sight of her toned, sculpted arms, broad shoulders, and her chest rising and falling beneath the snug black sports bra she wears. And fuck, is that…? Of course her nipples are pierced.

“My god.”

It’s not like you haven’t seen her like this before—she’s got a bad habit of working out in the living room in nothing but a bra and sweats, driving you insane without even realizing it—but this time, it’s different. Up close like this, right in your grasp. 

Vi chuckles, low and knowing. “Like what you see?”

You don’t even bother to deny it, your hands skimming down her sides before gripping her hips, pulling her back down to you. “Definitely. Now, shut up and kiss me.”

She does. Hard.

Vi kisses you with a hunger that makes your whole body ache, her hands skimming over the fabric of her jersey on your frame like she can’t get enough of the sight, the feel of you in it. She presses her weight into you, her thigh slotting between yours, just enough to make you gasp softly against her lips.

“Fuck, you look so good in this,” Vi murmurs, her lips dragging along your jaw, her breath warm against your skin. “Driving me fucking insane, baby.”

Her hands slip under the jersey again, fingers tracing the shape of your waist, the dip of your hips. She moves slow, savoring the feeling of you beneath her, like she’s mapping you out with her touch. She tugs your jeans down your legs slowly, biting her lip at the sight of your bare legs. When her thumbs graze just beneath the curve of your ribs, you arch into her, and she groans low in her throat.

“You wear it too fuckin’ good,” she says, her voice thick, almost strained. She pulls back just enough to take you in, her fingers teasing at the hem again. “Really wanna keep you in it all night.”

You smirk, tilting your head slightly. “Yeah? Thought you couldn’t decide if you wanted me in or out of it.”

Vi grins, leaning down to nip at your bottom lip, playful but still full of intent. “Mm, might have to make you put it back on after.”

Her words send a shiver down your spine, and she doesn’t miss the way you react. Her hands slide lower, gripping your thighs, spreading you just enough for her to settle between them properly. The shift makes your breath hitch, makes your fingers tighten in her pink locs. She lets out a pleased hum, clearly enjoying the way you respond to her.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous,” she mutters, pressing kisses down your throat, her hands still roaming under the jersey. “And you’re wearing my number.” She groans against your skin, her tongue flicking out to taste, her grip on your hips tightening. “Never thought I’d be this into this, but holy shit—”

You laugh breathlessly, fingers digging into her shoulders. “You’re ridiculous.”

She grins, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, her hands gripping the fabric at your waist. “Maybe. But you’re into me anyway, huh?”

Vi doesn’t give you a chance to argue, not that you would. Her lips crash back onto yours, and this time there’s no teasing hesitation, no slow build. She kisses you deep, her hands gripping your waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of her jersey like she wants to burn the image of you in it into her memory.

She moves with purpose, her body pressing flush against yours, her thigh slotting right where you need her most. The friction makes you gasp, and she takes the opportunity to slip her tongue past your lips, swallowing the sound like she’s starving for you.

Her hands roam greedily beneath the jersey, fingertips trailing up your stomach, teasing along the band of your bra before retreating just to make you whine. She smirks against your lips, clearly pleased with herself.

“Should make you wear this all the time,” she murmurs, her voice husky as she nips at your jaw. “You look like you’re all mine.”

Your breath stutters, and Vi must feel the way your body reacts because she groans, rocking into you just enough to make your head spin. You grip at her arms, trying to ground yourself as she continues her slow, torturous exploration.

“You like that, hmm?” she teases, her lips trailing down your neck, sucking just enough to leave the faintest mark. “Like bein’ mine?”

You don’t answer—can’t, really. She’s overwhelming in the best way, her presence, her touch, the way she’s so utterly fixated on you. You pull her closer instead, nails digging into her shoulders, dragging her back into another heated kiss.

Vi chuckles lowly, hands gripping your thighs as she presses you further into the mattress. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Vi’s breath is hot against your lips, her fingers teasing along the waistband of your underwear as if she’s savoring the moment—savoring you. Her lips trace along your jaw, down the column of your throat, pressing slow, lingering kisses that leave a trail of fire in their wake.

“You’re driving me crazy, you know that?” she murmurs against your skin, her voice husky, rough with want. She presses her hips into yours again, rolling them slow, deliberate, letting you feel every inch of her body pressed deliciously against you.

Your breath hitches, fingers threading through her pink locks, tugging just enough to make her groan against your neck. The sound sends a rush of heat through you, your body arching into her instinctively.

“Vi,” you gasp, barely more than a whisper, but she hears it—feels it.

She lifts her head, eyes locking onto yours, dark with hunger yet impossibly tender. “Tell me what you need,” she says, her hand tracing slow, agonizing patterns against your bare thigh.

You don’t even have to think about it. “You, Violet,” you breathe, the words barely leaving your lips before Vi’s kissing you again, deeper this time, as if she can taste every ounce of your need.

Her hands continue their slow exploration, mapping out every dip and curve like she’s committing you to memory. Every touch, every kiss is filled with purpose, like she’s proving just how badly she’s wanted this—wanted you.

“God, you’re perfect,” she groans, her lips hovering just above yours, her breath mingling with yours.

You don’t know if you’ve ever been touched like this before—like you’re something to be worshiped, something to be cherished. But Vi is making sure you feel it, in every kiss, in every caress, in the way she whispers your name like it’s something sacred.

Vi’s fingers skate just beneath the fabric of your underwear, teasing along your hipbone, slow and unhurried. She’s savoring this, taking her time, as if she wants to burn every second of this moment into her memory. Her lips find your collarbone, pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss before moving lower, her tongue tracing the edge of your sternum.

You whimper, hips arching up into hers, desperate for more friction. She chuckles against your skin, the vibration sending a shiver down your spine.

"Patience, sweetheart," she murmurs, her voice thick with desire, but her own restraint is wearing thin.

Her fingers dip lower, brushing against the wetness soaking through your underwear, and she exhales sharply. "Fuck," she breathes, pressing a kiss just above your navel. "You’re so wet for me."

You let out a soft whimper as she presses a firm stroke over the fabric, her touch just enough to tease but not nearly enough to satisfy.

"Violet, please," you gasp, your fingers tightening in her hair.

She groans, tilting her head up to meet your gaze, her pupils blown wide. "Say it again," she rasps, her fingers slipping beneath the fabric at last, teasing along your folds, barely ghosting over where you need her most.

Your breath hitches, pleasure sparking at the contact. "Violet," you whimper, voice trembling with need. “please.”

Vi lets out a deep, satisfied hum, dragging her fingers through your slick, collecting the evidence of just how badly you want her. Then, finally, finally, she presses her fingers against your entrance, teasing, just barely pushing inside before pulling back out.

She watches you, drinking in every little gasp, every shudder of your body beneath her. She loves this—loves knowing she’s the one unraveling you.

"You’re so beautiful like this," she murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hipbone before hooking her fingers into the waistband of your underwear, slowly dragging them down your legs.

Her breath catches at the sight of you—bare and glistening for her.

"Fuck," she mutters, eyes dark with raw hunger. "I’ve been dreaming about this."

And then, without another word, she lowers herself between your thighs, kissing the inside of your knee before trailing her lips higher.

She wants to take her time—wants to make this last—but the way you’re looking at her, the way your fingers grip the sheets, the way you’re already trembling beneath her, she knows she won’t be able to hold back much longer.

Vi presses a final, teasing kiss against your thigh before finally giving in to her hunger. Her lips part, tongue flattening as she licks a slow, deliberate stripe up your center, savoring the taste of you. The moment she makes contact, your back arches, a sharp gasp escaping your lips.

"Fuck," she groans against you, her hands gripping your thighs to keep you spread open for her. "You taste so fucking good."

She doesn’t give you time to respond before she dives back in, her tongue flicking against your clit in slow, rhythmic circles that have your legs trembling within seconds. She moves with precision, with purpose, like she’s memorized exactly what makes you fall apart even though this is her first time having you like this. She’s buried so deep in you, you can feel the cool drag of her nose ring against you as she practically devours you.

Your fingers find her hair, tugging her closer, needing more. Vi moans into you, the vibrations sending sparks of pleasure straight to your core. She loves this—loves how desperate you sound, how much you need her.

"Vi—" you pant, your grip tightening in her hair as she sucks your clit into her mouth, rolling her tongue over the sensitive bud in a way that has you gasping.

She hums in response, one of her hands slipping up to lace your fingers together while the other slides between your legs. She teases your entrance with two fingers, easing them in slowly, stretching you open.

"God, you’re so fucking soaked," she rasps, her breath hot against you. "So perfect."

She curls her fingers, pressing against that spot inside you that has your legs shaking around her. Your moans grow louder, and Vi only smirks against you, moving her fingers in deep, steady strokes while her tongue works in tandem, licking and sucking in perfect rhythm.

It’s overwhelming, the way she’s touching you, the way she’s holding your hand through it all, grounding you even as she pushes you higher and higher toward the edge.

"Vi—I’m—" you try to warn her, but she already knows. She speeds up, her fingers fucking into you harder, her tongue flicking against your clit just right, pushing you over the edge with devastating precision.

Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your body arching as pleasure floods through every nerve ending. Vi groans at the way you clench around her fingers, riding you through it, not stopping until you’re twitching from overstimulation.

She finally slows, pressing soft kisses against your inner thighs as she eases her fingers out of you. She looks up at you, her lips glistening, pupils blown wide with satisfaction.

"Fuck," you breathe, still trying to catch your breath.

Vi grins, crawling back up your body, capturing your lips in a deep, lazy kiss. You taste yourself on her tongue, and it only makes you hungrier.

"Think you can handle one more?" she teases, her fingers trailing along your waist.

But you have other plans. With a smirk, you push her onto her back, straddling her hips.

"Oh, baby," you purr, running your hands down her toned stomach. "You’re the one who just won a big game. I think it’s my turn to take care of you."

Vi’s breath hitches, her hands gripping your hips. "Fuck," she mutters, eyes dark with lust. "You’re gonna be the death of me, aren’t you?"

You just smile before leaning down to kiss her, ready to return every bit of pleasure she just gave you. She tugs the jersey up and off your body, immediately bring her hands up to unhook your bra as you kiss her breathlessly. You pull away to reach for her own bra, but she’s got her sights set on your bare chest, all but drooling at the sight above her.

“Vi–up.” you hum, tugging at the band of her sport bra. She blinks, sitting up just enough for you to tug the bra over her head. Your sight immediately hones in on the shine of the silver jewelry adoring both of her nipples so deliciously. “Fuck, that is so hot.”

Vi just hums distractedly, leaning up towards you and bringing your nipple into her mouth. A moan rips from your lips at the sudden sensation, your hands gripping the sheets beside her head.

“F-fuck, Vi.”

As she laps at your right nipple, her hand finds the other, squeezing and grasping at your breast before swapping. Your hips lower, rutting up against hers as you seek out more pleasure. You force yourself to sit up, moaning at the way Vi desperately follows, not wanting to stop.

“So good,” she moans. You lower yourself down, tugging her sweatpants off as you go. 

Vi’s breath stutters as you slip her underwear off, the last barrier between you finally gone. She barely has a moment to process it before you’re lifting her leg, slotting it between your own and pressing your bare heat against hers, the contact so intense that her head falls back against the pillows with a choked gasp. She’s so sensitive, it’s downright addicting.

“Fuck,” she breathes, fingers digging into your waist as you roll your hips, dragging yourself against her in a way that has her entire body tensing beneath you. “F-fuck, wait— s’too much.” She whimpers, bucking her hips into yours.

“Wanna stop, baby?” You slow the roll of your hips, and she shakes her head quickly, desperate whines still falling from her mouth.

“No, please… don’t stop—fuck, it’s so good, you’re so good baby, fuck.” Her hips leave the mattress again, desperate for the feeling of you but overwhelmed by it all the same. You’re pleasantly surprised honestly. Vi’s usually so confident and sure of herself and in control, so to see her like this—at your mercy and begging for your touch so desperately? Fuck, it’s perfect.

The friction is electric, your bodies slotting together so perfectly that it feels like you were made for this — for her. Vi’s grip tightens, nails biting into your skin as her hips rise to meet yours, desperate for more. Her moans come freely, beautifully, each one sending a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your stomach.

You lean forward, keeping your legs intwined and attach your lips to her nipple, eyes nearly rolling at the sound that leaves her lips. Her fingers scratch down your back, her hips meeting yours as she chases the pleasure of your heat dragging against her own.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, please don’t stop–oh god.”

Her legs are trembling, her lip is slightly bleeding from how harshly she keeps gnawing at it, her eyes are wide & blown out and if you weren't so deeply turned on right now you’d probably be cooing about how fucking cute and puppy-like she looks right now. 

You need more. You need to see her completely undone. You pull back and she whimpers, shaking her head.

“Don’t stop.” She’s breathless and there’s the cutest pout on her lips.

“Don’t worry baby, I’m not.” You run your fingers through her hair and she lifts her hips, chasing more pleasure.

Hooking your arm under her thigh, you lift her leg over your shoulder, opening her up to you even more. Vi curses, her breath hitching sharply and her whines reaching a new pitch at the new angle as you rock against her with purpose, dragging your slick centers together in long, deliberate strokes. 

"Fuck, baby—" she groans, her head pressing back into the pillows, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Her abs tighten beneath you, her body trembling under the intensity of it all. Whimpers fall from her lips, over and over so perfectly. She’s desperate for you in every sense of theb word. 

You can feel her getting close, the way her thighs are moving trembling against you, her grip on your waist turning bruising as she chases that high.

"That’s it," you pant, voice thick with desire as you keep up your pace, watching in awe as she completely falls apart beneath you. "Come on, Vi—let go for me."

Her eyes snap open, locking onto yours with such desperation, such need, that it steals the air from your lungs. Then, with a sharp cry of your name, she shatters, her body arching beautifully as pleasure wracks through her. You feel the wetness of her release pouring between the two of you, and it only makes the slick glide of your heat against hers that much more delicious.

You follow a few moments later, the sight of her coming undone beneath you enough to tip you over the edge, your own release hitting you with dizzying force. You cling to each other as the pleasure ripples through your bodies, leaving you breathless, tangled, soaked and completely spent.

For a long moment, the only sound is your heavy breathing, the lingering hum of pleasure settling between you. Then Vi lets out a breathless, satisfied chuckle, her hands lazily trailing up your sides.

"Goddamn," she murmurs, voice hoarse, a lazy grin stretching across her lips. "You really are trying to kill me, huh?"

You laugh, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her lips before collapsing beside her.

"Not my fault you make me like this," you say, tracing absentminded patterns against her bare stomach. “I didn’t think you’d be that sensitive. It was so fucking hot.”

Vi smirks, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close, her lips pressing into your hair. "Yeah, well… guess I was a little sensitive. You handled me pretty well, though."

“A little, hmm? The moment I started touching you, you were begging for more and crying about how it was too much.” Vi huffs, burying her face in the crook of your neck to hide the blush on her face. 

“Shut up.” She groans, tugging you closer. “After wanting you for so long I guess I didn’t know how to handle finally having you. It was definitely way better than I imagined it’d be all those nights.”

“Imagined, huh? You spent all those nights touching yourself to the thought of me?”

“Are you trying to get me all riled up again, baby?”

You’re both still catching your breath as you tangle up in each other. The aftershocks of pleasure have slowly faded into a comfortable, lazy warmth. Vi’s arm drapes over your waist, her fingers tracing soft, aimless patterns against your back. She’s still grinning, that cocky, post-bliss smirk that makes your heart clench in the most frustratingly sweet way.

“Didn’t know wearing your jersey came with all these perks,” you tease, your voice hushed and slightly hoarse from earlier.

Vi chuckles, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. “You looked way too good in it,” she murmurs, her lips brushing against your skin as she speaks. “Didn’t stand a chance.”

You hum in amusement, snuggling in closer, your head resting against her shoulder. There’s a moment of comfortable silence before you quietly admit, “I really liked watching you play.”

Vi’s fingers pause their tracing for just a second before continuing, her voice softer when she replies. “Yeah?”

You nod, feeling a little shy now that the haze of desire has settled into something much more tender. “Yeah. You’re incredible out there.”

Vi exhales a laugh, but it’s not her usual cocky one—it’s softer, almost bashful. “Kinda had something to prove tonight.”

You tilt your head up to look at her, and she meets your gaze, eyes shining even in the dim light of your bedroom.

“For me?” you ask quietly, even though you already know the answer.

Vi smirks, but there’s something softer behind it, something vulnerable. “Who else?” she murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

Your heart flutters, your stomach doing that stupid, weightless flip it always does when Vi is like this—soft, open, completely unguarded just for you. You reach up, cupping her cheek and running your thumb across her cheekbone, over the freckles you’ve memorized by now.

Vi leans into your touch, sighing contentedly before shifting to press you even closer. You can feel her heartbeat beneath your palm, steady and strong.

“You should get some sleep,” she murmurs, her lips grazing your forehead.

You hum in agreement, though you make no effort to move away from her warmth. 

“Stay?”

Vi’s hold tightens around you, like the thought of leaving hadn’t even crossed her mind. “Of course I’m staying,” she murmurs, nuzzling into your hair. “Not letting you out of my arms after you made me see stars.”

You laugh softly against her skin, feeling the steady rise and fall of her chest as her breathing slows. Sleep tugs at you, and before you know it, you’re drifting off, wrapped up in Vi’s warmth, her arms holding you close like she never plans to let go.

tags ✩ @jupitism @fungalinfectionyeast @mk-a-1 @rhian88 @baylegend6 @lovely-wisteria @antobooh @arahiraaai @vxtanne31 @starletfemme @daughterofthemoons-stuff @rosesgaloree @sillyloafff @mellohatesyou @violetwifey @ilysupercorp @eriiwaii @elliesngirl @avalovesmus1c @pryncess123 @tthoughtdaughter @tamale-4 @sleepingwasp @sunflowerwinds @lipglosskxsses @daughterofthemoons-stuff @imwatchinggossipgirlrn @ellies-gf11 @bouquetoflove @raynecx-0o @the2008filmmammamia @kuntie99

[chaerrisin]

boynextdoor as your high school lovers ⊹˚. ♡

୨ৎ they call this puppy love.

fluff! (includes skinship, kisses, petnames, but nothing explicit...) ⊹ ࣪ ˖

a/n: in honor of woonhak being almost done with high school soon... i did this based of how i would expect them to be! double drop today hehe...

--- ♡ ---

| sungho ꩜ .ᐟ

sungho who is always early, waiting for you by the school entry doors. sungho who grabs your hand and tugs you close the moment he sees you. sungho who pats your head every time you mention an accomplishment. “i’m so proud of you, y/n.” sungho who always brushes back your hair as he rests his chin on your shoulder while you work. sungho who will always be your study buddy, actually helping you with your work, then kissing your forehead when you show your progress. sungho who always prepares a lunch for you to eat, watching fondly as you eat it. sungho who always keeps you updated about classes or reminding you to do work. sungho who walks you to every class and picks you up every time with a, “i’ll miss you,” or “i missed you.” sungho walks you home with your arm linked with his as he asks you about your day. sungho who always makes sure you’re on the side furthest to the road, always cautious to protect you and make you feel comfortable. sungho who will always greet your family when he drops you off home. sungho who cups your cheeks and presses a kiss to your forehead, nose, and lips before murmuring, “good night, my love. i had a good day with you, again.”

more members below the cut!

| riwoo ꩜ .ᐟ

riwoo who is always quietly observing you, smiling fondly. riwoo who will always offer help on your homework. riwoo who always provides you with things you need for emergency, he just knows you well enough and is always prepared. riwoo who wait outside your class and open his arms when he sees you come out, knowing you’d go straight into them. riwoo who is quietly protective of you, always checking on you and reminding you to take breaks, very insistent of maintaining your wellbeing. “c’mon y/n, it’s break time, or you’ll burn out.” riwoo who loves playing with your fingers in class, always outlining yours with his own. riwoo who always reassures you, saying, “good luck!” with his first up before you take an exam. riwoo who walks with his hands in his pockets before giving up and grabbing yours, squeezing it from time to time. riwoo who loves to make dad jokes about the subject you're studying when he realizes you’re having a hard time. riwoo who will always drag you into the convience store as you walk home to spoil you with your favorite snacks. riwoo who will always watch get excited at the first bite and tell you, “you’re so cute, y/n.” riwoo who refuses to let go of your hand when you need to go inside. “fine… i’ll see you tomorrow. sleep well,” before kissing your hand and letting it go.

| jaehyun ꩜ .ᐟ

jaehyun who also greets you with an arm around your shoulder. jaehyun who always leans his head on yours as you work, looking down at your paper, already praising your work even if it’s only your name written. jaehyun who will always choose you for partner/group projects and letting you take over as he helps. jaehyun who will always save a spot for you in class or at the lunch tables, patting the seat when he sees you. “come here, saved you a seat!” jaehyun who loves to ruffle your hair when you let out a groan after getting the wrong answer. jaehyun who walks with his arms around your body somehow or with his hands in yours, swinging them as he walks with a rhythym and his eyes only on you. jaehyun who always makes sure you’re in a good mood, checking in on your status when you’re studying. jaehyun who will interrupt your studies to show you quickly show you something, but he really just wants to squish your cheeks and mess with you. jaehyun who always tells you did well, making sure your efforts were all worth it. jaehyun who will always mention you to his friends, “y/n did this for me yesterday. they’re so cute.” jaehyun who is the first to cheer you on at an award ceremony, “THAT’S MY Y/N! WOOO!” loud for everyone to know you’re his. jaehyun who holds you close as he walks you home, finishing it off with peppering your face with soft kisses, “i’ll be here when you’re ready tomorrow.”

| taesan ꩜ .ᐟ

taesan who walks with your shoulders touching and hands brushing. taesan who shares his earbuds with you as you two study together. taesan who secretly holds your hand under the table, his thumb rubbing your skin, ever so often bringing it up to kiss the back your hand when no one is watching. taesan who always steals glances at you, already smiling softly with a fond look in his eyes — especially when you say something in class. taesan who tells you, “take a break,” as he runs his fingers through your hair. taesan who will try to act nonchalant when his friends ask about you, but he can’t help but get soft as he talks about you. taesan who always walks you to class first and is already waiting outside your class once it’s over. taesan who brings you up the rooftop during breaks, embracing you with his lips murmuring sweet randoms on top of your head. taesan who always carries extra materials for you if you need them. taesan who admires everything you do, even if it’s just looking at the board. taesan who brushes your hair behind your ear when your focused on your work. taesan who walks you home and ends the night with a small kiss on your lips, saying, “good night, my love. don’t work too hard, alright?”

| leehan ꩜ .ᐟ

leehan who always had something new to show you every morning. leehan who holds the school doors open for you. leehan who held the umbrella over you, letting his shoulder get soaked, on rainy days. leehan who will always check up on you, making sure you don’t overwork yourself. leehan who stands behind your seat as you work, his hands gently massaging your shoulders as you work. leehan who always insists on carrying your backpack for you. leehan who always asks, “how was class?” leehan who send you looks from across the room in class, making faces just to see you smile. leehan who would lay his head down, watching you study as he plays with your hair. leehan who walks you home with his fingers intertwined with yours. leehan who will always back you up when you point something out in class. leehan who kisses your forehead every time before you walk into your home, saying, “get some sleep for tomorrow, pretty.”

| woonhak ꩜ .ᐟ

woonhak who would wait for you at the usual bench by himself, looking around, waiting for you with his round eyes whenever he arrived before you. woonhak who loves poking your cheek as you talk. woonhak who always waited at a designated spot for you after every class. woonhak who likes to nudge your arm with his elbow in the middle of class just to show you a little note he wrote on paper for you. woonhak who keeps his energy up to relax your mind from studying too hard. woonhak who always carried your favorite snacks in his backpack and hand fed them to you as you two walked together after school. woonhak who will always pull you into a tight hug first. woonhak who will always celebrate your scores, no matter how low. woonhak who will forever praise you, calling out “oh yeah, my y/n is so smart,” to all his friends. woonhak who gets shy when his friends tease him after catching him peck your cheek. woonhak who loves swinging your hands as you two walk in between classes. woonhak who would walk by your side all the way home and pout before hesitantly saying goodbye, lingering a while after you close the door.

--- ♡ ---

thank u for reading. please do not copy!

© chaerrisin, 2024.

[hug-your-face]

Insight today while washing the lettuce and thinking of my friend who doesn't want to vote.

They are an otherwise intelligent, responsible, generous person, who appears to be socially conscious. They have worked hard and long for their position in their profession. They express concern for the planet. They get twitchy if you use too many paper towels.

But they don’t want to vote for Biden for reasons, and quote "doesn't like the whole system where the parties take turns swinging things back and forth" unquote.

I have been dumbstruck at their attitude for about two months now. I've been thrashing back and forth trying to reconcile this person I love with their attitude:

If you care abt the planet enough to conserve paper towels, don’t you care enough to stop a Repub administration from raping the land?

If you don’t like how things can swing back and forth, don't you want an administration that's going to work to shore up, rather than dismantle, more lasting democratic systems of governance?

If you understand the value of the long game, why are you only satisfied with instant results from a single election rather than viewing that election as a single move in an ongoing process?

The insight came to me as I used an extra set of paper towels to dry my lettuce:

These people are not motivated by outcomes. They are motivated by how their choices make them FEEL.

Not how the outcomes of their choices will make them feel. But how the action associated with their choices makes them feel.

In terms of outcomes for the environment, saving paper towels doesn't do shit compared to pushing for restrictions on oil companies. But using half a paper towel is an instant dopamine hit: "Ahhh, I am caring for Mother Earth. I care. I am a good person. Ahh yes that's the stuff."

This model fits for voting too. We know that The Only Votes That Count Are Those Cast. We know that Dems Go Where The Votes Are Not Where The Votes Aren't. We know that voting in every election, every time, in numbers, is a very low-effort way to contribute to moving the Overton window farther left.

But in the moment, for people who are motivated by how their action associated with their choice makes them feel... the absolute best move for their dopamine supply is to abstain: "I am NOT supporting an old fart; I am NOT supporting genocide; I am Challenging The System; I am a good person. Ahh yes, that's the stuff."

At the time, when I challenged my friend on their position, they held up their hands and said "look, I'm not saying I have any answers, I'm just saying I don’t like how the system works."

They didn't like how participating in the system made them FEEL in the moment.

For those of us who think this is madness, hey, we aren't off the hook entirely. We are basing our choices and actions off of outcomes, true. But there's probably a feeling/dopamine component in there too. "I am holding my nose and voting Blue; I am doing my part to actually affect the future even if I hate some things abt my choice; I am a good person. Ahh yes, that's the stuff."

So maybe the difference isn't in the motivation (my feelings and self-image) but in what motivates us (my action vs the outcome of my action).

I don't have an answer to the question at this time and this post is already long enough. But I'll think on it. And I invite you to do so as well:

For these people (who seem to be a sizable part of the population), how to outweigh the choice where their action preserves their self-image, doesn't cost them dopamine for having to take a "bad" action, and maybe even gives them a happy boost for "not being part of a flawed system?"

For these people, how to help them connect more to the outcome?

Off the cuff, I can't think of any means other than cognitive-behavioral therapy. :/

EDIT: Apparently there's a term for this and it's called Emotivism -- ethics isn't abt effects but abt feelings.

[sluttywonwoo]

thinking about ji coming home from the studio hyped as fuck knowing he made another banger and he wants to celebrate but you’re asleep. good thing you told him he can fuck you in your sleep so he does just that. spooning you from behind while he slowly moves in and out and softly caresses your thighs and shoulders so you don’t wake up. hnnng. -💛

they popped the fancy champagne tonight. it was a bottle they had been saving for a special occasion, a gift from someone with more money than they knew what to do with.

the track they’d been working on was far from perfect but it was finished and that was a huge feat in itself. chan, changbin, and jisung had been wrestling with the song for months. they kept pushing it to the back burner, telling themselves they’d save it for the next comeback, the next album, the next single. they would’ve tossed it had all three of them not been convinced it was good. it had the potential to be a title track if they could just figure out what was missing.

well, tonight jisung did just that and they celebrated like one of them had just won the lottery, drinking the sparkling wine out of paper cups from the water dispenser.

“it’s getting late, you should get home if you want to ride that high,” chris advised, giving jisung a knowing look.

the other two producers were well aware of how jisung liked to work off his adrenaline. you called to tell them as much, cursing them out over the phone for making too many good songs because you were tired of waking up sore.

jisung could feel heat creeping up the back of his neck and blossoming on his cheeks but he didn’t try to deny what his leader was implying because they both knew it was true. changbin even threw in an (un)helpful “go easy on her!” as jisung packed his bag and walked out the door, leaving a couple very confused staff members behind.

he was still buzzed when he made it home. he doesn’t drink often so he’s a bit of a lightweight but he stopped in the kitchen and filled a glass with water from the sink in an effort to rehydrate and prevent any hangover symptoms come morning.

the bedroom is dark. the whole house is dark but jisung had been holding out hope that maybe you had just tucked yourself away for the night and were still awake. maybe you were cozy in bed with a book or scrolling through your phone while you waited for him. he had no such luck.

he curses under his breath when he sees you curled up on your side beneath the covers, sighing quietly to himself. you’re even snoring softly. he should’ve asked his driver to go faster… but he didn’t want to stress the guy out. he doesn’t even know how long you’ve been asleep so it might’ve been in vain anyway.

jisung figures he should get ready for bed too so he takes a quick shower and brushes his teeth before slipping back into your room to grab something to sleep in. light from the bathroom spills into the bedroom, illuminating your side of the bed. he couldn’t tell before, but now that he can see you properly he realizes your shoulders are bare.

he blinks a couple of times just to be sure he isn’t seeing things.

jisung is used to you not wearing pants to bed but you usually wear one of his t-shirts because you get kind of cold during the night.

is it possible you’re… completely naked under there? jisung’s dick twitches at the thought.

he’d taken a cold shower in an effort to resolve his… excitement but it didn’t really help. he’s still half-hard and the idea that you’d been waiting for him like this is enough to make even more blood rush to his cock.

he quietly tiptoes over to his own side of the bed where he pulls back the blankets to reveal your sleeping figure.

his breath catches when his suspicions are confirmed. you had in fact, not worn anything to bed.

it had to be a sign, right? you’d talked about it before— several times, actually. your sex drives are pretty equal, which is kind of surprising considering how horny jisung is. but since he’s always working, you don’t get much time to indulge each other in that way. at least, not as much time as you’d like.

a solution you’d offered was sex while one of you was sleeping. jisung immediately agreed to it. he would let you do anything you wanted to him. but he was more hesitant to be the one to initiate when you were sleeping.

he knew it was a fantasy of yours, he knew it was a fantasy of his, it just felt so wrong to take advantage of you when you were unconscious.

but this feels like the perfect opportunity. he was already full of adrenaline and you’re naked in the bed you shared and his cock is starting to ache with how hard he is…

“fuck it.”

he decides against pajamas for the time being and crawls into bed with you. if you’re already naked he might as well be too.

jisung lets out a sigh of relief when you don’t wake up to the movement of the mattress. you shift a bit in your sleep as he gets settled but that’s it.

your warmth draws your boyfriend in, closer and closer until he’s practically spooning you. he’s hardly breathing because he’s scared of waking you up but in order to continue with his plan he has to move you. he starts with a hand on your hip before bringing it down to your knee so that he can part your thighs, pausing when he finds you’re already wet.

fuck, had you fallen asleep touching yourself?

“were your own fingers not enough, baby?” he whispers, condescension dripping from his voice even though you can’t hear a word he’s saying. “don’t worry, i’ll take care of you.”

jisung still wants to make sure you’re stretched enough for him so he slips one finger inside of you, then two. they’re met with little resistance but jisung keeps them in for a little longer, stroking up on that spot that makes you gush.

he works you up but doesn’t push you over the edge because he knows cumming will definitely wake you up. once he’s satisfied with his efforts, he inches even closer to you until his body is flush with yours.

since you fuck in this position all the time, it’s easy for jisung to line himself up and push into you.

he makes a quiet sound of relief when he bottoms out and has to fight the urge to bite and/or kiss your shoulder like he usually would. you let out a little sound of your own and jisung imagines the way your face must be scrunching up as you adjust to the feeling of being full. his hips stutter forward involuntarily at the thought and he freezes… waiting to see if he’s woken you up.

he doesn’t start moving again until your breathing evens out, caressing your thigh with his calloused palm to soothe you as he builds momentum.

it’s a lot slower than the sex you usually have but it’ll definitely be enough for jisung to cum. just the idea of fucking you in your sleep turns him on so much that he’s having trouble holding back even now when he’s barely started.

“so wet for me, baby. need me all the time, huh? even in your dreams.”

“ji?”

fuck, he’d pushed his luck too much with the talking. his mouth was always getting him in trouble.

you try to turn around but jisung holds you in place. “shhh, baby it’s okay. go back to sleep.”

“when did you get home? did you finish the song? ah- what… what are you doing?”

you know what he’s doing, even in your half-awake state. still, you want to hear him say it.

“i’m um… i, do you want me to stop?”

you shake your head and let your eyes fall shut again.

“don’t stop, feels good.”

“thank god,” your boyfriend groans, wrapping his arms around you in a full embrace, relieved that he can touch you as much as he wants to now.

“we finished the song, baby,” he tells you between kisses to your neck. “rushed home to celebrate with you.”

“i’m s-sorry i fell asleep!” you whine.

“nothing to be sorry for, my love. came home and found you all wet and needy… worked out perfectly, wouldn’t you say?”

“i missed you,” is the only response you offer.

“yeah? were you wishing it was me touching you instead of yourself?”

“yes,” you whimper, “couldn’t… couldn’t cum.”

jisung pouts and lets the expression seep into his voice. “poor thing. i bet you were so frustrated.”

“mhm.”

“what about now though, baby? think you can cum for me?”

you nod, almost head butting your boyfriend.

“��m so close…”

“already?”

“i woke up with your dick inside me, what do you want from me?”

jisung laughs. “sorry, babe. you’re right. should we cum together? do you think you can hold it a little longer?”

“i’ll try,” you promise.

“that’s my girl.”

[retroaria]

hey! I'm not really into nsfw stuff- sooo would you like to do something soft with reo? 😭 like, idk, him as a husband or father so with a family? THANK YOU SO MUCH 💗💗

✮⋆˙ domestic reo headcanons ✮⋆˙

a/n: this is so brain rotted i can’t even lie i think reo is just so easy to romanticize. pure fluff.

• | BLUE LOCK M.LIST | enjoy !! - aria 💜 | •

✮ I actually love this because i headcanon that reo would be a great dad :D at the very least he’d be extremely supportive of whatever his children wanted to do in their lives. He wouldn’t force them to follow in his footsteps like his father and he’d use whatever devices he could to ensure they can comfortably follow the path they choose.

✮ Would post about all his children’s accomplishments, or if you guys didn’t feel comfortable posting the kids he’d still take any chance to tell everyone about it - even his teammates who literally don’t care that his son got the highest score on the spelling test (they’re happy for him though). He secretly enjoys scrapbooking for his kids but they’re “your books” and he “just helps you with it sometimes”. (he’s the one who took almost all the pictures and saved every piece of paper his kid has ever drawn on)

✮ Reo is a charming husband, so charming and sweet it’s hard to be mad at him. He’s a bit lacking in cleaning/caretaking capabilities when it comes to the home but he puts in the effort??? He tries his best and if he does a bad job he always makes it up to you one way or another. In all honesty, he’s probably already hired people to do that (forgot this man is inheriting a multi millionaire dollar corporation).

✮ Reo is however very good at taking care of children. Once he has a clear grasp of their needs, he finds it to be really enjoyable and fulfilling. He takes a lot of pride in whatever happiness and comfort he can bring to his kids. He hates the sound of his babies crying, not because it’s annoying (though he complains about that too) but because it genuinely hurts his soul. He can be a bit too worrisome about it sometimes - he’s totally the type of person to look up his child’s symptoms and freak out over seeing all the worst case scenarios.

✮ The one thing that reo particularly excels at is taking care of you when you’re sick. He can always tell when you’re not feeling your best and he immediately harps on you. He doesn’t know how to cook very well but he knows how to make a few different kinds of warm foods to fill your stomach and give you a little energy. He’d absolutely refuse to stay away from you (unless it was a seriously contagious illness or if you guys had a baby that could’ve gotten sick). Doesn’t care if you’re sneezing and coughing and wheezing, he wants to feed you and hold you and kiss your hot head until it cools down and everything is better again. His goal is always to make sure you get better as soon as possible and won’t let you do anything but rest and relax until then.

✮ Reo is an incredible gift giver! I’ve certainly mentioned this in another hc post, but he is always out and about buying you little things that remind him of you. If you guys have a kid that’s just more gifts he’ll have to get and the thought of that honestly excites him.

✮ Anything can happen but…reo with a daughter…guys….

✮ he would be the sweetest girl dad! would do everything in his power to make her believe she’s an actual princess and he’s just one of her loyal servants. Spoils her rotten and doesn’t feel bad about it.

✮ You’d have to explain to him how this could negatively affect your daughter and it would break his heart. He’d go into theatrics trying to refute it because “What do you mean I can’t let her have everything she wants?” and “What if she cries? You want me to make my daughter cry?” he gets it eventually, but remains reluctant lol.

✮ He’d love playing sports with his kids. Would try to get them into soccer but if they end up liking another sport he’s still just as hype. Isn’t initially familiar with the concept of letting the kids win but soon realized he has to level with the speed of their little legs.

✮ I don’t have any specific hc’s for him as a boy dad but he’d be just as great of course - he’d make sure his son sees how women should be treated based on how he treats you!

✮ If he could find a way to make you the total world ruler he would because he truly believes you’re the most capable person. He’s the kind of husband who lets you run things for the most part but is always there to step in when you need a break or if you just want him by your side. Would call for an emergency flight back home from whatever country he’s training in just because you said you didn’t wanna go to parent teacher night alone.

✮ He loves doing mundane tasks with you, but always tries to “make it a bit more fun” as he says - which basically means he puts away the clothes you fold while you listen to him crack really bad jokes at you, gossip about his teammates, or try to sing and serenade you with his MANY playlists he’s made dedicated to you. On days you both have nothing going on he follows you around the house like a lost puppy, which is slightly annoying but it also means you have four hands to do stuff because he’s a participator above all else.

✮ Reo always makes sure to show his appreciation for how hard you work whether it’s at your job, taking care of the kids/house, or both. He takes time alone with you very seriously, even as your lives get busier and your family grows he always makes sure there’s time for the two of you to just be together and be in love. Always jokes about how you guys need to keep the romance going. He has small romantic gestures that he indulges you in throughout the day: kissing you on the cheek, brushing your hair out of your face/tying it back for you if you if you need (taking his hair tie out for you to use), hugging you a little tighter just before you get up, running a bath for the both of you, massaging your shoulders while you talk.

to be fully honest with you guys, i have never in my life wanted to have kids so it was a bit hard for me to imagine what being happy with children would be like LMAO but alas i did my best. stay safe and stay cool. - aria :3

[ducksido]

If this one is too confusing please don't do it 😭 

So basically NRC (maybe Ortho too but platonic love) with a s/o that got turned into a cat by a potion mix-up, not naming names Grim and Adeuce 👀 (also, maybe reader could be like a maine coon? Idk but I love the idea of reader was a cat they would be bigger than grim but any cat is cute too 😖) but the twist is that s/o is not a normal cat, but actually a flerken cuz you know, not of this world haha (If you don't know what that is, it's basically a space cat from marvel) So when Idia is petting them too aggressive or Floyd is squeezing them too tightly or if anyone is annoying them, they just open their mouth and swallow them up like a fckin snack, and maybe spit them back out when they're in a good mood leaving them so fckin traumatized. And the people witnessing it are like 🧍

(I tried :])

Grim: “It wasn’t that much spilled potion!” Ace: “Yeah, you only turned the prefect into a cat the size of a toddler.” Deuce: “With... tentacles coming out of their mouth?” Grim: “Okay, maybe a little mistake.” Yuu: (blinks with void eyes, swallows a bench)

🍓 Riddle Rosehearts

Cat Form: He attempted to collar you to follow dorm rules. You yawned… and swallowed the collar. Then the leash. Then the binder full of rules. Riddle: “I—WHAT—?! OFF WITH YOUR—WAIT—" Started avoiding eye contact and leaving strawberry tarts as offerings.

Human Flerken Form: You "accidentally" inhaled the rules board again during morning announcements. Riddle: slams desk “YOU NEED TO BE BOUND—NO, I MEAN RESTRAINED—NO, I MEAN—” He’s spiraling. You blink slowly and open your mouth. He flees.

🍀 Trey Clover

Cat Form: Stayed calm even when you slurped up Ace like a spaghetti noodle. “...Guess that’s one way to deal with backtalk.” Fed you tarts like he was bribing a god.

Human Flerken Form: You swallowed a whole picnic basket. Trey blinked. “...You’re not eating me, are you?” You stare. He hands you a tart and runs.

📸 Cater Diamond

Cat Form: Livestreamed your first “snack.” “GUYS. Yuu just ate Deuce. Deuce is GONE.” Then you burped up a slime-covered Deuce. “#VoidCat is trending!!”

Human Flerken Form: You swallowed his phone mid-selfie. His scream echoed through the dorm. Ten minutes later: “W-Wait… selfie with me spitting it out???” Still posted it.

♠️ Ace Trappola

Cat Form: You got him first. He was flailing inside you. Once out, he screamed and ran to Trein for protection. He now throws stuff to test if you're in a good mood before approaching.

Human Flerken Form: You accidentally slurped his dice mid-game. Ace: “NOPE. I’M OUT. I’M GONE.” Won’t enter the same room without backup. Or garlic. Or both.

💧 Deuce Spade

Cat Form: You swallowed Ace. He panicked and offered himself next to "save" him. You swallowed him too. Now refers to you as “Elder God Prefect.” Carries salt "just in case."

Human Flerken Form: You inhaled a toolbox. Deuce stared in horror. “Y-You still have the powers?!” Tries to study void safety in his spare time.

🛌 Leona Kingscholar

Cat Form: Lifted one eye. “So you bite now. Whatever.” Then you swallowed Ruggie mid-joke. Leona sat up. “...That’s new.”

Human Flerken Form: You inhaled a whole playbook. Leona: “You’re banned from the stadium.” Still lounges near you. Tells everyone, “Watch out for the portable black hole.”

🍩 Ruggie Bucchi

Cat Form: Got vacuumed into the Flerken void while holding a donut. Returned confused, sticky, and sugar-covered. “What... what plane of existence was that?!”

Human Flerken Form: Watched you slurp a snack cart. Now keeps you on a leash when food’s involved. Bribes you with jerky to behave.

🐺 Jack Howl

Cat Form: Growled. “What are you?” Still tried to pet you. Got swallowed for his efforts. Returned with fur on end. Doesn’t speak of it.

Human Flerken Form: You absorbed a whole duffel bag. Jack: squints “You’re still... not normal.” Still protects you. Just from afar.

🦑 Azul Ashengrotto

Cat Form: Tried to offer a contract. You slurped the paper and sneezed. Azul: “That was a legal document.” Avoids you now. Low-key terrified.

Human Flerken Form: You devoured his shelf of emergency contracts. Azul fainted on the spot. Now insists on magical NDAs before entering a room with you.

🐠 Jade Leech

Cat Form: Amazed. Let himself be eaten to “see the world inside.” Returned… enlightened. Maybe.

Human Flerken Form: You inhaled a poisonous mushroom by mistake. Jade: “Ah… fascinating. May I study your digestion process next?”

🦈 Floyd Leech

Cat Form: Thought you were a new toy. “Can I squeeze ya 'til ya burst?” You swallowed him instead. He laughed the whole time.

Human Flerken Form: You devoured the pool noodle he was using to whack people. Floyd: “NEW GAME. I throw stuff in ya, you spit it out!” He's obsessed.

🌞 Kalim Al-Asim

Cat Form: LOVED YOU. “SO FLUFFY!!!” squish Got eaten and came back smiling. “THAT WAS AMAZING!! Can we do it again??”

Human Flerken Form: You inhaled a whole fruit tray. He cheers every time you eat something. “Yuu’s like a party trick AND a friend!”

🦂 Jamil Viper

Cat Form: Panicked when you swallowed Kalim. “THIS IS WHY I CAN’T HAVE PEACE.” Avoids you. Constantly sighs.

Human Flerken Form: Saw you suck up a mop and bucket. Just turned and left. “Crowley can deal with this.”

👑 Vil Schoenheit

Cat Form: Almost pet you. You hissed—your jaw cracked open with cosmic horror. Vil: “Absolutely not.” Left face masks and beauty products as tribute.

Human Flerken Form: You slurped his mascara tube. Vil: “That was limited edition.” He hasn’t forgiven you.

🍎 Epel Felmier

Cat Form: Thought you were the coolest thing he’d ever seen. “You’re like... cosmic and deadly and a cat? That’s METAL.” Tried to ride you like a steed. Got eaten instead. 10/10.

Human Flerken Form: You devoured a crate of apples. He clapped. “You’re still terrifying! That’s awesome!!” Loyal hype man for your eldritch nonsense.

🏹 Rook Hunt

Cat Form: In AWE. “Ma bête galactique! What haunting beauty!” Asked to be consumed. Came back poetic.

Human Flerken Form: You swallowed an entire statue. He wrote a sonnet about it. Calls you “la bouche du néant” (the mouth of nothingness).

🐉 Malleus Draconia

Cat Form: Pet you gently. You unhinged your jaw and let tentacles stretch. He smiled. “A kin of dragons. How wonderful.”

Human Flerken Form: You absorbed a bolt of magical lightning. Malleus laughed. “What a glorious ability.” Treats you like a royal creature of wonder.

🗡️ Sebek Zigvolt

Cat Form: You swallowed him mid-Malleus speech. He screamed. Emerged slimy. Still screaming.

Human Flerken Form: You slurped a chandelier. Sebek screeched, fled, and now hides behind Lilia when you enter.

🌙 Silver

Cat Form: Napped on you. You swallowed him. He emerged still asleep. You gave up.

Human Flerken Form: You inhaled his sword mid-conversation. He blinked. “...That’s new.” Still naps near you anyway.

👹 Lilia Vanrouge

Cat Form: Cackled. “Oh you’re just like my old war beasts!” Voluntarily got eaten. Emerged humming.

Human Flerken Form: You absorbed a stack of cursed tomes. Lilia: “Ah, snacks and smarts. I approve!”

🦴 Crewel

Cat Form: “Do NOT bite me—” CHOMP Returned covered in glitter. “How DARE—!”

Human Flerken Form: You inhaled his teaching stick. He’s taken to calling you “My most feral student.”

☕ Trein

Cat Form: Lucius loved you. He was betrayed. Trein muttered, “You are an affront to biology.”

Human Flerken Form: You slurped a bookshelf. Trein quit teaching for a week.

💀 Sam

Cat Form: “Now that’s marketable!” Tried to sell Void Treats™.

Human Flerken Form: You slurped a register. Sam: “No refunds~”

🎭 Crowley

Cat Form: Mid-monologue, you devoured his hat. He shrieked. You spat it out. He wears it with fear now.

Human Flerken Form: You swallowed his desk. He's hiding in his office and filing for “unholy insurance.”

🧠 Idia Shroud

Cat Form: Lost his mind. “You’re like a Cthulhu Pokémon. I LOVE YOU.” Tried to scan your organs. Got eaten. Worth it.

Human Flerken Form: You inhaled a gaming console. He had a full breakdown. Still simps. “Yuu-chan, if you ever wanna... uh... eat my soul, I’m cool with that…”

🤖 Ortho Shroud

Cat Form: Amazed. Called you “bio-dimensional.” Took readings from inside the void.

Human Flerken Form: You ate a vending machine. Ortho: “Can we test this on a car next?!”

🔥 Rollo Flamme

Cat Form: Called you “blasphemous.” You inhaled his incense burner. He screamed.

Human Flerken Form: You slurped a stained-glass window fragment. He now holds weekly exorcisms. Avoids you like you’re a demonic comet.

🃏 Chenya

Cat Form: Thinks you’re hilarious. “You eat people? I vanish. That’s balance.”

Human Flerken Form: You devoured a whole table. He dares you to eat things now. “Bet you can’t slurp a tree.” You did. He laughed until he disappeared.

GRIM

Grim saw you as a massive Maine Coon and immediately puffed up in a mix of awe, jealousy, and denial.

Grim: “Wha—H-How did you turn into a cat?! I’m the only cute mascot around here, ya know!”

Cue him circling you with suspicion.

Grim: “You better not try to steal my spotlight—WAIT WHAT ARE THOSE?!”

Your mouth stretched open and writhing tentacles peeked out from a dimension far beyond what Grim was emotionally prepared for. You yawned and sucked a textbook into your maw like it weighed nothing.

Grim: “NYYYYAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!”

He bolted behind the couch, eyes huge.

Grim: “You ain’t no regular cat! That’s illegal! Cats don’t have stomachs the size of the Netherworld! That ain’t biology!!”

After you swallowed Ace whole for booping your nose, Grim realized he could be next.

Grim: “Listen, buddy—pal—roomie—Yuu, we can talk about this, okay? I’m sorry I knocked over the potion, okay?! I DIDN’T MEAN TO!!”

Now? He brings you treats daily. Not because he wants to. Because he has to. It's protection money.

Grim: “I gotcha tuna! And sardines! Please don’t eat me today…”

He sleeps with one eye open now.

You finally returned to your human form—Grim was so relieved he almost cried.

Grim: “You’re back!! Thank the Sevens! No more freaky tentacle nonsense!”

You smiled… and then opened your mouth to suck up a broom, two socks, and a floating pen into the eldritch void that is now your stomach.

Grim: “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! YOU CAN STILL DO THAT?!”

He screamed. He screeched. He fled.

Grim: “That’s NOT normal!! Humans don’t do that!! Even I don’t do that!!”

He tiptoes around you now. Occasionally hisses when you stretch.

Grim: “Don’t make me disappear again, you freakin’ dimensional cryptid!”

…But also?

Grim: “...You’d still protect me if someone tried to hurt me, right? …Right???”

He’s both terrified and clingy. You're still his human. Just... one that now contains multiversal horrors in their torso.

Ain’t that sweet?

[dragonnarrative-writes]

‘Generative AI invites users to bypass mindfully engaging with the physical act of creating’ this hit me like a bag of fucking bricks, you’re a gem darling

I've been thinking about this again, and I want to expand.

A lot of us look at writing or making art as focused on the end goal. The point seems to be that final, publishable draft, the thing that makes us look at it and say "yeah, that's it! that's the idea, the feeling, i've captured it!"

But in our world of instant gratification, the sense of satisfaction involved with the process is diminished. The actual practice of creating, and learning how to create, has been framed as the thing "keeping" you from reaching the goal. It's almost a punishment - the time and effort is a cost to pay for an end product.

So of course people would try to reduce the time and effort. They think they're saving something by doing it. But the time and effort saved come at the cost of fun and connection and physical satisfaction.

This isn't a surprise. A lot of the things that are "good" for us have been muted and dulled and repackaged for "convenience" or "maturity" or a demonstration of "natural skill."

The easiest comparison I can make is movement. How many of us would look forward to moving if we were playing low-stakes kickball, or taking a walk and chatting with friends, or splashing and laughing in some water? Who remembers Pokemon Go summer, and how people were out and about? And how many of us have ever felt anxious, uncomfortable, or discouraged by the very idea of hopping on a treadmill or going to the gym? For a lot of us (me included) going to the gym feels like working toward a goal, not an actually fun time for its own sake.

Writing, in my experience, can be enjoyable as an action, not just a means to an end. I like writing! I love putting pen to paper, and I love the purple ink I use. I love my dot grid notebook, I love writing in messy cursive and rediscovering my penmanship. I love typing on my computer (except when my E key sticks when I'm typing really fast), and I like using scrivener and figuring out the music for the story I'm working on. I love using a thesaurus to look up just the right word. I love sharing a first draft with my partner, my boyfriend, my friends, and asking them "does that make sense?" so we can all laugh and screech and cackle. I love looking back on some of my writing and saying "what was I thinking????" I love rediscovering some of my favorite lines and saying "yeah, that? that slaps."

When you have generative ai make your process more "efficient," you don't learn what physically feels good about writing. You don't figure out what gives you those warm fuzzies, what makes you smile about your own action. And you deserve to feel good in that way.

[greenandsorrow]

I'm really curious about how you think Alastor would handle a deaf sinner (revenge plot gone horribly wrong). The reader is staying at the hotel.. actually, it'll probably be challenging for everyone! Reader (f/gn) can read lips fairly well, but when Alastor does the whole "face made for radio," shtick his mouth doesn't move.. can't be threatened if you dont know what's said. It looks weird, though! Reader uses a phone to communicate mostly due to convenience, doesn't use signs because deafness comes as a bonus with death, also carries a pen but rarely paper so ends up writing notes on arms. Habits that linger from life are low self esteem covered masterfully with sass and sarcasm, humming and singing to themselves, remembering perfect pitches and how they felt to sing, can also match pitch by matching a vibration and drumming or tapping hands when needing to focus or is anxious.

Platonic relationships all round, not looking for romance here, just a place to belong for a bit, familial/sibling ribbing and sass!

I'm sorry in advance if it is a lot, but you do ask for details!

"This face was made for radio."

The Hazbins with a deaf!sinner!reader

You'll never forget the day you landed in Pentagram City. The world around you on mute... It will always stay carved in your memory... the way you had screamed until your throat ached and then had come to the conclusion that even though your voice worked fine, your ability to hear hadn't come with you to the afterlife.

Your sass did save you on multiple occasions that your lack of hearing left you with double the insecurity you carried from your days on Earth. The good news is that, eventually, you learnt to read lips and use your phone to communicate, making your afterlife a bit safer and easier.

However, some -Charlie- would say that your biggest achievement is willingly asking for residence at the "Happy Hotel"! It was a welcoming change to the constant battle of survival, that the streets of the City of the Damned are.

You have your own room and belongings. You have access to food and even made... friends. With your little notepad and pen, you scribble your thoughts and answers when interacting with them. In all honesty, you like your new neighbours more than you ever thought you would.

And the feeling is mutual amongst y'all.

You enjoy how Charlie is always putting on a show and how she sings more than she talks. Not only that, but she makes sure to let you know how impressive it is that you can match the rhythm of her songs, by tapping your fingernails on your notepad.

Vaggie makes an effort so you're always safe and that was before you even got close. She's a bit overprotective in your opinion, but then again... kindness in Hell is scarce and more than appreciated.

Seriously though, you're not handicapped, but it's no use explaining it to her.

Even the famous Angel Dust speaks slower when addressing you. Just like Vaggie, he's protective of you. It's rare for Angel to try to not make a fellow sinner uncomfortable.

In a way, the spider demon has adopted you and Niffty, concerning himself with your wellbeing. You want something but don't have your pen on you? He's willing to play pantomime just to make sure he can provide it to you.

And then there's Husk. The bartender is surprisingly gentle when it comes to you. Caution mixed with fondness. He doesn't mind that you speak too loudly in the rare occasions you use your voice. He doesn't mind having to wait for you to write down your jokes. He actually enjoys your company more than he lets on.

Just a detail, you became part of the crew around the same time Sir Pentious did. Consequently, in the beginning you two kind of stuck together, both seen as newbies.

You're so grateful for how he still washes your arms from the ink of your trusty pen.

To put it into a few words, all families are colorful and yours is no exception. Dysfunctions, disagreements and some sappiness are all part of your every day life. But the Hazbin Hotel has become your home and that's all that matters.

✧

Noticed how I overlooked a very special sinner??

Yep. That's right. Alastor.

The radio demon didn't pay you much attention when you first moved in. You have come to the conclusion that your lack of hearing just underwhelmed him.

He's the radio demon. Sound is his weapon and you're immune to it.

Obviously, his animated personality didn't go unnoticed to your observant eyes. Still, the old radio effect of his voice, the static he produces and all those flamboyant aspects of him are thrown out of the window when it comes to you.

He can't intimidate you. Not that he's tried. Not yet.

You have kept to yourself and maybe even subconsciously avoided him during your settlement in the hotel. It's not out of fear. But what fun is a fellow sinner that speaks more than he moves his mouth? Thank Lucifer he's expressive, otherwise he'd be muter to you than you're to yourself.

And that permanent grin doesn't help either. You've discreetly been relying on his shadow's expressions to make out what's going on in his antlered head.

✧

Today is no different.

He's just stranding there. Black cane, an ignorant and simultaneously arrogant aura, the same infuriating smile and Pentious's egg-bois around him.

Meanwhile, you're sitting in the lounge, inspecting a very 2000's looking camera. It's a way to kill time, watching your surroundings through the lens. At some point the camera lands on Alastor's figure.

It immediately starts glitching.

You burrow your eyebrows in confusion. When you look again, Alastor isn't where he was a few seconds ago.

You sigh.

"What do you think you're doing there, dear?"

Silence. No reaction. You keep looking through the camera at the place Alastor occupied just a few moments ago.

Alastor narrows his eyes. He's standing almost next to you.

But of course you didn't hear him.

The intensified static in his voice... wasted.

He clears his throat loudly, but to no avail.

Eventually, he gives in and taps your shoulder. You blink, lowering the camera to your lap and looking up at him, head slightly tilted.

Taking in your expression, Alastor secretly enjoys the animated scrunch of your brows, a clear indication of confusion.

He's not saying anything, so you shrug to yourself and absentmindedly focus the camera on him once more.

Alastor's eyes narrow with a sadistic glee as the camera suddenly breaks, fume coming out of it, the lens now cracked. You drop it, a bit startled but not on the degree he was hoping.

You don't bother standing up but you do glare at him in exasperation.

"Well, well... Aren't you a brave one?"

Finally! Something you can make out coming from his razor sharp jaws.

You pop the lid off your pen, but before you have time to write "What's that supposed to mean?" on your arm, he has already dimmed the lights and leaned down so he's at eye level with you.

"Let me tell you something while we're at it."

His neck bends unnaturally and his eyes turn black. It's not exactly a sight to enjoy, but it doesn't matter since you're too focused on trying to read his lips.

"This face was made f......"

For?

For what?

What could it have been made for?

His mouth stopped pronouncing the words before the sentence was finished, so it's not your fault that you're chuckling now.

Alastor's chest literally deflates at your reaction.

His ears droop.

It wasn't even full on laughter but his pride took a big hit.

While he's frozen in shock at your lack of fear, you finally scribble down at the back of your hand "Was made for what?"

You extend your hand for him to read with an apologetic gaze. He does look kind of wounded.

Alastor takes in your words and accepts that you didn't laugh at him on purpose. Not to humiliate him at least.

Placing a gloved finger under your chin, he makes you look at his face before speaking slowly, moving his lips almost comically.

"This face was made for ra- di- o."

You let out an "oh" of realization.

Your eyes have a new light of interest in them as you write down your answer.

"I used to listen to that, when I was alive."

"Mhm, that's a pleasant piece of information, my dear!"

✧

From that day on, every time before he broadcasts, he makes sure to give you his notes to read, even making them more elaborate just for you.

For him, the only downside of your loss of hearing is not being able to enjoy his radio show.

At least you now get along.

Tips are highly appreciated! (PayPal)

Shout-out to @buggieluv79 for helping me with the deaf POV 💌 I also want to point out the fact that the wonderful being that made this request is both kind and patient, having waited three months for me to write this and supporting me in the process❣️

Hazbin Hotel masterlist ❤️

I'm open to writing for a deaf!reader again, whether you want it to be the same person we met in this fic or a different one. (Wait till reqs open again please!)

[purpdrawsthings]

HIT YOU WITH THE PUNK TACTICS 👊💥

@tiredsmashbros @strange0-0storm @libbytwq @rr3d2y @its-a-me-mango @cookiepopcat

No way it took me 5 months to get back my motivation?? 😭😭😭

Hihi everybody.

So I started this project.. As said in the picture. Apparently after the first 4 finished/rendered pictures of TSB and SMG8, I lost the motivation and left it alone for 5 months.. UNTIL YESTERDAY.

Yes you heard me, YESTERDAY. "Wait Purp so what you're meaning to tell us is that after that part and so on was all finished in 1 DAY??"

.... Yeah =D

I WAS VERY DISAPPOINTED IN MYSELF OKAY I LEFT IT FOR LONG ENOUGH. Don't want it to be like my Plug Me In animation tho... [Speaking of which why did that one take me like 8 months?]

Speedran the last image for TSB and SMG8's part, did Lore and Ako's part [this includes drawing + animating + editing some of TSB's part] in about I think 1-2 hours, took a break cuz my phone was on like 20% [I had literal homework so I finished my ONE BIG AHH PAPER PRESENTATION COMIC in about 3 hours..] After that I immediately went straight back to my phone and finished the first 4 rendered parts for Mango and Cookie's part [ this also included drawing + animating ]

During this time I was in my fathers siblings house because we were going to break our fast there. So yesterday was the day we went back home cuz both me and my sister had school. While in the car I FINISHED. Mango and Cookie's final part. This did NOT include animating. I felt tired and went to sleep.

Back home I went straight into my room and onto my phone 😭 I finished animating THE LAST PART. So all's left is editing the final product and polishing.

I use alight motion but after 10 minutes or so of TRYING to find if alight motion had a reverse effect, the app didn't have that. So I had to waste 5 MINUTES just to install capcut for that effect. During this also I was on my last 15 minutes on the phone so I was kinda stressed and begging it would go faster.

Did the reverse and exported it alight motion. But during this my phone shut off so I couldn't finish it. I sighed and waited for the next day.

[Funny thing but I did 3 homeworks last minute before sleeping and I slept at 12 lmao]

CUT TO TODAY!

As I got back from school and in my mom's car going to her office, I saved my phone in the car and immediately picked it up.

You'd THINK I would go straight to editing seeing my past pattern right? Nah I went to YouTube shorts for whatever apparent reason sisgisvdixgidbdodbxib 😭

Anyways I went into my mom's office and immediately edited in alight motion. This took me for about 30 minutes or so because I was trying to find the perfect rewind overlay for the animation. Couldn't find the one that would fit my need so I just picked one that seemed just fine for me. Edited some more.. Checked the timings... Put my watermark and some lil drawing and.... Done! The animation was all done and ready to go!

I first sent the thing in discord. [Apparently discord this time actually could load my animation in there so I was quite happy to say the least.] And now we're here to me writing this as I'm talking to myself! Hi me!... I'm going crazy.

Anyways I'm glad I finished that. Looking back at it I think I got so tired at the last part that I almost gave up on Cookie's and Mango's part. It's a bit low effort on that one. Overall, I'm kinda satisfied and it's nice to play the animation a couple of times.

Final stuff.

Ibis paint : 6 hours, thumb 💜

Flipaclip : 12fps, 337 frames

Alight motion : 30fps

Capcut : reverse thing sudhdudhud

Hope y'all enjoyed my rambling IAHSISHDIHDODHDO I should be crowned queen of yapping wait somebody else has that tittle oh well.

Yeetus chat =3