#just came across my dumbass mind

[morgana-ren]

What about an Astarion that dislikes a true good Tav not only because of his cunning pragmatism, but because he's genuinely resentful towards them.

He spent years in the suffocating dark, suffering alone and afraid. Each desperate lamentation a pleading cry for the Gods to save him— for anyone to save him. Blood-hungry fingertips scratching days into the wall with the ease that his undead heart used to beat.

Eventually, torture and misery became a household name and he forgot that altruism even exists. There is only those foolish enough to trust and those wise enough to know otherwise.

And now there's Tav, true and good. A shining beacon of kindness and goodness and all things disgusting. Everything he knows he can root weakness in are virtues they seem to exude effortlessly.

Eventually, he is forced to confront the truth.

Where were you? Where were you when he was crawling out of his skin, every breath like inhaling water? Where were you, glorious hero, when he needed you? Where where you when Cazador's fist was clamped firmly around his neck and his hands digging like knives into his chest? Where were you when he licked his blood from his claws? Where were you when he had to make a feast of rats and vermin and pretend with every ounce of delusion that he could muster that he'd be able to keep it down?

You can stand up for the weak and needy and degenerate. You can brandish your sword before evil. You can bear your teeth in the face of injustice. You can save everyone and anyone— aasimar and goblin alike— that you come across at the risk of all of their lives. You have the audacity to tell him you'll protect him from that clawing dark that entrenches ever closer.

But you never came when he needed you most. You never saved him before it was too late.

[iomoru]

“Jealous? You must be kidding."

A/n: had this idea since 2023 tbh (=^･ω･^=)

Genre: Modern! Au, Fluff, Fem! Reader, Tall! Reader, Reader wears a bikini, Wanderer x Reader, Jealous! Wanderer, Second Person, Proofread

Summary: While walking along the beach with Wanderer, you catch the attention of a couple of guys who comment on your appearance. Wanderer swiftly covers you with his shirt, glaring at them until they walk away. Teasing him about being jealous, you enjoy his flustered reaction as he brushes it off, but his arm stays around you, hinting at a newfound closeness.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a soft, golden glow across the beach as you strolled along the shoreline with Wanderer. The waves lapped gently at your feet, and the salty breeze ruffled his hair, bringing a slight flush to his usually impassive face. His hands were tucked in his pockets, and his expression was as aloof as ever, but you could tell he was enjoying the calm.

You laughed softly, nudging him. "You know, you don’t have to pretend that you’re so cool all the time."

He groans slightly in annoyance. "I’m not pretending, dumbass."

A playful roll of your eyes was your only reply as the two of you continued down the beach. But, as you passed by a small group of guys, you noticed Wanderer’s stride slow and a barely perceptible shift in his expression. You didn’t catch what they were saying, but you noticed Wanderer’s gaze harden, his jaw set in a subtle but unmistakable way.

Before you could ask, he swiftly shrugged off his shirt and wrapped it around your shoulders, pulling the fabric close so it could cover both your upper body and some part of your lower half. His arm stayed around your waist in a possessive hold and pulled you closer, as his eyes locked on the two guys with a stare so sharp it could cut through glass.

The two strangers faltered under his glare, their eyes darting away as they mumbled something and quickly walked off in the opposite direction.

You blinked, confused, glancing between him and the retreating figures. "Uh…what was that about?"

He shrugged, refusing to meet your gaze as he mumbled, "Nothing important."

It didn’t take long to piece it together though, and a grin tugged at your lips as you nudged him with your shoulder. "Oh, I see. Were you getting…jealous?"

Wanderer’s eyes flicked back to you, an irritated huff escaping his lips as a faint pink crept up his cheeks. "You wish. I just…thought you looked cold, that’s all."

You laughed, shifting closer to him. "Sure, sure. So you weren’t trying to scare them off?"

He looked away, muttering, "Whatever,"

But he didn’t pull his arm around your waist. Instead, he gave your hip a subtle squeeze, his scowl softening just slightly as the two of you continued walking along the shore, this time a little closer than before.

A/n: when I first thought of the idea again he was the first person that came into my mind

© ²⁰²⁴ ɪᴏᴍᴏʀᴜ ✰ do not repost, translate, plagiarize, use to train ai, or share my work on other social media platforms.

[moonrisecoeur]

Ur the best sub Leon writer soooo… idk if you seen these but ppl treat las plagas parasite as sex pollen 😭 and I’m so here for it. Concept : re4 leon infected by the parasite OK but he starts out very agressive but ofc he’s a sub so he does whatever reader wants in order to yk… achieve the goal of the parasite (breeding 😔 who said that? Not me) And pls make the reader mean, I love mean femdoms sm, they are chefs kiss. If you need more clarification post it I’ll send another one idk but I’m just seeing what YOU come up with. LOVE UR WRITING btw I love how it’s pretty in character tbh cuz I read ur bully Leon one and I was like “yeah fr like he’s too caring to be a bully 💀”

OMG WAIT MY DUMBASS FORGOT TO ADD: you said smth so mean to him that he came too early. He was so sorry for coming early and the mess he made in you But then he continued to keep going trying to pump more- OK SORRY

the BEST?? idk about that but i shall take ur compliment and deliver to you only my best work so thank u bestie i appreciate it sm !! ^-^

las plagas is crazy cuz like the black veins, the loss of control with your physical body, the pain it causes… that’s literally so hot. leon was so fuckable all of re4 but especially in the scenes where his body is being controlled that man is SCRUMPTIOUS

also just so you know. the veins on his dick are black as well ♡

no pronouns mentioned, afab parts mentioned, plaga leon has to be a top im sorry (technically in straight relationships men are always topping unless u count pegging BUT in this context i mean he’s a top more like ‘he’s a sub but he’ll fuck u stupid’ like that’s the vibe)

you spot his blonde hair from across the hall, running over to him excitedly. thank god you found him.

“leon!” you call out, grabbing the attention of the man in question, as you catch up to him. finally finding him in this nightmarish place after getting separated was the best thing possible, “holy crap, i’m so- i’m so glad you’re okay— woah, what… what happened to you?”

he takes a cautious step back, still seemingly holding a little bit of control over his body, “they said it was a gift in my…. my blood… don’t know what the fuck that was about..”

you take a step forward, reaching out your hand to touch his face, fingers tracing the black lines that were once veins invisible to the naked eye. but he stops you, his hand roughly grabbing your wrist, “don’t.”

“don’t… what?” you ask nervously, shoulders slumped.

“you need to… stay away from me,” he groans from pain, and you’re too worried to listen to his words, “stop, get away from me, you— i could hurt you! i don’t want to hurt you…”

but you don’t listen to him, betraying his wishes by shaking off his grip and reaching your hand out again. he can’t try to stop you this time. he moans, actually moans, when your fingertips touch his face, caressing him softly.

“really? it’s that good?” you ask with a small smirk on your face. leon thinks he could die.

“f-fuck…” he mumbles, finally coming closer to you. his hands wrap around your waist as he leans in for a kiss that you’re not ready for, and you both stumble backwards while you try to ground yourself.

he’s getting rough, aggressive, and you need to push back a little or else he’ll consume you entirely. not that you’d mind.

“leon, ease up,” you whisper, pushing him back slightly, and when a growl escapes his throat, you know he’s clearly not in any state to listen, “leon.”

he annoyedly makes eye contact with you, trying his best to listen to what you’re about to say. he is trying, and that’s the worst part. this is him at his most gentle, most restrained.

“you need to listen to me, okay? can you do that?” you ask softly, hand against his chest to keep him from diving too deep into you, and pressing a kiss to his lips. it’s softer. he moans into your mouth needily, but you don’t let him get rough. instead you sweetly get the taste of him. sure, it’s not a delicious taste, but he’s a delicious experience.

you enjoy the way he’s trying so intensely to control and contain himself, for your sake. he knows what you want from him is not his full fledged desires out in the open, completely unchecked.

when you pull away, he looks wrecked already, “please, you can’t do this to me, not if you’re just going to walk away and leave me desperate.”

part of you wants to reassure him. i’m not going to leave you. i would never abandon you when you need me most. but the other part just wants to ravage him, take all of him for yourself, leave nothing of him left but the perfection you’ve created. perfection in your eyes. maybe he’s not the only one infected with some kind of tainted desire.

instead, to accomplish both, you kiss him again, letting your own intensity and desire take over, potentially overpowering his. he whimpers, his shaky hands holding your hips for stability. he’s not being grossly possessive and rough like before. he’s softer now, pliable.

when you pull away, you whisper, “we need to get somewhere safe.”

“wha… what?”

“i need to take my time with you, and we’re not safe out in the open like this…” you say, leaning in to press a kiss to that sweet spot right below his ear. it’s so cute how truly weak leon is right now. sure, that’s always been his weakness, but it’s elevated multiple times over by this parasite in his blood. you have half the mind to thank that weird cult.

when you find a safe room, you’re immediately back on him, pushing him against the wall, enjoying the way he whimpers as you kiss him, his need for you multiplying by the minute.

“please, please, i need you, i need you so fucking bad, please, i need to take you, need to make you mine, need to—”

“shut up,” you groan, fingers roughly grabbing his jaw, pushing his head back and away from you, “you’re going to be good, or you won’t get what you want. i don’t care how badly you fucking need me, you’re going to be patient. you’re going to be nice and obedient or you’ll get nothing from me. and that little parasite inside of you is horrified at the idea that you won’t get to fuck my pretty pussy, hm?”

he looks pathetic, moaning like a whore at just some words, but it’s the way you say them, the way you say them, that kills him. he eventually calms himself down enough to nod with his eyes shut tightly, “i’ll do whatever you say. you know that.”

“lay down on the floor,” you command, almost growling back at him, and he opens his eyes in surprise.

“what?”

“you heard me. on the ground, beneath me, right now, leon,” your eyes narrow at him, enjoying the way he weakly sinks to his knees before sitting down completely and laying back.

“like this..?” he asks, confused. he doesn’t know what’s about to happen, and that excites him immensely.

you take off your belt with all your utility tools and your jeans along with it. then finally, your underwear. he looks up at you with wide, delicious eyes.

he asks so sweetly, even though he knows the answer, “are you… are you gonna make me..?”

“yeah, you are. i’m going to sit down on your pretty, pretty face and you’re going to enjoy every second of being beneath me, where you belong, servicing me, and making me cum.”

his heart skips a beat at the thought of belonging beneath you, “yeah, fuck, okay—”

“—and you’re not going to fucking talk until i cum, got it?”

he nods, and once you sit down upon your throne, he gets right to work. he laps up the fluids of your cunt like a dog, working tirelessly, sucking on your clit and tongue fucking you. this is his place. he deserves nothing more than to be here with you, caving to your every desire even if all of his thoughts include breeding you and getting you pregnant with his babies. he’d do anything you asked if he could just have that.

he’d be at your service, at your mercy, until you chose to give him what he wanted.

but he makes you cum so fucking hard that it’s impossible to not give him what he wants, especially when rough hands grab onto your thighs as you’re cumming and he’s still giving you the head of your life through your orgasm. he grabs you just to stabilize you, but also to be possessive.

he can’t help how bad he’s gotten about jealousy and possessiveness with this parasite. he’s never been the jealous boyfriend, knowing you could hold your own and you’re loyal and stuff, but something about the way he looks at you now is different. it’s deep and primal. he looks at you like he needs to have you, and no one else can.

it’s insanely hot, but it’s also inconceivable how uncontrollable those urges are. leon has good self control, and you notice it in how he’s acting. again, this is him at his most restrained. he’s trying to keep himself from pouncing on you, taking everything he wants from you because he knows you don’t want that.

somewhere deep inside of him, he’s still himself, still that awkward and dorky guy that just wants to love you and give you everything you want. you wouldn’t want that.

when you roll off of him, laying down next to him to give yourself a moment to recover, you press a kiss to his shoulder, a sign that it’s an act, your harshness isn’t real. he returns the gesture by kissing the top of your head. a sign that he acknowledges your motives.

“please,” he whimpers suddenly, startling you out of your daze as his hand caresses your back softly, “i’ll let you control everything, you can do whatever you want with me, but fucking please, i’m so desperate to put my cock inside of your pussy, baby. i can’t think straight, and i’m trying so damn hard to control myself but i won’t be able to much longer…”

“yeah? you wanna put your cock inside of me? feel it throb inside the wetness and warmth of my cunt, fill me up with—”

he cuts you off with a loud moan, his hands grasping onto you and his eyes shutting tightly at the thought of such pleasure. he looks wrecked at the mere mention of cumming inside of you. you obviously have to capitalize on this fact.

“oh? so it’s the filling me up part, isn’t it? the ‘gift’ you have makes you really want to cum inside me, hm?” you say, smirking cruelly at him, watching his resolve crumble as he moans shamelessly, “do you want… breed me, leon?”

he gasps, breathing heavily. he’s incredibly wound up, and now you know the real reason he’s insatiable and uncontrollable, “f-fuck, i— it’s not that i want to, it’s that i need to… i need to fuck you and breed you so damn bad, i—”

you cover his mouth with the palm of your hand, enjoying the way he groan in pleasure when you straddle him. god, he’s not even inside of you, but he looks fucked out. he looks he’s about to burst already.

“god, you’re so fucking desperate,” you mumble to him, leaning in closer to whisper to him despite having him muzzled with your hand. not that he’d ever hurt you, he would never even imagine it, “you’re going to fuck me stupid, okay? you’re going to fuck me until my legs go numb and i can’t feel anything but you… and only when i tell you you can, you’ll breed me, fuck your cum even deeper into me and not let any of it escape. understood?”

he breathes shakily, not responding. obviously you forgot you have your hand over his mouth. when you take it off, he nervously says, “got it. i’ll… i’ll be good. i’ll make you feel so good.”

your voice is dark, cruel, full of malicious intent, “you fucking better, or i won’t let you cum. you’ll get to fuck me, sure, but i won’t ever give you the satisfying orgasm your body is desperately aching for. you won’t get to fill me up, and all you’ll have left to fuck for your little orgasm is your hand.”

his heart aches. the idea of disappointing you makes him feel a physical pit of nervousness in his stomach, the same ones he felt when he was more like himself. he just wants to feel like himself again.

“g-got it,” he whimpers. you get off of him, and he’s got you pinned immediately, gently resting you against the ground he was previously laying on. the image of you beneath him has him breathless. he feels like he’s worshipping a god with every move he makes.

he slides his cock into you, groaning at how easy it is, how wet you are. he bottoms out almost immediately, enjoying the way your body wraps around him in almost every sense. he silently adores you. he loves that you want him, crave him just like he craves you. that underneath all of your dominance, you’re his lover too.

fuck, he’s starting to feel possessive again. he beings to thrust into you, his body moving faster than either of you can handle, but you keep your cool better than he does.

“don’t let yourself start to think you’re in control,” you murmur, leaning up to press your lips to his shoulder, baring your teeth but not hard enough to draw blood. just enough to remind him of his place, “you belong to me. not the other way around, got it?” you growl into his ear.

he can’t even respond, too enraptured by your body and the feeling of your control over him leaving him a shuddering mess.

and you can’t even deny it. he’s putting in the work, thumb playing your with your clit just like how he knows you like, and clearly he’s getting the results he’s looking for. his body comes closer to the edge sooner than he’d like, but he tries to stave it off, for your sake.

still leaning into him, you whisper in your darkest voice, “maybe i should leave you like this, so you can stay this desperate… for me. i would try and cure you, but… not sure if i really care anymore.”

he shudders, voice giving out on him as he tries to plead with you. he cums without warning, obviously his body did it without the consent and go-ahead of his conscious mind. he already looks embarrassed at cumming without your permission. you don’t really have the mind to care right now, but you remember it for.. later.

“i’m gonna cum, fuck, leon, give it to me, give in to your cravings, your desires, your needs,” you moan in his ear, desperate for him, only him, and he’s yours, he’s all yours, it’s all he’s ever been and all he’ll ever be. he keep fucking you even after cumming, keeping you filled up, pushing it deeper, “make me yours.”

and he has no choice but to comply.

[scudslut]

A New Years Surprise 🎀

daryl x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, poorly written smut, oral (fem-receiving), unprotected p in v, porn with some plot lol

a/n: i know i’m a little late but happy new years everyone!:) thought i’d start off on the right foot this year with some Daryl lovin<3 also don’t mind my writing i’m just getting back into it so i’m a bit rusty:/

“God, you’re such a dumbass,” you muttered to yourself, cringing at the reflection staring back at you.

Currently, you were a mess.

Tonight was Alexandria’s supposed ‘New Years Eve’ celebration, like we actually had anything to celebrate or look forward to.

There were always those few people you’d come across over the years, that had somehow managed to keep track of the time passed and as it turns out, Alexandria’s people were very serious when it came to sticking to the old worlds holidays and traditions.

Hell, they’d host parties and backyard shindigs on a regular bases, no prompt needed.

It was bizarre, and even after a full year living here, you still weren’t used to it.

Deep down, a small sliver of you agreed that it was something special about this place. That it somehow kept the hopeful humanity glimmering inside the residents. But the larger, much more sceptical side of you, couldn’t help but notice the flaws of the idea and the dangers of false hope.

Or maybe it was just because you looked fucking ridiculous trying to play dress up.

Either way, you hated the celebrations.

This one in particular though, caught you off guard.

You hadn’t payed much attention to New Years before the world ended, and just assumed that would be the same now; but when you caught wind of the party, you felt your stomach bubble in excitement.

And for one reason only.

Daryl.

You knew Daryl was an absolute sucker for dainty dresses and lingerie and you hadn’t ever gotten the chance to wear something like that for him. But a few days prior, you had stumbled across a small shopping mall on run and found this adorable matching light pink set and had to stuff it away in case the opportunity to surprise him presented itself.

Well, here it was.

And man was that excitement rapidly turning into a full blown panic attack.

Running your fingers through your hair haphazardly, you studied your appearance in the mirror.

You’d only so far put on the lingerie and a small black skirt and you already felt confined and self conscious. The straps weren’t sitting right, the cups of your bra were too big, causing weird awkward gaps.

Sighing, you close your eyes in defeat, resting your head in your hands.

This was just awful.

You could already hear the beginnings of the party going, music and laughter flowing in through your slightly cracked window and it only caused you to sink further into yourself.

You felt your mind slip into your self deprecating thoughts as you began to tune out the world around you, missing the soft creaks of footsteps on the wooden floored hallway.

The door of your shared room was wide open, as it was only the two of you that occupied the small house.

Daryl took you in for a moment, leaning against the doorframe observing your defeated aura silently.

He immediately knew what was bothering you, he could read you like a book at this point. He crept up behind you, gently touching your shoulder as to not frighten you from your thoughts.

Jumping slightly, your eyes flew open and landed on those deep familiar blue ones you adored, staring back at you through the mirror.

His natural scent caught your nose and your body subconsciously began to ease, slumping back into his chest.

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting you home so early,” you whisper to him as you notice his eyes drift down your body.

You wrap your arms around yourself, not wanting him to see your failed attempt at a surprise and be disappointed.

You should have known he’d be quicker than you.

“Not so fast, baby,” he says, catching your arms before they can fully shield your torso from him and twisted you around to face him.

“It’s nothing, really Daryl, I-I don’t even know what I was thinking,” you mumble feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

That’s when you notice the dark, lustful glimmer in his eyes and awed expression clear as day on his features.

Oh. He likes it.

Heat pooled in your stomach.

Daryl bunches the fabric of your dainty skirt in his hand contemplatively, drawing it up ever so slowly and tucking it into the waist band to keep you exposed.

You could feel his eyes wander your skin, like soft breathy kisses, from finger tips to the dip of your collar bones.

Your breathe catches as you feel the faintest pressure on your dripping cunt.

“This all fer me?” He whispers, slowly sliding his middle finger from the wet patch on your panties to the tiny pink bow at the hem.

He finger dips into the waist when he doesn’t hear your response, and snaps it back against your skin.

“Y-yes Dar,” you gasp.

Of course it was for him, you were his and he damn well knew that, but he simply couldn’t help himself from asking time to time.

He continued to toy with the bow thoughtfully, letting his finger tips graze over the sensitive skin there. Over your hip bones, stomach, and down to your inner thighs, never allowing too much pressure so it felt like soft tickles.

He enjoyed to watch you pant and writhe. Liked the way your skin would erupt in goosebumps every place he touched.

He was a hunter after all.

He could spend hours playing with every detail of you, work you up until you have tears welling in your eyes and your cunt was practically pulsing.

Though you’d beg and plead for him to stop, to give you what you need, he knew you loved it.

And so did he.

Daryl Dixon was a tease.

“Wanted to surprise you after the party,” you manage to squeak out and his gaze finally meets yours.

“Did ya now?” he mocks, walking you backwards till the back of your knees hit the bed and you take a seat at the edge. He looms over you, thumb grazing your bottom lip and you simply nod back at him.

“Well, ya can be certain there ain’t gonna be no party anymore,” he growls, staring you down like you had offended him somehow.

He harshly grips your hips, pulling them till your ass was practically hanging off the edge and drops down to his knees before you, spreading your legs to make room for himself.

All you can do is watch him, mouth parted open as he manhandles you however he pleases.

“And where did ya find somethin’ so pretty, hm?” he questions gruffly, once again rubbing his thumb over the wet patch forming on your panties.

You lean back on your arms, dropping your chin to watch his movements.

“I-uh, on a run the other day,” you huff, your words stuttering in excitement and anticipation.

Daryl only hums in response, as he dips his fingers and pulls them to the side, exposing you fully to him.

He barely gives you a second to register his actions before he’s dropping his head between your thighs, licking a long strip across your soaked cunt.

Your body jolts in surprised pleasure, your right hand flying to grip his soft brown locks as he laps at your clit.

Moaning loudly, your hips rock into him as he continues to lick and suck, lost in the taste of you.

“Oh god,” you whimper. Your arms are shaking behind you, ready to give out any second as you watch Daryl devour you like you were his last meal on earth.

He always looked so damn pretty, eyes closed and entrapped between your thighs.

He lifts his head, groaning at the sight of you and begins trailing kisses over your hips and down your inner thighs.

“Sweet girl,” he mumbles between kisses, “always thinkin’ bout me, huh?”

Your eyes roll back as you sink to your elbows, overwhelmed by the pleasure.

“Asked you a question, baby,” he nips at your skin causing a soft sting.

“Always Dar,” you pant, rolling your hips into him again. Your body was pulsing with lust and Daryl could sense how needy you were for him, like it had been weeks without his touch and honestly, it felt like that for him too.

He was about ready to cum in his jeans at the sight of you alone. Legs spread for him, pupils blown wide while you panted and moaned noisily just for him to hear.

Trailing his lips back up, he grips your waist stilling your movements, “What do ya need from me, hm?”

Your mind blanks for a moment, surprised by his uncharacteristic generosity. He was never this quick to give you what you need, always wanting to drag your pleasure for miles and miles until each pretty sound you could possibly make filled his ears.

“Come on now, or do you want me to decide for ya?” he asks again and you quickly shake your head, grabbing him by the shoulders and scooting back until you both were at the top of the bed.

As he lands above you, arms on each side of your head, you finally feel him and how hard he already was.

Rocking into him suggestively, “You know what I need,” you whisper.

Daryl groans from the friction, dropping his head to your shoulder and rutting into you further, chasing your movements.

You hadn’t seen him this worked up and responsive in a long time, and god were you loving it.

You pull his head up to face you and crash your lips onto his, hands finding his belt trying to discard him of it as fast as you possibly can. Daryl’s a panting mess above you, “Baby are you tryna kill me?” he groans when he feels your hands brush against his cock as you attempt to rid him of his jeans.

All you can do is whimper into his mouth as you struggle, and he kicks them down and off the bed.

He grabs you hands and pulls them above you, pinning them down as he begins to attack your neck with bites and kisses.

“Please Dar,” you whine, “need you now.”

“I know baby, I know,” he coos, attempting to soothe you as he draws your skirt and panties down your legs.

You begin tearing at his vest, needing to feel him closer to you, as close as he could possibly get. You feel him chuckle against you, “So eager for me, are ya?” as he lines himself up with your aching core, teasing you even more.

Taking him by surprise, you crush his hips into yours, filling yourself to the hilt all at once. You gasp from from the mixture of pain and pleasure, as Daryl all but whines into your mouth.

“Oh shit, fuck me,” he groans as he begins to slam into you at a bruising pace. You claw at his shoulders, rocking your hips to match his fast movements.

“Just love this cock, don’t ya?” he grunts, lifting one of your legs around his waist to drive into you even deeper.

You felt your brain cloud over, unable to think about anything other than him, drunker on his cock than you’d been from any night of drinking you’d partaken to in the past.

“Don’t go dumb on me now, darling. What did I ask ya?” he repeats, slowing his hips to sensual rolls, so it only stroked that cord in your stomach but kept it from building any further.

“God yes,” you moan, matching his slow but absolutely delicious pace.

Daryl is a groaning mess in your ears as your bodies dance a synchronized rhythm together, moulding into each other like pieces of a puzzle.

His hand snakes between you two, finding your clit easily and he begins to stroke you gently, allowing the fire in your abdomen to build rapidly.

“Oh Dar,” you moan and Daryl only picks up the pace, chasing after his own high to experience with you. Your clutching to him for dear life as he pounds into you quickly, grunting and groaning quiet praises about how good you feel.

You can tell he’s close when his hips start to stutter and shake, losing his rhythm slightly and you finally feel the cord break.

Your body floods with ecstasy, cunt pulsing around him causing his high to come crashing over him with you. Waves of pleasure wash over you as you both come down, his hips slowing to a stop.

He rests his forehead down to yours while the both of you struggle to catch your breath. You feel Daryl start to chuckle against you and your eyes lazily drift open, “What?” you mumble, running your fingers slowly down his back.

“Never was a big fan of surprises before, but ya can bet your ass I am now.”

[jenscx]

TEENAGE FEVER — bang jeemin x f!reader

three adjectives came to mind when you thought of bang jeemin; irritating, annoying and unfortunately pretty. only when a particular feline comes into your life, jeemin tags along barreling too.

TAGS — fluff, enemies to friends to lovers, very minor enemies, almost rivals but jeemin’s silly, suggestive at times, oblivious!yn

WORDCOUNT — 5.9k

if there was one word to describe bang jeemin, it would be insufferable. the girl could prance around the school, slapping every single teacher (that was an exaggeration) and she could still roam free afterwards. it was infuriating being her lab partner, having to clean up every other mistake while she dazed off. a comment sight to see, jeemin would constantly zone out, leaving you to do all the work in class. she was the worst possible thing to ever come into your life.

or so you thought. it had been a simple monday when bang jeemin showed up to chemistry with bruises on her legs and scratches lining her arms.

when she sat down, there was a visible wince flashing across her face. reluctantly, you whispered, “you okay?” jeemin glanced at you and didn’t bother to answer, her brows furrowed together.

fine, you thought, i don’t care.

only when the teacher had finally finished his demonstration and you were about to start the practical, jeemin turned to you, mouth agape but no words coming out before resorting to just quietly stare at you with a solemn expression.

tired of her staring, you asked, “can you help out for once?” jeemin puffed out her cheeks and nodded. the sight… was strange. the bang jeemin you knew would never do such a thing. mainly sticking to cold looks and annoyed glances at others, you had never caught a glance of a pout on her face. she was known for being a cold beauty. it was rare to catch the slightest of expression other than indifference on her face.

while you watched as jeemin picked up a vial filled with substance and a flask of sugar, your eyes widened when you noticed the label on the glass. potassium chlorate.

“jeemin!” you yelled, grabbing her wrist before she caused a mini explosion in the lab. startled, she dropped the flask onto the floor, alerting the teacher.

“is everything okay there? what happened?” mr lee asked, walking over to the both of you. you felt jeemin tense up and her pulse began to speed up. while you were thinking of explanations for your mistake, jeemin had crouched down onto the floor, picking up the glass pieces.

a whimper caught your attention and your eyes zoomed in on a small cut on your lab partner’s finger.

“don’t touch the glass,” you exclaimed, pulling jeemin up and examining her finger before turning to mr lee, jeemin’s wrist still gripped tightly in your hand, “i’m so sorry, mr lee! this was my mistake, i accidentally scared jeemin and she dropped the flask.”

“i didn’t…” jeemin tried to say but you shot a glare at her to keep quiet. mr lee sighed, exasperated. “be careful next time.” you nodded, almost cutting off jeemin’s blood circulation with how tight your grasp was.

mr lee handed you a dustpan and you kneeled down to sweep up the mess. already annoyed, jeemin decides to add fuel to the fire, whispering quietly in your ear, “why did you do that?”

you shot her an incredulous glare, “i stopped you from exploding the lab, dumbass.”

jeemin huffs. you finish sweeping up the glass shards and the contents previously inside the test tube. your lab partner does nothing more but send you brooding gazes. you’re tempted to strangle her. after dumping the mess away, you spot jeemin wincing at the cut left behind. a trickle of blood slowly drips into the sink. her face turns pales as she watches it flow.

“stay still,” you mutter, pulling out a bandaid from your pocket and gently wrapping it around jeemin’s finger. the girl only stares, not pulling away.

“you must be clumsy,” you remark, “did you fall down the stairs or something?” jeemin scoffs, “of course not.”

you let go of her finger.

“why the hell did you show up like you got into a fight? the fuck could you be fighting? the demons in your head?” you gesture at the cuts littered across her skin.

jeemin groans, throwing her head into her hands, “i’m not going to talk about it! shut up.”

“i’m just trying to help,” you raise your hands up. jeemin scowls at you, but it slowly disappears as she examines the bandaid you had wrapped around her finger.

“hello kitty..?” she mutters, “are you six?”

you glare at her. so what if you liked hello kitty? the cat was cute! and you love cats! jeemin was just being mean for no reason. you couldn’t understand how the girl had suitors of both genders lining up for her hand. she was literally a satan incarnate.

“i’m not hearing that from someone who has the coordination of a baby giraffe,” you retorted back. your lab partner frowns and huffs as she turns away from you. your eyes are drawn to the pout on her face. immediate alarm bells ring in your head when your first thought was how cute it was.

“stop sulking and help me out,” you instruct, pouring liquid and chemicals from one test tube to another. jeemin, finally, looks up from her notebook, and lends you a hand. her compliance led you two to finishing early, even after the incident from before. you wouldn’t say you were a genius, just better than average at chemistry. and maybe jeemin was slightly alright. you had achieved the correct results from the test and mr lee even praised you.

finally having a moment of peace, you sigh, contented, sitting down on the stool. jeemin, however, decides to ruin it by prodding you with her bandaged finger.

after being the victim of jeemin’s poking for several moments, you turn to her, eyes blazing with fury.

“what?” you hiss.

jeemin cowers slightly. you soften up, not expecting the girl to back off. a second passes as jeemin gulps.

“thank you, for uhm,” her cheeks turn red, “taking the blame when it was my fault. and for the bandaid, even if it’s lame and you should grow up.”

the burden forced onto your shoulders lessen. your posture relaxes.

“it’s whatever,” you say, not wanting jeemin to see how her soft tone affects you. could you really stay mad at the girl when she’s looking at you with her big, round, doe eyes? no, of course you couldn’t.

seeing her downcasted eyes after your cold reply, you can’t help yourself from adding on, “thank you for apologising.”

jeemin’s eyes flicker back up, nodding meekly. a smile tugs at your lips.

you don’t talk to her for the rest of the period.

and you don’t notice the lingering looks she sends you either.

“—i heard jiyoon unnie and jungeun finally made up,” saebi rambles. you barely hear a word, while sarang converses with her enthusiastically. you’re more focused on the basket of fries on the table.

“what were they even fighting about again?” you ask.

“i think it was something stupid,” saebi straightens up, “but wait, you know the rumours about jeemin unnie secretly being in a gang?”

you’ve heard of it. they were the most baseless rumours ever. the jeemin you knew grows faint at the sight of blood. there was no way she could be in a gang. unless she was a very good actor, or stupid. probably the latter. the imagination of her in a gang was lunacy.

“i wanna be friends with jeemin,” sarang sighs dreamily, “y/n’s literally partners with her and you haven’t introduced us before!”

saebi nods, “jeemin unnie seems really cool.”

your perception of jeemin can’t be anymore different from your friends. jeemin was literally the bane of your existence. screw her and her good-looking face that always shot daggers at you. everyone that ever liked her was blind.

“she isn’t,” you blurt out, “she’s a loser.”

saebi and sarang only shrug your hostility off.

“you always say that,” the tallest frowns, “apparently koko saw jeemin in a dark alleyway and she was holding a mysterious bag. also, she always has those cuts and bruises!”

you smack saebi’s head, guffawing, “you trust koko?”

the girl whines and attempts to hit you back, but her attempts go futile as sarang rants about her next class. as your two friends complain, you think about saebi’s observation. even in chemistry today, she showed up with multiple scratches. was that from fighting someone? no way, you could exhale and jeemin would fall over. that girl did not stand a chance against anyone, despite her domineering height. she was like a paper doll, you think.

it’s only when you get up from the table you feel a warm splash of liquid trickling down your shirt.

“oh shit, sorry dude,” a guy, you’re not sure who he is, backs up, his eyes widening as your white shirt almost turns sheer and translucent. your two friends, dumb and dumber, merely stay rooted to the ground, mouths agape in shock. you let out a groan, hastily trying to absorb the liquid with some tissue paper that saebi had thrown at you.

sarang, who’s laughing at your misfortune, says, “at least it’s just water.” you glare at her, and then the boy in front of you.

“I’m really sorry,” he offers a lame apology. you nod, tired and frustrated. you didn’t have a change of clothes and the outline of your bra was becoming increasingly visible.

brushing past the boy who was still staring, you head towards the washroom swiftly in long strides. finally reaching the washroom, you stare at your reflection in the mirror before sighing and trying to use paper towels to rid the water. maybe if you soaked most of it out, the rest would just evaporate and dry naturally. your hands dab at the fabric repeatedly, but to no avail.

whilst engrossed, you don’t notice the washroom door opening.

“oh,” you roll your eyes internally, instantly recognising the voice.

“what?” you hiss at the girl. jeemin stands at the door, her eyebrows furrowed as she gazes intensely at your shirt. her eyes zero in on a particular spot.

your cheeks redden and the urge to throw a chair at her stupid face shoots up.

“stop staring at me, pervert!”

“i-i’m not! don’t accuse me of such things!” jeemin splutters, her eyes immediately snapping back up to meet yours.

“you were literally looking at my bra, you pervert,” you cover your chest with your hand.

the taller girl shakes her head vehemently, “it was just the first thing i saw! that’s not my fault.”

her flippant attitude only makes your mood worse. despite her previous remarks, her next words are full of worry and concern, “do… do you need another shirt?”

you have two choices. either walk around with a transparent shirt and be humiliated by everyone’s gaze, or take jeemin’s shirt and be humiliated by her only. well, your disdain for the girl can only go so far.

“give me your shirt,” you state through gritted teeth.

jeemin nods and hurries out quickly. you’re left wondering what have you done wrong in your life to deserve such an unfortunate sequence of events to happen. you send a text to your friends, telling them that you were just getting another shirt and that everything’s fine. they don’t even reply. your top was clinging to you uncomfortably now. how much water was in that cup? whatever, you just hope jeemin comes back soon.

a sudden thought hits you.

what if jeemin was pranking you and she wasn’t coming back? oh my god, it would be such a jeemin thing to do—

the door swings open again.

jeemin holds out a folded sweater.

“it’s not really a shirt…”

you snatch it from her, “whatever, thanks.”

she sends you an awkward smile that morphs into a grimace as you wriggle your arms through your own shirt.

“wait—”

you throw your wet shirt onto the sink, leaving you in just your bra before slipping on jeemin’s sweater. the taller girl lets out a sound akin to a muffled gargle of words. sending a curious look at jeemin, your face flushes as you realise what she has witnessed.

in your haste to rid yourself of the uncomfortable feeling, you had forgotten the fact that jeemin was still very real and standing there. and that she had seen you in your undergarments.

“don’t you dare say anything,” you warn, pointing an accusing finger at jeemin, who merely cowers and nods meekly. unable to stand the shy gaze she directs at you, your feet carry you out of the washroom, hand gripping onto your shirt and the other adjusting the neckline of her sweater. it was warm and soft (and maybe it smelt like the girl left behind in the washroom).

you walk towards your locker, some curious looks lingering on you. maybe they had seen what happened in the cafeteria. you finally spot your two friends at your locker. sarang’s eyes light up in amusement at the new piece of clothing article adorned on your body.

“hey,” she says teasingly, “what were you just saying about jeemin?”

saebi laughs, almost choking on her own saliva as sarang spins you around, reading the words embroidered on the back of the sweater loudly, “i-land dance, bang jeemin.”

your head snaps behind, neck craning desperately trying to catch a look of the wording. no wonder everyone was looking at you!

“are you dating her or something?” sarang continues. you feel an increasing urge to rip out your hair. a hazy vision of jeemin’s smug smile emerges in your mind. damn, she must have known it displayed her name so visibly. what the hell was she thinking?

“no i’m not and shut up!” you snap, irritation seeping into your words. your friends don’t heed your words and continue making sly remarks about the sweater hanging off your shoulders. the previous feelings of warmth and comfort disappear and instead return as a heavy burden that you carry around for the rest of the day. every lesson, you can feel the burning stares of your peers, eyeing the ginormous words on your back. most were curious, probably wondering about your relationship with the dancer, but a minority were envious, no doubt the long line of people courting jeemin.

you throw your head into your hands, feeling a brewing headache caused by jeemin. unfortunately for you, chemistry wasn’t the only period you spent with the bane of your existence.

a familiar finger pokes your side.

you resist the impulse to actually throw a chair at jeemin.

for some god forsaken reason, somehow, in every class you shared with the girl, she was seated very closely to you. maybe you really had done something wrong in your past life and this was god’s way of tormenting you. it is a good punishment though, forcing you to constantly be in the close proximity of a migraine personified.

your hand clenches your pen. there’s a strong desire to stab jeemin with it (you were exaggerating, you wouldn’t go that far).

“what do you want?” you ask, massaging your temple.

jeemin’s eyes dart away and a soft but strained, “I’m sorry,” comes out of her lips.

“for?”

“mai told me everyone was staring at you today, uhm, because of the sweater…”

you sigh, shaking your head, “whatever.”

jeemin falls silent at your reply. you bask in the peace for a while before she tosses a small object onto your table. you eye it inquisitively. a tiny lollipop shaped into a heart with a piece of paper tied around it with a rubber band. you stare at jeemin curiously as her face heats up.

untying it, you read the words, ‘i heard you like sweet things.’ the neat handwriting written carefully with precision makes warmth bubble slowly in your stomach. yet, unlike previous times, it wasn’t hot with anger or annoyance, but something akin to affinity and endearment.

the bell rings and jeemin is staring at you expectantly.

you nod at her apology and unwrap the sweet treat, eagerly putting it in your mouth. it’s strawberry. you wonder how jeemin knows. the girl packs up slowly, her gaze flickering to watch you every so often. you do the opposite, keeping your eyes steadily focused on shoving your pencil case into your bag.

taking one last look at jeemin, you pull the lollipop out of your mouth and mutter, “see you tomorrow.”

you don’t stay long enough to watch her face light up with surprise.

an unfortunate part of not partaking in any sports extracurriculars was that you had to take the initiative in staying fit. there wasn’t any training forcing you to run laps or do burpees, hence the reason you were putting on running shoes at six in the morning. a regretful consequence of not joining any sports back in your first year but at least you didn’t have to run rounds around the field every week. at most, you went on a run in particularly good moods. and perhaps the lingering taste of that sweet strawberry flavour boosts your mood enough to endure a sweaty morning run.

you had to clear your mind anyway from thoughts that gravitate around the tall dancer. since when did you find her luscious black hair and luminous skin so attractive? and when have you ever felt something else for her other than murderous intent?

someone must be performing black magic on you because there was no way in hell you could develop any form of attraction for bang jeemin.

taking the same route you do every time, you appreciate the greenery and serene nature that surrounded your neighbourhood. you felt at peace with every metre you ran. well, if peace meant the lingering thought of jeemin.

your eyes trail over the various shades of green splattered around, lips twitching upwards every time you spot a puppy being walked. despite your distaste for any physical activity, running has become sort of a meditation for you. koko had mentioned it offhandedly, saying that dancing provided getaway time from the daily stressors in her life. you wonder if jeemin feels the same way.

ugh, you really couldn’t go a second without thinking about her.

inching closer to the bakery that you would always get your breakfast from, your ears perk up at the sudden meows that penetrate the quiet peace. looking around hastily, you locate the sound coming from a dark alleyway right in between the bakery and another shop.

induced with concern (and fear, what if you got kidnapped? you’ve seen kidnappers lure people with children before, who’s to say they haven’t done it with animals?), you peek around the corner warily. a figure, hunched over, covers the source of the sound. was this person doing something to the cat?

“what are you doing—?”

the person jolts up and falls down from their crouching position. you splutter with laughter accidentally. on the ground, fallen, you get a good look at the person’s face.

“bang jeemin,” you ask in surprise, “what are you doing here?”

the stranger, or jeemin, merely stares at you in shock, her big round eyes widened as she tightens her grip on a heavy bag of cat food.

“uh, i’m feeding…” jeemin gestures to the cat who’s eagerly chewing on its kibble, “meowie. i’m not allowed to bring him home.”

meowie? what type of name was meowie?

all danger signs of getting too close to jeemin fly out your head the moment you lay eyes on the cute cat. a tiny bombay cat. what a cutie!

“meowie? you couldn’t come up with a better name?” you ask, gently stroking the top of his head, just behind his ears. jeemin’s own ears flush red, “he just meows a lot! i couldn’t think of any other names.”

“how long have you been feeding him?”

jeemin’s gaze looks away, a face full of contemplation, “maybe… for two months?”

you’re instantly reminded of something saebi had said, or more so koko. jeemin, in a dark alleyway, holding up a mysterious bag. you laugh internally at the absurdity of it all. of course the girl couldn’t have been in a gang, she was just feeding a cat. you couldn’t believe how stupid people were to think that this loser could possibly be in a gang.

“sometimes when it’s raining and there’s thunder, i can’t visit meowie and i think he gets scared,” jeemin mutters, setting down the bag of cat food, “and what if he gets bullied by some kids or other big cats?” it’s such a stupid thought but you sense the worry in her words.

her eyes full of sadness and concern drives an unprompted stake into your heart. when she looks at you, it’s the pouting of her lips that causes the dam to collapse.

“i can bring meowie home,” you cringe at your own words, full of confidence, “he’ll be safe with me.”

jeemin’s entire face lights up and she beams at you happily, “really?! oh my gosh, that would be awesome!” your first thought fucks up your entire world.

you would do anything to have jeemin looking at you like that.

when did you associate bang jeemin with euphoria instead of hatred?

you didn’t have time to figure that out now. there was a literal cat purring into your palm, snuggling the extra warmth. jeemin is still brimming with delight, humming contentedly as she watches you interact with meowie. in your head, a realisation comes to mind, that spending time with jeemin wasn’t so bad after all.

over the next few days, the girl had accompanied you to get necessities for finn, his new name because meowie just wasn’t cutting it. you bought his bed, more food, some toys.

(“does he really need that many options to choose from? he’s a cat, jeemin,” you ask, pointing at the stack of wet food she had placed in the basket.

“our son needs to make his own choices!” you had briefly choked on your saliva when she referred to you two as ‘our’.)

jeemin had also whined about getting an outfit for him. hence the reason why he was currently dressed up in a shark costume, padding around the house. she had constantly spent her afternoons at your house, playing with finn and spending time with the cat. apparently, she wasn’t allowed to bring any pets home, despite her apparent love for dogs. you had engaged in a heavy debate about dogs or cats but ended up conceding when she brought up finn.

with more time spent at your house, it also held the implication of spending time with you. jeemin had become such an integrated part of your life that honestly, you really couldn’t imagine not seeing her every day. even in school, when you didn’t have the same classes and you could only catch a glimpse of her in the hallways, you would exchange shy smiles and waves, unbeknownst to your two nosy friends who were more engrossed in other things.

saebi had commented on your sudden glow, unfortunately, asking if you were dating anyone. sarang then shut down her question instantly, stating that a loser like you won’t be able to find a partner so quickly. maybe she was right.

you had also introduced jeemin to your parents, as per their wishes of wanting to meet the co-parent of finn. obviously, they loved her. your mum had whispered to you after jeemin left, saying she would love her as a daughter-in-law. you could only gape after her disappearing figure.

finn’s meows bring you out of your reveire. jeemin’s gleeful laughter combined with the domestic feel of the entire situation had launched you into fucking outer space. this whole feeling was unknown.

“y/n, isn’t he so cute?” jeemin giggles, continuing to snap a multitude of photos of finn, who was staring at his owner very indifferently.

you nod, not wanting to risk your voice cracking.

“he’s adorable! finn, come here!” the girl grabs the cat, hugging him closely. your eyes are drawn to her delighted face as she sighs happily.

a moment passes as you just watch jeemin cuddle with finn. she then turns to you, a pleased look on her face as she exclaims, “he looks kind of like you, don’t you think?”

your first instinct is to defend yourself. finn was a stupid cat who did stupid things, like constantly tripping over his toys despite being a cat, which last time you checked, is meant to be agile. is she insinuating that you looked stupid?

“you look like a dog,” you retorted instead, “maybe even a bear, but like a silly bear.”

jeemin scoffs, smacking you on the shoulder after letting finn roam free. “i do not look like a bear,” she says indignantly.

“ouch, you hit me really hard,” you whine, “it hurts, jeemin.” the girl actually looks a bit regretful and worried as she stares at your sore shoulder.

“does it really?” she asks, inching closer to check your bare shoulder. your shirt was slipping off, exposing your collarbone. her hand lifts to press against the redness, caressing it softly, “oh, it’s actually turning red!”

your face turns as red as your shoulder. you watch as her eyelashes batter and flutter, analysing your skin. her fingertips trail from where your neck meets your shoulder to the top of your arm.

“bang jeemin, are you a pervert?!” you shriek, pulling up your shirt and pushing jeemin’s hand away, “why do you keep feeling me up?”

“that isn’t…!” jeemin yells, “i’m not doing that! i was just worried! can i not be worried for my friend?!”

you’re unable to control your laughter at jeemin’s flabbergasted expression, aghast with indignation as she helplessly explains herself.

“so we’re friends now?” you ask, raising an eyebrow and nudging her with your ‘hurt’ shoulder.

jeemin flushes before rolling her eyes. yet, she says softly, “i’ve always wanted to be friends with you.”

it hits you then, that jeemin, unassuming and awkward, could only interact with you through glares and hesitant movements. her zoning out during class was probably her thinking of ways to talk to you, if the way she gaped at you was any indication. you had taken it as a sign of disdain and dislike. it couldn’t be further from the truth.

“really?” you tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. jeemin’s eyes follow the movement before she nods bashfully. smiling, you mutter under your breath, “that’s cute.”

jeemin returns a smile as finn meows at you.

“I’m happy we’re friends now,” she suddenly admits, “i’m happy we can just talk freely and take care of finn together.”

“i’m happy too,” you grin playfully, “i thought you were a prick.” jeemin, thankfully, doesn’t seem too affected by your words, only shaking her head in faux disappointment, “i wanted to be your friend and you call me a prick?”

“i mean, you didn’t really help much during chemistry,” you offer gingerly, afraid to actually anger the girl.

jeemin groans, flopping onto her back on the floor as finn claws at her arms, “i was staring at you but you always looked so upset and pissed!”

that’s true. even your friends had commented on your resting face.

“that’s not my fault if you don’t like my face.”

the girl frowns, staring at you, “i do like your face.”

wait, what?

“what about the sweater, huh?” you choose to ignore her, pointing an accusing finger at the girl, “giving me your dance team’s sweater with your name on it! are you searching for trouble?”

jeemin’s hair covers her face partly, but even the redness of her ears and cheeks peek through the dark curtains as she murmurs out, “you looked good in the sweater— my sweater.”

a second passes.

“uh, great?” you blurt out. as soon as the word had left your mouth, you wished desperately for god to smite you down. the unamused look on jeemin’s face doesn’t help to ease the awkwardness either. what a thing to say to a compliment! not even a thank you.

a heavy tension falls and you’re left fiddling with your hands as jeemin slows her pats on finn, who ironically, seems to have a smile on his tiny face.

“uh—” you attempt to defuse the tension but jeemin beats you to it, interrupting, “i think i got to go, it’s kind of late.”

you nod, unable to even utter a single word. your mouth just opens and closes uselessly as you watch jeemin pack her things up and leave a lingering kiss on finn’s furry forehead.

silently, you wish she had done the same to you.

“see you soon, y/n,” jeemin smiles, smaller than before but still retaining her natural cuteness. your heart aches at every metre she steps away. why were you so stupid and reckless with your words? jeemin had been extremely sincere but all you could say was ‘great’?

finn’s tiny teeth nibble into your skin as you bemoan about your stupidity. damn, you really should apologise.

despite your previous wishes of keeping your blooming friendship (and feelings) with jeemin a secret, it was getting harder and harder to keep your friends in the dark. but the look of utter shock and glee on their faces make you slightly regret your decision in revealing it to them.

saebi and sarang had been extremely unhelpful in constructing an appropriate apology. with sarang’s useless quips of serenading jeemin, (“you do know i can’t sing right?” you had said. sarang shakes her head, convicted, “it’s the thought that counts!”) and saebi’s equally ineffectual drafts of apology letters that could pass as love letters, (“saebi, i am not telling jeemin that our souls are entwined and when i inhale her, my body quivers with bliss,” you crushed the offending paper, disgusted. the younger girl only rolled her eyes and shouted, “it’s romantic!”), you had basically no idea how to apologise.

maybe you should find the wisest girl you know. eyes perking up at the sight of mai walking past, you quickly grasp the opportunity to grab ahold of her. unfortunately, and maybe to your friends’ amusement, jeemin was right beside mai. jeemin sends you a curious look but you hastily explain, “i need to talk to mai unnie, just for a minute!”

jeemin slowly nods, as if understanding (and like a cat!). mai raises an eyebrow at you, a gentle and encouraging tone as she asks, “is everything okay?”

you gulp, “i need your help.”

the faint snickers of saebi and sarang reach your ears. you send them the most threatening glare possible, but you probably just look like a fool.

“with what exactly?”

you eye jeemin and drag mai to a corner as your two idiot friends start chatting jeemin up in their own quirky ways.

“i kind of messed up and i’m pretty sure jeemin’s upset with me, but i really need to know what’s the best way to apologise to someone,” you exhale.

mai nods, a contemplative look as she offers, “i think jeemin doesn’t need a grand apology or gifts. she’s not one to hold grudges and as long as it’s sincere and truthful, i think that she would appreciate it regardless.”

it fits her. a pure and endearing person like jeemin would want a simple apology. it’s understandable. you feel immense guilt brewing when you remember how hard it was for jeemin to make friends at the start of the year. she was a transferee from another school and if not for some mutual friends, perhaps she would have ended up a loner.

“thank you, unnie,” you say with all the genuineness in the world. mai pats your shoulder and whispers, “good luck.”

you head back with mai, more confident this time. jeemin was giggling at whatever saebi and sarang were talking about. you hope that they haven’t said anything about you. god, that would be the worst. maybe sarang would even pull up that photo of you from middle school—

“oh hey, y/n! we were just talking about you!” saebi grins. you clench your fists by your side, resisting the urge to smack her. forcing a faux smile, you ask through gritted teeth, “oh really?”

turning to jeemin, she fails to stifle a smile and that’s when you know they’ve shown her the unforgettable photo of you.

“whatever, jeemin come here,” you roll your eyes, “i want to talk to you.”

the girl mentioned points to herself, “me?”

“is there another jeemin here?” you ask sarcastically. sarang nods, “i’m ryu jeemin.”

“shut up, sarang. and come here,” pulling jeemin away from your nosy friends, you bring her out of the hallway and into an empty classroom. luckily, most of the students had left already and you weren’t competing with the chatter from the crowd of people outside.

jeemin sat comfortably on a table, leaning back with her hands behind her.

“what’s up?” she asks, you can’t help but notice the hint of wariness in her tone.

taking a deep breath, you start, “i’m sorry for the way i reacted to your words the other day. i don’t know if it was your intention to like, flirt with me for fun or you actually have some form of feelings but i reacted strangely and poorly.”

“it’s okay—”

you place a hand gently on hers, “i just want to ask you something.”

“uh, go for it?”

“do you like me?”

jeemin withdraws her hand almost instantly, as if burnt and scorched, “what?!”

you frown, “you don’t have to react like that.”

“no— oh my god,” her voice is muffled by her face being buried in her hands, “i mean like, i didn’t know i was being that obvious!”

“oh. well, that’s good.”

jeemin lifts her reddened face up, staring at you with hope and adoration (how have you never seen this before?), “really?”

“yeah, would be really awkward if you didn’t like me when i like you.”

“you like me?” she repeats.

you nod, “yeah. i don’t know how or when it started but yeah. i just know that i want to stay by your side and be the one who makes you smile.”

it’s easy and refreshing to admit, because it’s true. almost possessive, you wanted to be the only one who got to have jeemin; who could hear her laughter, witness her beautiful smile and was allowed to hug and kiss her with love.

“that’s,” jeemin croaks out, “good.”

you tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, “yeah?”

she hums in agreement.

“i liked wearing your sweater, by the way. and i like your face too.”

“i can give my sweater to you and i like your hello kitty bandages,” jeemin says, a loopy smile engraved on her face. you store the memory of her smile into your brain.

“i would like that. do you want me to wear it every day? let people know i’m yours?” you ask teasingly. the girl actually seems to think before nodding firmly.

jeemin grins, her pearly white teeth showing, “that would be nice.”

“wow, and what should you do in return?”

“i’ll tattoo your name on myself,” she jokes as she hops off the desk, “imagine my forehead saying ‘my girlfriend is y/n’.”

you shove at her lightly, “i’m your girlfriend?”

jeemin’s arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer and into her embrace, “yes, no backing out now.”

you throw your arms over her shoulders, giggling, “i’m fine with that.”

“that's great ‘cause i’ve liked you ever since you put on that lab coat,” your girlfriend (girlfriend!!) admits.

basking in the afternoon glow and warmth of jeemin, your heart feels contentedly full with affection and adoration for the girl. it only felt right to be in her arms.

you couldn’t believe you were saying this, but jeemin was the best thing to come into your life. thank god for finn.

[seasidefallenangel]

“what was your family like?”

the question causes dazai to freeze in his tracks, in the middle of grabbing a bag of chips from your cabinet. you’d never once asked something like this, anything about his past life at all. he was immensely grateful for the fact you’d let him reveal parts of himself over time at his own pace, leading to the comfortable spot in your current relationship. 

until this moment, that is.

with a nervous laugh, he calls back out to you, “why are you asking, hm? do you plan to offer them a dowry in exchange for my hand in marriage?”

deflecting an undesirable situation was a specialty of his in most cases - those of which generally didn’t involve you. unfortunately for him, you had become rather proficient in the vernacular and signs of dazai-ese, and can easily tell what he’s trying to do. even so, nothing about your tone nor body language indicated anything forceful ; rather, it was similar to as if you had questioned him about dinner plans or that one faulty fire hydrant near your house.

“obviously not, dumbass,” you snorted, scrolling on your phone for a bit before finishing the thought, “i was just curious. neither of us ever talk about it.” those words struck yet another horrible truth in dazai’s mind - that despite how much he desired as such, he did not know every last detail about you, every thought that ran through your head, every movement you would make before your body reacted. he was well aware he had never heard about your family from your own mouth, but the reason as to why hadn’t necessarily crossed his mind until this moment. and well, if he were to ask you the same but refuse to answer the question you originally asked, he’d seem a bit too hypocritical.

he finds his way back into the living room where you lay on the couch. you pay him no mind as he sits across from you, gazing at your figure and the simplicity of what you two have shared. it was almost too natural - the progression of acquaintances to friends to whatever exactly was going on now. the word “boyfriend” had never spilled from your mouth in reference to him, but what else would you call someone that you essentially live and share a bed with every night for months on end? that you get a good morning kiss from when you wake up and give a goodnight kiss to before drifting off? were all the outings you had classified as dates, or just two very close friends hanging out constantly?

dazai disliked not having answers, but he hated the idea of asking you for them even more.

as he watches you relax on the couch, dazai comes to the conclusion that he probably hated you as a whole in some alternate life ; even in this one, had you been unlucky enough to know him 5 years prior. you were so polarizing in the sense that you accepted everything as it came, never tried to fight the reality that had been thrust upon you. whereas dazai had struggled to understand his own humanity, or lack-there-of, you embraced it and never bothered to deny what was truly in front of you. to say he was jealous of you sounded a bit childish in his eyes, but there was certainly something about you he wanted to take and give to himself.

“i’m all ears, my love. tell me about the people who graced me with such an angel as yourself!” he responds in hopes that you’ll give in and let him avoid revealing the painstaking truth once more.

you quirk up an eyebrow with a sardonic smile and shake your head, resting back on the arm of the couch. “i’ll tell you once you tell me, deal?”

… dazai supposes he’ll have to live in ignorance about your family for the time being.

[serial-unaliver]

while "kids these days with their technology" is a complaint for every recent generation (for my moms it was TV, for mine it was video games) I think the focus on instant gratification in forms of short videos is actually not good for kids' brains lol. like i'm not a child but I do go on tiktok regularly and now I find myself skipping through like ... 2 minute long videos because i'm used to 15-30 seconds. I can't imagine the impact this has on someone still in early stages of mental development when my 25 year old brain got sucked into it lmao.

also not to be a commie but I do feel this ties into capitalism, and I don't just mean corporations making these apps, I mean a lot of parents straight up don't have time for parenting when work and financial issues are mixed in--and while this is an issue that's always existed, modern technology makes it much easier to distract and calm young children when you're busy.

just my observations anyway, also keep in mind gen z includes people in their 20s so your dumbass "well I bet you also had an ipad when you were younger" comments do not apply to people who were kids BEFORE THE IPAD WAS INVENTED 💀 (and when these technologies came out they were more expensive and hard to come across so it still wasn't a typical thing)

[wanderingxiao]

Thirst post~ Being married to Scaramouche and becoming super needy while he's at work. Will he come home or nah?

Suggestive Themes, 18+ only plz~ 💜

✨Scaramouche’s Sexting Experience✨

“Sir? Are you okay?” The senior manager of the Fatui computer company was staring intently at his personal phone, his gaze fixated and intense in its contents. His mind was elsewhere, not hearing one of his employees asking him a question. The dark lavender eyes of senior manager Scaramouche were glazed over and immensely intense. His pupils blew out in lust seeing the suggestive string of texts he had gotten from his sexy wife, you. 

Wife💀: Scara baby! I miss you <3 I missed you in bed this morning. I was looking forward to tell you aaaalllllll about my wet dream about you ;)

He texted back anxiously, his thumbs flicking across his screen as he typed out his calculated reply to your lewd words. He could already feel a certain tightness growing in his neatly pressed slacks. A noticeable clench came to his jaw, making the employee think that his manager was enraged at whatever he was looking at on his phone. In truth, he was trying to hold back a low groan of anticipation. 

ScaraBae💜: You know I have to work, dumbass. Why don’t you give me a show and I might come home early to reenact your dream yeah? 

Wife💀: Mmm, I think I can do that 💜

“Sir-“ 

“What.” He snapped aggressively, reluctantly pulling his dark lavender eyes off of the screen in front of him. “T-The e-expense reports.” The employee sticks a shaky hand out to him with papers in his hand. A rumble came from his phone, and he quickly looked back, eyes fixating on the notification that you had sent him an image. “Yeah, yeah, give them to Childe, I’m busy.” With that, the senior manager walks away to his office quickly, leaving the poor nervous employee standing there with the expense reports. Once he arrived, he sat at his desk and started to fiddle with his belt buckle with one hand while the other typed in his passcode, which so happened to be the date you both got married. His dark lavender eyes narrowed in hunger seeing you sprawled back on your shared bed, your thin shirt showing your erect nipples. 

Wife💀: Is this good enough for you baby? Or do you want more? ;) 💜

A low growl left his throat at your snarky reply, his thumb sliding quickly across his screen in quick precise motions to reply while his other hand finally got the buckle of his belt undone. Your teasing was going to be the death of him. 

ScaraBae💜: I’m getting a bit bored with this image. Show me something more. 

His breathing had increased slightly, his teeth catching his bottom lip to chew on it in anticipation waiting for another image. Once you sent it to him, a low and deep groan rumbled from his chest. You had sent a picture of your shirt raised up to your neck, lovely teeth holding the fabric up while your breasts lay on full display for him. One of your hands was up against one of your boobs, pinching the hardened bud between your nimble fingers. His eyes caught sight of your wedding ring snuggly around your ring finger, and he couldn’t help but get harder at the simple knowledge that you were his, permanently. 

Wife💀: Is this more acceptable for you, Master? 

God he could just hear you calling him that as he fucked your sensitive cunt into the mattress of your bed, never relenting until he had you creaming on his cock over and over again. 

ScaraBae💜: Hmm. Better. What else you got? Slut. 

His fingers gripped the zipper of his pants, pulling slowly while the sound echoed in his ears. The palm of his slender yet rough hand slid over his painfully hard erection, putting pressure against the shaft before releasing a frustrated sigh. He wanted to see you now. He needed you, now. Your next reply was a video. His eyes widened in surprise before they became heavily lidded by his overwhelming desire. His thumb pressed the little play button and the first thing he heard was a call of his name, his real name. 

“Kunikuzushi… please come home.” Your breath was raspy and laced with ecstasy. The phone was positioned to see your desperate expression. A small saliva stain blemished your thin shirt, drool escaping the side of your lips. Your fingers were playing with your nipples, rolling and pinching the buds between your fingers before your hand slid lower. “Please come home, baby…” He watched with sharp eyes as your hand entered your silky panties, knuckles announcing the position of your fingers. A grotesquely lewd squelch came from his phone, following closely by a hushed moan as your eyes scrunched in pleasure. “Kunikuzushi…” 

ScaraBae💜: Take it all off. 

He set his phone down for a moment, his eyes never leaving the screen as he impatiently waited for your next sultry video. Both his hands were fumbling with pushing his pants down and slipping his hardened length out of the confines of his boxers. A slow yet loose languid stroke of his cock sent shivers down his spine. He picked up his phone and watched with baited breath as your next video came through, the image before he pressed play already making his grip tighten, his hand moving up and down at a slow pace as he clicked play with his free hand. 

“Hmm, Kuni! P-Please… look at me. Look h-how needy, hah, I am for you.” God how he loved the way your lewd eyes stared directly into the camera the entire time you spoke to him. Your fingers were moving steadily inside your core, sinfully wet noises coming from the speakers of Scaramouche’s phone. “Kuni, I want y-you inside me, hah… I want your d-dick inside me… s-stretching me- Hmm! -out so d-deep! Please, Kuni…” Oh how you wish you could see the darkness in his eyes as you call his name like that. His hand gripped at the base of his cock, sliding it up to squeeze against the tip, pre-cum leaking from the raging redness of the head of his length. The video unfortunately ended, much to his dismay. Instead of asking for another… 

He video called you. 

He relished in the way you answered the call, out of breath with a lewd expression on your face. You couldn't even call his name out properly before he aggressively asserted his dominance over you with a cold and domineering tone. "Shut that whore mouth up, I didn't give you permission to speak so freely to me. All I wanna hear are your moans for more." His forehead began to glisten with sweat, his indigo eyes tracing the voluptuous curves of your body sprawled out and succumbed to pleasure with only the thought of him in your mind. "Show me. Show me that pretty pussy."

"Hmm, Kuni-!" Your hands were shaky, the images on Scaramouche's screen blurred as you struggled to keep your hands steady. As the phone lowered between your legs, Scaramouche couldn't help but lick his lips, his mouth salivating at the sight of your glistening folds covered in your arousal, fingers knuckle deep as you imagined him touching you. "Spread those pretty lips and let me see your slutty hole." He demanded next, his hand moving more furiously against his cock, squeezing against his tip making his hands slippery with his pre-cum. "Beg me. Beg me to come home and fuck you."

"Kuni please-! I-Im so desperate for you it hurts!" Your pretty fingers parted your lower lips, gorgeous pink filling Scaramouche's vision as he groaned in bliss seeing your hole clenching around nothing, practically calling him to come fill you full until your conformed to his shape alone. "I want you inside me, filling me up, making me yours over and over again. I want be your good girl, please you so good." He chuckled darkly, sneering at your cute whines and whimpers for his thick cock. "Yeah? Then fuck yourself on your fingers, and don't you dare cum."

He angled his phone down to his hand jerking at his cock. His wedding band gleamed against his finger, speaking in the dim light breaking through the shades. Scaramouche leaned over, his face near his phone while heated pants left his mouth, a dry laugh echoing on your end. "So pathetic. Needing me w-while I'm at work. Anyone could've f-fucking seen those pictures if I wasn't careful. You wanted to get found out d-didnt you? Hah, so I would come home and fuck you raw and dumb. Hngh, fuck!"

Your fingers had long been stuffed back inside your need hole, two fingers squelching in and out with slick arousal slowly beginning to drip onto your thighs and stain the bed sheets. Scaramouche was getting close, balls tight and heavy, his breathing becoming more erratic with low growls and grunts as he neared his release. Your lovely moans of bliss accompanied by your pleas of his name and your overwhelming desire made his head spin. Accented by the wet noises from your sexes he couldn't hold himself back anymore.

With a husky groan and a flurry of strained curses, his grabbed a napkin on his desk and covered his cock, cumming into the napkin with heavy pants, his hand loosely and slowly helping him ride out his high. His eyes flickered up to his screen once more, seeing the phone forgotten on the bed with your fingers desperately trying to reach your own release. A dry laugh resonated from his chest, his hands wackily fumbling to clean himself up and get the fuck outta there.

"Heh, can't even get yourself off without me there to stuff you full? Seems like you need some help darling. What kind of husband would I be if I don't fulfill my wife's needs? I promise ill make you cum until you fucking blackout when I get home. You can wait 10 minutes can't you?" With an out of breath affirmation from you, Scaramouche fixed his jeans and slicked his indigo bangs back that threatened to stick to his sweaty forehead and grabbed his keys. "Im on my way home. You better have those legs spread when I walk in, cause you're getting punished for being such a needy cock slut."

Thanks for reading 💙 Xiao fic is in the works. I love that cute lil' adeptus hehe 💙

-WX

[fallenneziah]

How they act with a passenger princess reader.

Optimus, Ratchet, Bulkhead, Bumblebee (no Arcee because she has no passenger seat) /Megatron, Knockout, shockwave, Starscream (Except Soundwave because unfortunately you would not fit)

Cw: Slight spicy talk? Suggestive? (Barely) I know I didn't get all the characters. This came to me like an hour ago and my dumbass fingers make it hard to type so I apologize.

Optimus doesn't at all mind. So long as his interior stays clean and you're not laying on his horn every five minutes, he hasn't run into any troubles with you in his cabin. He rather enjoys when you relax and kick your feet up on the dash, getting all comfy.

"Are you comfortable?" He'd ask while his tires rumble down the road. You melt into the heated seat and glide your hand over the dividing dash between yourself and the driver's seat. "Couldn't be comfier, Prime."

This makes Optimus incredibly happy. He enjoys knowing you like to relax in his cabin. He enjoys knowing you'd rather sit back and let him take full reign. Not like he wouldn't have it anyway.

Occasionally he'd even treat you. "You may eat, but refrain from getting anything in my flooring. It's... Uncomfortable."

Oh happy little you, that little smile while you eagerly shoved fries in his mouth while careful of his dash and other sensitive areas which you wouldn't desire fast food residue to reside.

And what's a little teasing? Without an eye on the wheel or the instincts to boot, you could easily mess around with him. Whether it's a hand placed firmly on a well oriented joystick or brushing over the fans of his dash. All the little ways that made the cabin rumble and shake briefly.

So silent, but ever so telling. He enjoys his little passenger princess. His only passenger princess.

You're wrong to assume you have any other choice but to be a passenger princess. Ratchet doesn't let anybody sit in the driver's seat. No grimy human hands on his steering wheel.

He forbids any fast food in his cabin, even if he feels like treating you. The most he's ever let you get away with was your water bottle or a well concealed smoothie.

He constantly is reminding you not to mess with the buttons inside the ambulance. And you always tease him, rubbing your foot against the underside of the glove compartment. "Aw, what's wrong doc, a girl can't have a little fun??"

He'd huff, warm air flaring out of his vents across the span of the cabin. "You'd do well to sit back and be quiet. We're almost there."

You'd pout, curling up in the cabin. "Ratchet..." Dragging your finger along the divider of the two seats. Ratchet would remain quiet, although the brief flare in the rumble of his engine spoke volumes. Damn you little human.

"Just sit still. All I ask."

"Yes sir, doctor."

He will never admit the amount of hot air that briefly left his fans. The rest of the drive he kept the heated seat on for you, making sure to ease you into sitting still for him while he brought you home.

Does the occasional fry or sauce packet get lost in his cabin and joints? Yep. Does he care? Nah! Eat as much as you want in his cabin and he won't stop you. As long as you're having fun.

The only thing he's slightly sensitive about is the radio. Once you're besties though he has no problem with you curling up your feet and taking over the tunes.

He'd be lying if he didn't enjoy the little wiggle you did in the seat when a good song came on. He'd remember it. He'd remember the way you moved to each song. It's something he can't help but notice.

He'd always beep quietly, almost a drawn out sigh he couldn't help when he heard you sing along without a care to watch the road, knowing he had the wheels. (Literally)

He would sometimes beep along and enjoy the way it encouraged you. Your hand gliding over his glove compartment and made his spark throb and pound. His enjoy roaring against the road in delight to be spending such time with you.

"Having fun 'Bee??" You smiled softly, hearing him chirp and whir back. "Yeah, I am too."

He is always willing to kill time on the road for you. For... One reason or another. That isn't important, his only desire is to be out there with you.

He literally drives Miko to and from all over Nevada. I don't think he's the least bit worried about you.

But unlike how Miko sits in the back.. you sit in the front. It feels so, in a way, intimate. You're in his dash, you're in his space. You recline the seat and relax knowing you're surrounded by a thick metal powerhouse.

Your hand wanders the dash or the seat. Sometimes spending extra time fiddling with the little nodes of his around you like the window or the throttle stick.

It grinds his gears in the best way. You're constantly laying it on thick with the praise for some reason, and Bulkhead isn't in the season to change that.

"You wanting something to eat?"

"Whatever you say goes, big guy." You pat the dash with an extra roughness than usual, making him tense a little. "Right... Right."

You know he likes it. He likes having you so close, feeling you so close to him. And in a way, that's your seat. He's sold in his mind, you belong there. Take your seat princess, it's all yours.

Now, technically your first time as his passenger princess you happened to be duct taped but who's really counting right?? You didn't feel very princess in the moment. Unfortunately, despite their intimidation tactics you've made yourself right at home now.

I'm assuming his cabin may have 2 seats. He doesn't let you sit in the front. One because he gets that seat and two because you don't get to see the view because fuck you.

He would rather you be a comfortable and safe princess than a dead one. Because what's a dead human to him, right? Pretty fucking useless.

Just.. don't mess with the buttons. Oh Primus don't mess with the buttons.

"Hey Megs?"

"What??" He grumbled, annoyed with answering all your idiotic questions. "What's this for?" You brushed your fingers over the switch, feeling his jets almost stop working. "Do not touch. Hands to yourself."

You pouted, slumping back in his seat. "I don't like flying... There's nothing to do."

Megatron grumbled in annoyance. Of all the little fleshies he had to deal with, Primus had to give him this one. Granted there's probably worse. "Hands to yourself, touch anything more and I'll cut your little hand off."

"Sounds like someone's sensitive~" You smirk. It grinds Megatron's gears, but alas, you aren't wrong... And for some odd, blasted reason, he doesn't mind. Do whatever you damn well please, really.

Don't scratch the interior and get comfortable for the ride princess. He thinks he's coined the term but really he's just a good 'con turned 'bot that loves to show the human some style.

Get your feet off his dash. Like now. No more.

He will let you do whatever you want but do not muck up, mess up or any other 'up' in his cabin. He will gut you and then throw you in the sewer. But that's only after a few warnings... Right??

"Knockout... I gotta stretch, we've been driving for hours." You huff and whine, the cramped little car getting to you.

"Alright alright, let me pull over." He would sigh, feeling how you tense up and stretch in the chair as best you could. Until you make it to the side of the road and you can get out and stretch.

"Being a princess is so hard, isn't it, love?" He teases you in mock concern.

"Sorry I have muscles, unlike you big boy." He huffed when you kicked his tire, and then went rather quiet the rest of the drive.

Big tank! Big tank! Big tank!!

You are the luckiest, even if Shockwave doesn't reciprocate your feelings.

"Illogical..." He'd grumbled as you relaxed inside the nice space. Kicking your legs up and leaning back, knowing you're in a fortified Decepticon bunker. Nothing can get you in here, no sir.

"So Shockwave, what's it like being absolutely massive??" You asked, patting the side of the interior.

Shockwave would only huff. "Do not move from your seat."

"We've got a long way to go and this thing isn't exactly F1... So, wanna talk about Cybertron?"

"No. Be quiet. You are comfortable, that is enough for humans to shut up."

"Who told you that? I could get bored?"

Shockwave is quiet. Granted those humans he experimented on may have only been loud because they were uncomfortable... And being experimented on.

"Nevermind. Sit down, and be quiet."

"Fine... Whatever you say, chief."

You'd honestly rather fly with Megatron. Or hanging onto Soundwaves fins as you flap in the wind at full speed. He's so bitchy. He only ever wants to talk about Megatron. He doesn't care that you sit in his front seat, just don't touch anything and sit still.

You'd listen to him ramble on and on like you're besties. You'd slump back, definitely not taking a well deserved nap as he trauma dumps his entire Cybertronian life onto your little innocent ears.

"Very interesting Starscream..." You mutter, dragging your finger along the dash panels. That makes him stop. "What are you doing??"

"What? I'm listening." Am not.

"No. Stop that. Put your arms down."

You huff, feeling the throttle of his jets increase, so you continue the motion. "I don't think I will. After all... I am the passenger."

[kivino]

I DON’T CARE WHAT’S IN YOUR HAIR || ROOMMATE!JOHN ‘SOAP’ MACTAVISH X GN!READER

Word Counter – 1.9k

Tags/Warnings – Some friendly banter, can be read as both platonic and romantic, fluff!

Summary – Your roommate Johnny comes back after his deployment and his hair looks like it needs a little trimming.

A/n – I AM ON MY ROOMMATE!SOAP AGENDA AND I WILL SPREAD IT FAR AND WIDE. let me know if you guys would like to see more roommate!Soap things on my blog, i'm very interested in different opinions!!!

ao3 link!!

Soap couldn’t wait until he was finally back home – several months had passed since his last leave and he was getting restless and antsy without the very much-needed rest. And, well, your company, which he missed more and more each day. You’d constantly be on his mind, plaguing his every thought with your presence, from a rather simple, passing “Oh, they’d like this joke” inside his head to talking the ears off of anyone who’d listen to him ramble about his lovely roommate, who he affectionately called “my dumbass back home”. Slowly, but surely, the number of people willing to lend an ear to restless Johnny became less and less, with each day of him staying on the base. So really, it was more of a favor extended to all the resident soldiers there.

Soap could almost feel the buzz of excitement itching under his skin, the commute back to your shared apartment was really long and tiring; the huge duffel bag filled to the brim with dirty laundry and a variety of clothes he shoved inside in a hurry didn’t help with the soreness in his body either. Soap, thankfully, didn’t forget to tell you earlier this week that his leave got approved, which you didn’t seem too excited about over the text, but he knew that you were screaming and jumping from joy. Maybe.

The last time he forgot to do that ahead of time he came back to an absolute disaster inside the apartment, with you trying to cook dinner while doing laundry, vacuuming, and cussing him out for not telling you earlier. Truth be told, Johnny didn’t mind if the apartment was messy, with undone dishes and whatnot, he’d help you do everything, but you were fixed on the fact that you should do it yourself and it’s absolutely crucial that everything has to be perfect by the time he’s back. Ghost joked that you had some military spouse mentality when Soap mentioned it to him (among countless other times he’d tell the big guy about you). Maybe there was some truth to this joke. Just maybe.

Regardless, Johnny could feel the bounce in his step and the same lightness in his chest when he was finally within a short walking distance of the apartment, and he just simply couldn’t wait to see you, even if you were a bit tired after all the cleaning you’d have to do in the apartment to keep up this image of a “perfect roommate”, despite being to him much more than just that. Seconds drag out unbearably long when he’s going up the steep stairs in the building that have certainly seen better times than the 21st century, and Soap thinks he could combust when he has to rummage through his pockets for the keys he hasn’t used in months. Johnny could hear the vacuum moaning from exertion from his place outside the door and an unintentional smile grazes his lips when he hears you cursing something out in your native language. Johnny finally fishes the key out of his pocket, hurriedly unlocks the door, and goes inside, as quietly as he can, which you can still hear even over the sound of a working vacuum.

“Johnny, you ass, you’re finally back.” You’re immediately distracted from the home appliance, as you turn it off and focus your attention solely on Soap, running up to him across the room and helping him with the giant duffel bag. “Thought you died out there with long they held up your leave.” You mumble with a chuckle that turns into a rough shriek, courtesy of Johnny squeezing the life out of you with a tight and warm embrace.

“Aye, there we go, bonnie, let’s hug it out!” If you could hear over his loud booming voice you were sure you’d hear your bones snapping from how tight his arms wrapped around your torso. You’d probably hug him back if you could free your arms out of Johnny’s hug too, but that didn’t seem to be an option at the moment.

“Johnny, for fuck’s sake, you stink!” You only hear a hearty laugh in response to your dramatic delivery. You tried to seem annoyed with Soap, which was a bit harder than you initially thought. You kind of missed him, the apartment felt cold and empty without his chatter.

“And that’s how you treat me after we haven’t seen each other for months? You wound me so deep.” The man says in a mock-sad tone. Deep inside of him, he felt that – you’re not being serious and just messing with him. So, he only continued squeezing you in his arms, without much thought. “When did you shower last time anyway?” you ask with a light groan. “Not in the past 24 hours, I’ll tell ya that.” Johnny’s chest rumbles with a low laugh and you can feel those vibrations going right through you, from how close you were.

“Oh, fuck off. And what’s with the hair? Decided to take some fashion advice from those edgy lads down the road?” You finally look up at Soap and he looks…Interesting to say the least. It’s obvious that someone probably helped him trim down the sides, since they didn’t appear much longer than they were several months ago when he left last. The longer part of the mohawk, however, made him look like he decided to go full mullet, with parts of his hair cut in certain places, like there was an attempt to make it shorter. It wasn’t bad-looking by any stretch of the imagination (in fact, you were sure, that Johnny can make look good just about anything if he managed to pull off the fucking mohawk in the first place), but you had to take the piss at him while you had the chance.

“Everyone’s a critic. Help me cut it then, will ya?” The man asks, slightly loosening his iron grip on you to look you in the eyes with an infectious smile.

“Only after you wash.”

“Naturally.”

And that’s how you find yourself in the cramped, tight bathroom of your apartment, Johnny sitting in front of the mirror on a stool, back hunched over the sink and you standing right behind him, with a pair of scissors and a clear goal in mind – sort out whatever mess was on his head. If it was up to you, you’d find a person who decided to make Johnny the next victim of their questionable fashion choices and cut off their fingers so they can never hold anything that can cut hair in their hands again. But for now, you just have to figure out what to do with Soap.

“You look like a feral rat on steroids, Johnny,” You say, as your fingers slowly drift through the longer, very grown-out parts of his mohawk. You look at his reflection in the mirror and your eyes meet, despite the weird angle his head was positioned at, just to rest on your stomach. Soap gives you a lopsided smile and closes his eyes with a relaxed sigh. That bath must’ve been good, you scrubbed the shit out of the bathroom yesterday.

“Well, somebody’s gotta be the pretty one outta the pair of us.” If you were meaner than you already are you’d yank his hair to teach his ass a lesson. But you don’t. And he knows you wouldn’t do that, which is why you can see one barely open blue eye staring back at you from the mirror. He’s such a pain in the ass, but you love him. The world will collapse the day you actually acknowledge that though.

“You’re butt-ugly.” You mumble instead, playing with the damp strands of hair that refused to stand up the way they did before his deployment. You didn’t know much about the military dress code but you’d be surprised if he wasn’t violating any regulations with how his hair looked.

“Yer mum would disagree.” Johnny gave another hearty laugh and leaned more into you with his back. It really felt great to be back home. He could’ve still lived with his parents and sisters back on that farm, but as much as he loved them, relatives were too much sometimes. Maybe he should visit them soon with you. That’d be great. Johnny just has to explain beforehand that you’re only roommates, so it doesn’t turn into a big mess, that he’d hate to sort out.

“You don’t even know my mum, you wanker.” You slap Johnny on the shoulder lightly and he doesn’t even flinch. “Come on, straighten up.” He reluctantly obeys and gets up from his unusual resting position, you hear no verbal protests from him. With a light, gentle motion your hand ruffles his hair in approval.

“I’m sure she’s a woman of refined taste.” This earns Soap another slap to the shoulder, to which he laughs like a damn schoolboy. Your eyes are glued to his hair, studying it carefully. You didn’t have much experience even trimming it on somebody else, so this was a bit nerve-wracking – you didn’t want to mess up and make Johnny look worse. Although not a lot of things could look genuinely bad on the man, you were willing to admit that. You finally take the scissors that have been sitting on the edge of the sink for the past half hour and pinch the longer stand that fell over Johnny's eyes between your index and middle fingers. “Well, what are you waiting for? Cut it.” He tries to hurry you, and you can’t even see the way he observes your expression - brows tied together in a thoughtful frown, Johnny thought it looked quite cute.

“Shut up, I’m thinking.” Your eyes rise to the mirror again and he playfully rolls his eyes. He doesn’t say anything though, letting you take your time, as you put down the scissors. You start ruffling Johnny’s hair again and you see the way he closes his eyes in the reflection, a warm smile stretching his lips. Your hand rests on the side of his face for a moment and not even a second passes, before you feel Soap’s palm rest over it in a gentle motion. But it doesn’t end on it, when he rubs his cheek over your skin, his stubble scratching you slightly. You let him have this moment though.

You look at his hair, as you ruffle and play with it using your free hand, and your realization makes you want to bash your head on the wall. You like it better like this. This is stupid and you feel like an idiot. At least you had an idea on how you can tell Johnny that you changed your mind about cutting his hair. Your fingers dive into his hair again, scratching the scalp lightly with the nails as you give your final verdict, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

“I don’t think I can make it any worse than it already is, to be honest. Somebody fucked you over real good with that one.” You lie right to his face. Johnny opens his eyes and gives you a mischievous smile when he hears that.

“So, what I hear is you’re chickening out?’ He asks with a light, airy laugh that makes even the cold bathroom feel warmer.

“Johnny, get out of here before I shave you bald”

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[wcnderlnds]

──★ dracula's vacation home / peter maximoff

requested by my bestie @xmidnight-rain ily for always giving me things to write. halloween / fall drabbles with prompts from here. feel free to request any <3

Worn out silver Converse scuffed against the wet dirt, Peter’s footsteps heavy as he followed you through the graveyard. Not exactly the first place he would’ve chosen for a hang out but he’d follow you anywhere. It was ridiculous the hold you had on him. Whatever you said, he came running like some lost puppy. He supposed it was because you were the only person that really gave him the time of day. Everyone else put up with him but you actually listened and willingly seeked him out. Peter had never really had someone like that in his life so if you wanted to traipse through a graveyard during the middle of the night then who was he to say no?

He hadn’t been paying attention when you came to a stop, fingers playing around with the buttons on his walkman (making sure he hadn’t lost it or some ghoul hadn’t stolen it from him to jam out in the afterlife) instead of watching where he was going and he ended up walking straight into your back. “Oof,” he took a step back, the mud splashing over his favourite shoes. It was fine – he’d get his mom to clean them later. Just because he was an adult didn’t mean he couldn’t still rely on her. How was he supposed to know how to get dirt off a pair of Converse anyway?

“What we lookin’ at?” He asked, arms folded across his chest. His dark eyes adjusted to the dark, the dimly lit lamps in the graveyard doing nothing but casting an orange glow about the place. Before him stood a medieval stone looking building – small with carvings etched into it, the heavy door slightly ajar. He knew exactly what it was. A damn crypt. “Ah, hell nah.”

“Peter, come on! It’ll be fun,” you pleaded, your delicate fingers grasping at the bicep of his arms.

“No way. I’m all for a little late night stroll in a creepy graveyard, babe, but ain’t no way you’re getting my ass in that dank…” he leaned forward towards the door a little, taking a sniff. He backed off immediately, face scrunched up. “...stinky crypt. Who the hell knows what’s in there! Could be some murderers hiding out or… maybe whatever person died in there rose from the dead and turned into a zombie and all they’re waiting for is two dumbasses with small brains to take a casual wander inside. I am not going in there.”

“You scared?” You challenged him.

“Me, scared? Pfft,” he rolled his eyes, his voice giving him away. 

“What if I go in and you keep watch?”

“See, now I’m really startin’ to believe you’ve lost your mind. You think I’m about to let you roam around inside Dracula’s vacation home by yourself?” Despite the fact he so adamantly didn’t want to step a foot inside the place, he pulled the door open. “Fine but if we die, I’m haunting you for the rest of our undead life.”

You took the hand that he had outstretched for you, fingers lacing together as you pulled him inside. Peter was second guessing it the second the sole of his foot stepped down the first step but this was for you. And, unfortunately, he’d do anything for you.

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[stirthewaters]

Little with You

Summary: Cg Wednesday to the rescue after Xavier says some insensitive shit. Warnings: language, anxiety attack, heavy agere themes, blood Word Count: 2.1k A/N: uhh first time writing stuff like this, bear with me please T_T this is all completely sfw and non sexual stuff! Click away if this isn't your kind of thing :))

The hallways felt too crowded, too rough. Tight even. All you could hear was the mingling sounds of talking, laughing, shoes scraping against the floor, sounds that you didn’t usually pay attention to. now it was as if they were all you could hear. As you passed, rain pattered against the windows, a constant drum that no longer felt soothing.

Your mind felt fuzzy; like cotton candy was forming a solid barrier around your brain. It made sense after all; you hadn’t been little in at least a week. What with exams coming up you couldn’t afford to take the time to do so. Unfortunately, that was most likely what was causing you to be late to class. Again. Shouldering through purple uniforms you felt your mind fighting to release from its clutches and to sink into the comforting haven of littlespace; you couldn’t do it. Not here. Not now.

When you turned the corner into a less crowded hall, you paused and pressed your back against the wall, taking deep breaths in an attempt to ground yourself, blocking out every single thought that wasn’t anything close to a big thought. Focused on the feeling of your hands gripping the material of your backpack straps. It helped. A little.

Turning away from the small hall you headed into class; psychology. You would never know why they taught psychology at a school for exceptionally gifted students. Knocking on the door you were greeted by your professor; Mr. Hedgeworth. 

“Late again, Y/N?”

Those stone gray eyes that fell on you made you shudder as you spoke up hesitantly.

“I’m sorry, sir- it won’t happen again.”

The man didn’t speak but you let out a soft sigh of relief inwardly as he stepped back, allowing you entrance to the class. You briefly scanned the room and felt yourself frown when you saw the only seat open next to Xavier. He was looking at you too; his frown almost matched yours. No, you didn’t want to sit next to him; it was always occupied by him going on and on about his artwork, how he’d gotten accepted to an apprentice program in town for doing wall art in some cafe. How lucky he was to have gotten the position. 

Reluctantly you dropped your bag under the desk, sliding into the chair beside him. You didn’t make eye contact as your head fell into your hand, watching the professor scribble across the chalkboard. The silence was too short until he leaned over, muttering in your ear.

“What’s up with you? You’ve been late three times this week.”

You couldn’t help a soft roll of your eyes as you mumbled in response, “Just a lot of studying for exams; nothing special.” You felt your fists clench with irritation as he gave a soft chuckle, which came off as somewhat condescending to you.

“Come on, Y/N, be real with me. You don’t study that much.”

“Xavier just drop it.”

You kept your eyes ahead, focusing on Mr. Hedgeworth and nobody else. Your whole body felt too tense, your grip on the desk turning your knuckles white. The temperature of the room felt too hot; were you going to throw up? You wished, oh you wished you could be less obvious with your discomfort but Xavier noticed. He was leaning even closer. His shoulder was touching yours. You didn’t want him touching you. 

“It’s not…your…your thing?” 

You couldn’t help a scowl from crossing your face as you forced out through gritted teeth, “I’m not on my period, dumbass.”

“Okay, geez! Look, I’m just trying to help you, but you’re not giving me anything to work with. Don’t make me guess.”

You didn’t respond feeling your chest getting tighter. It felt as if all the air was crashing in around you and pushing in on your lungs, demanding faster breaths, and Xavier sure as hell wasn’t helping. You grimaced slightly, feeling the walls you’d built around your mind start to crumble as you fought to stay in your right of mind. 

“Ohhhh…. Oh.” Xavier’s tone morphed into something akin to irritation; maybe even disgust. You felt yourself stiffen just at the sound of it. “It’s not that baby shit you told me about last year, right?”

The hands found each other, and you automatically began picking at your skin as you tried to pay all of your attention ahead of you. You didn’t want to talk about it. Especially with Xavier. Maybe you were imagining the breath you felt on your shoulder, tickling your neck. Taking your lack of a response as confirmation, he snorted and leaned back in his chair with disbelief, scoffing at you. 

“It is, isn’t it? Y/N I thought you were over that.” He leaned his elbows on the desk as he tilted his head, frowning. “You get how gross that is, right? It’s a fetish.”  

Your breaths were coming faster and faster; you weren’t gasping for air but it sure as hell felt like you were. You could barely put together a retort to snap back at him as he continued, stating his disapproval loud and clear.

“I mean, what, you can’t handle the big bad world so you act like a baby-? Everyone has to deal with it, that’s so sensitive of you.”

You stood, raising your hand and muttering a quick excuse about having to use the bathroom as you grabbed your backpack and stepped out quickly, gasping for air at this point as you ran for your dorm, trying to get your head to quiet. The hallways were thankfully emptier than usual so you were able to go faster than you normally would’ve. 

Slamming open the door to your dorm you threw your backpack aside and slowly slid to the floor, drawing in rapid breaths as you tried to remember your breathing exercises, to ground yourself and calm down, but everything was so muddled you could barely form a cohesive thought.

-

Frantic tapping interrupted Wednesday in class as she felt the familiar hand on her shoulder. She briefly glanced over at Thing before muttering through gritted teeth.

“What is it now?”

The raven had a bit of trouble understanding his muddled mess of frequent signs and sighed with irritation. “Slower.”

When the hand finally managed to get a sentence through clearly Wednesday’s eyes narrowed slightly in thought, as she paused. Eventually, she raised her hand, speaking coolly. “May I use the restroom?”

Once her permissions had been granted she was quick to gather her belongings, boots echoing against the floor as she hurried out the door and towards your dorm hall. She had known this would happen; you’d been pushing yourself too long, too far. 

Arriving at your dorm rather quickly she knocked a couple of times, calling out your name. Met with no response her eyebrows furrowed and the raven pushed against the door, surprised to find it unlocked. A glance around the room proved to be fruitful as she spotted you, curled up in the corner, weakly gasping for air. Crossing the room in seconds she took a seat in front of you, hesitating for a moment as she watched you grip at her sleeves for some semblance of comfort.

Wednesday reached out, gently cupping your chin and lifting it to meet her gaze. She spoke quietly, trying to calm you. 

“Focus on me. Only me.”

She watched as your scared eyes, swimming with tears, met hers and you nodded shakily at her. “In. Out. Slowly.” 

Your breathing began to deepen and Wednesday let out a soft sigh of relief as her attention turned to your hands; blood streaked around your fingernails, leaking down your fingers in trails. You’d been picking at your skin, no doubt something you did when you were stressed. Oddly, she didn’t like how blood looked on you.

“Stay here.”

Wednesday stood, not making any comment on the soft whimper you gave as she did so. In a moment she returned with some wet wipes, kneeling at your side and taking your hands in hers, giving them a good gentle clean and removing any traces of blood from your skin. Once done she placed the wipes aside and leaned forward, giving you a quick and small kiss on your forehead.

“Let’s get you out of this dreadful uniform.”

With her guidance she helped you to your feet, working with you on untying your tie and unbuttoning your blazer; she did her best to keep you from doing most of the work, occasionally glancing at the quiet expression you had on your face. You were close to slipping, that she could tell. As she worked on your belt she muttered casually. 

“You know I’m perfectly comfortable with you regressing around me, Y/N. There’s no need to pretend.”

When you shook your head she gave a quiet sigh, her hands pausing as she looked at you directly, eyebrows furrowing slightly. 

“Did something happen?”

Your little nod confirmed her assumption as she huffed slightly, snaking your belt from your pants and folding it. “Who?”

You didn’t respond, seeming to hesitate. Narrowing her eyes, Wednesday cupped your chin softly to have you look at her. “It is acceptable to sign instead of using your words.”

You hesitated, but she felt a small twinge of satisfaction as you signed “Xavier”. Of course. Sighing in annoyance over the idea of him insulting you she released you and headed for your closet, speaking as she went in an irritated tone. 

“Ignore him. Whatever he said is wrong. Especially regarding your regression.”

She promptly returned from your closet, two outfits in hand. One was a plain white shirt and jeans, an outfit she’d seen you wear regularly outside of class. The other was a black onesie with a space pattern on the front, accompanied by some fluffy socks. Raising an eyebrow she watched your eyes dart between the two. 

“Take your pick.”

When eventually you picked the onesie she felt her gaze soften just slightly. Oh, how your weakness softened her sharp edges; it was repulsive how she behaved around you. Stepping forward the raven wordlessly helped you into the garment, a hint of amusement filling her as she helped you with the snaps on the bottom. “There.”

Taking your hands the raven gently sat you down on the floor, trying to ease your drop comfortably. She could tell you were well in littlespace at this point; you were quiet, shy, and squirmy. It was quite amusing. Wednesday knelt by your bed, retrieving the bin where she knew you kept your little gear. Finding the dinosaur pacifier you seemed to favor she raised an eyebrow at you, waiting for your nod before slipping it into your mouth. When you began to suckle she felt her gaze soften even more. The raven could’ve gone on for hours about her dislike of children but when it came to you being little… it felt different.

After clipping your pacifier to your onesie to prevent losing it she gave your hair a little ruffle, this time unable to suppress a smirk as she felt you melt into her hand. You were always so fond of touch in this state. “I assume you wouldn’t mind a bottle?”

Wednesday saw your eyes light up and she rolled her eyes softly, heading to the small makeshift dorm kitchen you possessed. A quick search of the cabinets was met with a few choice bottles you kept on hand. Choosing a simple fish patterned design she retrieved the carton of strawberry milk you kept in the minifridge, filling the bottle to a reasonable amount; if she had any hopes of getting you to bed later she did not want you having a sugar high.

Returning she handed you the bottle, watching you let the pacifier drop from your mouth to be replaced by the nipple. She took a seat comfortably on the rug, thinking for a moment about her next move; should she offer a bit of playtime or try to calm things down further?

Her thinking was interrupted by a warmth at her side and she looked down in mild surprise to see you snuggling up against her, looking up at her with big eyes. The raven only hesitated a moment before gently pulling you into her lap despite her small frame, wrapping her arms around you and murmuring into your ear, “good bambina.”

The rain drummed against the window of your dorm as she sat there with you, perfectly content watching you nurse from your bottle, holding you loosely to give you whatever comfort she could. She would stay the rest of the afternoon with you if you wished. 

[allforhee]

*ੈ✩ — 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐀 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐒! (TEASER) | LEE HEESEUNG

୨୧ pairing — secgen!lee heeseung x journalist!fem!reader

synopsis: decelis high's academic weapon, future valedictorian, model un prodigy especially in the crisis council, and top-notch secretary-general of the mun club, lee heeseung has it all. from earning constant "best delegate-s" left and right, no one dared to go against his stances in any debate. until a student like you transfers into decelis high. as a soon graduating senior, you were a newbie to press. but with your endless love for writing, you'd managed to steal the hearts of your peers. it was your first mun, and you didn't expect much. but when heeseung finds out about an article you've wrote about his arrogant performance in a recent committee session, he is set to strike you down.

୨୧ genre — high school au, secgen!heeseung x press delegate!reader, academic rivals to lovers, dumbasses in denial, rivals in public but lovers in secret

୨୧ warnings — a lot of model un terms, cursing, hurt no comfort, heeseung makes fun of the reader a LOT, reader is feisty and could care less but she lowkey has parental issues, featuring all the other enhypen members, huh yunjin, and jang wonyoung

୨୧ word count — tbd

୨୧ release date — tba

୨୧ author's note — my baby! i love muns and as a press girlie myself, i had to make an mun-themed fic for my boy. mind you that i don't really understand the ACTUAL muns (unsc, who, etc.) cause i highkey don't want to get involved i just like writing!! this teaser is kind of short and sweet cause i know that the actual fic will be LONGER! so excited for you guys to read my works and what my imagination has to offer!!!!!!! enjoy this lil teaser. press 4 fanfic writers arise!

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 had it all.

the walls of his room were littered with delegate lanyards from conferences across the globe, "best delegate" certificates framed all over his house (and a couple crumpled up inside his desk to fit the space), and a collection of trophies that stood in every nook and cranny.

no one at decelis high dared to go against him. whenever it was, whether it was moderated caucus or unmoderated, he'd always have his country or character's placard raised high, ready to speak, or leading whatever bloc was being formed.

it was no doubt that no one has ever beat him. it was no doubt that he was decelis high's mun club's secretary-general. and those who chose to go against him either get crushed in fear or knew when to step back.

even with his "best delegate" status, he wouldn't have gone far without his best mates, park jongseong, sim jaeyun, and park sunghoon.

park jongseong or jay, most known for his cold stares in the debate room, ready to make a delegate tremble, would always chair crisis. he was decelis high's deputy secretary-general alongside heeseung. and although being heeseung's best mate, he never favored him when it came to awarding. it's just that he was naturally talented.

sim jaeyun, known for his popular slogan around the school; "jake it till you make it!", was the strongest when it came to knowing what a country or character believed in. his research skills were like a pirate on the hunt for lost treasure, he had all the facts, the data, and the proof to back up any stance. whatever heeseung needed to know, jake already had his back.

and park sunghoon. even though he was the quiet one of the bunch, his position papers never ceased to appeal any chair. even if he wasn't as strong in speaking out during committee sessions, his fingers were his weapon. the guys would always ask him why'd he chair press and not join in the heat with them, he'd always answer with a simple, "my words are stronger than my actions." where jay would always respond with "isn't that the other way around bud?"

the four were unstoppable when it came to model un. lee heeseung was unstoppable. he was. until you came along.

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© 𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐇𝐄𝐄, est. 2024 | do not plagiarize, modify, translate, or repost my works on any platforms.

[lixie-phoria]

[14.0 sweater weather] BETTER THAN REVENGE !

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the night was loud. between jeongin and han's bickering, changbin's laughter, and chan's occasional reprimands, there was no place for awkward silence. even as the seconds advanced towards midnight, and the rest of the campus fell into a peaceful silence, jeongin's dorm was filled with noise.

and for that, you were grateful.

"you dumbass you didn't boil the ramen enough!"

"I did. This isn't my first time making ramen!"

"no it's still-"

"ok that's enough," chan interjects, throwing an exasperated glare at the youngest boys of the group. "Han if you think the ramen is undercooked just add warmer water to it."

"I don't think that's how it works-"

"oh for fucks sake just eat the damn food!"

you watch in amusement as the boy sinks further into the couch, a pout puckering against his lips as he shoves the chopsticks into his mouth.

"nobody ever takes me seriously here-"

"anyways!" changbin exclaims, meaningfully pinching han's side as his eyes raise to meet yours, "we have more important stuff to discuss than how jeongin makes ramen."

it takes you a second to realize all their eyes have turned to you - although jeongin looks unwilling.

"so yn, innie here isn't giving you too much trouble, right?" changbin teases, digging his elbow into his friend's side.

"of course i haven't-"

"let her speak!"

you laugh at the way jeongin huffs, crossing his arms before falling back into his seat, avoiding your eyes.

"he's a pain. i can't wait for this to be over," you play along - much to han and changbin's excitement as their eyes light up.

"has he? well that isn't acceptable, is it?"

"can you leave me alone?"

but that seemed to be the last thing on any of their minds as they turn their attention towards you again.

"you know when he first told us about your arrangement we were a bit worried," chan adds, "but this seems to be working out for you guys."

chan was by far the only one who hadn't teased the youngest boy, but you could clearly see he was just as interested in the conversation.

"yeah well, we're trying. we'll see how much it's really helped him after our test next week."

"yeah-"

"but has this been helping you as effectively?"

you blink at han in confusion as he leans forwards from the couch.

"what?"

"han drop it-"

"you know with the entire making yeonjun jealous plan? i hope you've been giving his cheating ass a hard time!"

yeonjun.

cheating.

oh.

all the progress you had made came crashing down in that single moment.

han hadn't anticipated the depth of his words, obviously. it was a mistake, and you understood that, but the weight still fell like solid lead down your stomach. your throat clogged up, and you could barely meet any of their eyes as the culprit slapped a hand across his mouth, evidently regretting it.

cheating little slut.

yeonjun's words came breaking through the barriers you had tried so hard to build.

it's your fault.

you didn't think it was possible, but your mother's words pierced deeper than yeonjun cheating on you.

any sensible boy would break up with you.

she was probably right. nobody in their right minds would like someone who couldn't even bring herself to move past the boy who had cheated on her.

you should apologize to him. like your mother expected you to.

your company had obviously picked up on your discomfort, and if you hadn't been so caught up you would be embarrassed at the revelation of the chink in your armor.

"you dumbass," you hear changbin hiss under his breath.

"yn im sorry-"

jeongin was the first to act - slipping his hand into yours to pull you up - sending a sharp glare towards his roommate.

"i think we're done for today," he said, gently guiding you towards the front door, picking up your books on the way.

"you guys clean up, please. i'll drop yn back to her dorm."

he only gave you enough time to bid your goodbye to the three boys - including a forgiving smile towards han - before you two stepped out into the cold night.

"you don't have to walk me back."

"it's past midnight, yn. i'm not letting you go alone."

you were grateful, despite your hesitance. the last thing you wanted was to be alone with your thoughts.

"and i'm sorry about han. he didn't mean to bring him up."

you shake your head, patting jeongin's arm in comfort. "it wasn't his fault, don't worry about it. and please tell him not to feel guilty either. it's alright."

"but are you sure you're okay?"

were you okay?

you didn't know.

until the last match, you and yeonjun were technically still on good terms. there had been no bad blood.

but after your argument? you didn't even know where your relationship stood.

you hadn't broken up officially. you were still together, and the thought was sickening. not because you wanted to break up with him. no. but because it was reassuring. and you hated the little comfort that it bought.

"yn?"

your gaze snaps to the side as jeongin's hand softly brushes yours.

"sorry, i was just thinking," you sheepishly mutter, avoiding his eyes.

he doesn't push any further, and the rest of the walk is spent in silence until you reach your block.

"thanks jeongin."

he shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweats, smiling back as the street light shines down on him, highlighting his features.

"don't worry about it. sleep well, yeah?"

you almost send him away with that, but the cold breeze that flutters past your skin jars you into your senses.

"wait!"

you hastily take off your hoodie, patting down your ruffled hair as he turns to look at you in confusion.

"something wrong?"

"it's cold. take this. you didn't carry yours," you say, thrusting the article at him, avoiding his eyes.

"oh it's fine-"

"we have an important exam coming up. i'd hate it if you fell sick because of me."

he doesn't notice the blush dusting your face as he thankfully accepts the warmer clothing, and you're grateful for the dark.

"thanks yn."

"i should thank you."

he grins at you one last time before he's on his way back, absentmindedly fiddling with the sleeves of your hoodie, sending a kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttering in your stomach. you hoped you weren't imagining the tips of his ears turning red. you hoped he would keep it, and only give it back when it had caught on to his scent.

in a much better mood than with which you had set out from his dorm, you almost manage push away yeonjun to the back of your mind.

that is until your phone notifies an incoming message.

never mind.

©lixie-phoria, 2024

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[zer0brainc3lls]

My compass: The prologue

masterlist

Story summary: Thomas has finally made it to the right arm, but to his shock and dismay Teresa has revealed their location to Wicked. in the crossfire Newt gets kidnapped by Wicked. will Thomas be able to save him and figure out their complicated relationship? or will Newt never return and will Thomas be left yearning for his "best friend" to return?

TW LIST: typical dystopian violence, mentions of kidnapping, and super super gay yearning LOL

Genre: canon divergence (what if Newt was taken instead of Minho?), Friends to Lovers, Angst

Word count: 2.9k

“Please don't fight them Thomas.” Teresa turns back to Thomas, tears flood her eyes as she begs. The world seems to stop spinning at the words, as if time itself came to a halt the moment Thomas's eyes landed on the bergs in the distance, their light’s burning his whole body with rage and terror. 

“What have you done?? What have you done?!” his nerves ignite as he speaks, his body searing with hatred and the heartache of betrayal. He stumbles back, the rocky mountain hard against his heavy feet. The whirring sound of the bergs getting closer brings his body to life once more, turning around and flying down the mountain, his feet barely making contact with the ground before taking another long quick stride. Paying little to no mind of the descent, his legs were much less mindful then when he made the journey to Teresa not even 5 minutes before. 

He makes it down the mountain, screaming the whole way as a warning and to attempt to lift the pain in his chest. He dashes across the now flat ground and watches the helicopter rain down balls of fire onto the right arm, the impact of the bomb forces his legs to fumble, almost tripping over his own two feet as he picks himself back up into a run towards the medical tent. It feels as if his body caves in on itself at the sight of the now alit tent, heat from the fire warms his face.

“BRENDA?!” his voice tears out from his throat as he screams for her, he feels smaller hands grab onto his jacket. He whips around to see Brenda, buzz cut and all behind him. His terror comes to a halt for a brief moment at the sight of his friend, before coming back in full swing once she once brings him back to the present moment. 

“You dumbass!” she exclaims, grabbing hold of his jacket sleeve pulling him away from the ablaze tent. He stumbles after her, her legs much more stable than his own as she pulls him behind a large plastic box, Jorge already behind it. 

“We have to go, now!” Jorge commands, his wide eyes trained on Thomas. The smell of ash and.. Electricity? Stings the inside of his nose. 

“We have to go find Newt and the others-” his tongue moving before his brain, his tone distant as his subconscious already begins to brew an impulsive plan. 

“NO! NO!” - Jorges voice booms through his skull, a hint of desperation in his tone. Thomas has only heard him speak like this in times of Brenda's safety, if it weren't for the circumstances Thomas would feel cared for but in this moment all he can feel is worry. Jorge grabs the back of Thomas's jacket and yanks him back, using his other arm to point to the chaos in front of them. - “DON'T GO OUT THERE! LOOK! LOOK!” Thomas forces himself to let the chaos sink into his bones and allow himself to keep his feet unmoving as he watches as wicked soldiers stun teens and adults to the ground, bodies litter the ground that got hit in the blast. 

Thomas’s eyes search frantically for Newt and the others, his eyes fall on his friends and Newt huddled around a tank with firearms laid in hands and bullets finding homes in wicked soldiers' limbs and chests. Thomas’s attention is turned to what seems to be a black cylinder with parts that glow.. Blue?? What is that-

The cylinder lands in the tank before Thomas gets the opportunity to process what was just thrown, he realizes too late that it's a stun grenade as he watches as his friends bodies convulse violently and flop to the ground like ragdolls, even worse? The soldiers nod to each other and approach them as if they are ragdolls. defeat bubbles in his gut at the sight, a soldier goes to lift Newt by the arm. Thomas turns around and sits against the box as nausea threatens to take over.

“I'm sorry. There's nothing you can do for them, if we don't move now, we won't be much better off.” Jorges tone starts as comforting and slowly twists with commandment, Thomas knows he can't go with them. Brenda and Jorge aren't the ones they want, and he doesnt think he would be able to live with himself at the thought of his friends being tortured while he lives. 

“You guys gotta go right now.”

“What?!” Brenda questions harshly.

“They're not looking for you, you’ll be safe but you have to go now!” 

“Thomas..” 

Thomas pauses as he tries to convey his thoughts into sounds. “I cant leave without em.” he reasons, Thomas looks between Brenda and Jorge and notices how Jorge’s eyes flick to Brenda at his words.

“Good luck kid. Bren we have to go c’mon.” his voice thick with understandment, a weight is pulled off Thomas’s chest and he finds air again. He can't watch as Jorge and Brenda run off, his eyes trained on the bag Jorge left behind. The bag.. With the bomb..

He shoves the bomb and the trigger into his red pocket that rests on the inside of his jacket. Newt had sewn on the secret pocket for him days prior, his lean hands steady and unwavering as the needle with thread tied to the end was pinched between his fingers stitched mismatched fabric to his jacket. He shakes the distracting thought out of his mind as he stands up and walks over to the scene, the people who survived the bombing were on their knees lined up in groups. He pauses for a moment and gains his composure, the bomb pressed against his ribs giving him courage. 

“Where's Thomas?!” the navally voice that belongs to the Ratman shouts out.

“Right here.” Thomas announces, slowly putting his hands up as a wicked soldier grabs him like an object to be thrown around. The soldier shoves him forward towards Janson, bright lights move across the ground but his eyes aren't focused on the light, or Janson. His eyes search for golden hair in the sea of people, eventually his eyes land on Newt. The boy's hazel eyes wide in shock and worry as his eyes lock on Thomas, Newt’s hair is covered in dirt and his face adorn a few new scraps and cuts.

Before he knows it Janson has socked him in the gut, he doubles over in pain as he is shoved to the ground next to Minho. 

“Why didn't you run?” Minho questions, not looking at Thomas as he asks but instead to the ground. Thomas takes in a breath of air that's thick with dust and heat that’s now thicker in the air due to the rain of fire.

“I'm tired of running.” he answers, his eyes trained on Ava as she speaks to Janson. His mind drifts from everything and focuses on Ava Paige, she looks as if she's discussing the product of merchandise. Disgusting. His body urges for movement, for action. But he keeps his knees planted into the hard ground, well at least until a soldier forces him to his feet once more. He locks eyes with the icy haired women before him, willing his eyes to burn through her skull.

Her attention is turned to Teresa, who is walking to stand next to her. 

“I'm glad you're safe.” she says softly, gesturing for her to stand with her. 

“What the hell..? Teresa?” Frypan begins, pain swirls in his voice. 

“Wait what's going on?” Newt's tone layered with no pain but instead confusion, and anger if you look hard enough.

“She's with them.” Thomas answers, venom on his tongue. 

“Since when?!” Minho starts, denial thick. Both him and Newt turn their heads to face Thomas for answers. 

“Oh Teresa has always had an appreciation for the evolved greater good, once we restored her memories it was only a matter of time.” Janson replies to the question despite it not being for him to answer, speaking as if discussing the weather. As he walks over to join the conversation he walks behind Teresa and Ava, eventually landing on Ava's right. Minho and Newt turn to Teresa, Minho's eyes layered in disbelief, disgust in Newt's. Teresa lifts her head and her eyes widen slightly at their expressions, somehow surprised by their clear indifference. 

“I'm sorry. I had no choice, this is the only way! We have to find a cure.” Thomas’s repulsed at her words, his neck turning away on its own. Ava begins to monologue but Thomas doesn't listen, her speech being a washed out and overused reason for torture and pain hes sure hes heard before. 

“We just need more time.” she ends, her tone going from harsh to desperate.

“More blood.” Mary's voice picks up from behind them.

“Hello mary. I’d hope we’d meet again, I'm sorry it had to be under these circumstances.” Ava responds with genuine sadness in her voice. Well that's a first.

“I'm sorry ‘bout a lot of things too. But not this! At Least my conscious is clear!”  

“So is mine” Ava responds after a moment's hesitation, her voice deadpan. A gunshot rang out as maries body dropped to the floor, Vince pushed himself out of soldiers hands and held her, shouting out her name and pleads of denial. Thomas’s eyes trained on Jansons handgun he tucks away carefully into his own jacket pocket, maybe if he had someone to sew on his jacket pockets he wouldn't have turned out so cruel, so vile. His body courses with hatred for the Ratman and sadness for Vince, Ava’s voice begins to bark out orders to soldiers. 

A soldier goes to grab him by the sleeve but they are too little too late because his fingers have found a home around the bomb tucked in his jacket, he pulls the bomb out while elbowing the soldier in the jaw. “GET BACK!! GET BACK!” he shouts, the thin trigger for the bomb in his other hand, the bright red button covered with his thumb. He throws his body around frantically showing the bomb to all. Janson barks out orders to the soldiers to hold their fire, step one. 

“LET THEM GO!! LET THEM ALL GO!!” he demands, his eyes widened with rage. His hand with the trigger gesturing wildly to the immunes being loaded onto bergs. 

“You know I can't do that!” Ava steps forward, Teresa following suit.

“Thomas please stop! I made a deal with them, they promised! They promised we’d be safe, all of us!” Teresa pleads, as if her voice would be the one to guide him. 

“Yeah so I'm supposed to trust you now?!” He spat back, avoiding her eyes.

“It's true it was her only condition!” Lies. all lies. He can't trust them, all Wicked does is lie lie lie. The fake sun in the glade, Janson being “against” Wicked, and now this?! He can't trust anyone except the people beside him now. Newt and Minho, the only one he would bring his walls down for. From the moment the doors to the box opened and his life began they were the only people still around who would follow him to the ends of the earth, he too, would follow them into the belly of the beast if the time came. 

“SHUT UP!!” His grip around the trigger tightens, along with his throat. 

“Everything can go back to the way it was, Thomas. Do you really want all of them to die?” Ava’s words make it through his ears, this, he cannot ignore. Can he really press the button, killing all his friends and Newt? Could he die with their blood on his hands? 

“Listen to her, Thomas, think about what you're doing.” His nerves no longer buzz as tears fill his eyes, his breath shaky as he looks at Ava and Teresa side by side. The ground crunches with footsteps walking behind him. 

He turns around to see Frypan, Minho and Newt all standing with him. Their final stand. 

“We’re with you Thomas.” Newt says with no tremor, the use of his name instead of the endearing nickname he was given showing the extent of his words. 

“No..” Teresa's voice fades.

“Dont.” Ava says, shaking her head.

“Do it Thomas.” Minho nods reassuringly, courage thick in the action. 

“We’re ready.” Frypan follows up, his voice breathless. 

“We’re not going back there.” Thomas finishes all their thoughts.

“Thomas-” Ava begins

“This is the only way.” Thomas interrupts, his thumb shaking with strain above the trigger. Thomas pulls his eyes closed bracing himself for the impact, just as he's about to press down he hears the blaring of a car in the distance..?! 

Jorges truck comes back in full swing, driving manically with no sense of direction as he crashes into a large helicopter, the chopper falls to its side, the propellers being crushed. 

That crazy son of a bitch!

Members of the right arm move frantically at the opportunity, punches thrown at the opposite side and Vince’s voice urging them to run. Thomas and the small group around him stumble back to their feet from falling during the vehicles colliding, Thomas turns around to see  Wicked soldiers' stun guns raised barking orders to Thomas. Thomas chucks the bomb towards them and shrieks for everyone to get down, taking a few long strides before collapsing to the ground, pulling the trigger forcing a large blast to take out the Wicked soldiers. 

Thomas crawls through the crowd of dust and smoke, Janson somehow spots him through the dust storm and backhands him across the cheek, Thomas rolls to the ground at the impact and turns up to see the Ratman pointing a large handgun towards his forehead. 

“What a waste.” he comments with a stern expression, just as he's about to pull the trigger a gunshot blasts from somewhere in the distance, hitting him in the shoulder causing him to fall to the ground. Thomas turns to see the shooter to be Brenda. Brenda!!

Brenda and Jorge’s spray of bullets cause Wicked soldiers to fall to their feet in a puddle of their own vile blood, Thomas takes the opportunity and dashes towards Minho and other members of the right arm. 

“Go on Tommy I got it!” Newt stands with a sniper in his hands, gesturing for Thomas to run past him while he covers. 

“Be careful Newt!” Thomas quickly replies, patting Newt on the shoulder as he runs past. A careful smile plays on Newt's lips before turning back into a scowl as his sniper spits bullets into soldiers' flesh. Thomas runs behind a large supply crate accompanying Minho and Jorge, Jorge urges him to stay down but Thomas can't pull his eyes away from the mop of blonde hair meters in front of him. Thomas silently urges him to run, to move to do something besides stand there, His heart swells with pride despite this at the fact Newt is making a stand and assisting in their escape.

Newt's head lowers for a split second to reload his gun, and in that split second a soldier raises their stun gun and pulls the trigger, forcing a wavering groan from the blonde as he collapses to the ground. This time Thomas's mouth moves before he does as he shrieks his name. 

“NEWT!!” he rises to his feet to run to the crumpled boy, hands grab him and pull him away from the scene in front of him. The world spins as he fights back against the unforgiving hands, shouting out pleads and begs to be let go.

“WE CAN'T LEAVE HIM THERE!!” His voice tears through his throat.

“JORGE LET ME GO.” He thrashes his arms violently. 

His loud cries turn into soft begs and eventually he finds himself being dragged away from the berg, his feet somehow moving backwards as he repeats Newt's name, as if maybe just maybe, if he calls for him loud enough Newt will rise from his dazed state come running just as he has done countless times before. As if his cries will be enough to bring him back to Thomas. 

Somehow, someway he is pulled away as he watches Newt’s limp body be pulled onto the berg. Once the remaining gladers and the right arm realize wicked is no longer coming after them they all come to a stop and Thomas's eyes follow the soldiers dragging Newt forward as if his heavy gaze will be enough to make them drop Newt to the ground. Thomas’s eyes trail down to the white fabric tied to Newt's wrist, the same white cloth with small red flowers sewn onto the inside of his jacket. Thomas can almost hear Newt's voice insisting on keeping the remaining fabric “since you're a klutz you’ll probably tear it wont ya tommy?” 

His fingertips rub the pockets delicate fabric, tears pool in his eyes and wet his cheeks as he watches Newt's body slowly leave his view, the bergs doors coming to a close. Thomas’s gaze follows the berg until it disappears into the starry sky. His breath shaky as he presses his lips into a tight line. “I'm coming for you Newt.” he whispers to himself softly, a wave of déjà vu crashes over him. He drops his head to the ground and closes his eyes, silently promising himself to bring Newt back to him, that tonight will not be the final time he gets to see Newt's smile.

NEXT

Authors note: THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE HELLO?!?!? i know the part up to Newts kidnapping was basically just a novelization of the movie an i apologies, i really didn't want to skip to the part where Newt is taken as the moment Teresa betrays him is super important to the story. this will most likely be a 3-5 chapter story not including the prologue so i hope yall enjoy the ride ahead lol!! buckle up cause its about to get angsty

my ao3: n0th0ughtz

people who wished to be tagged: @ermdotorg (if you want to be added to the tag list just say so in the comments and ill tag ya next time <3)

[cycloneeddie]

We all know that the offical rottmnt figures look like an aliexpress off brand.

So when I came across this leo sculpture on twitter I was jealous as fuck and couldn’t get him off my mind… so eventually I decided to make him myself. Just needs a bit of fixing and paint now!

Process:

Took about 4 days to sculpt this dumbass.

It’s got a lot of inaccuracies but I can’t be arsed getting every detail down cuz I’m lazy and impatient.

Toodles.