#keeping the ask so i remember to bring it up

[keferon]

What if Prowl was left alone at first? What if Jazz made it to the end, beat Bombshell, ate his soup and cake, then left? That was his entire motivation in the first place, after all. Getting to go home was his only goal for (presumably) a long time, I have a hard time believing he'd give that up immediately. What if he leaves for a few years even, and Prowl had nothing better to do so he went to "sleep"? And while Prowl was sleeping, a war started outside and Jazz ended up building Autobot Special Operations from scratch? Maybe during the recruiting process Jazz would find a lot of people with the talent and potential to be exceptional spies and assassins, but he doesn't have the means or them money to train them; until he remembers Prowl. Maybe he brings Orion, Ironhide, and Ratchet to meet Prowl while Jazz asks him for help. They walk in the front door to find complete darkness, the entire building seeming abandoned. Then lights start coming on. Prowl is very, *very* smart, so of course he set up some sort of sensor to wake him up when someone came in. Imagine his surprise when his cameras and microphones finally come back online and he sees Jazz.

OH YOU’RE COOKINGGG

OKAY WHAT IF ALSO. Hear me out.

I'm imagining that like. Jazz has other responsibilities right. He HAS TO be with his people, they NEED him. So when Bombshell is defeated Jazz is like "alright now it's one of two options. Either I have to leave or I tell my people to move in."

And Prowl is like "NO ABSOLUTELY NOT." Because after everything he's been through he doesn't believe that those people won't try anything shady like rewriting his code or removing him from the complex entirely.

So they say goodbye and Jazz goes to find the other Autobots and Prowl obviously stays where he is because he literally cannot leave the building when he IS the building.

That is. Until the war gets really bad for the Autobots and their other base is completely fucking destroyed and there's A LOT of them with nowhere to go. Decepticons are REALLY close to tracking them down and destroying them completely so Jazz crosses his fingers and goes "Hey I know a place...."

They arrive to the complex and it has the whole GIANT and super elaborate weapons and security system with tons of guns and aaaall that stuff is immediately gets pointed right at them. So Jazz crosses his fingers again and slowly approaches one of the cameras and like "H-hey it's been a while and I know you don't want anyone here but...I really need your help."

Heh now I really want a scene where Prowl is like. Okay fine I can't leave them to die those are Jazz's friends. Lemme open the doors.

Guh what is that they're all soaking wet after the rain? Lemme warm up the rooms a bit.

Half of them are injured! Where's the medical kits! Oh no I think they might be hungry as well. Need to find those food packets. And perhaps pick up some clothes while I'm at it. And organize enough beds! I need more beds! And hot water! I need to warm up the water! There's so much stuff I need to make a spreadsheet

And he keeps doing that while the Autobots are completely in awe because HOLY SHIT the house is alive and is actively trying to be a good host.

Also absolutely mysteriously. Jazz already has his own personal towel and toothbrush there.

[kaiser1ns]

#. A LONG-AWAITED DREAM

featuring 𝗷𝗶���𝘂 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗶𝗱𝗼𝗹 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗼𝗻!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

fluff + slight angst. you disappeared like a nightmare, but returned like a dream. he should forget you… but all he wants is to remember.

THE SHOOTING STAR you had been famous in the demon world many centuries ago. you were good at it, too good, flawless. maybe that’s why you were the favorite, a pawn polished till you stood alone, a weapon more than a somebody. but you made yourself disappear without a trace, leaving no one to remember you, not even the mighty demon king, who does little to recall someone who bears his mark.

you saw the sajas again. mostly because you were elbow-deep in demon guts at the time. yes, you, a demon, killing your own kind. the betrayal was heavy, just like the marks on your skin that you can’t erase, but you’ve long since cut ties with gwima and anything even mildly infernal. it’s been... what? two centuries? you stopped counting after ten years when you decided pretending to be human and saving souls was a better use of your immortality. it was long enough that even gwima doesn’t bother remembering you, not when he’s got new toys to parade around.

idol during the day, a soul-saving demon during the night.

you felt the energy of the five grim reaper boys, and panicked,  you ditched the scene, hiding in the shadows before any of them noticed. classic you, but the problem is, someone noticed you this time.

jinu. you have seen him before, or rather, you know him. of course, you do, since he’s older, technically your superior. he helped train you when you were just a newbie, back when your job description involved feeding souls to a gluttonous, egomaniacal demon king like it was a buffet. now he’s behind you. trailing like a lost kid at a mall who is crying for his mother, asking questions you didn’t ask for. 

“do you not hear him in your ear? do you not feel any shame, pain, regret?”

okay philosopher jinu, calm down. he wants to know how you did it. how you broke free from him, the one who wraps shame around souls like a curse masked as a vlessing. and you just want to know what the hell he’s doing here when his band is performing right after you. he’s cute, though. nostalgic, but you don’t have time for that. don’t have time for the past.

you blink, acting like you don't know what he's talking about.  "no, but i do hear the countdown to my performance in like... 30 seconds. so if you'll excuse me. see you, old man."

“excuse me? old man—hey!” he grabs your wrist like he forgot you're stronger than you look. your markings glow, purplish hues pulsing on your skin. eyes flashing gold from the sudden touch. you whip your head around, and that’s when he really sees you.

you look human, almost human. but your smile? oh, your smile screams devil in disguise. there’s something new in you, not darkness, but light. you smile like you tasted freedom and liked it. you have changed. his grip tightens, trying to keep you here, because he feels it, knows it. he remembers those eyes. they were made to take souls, but now… they burn with life.

“i’m not going anywhere, jinu” you say, calm and too perfect for someone with blood on their resume. “i’ll see you later, okay?”

he lets go, slowly, like something inside him just twists, and it wasn't from pain. it was something like the freedom he was seeking. he cleared his throat, shoved his hands into his jeans like he's a high schooler trying to look cool infront of his crush.

"break a leg then, sunbaenim," he mutters with a massive eye roll and a smirk that says i’m definitely going to bring this up again later.

“will do,” you wink, already walking off, refusing to glance back. “also say hi to the others, i’m sure abby misses me~”

MEMENTO MORI jinu watches you take the stage. the crowd erupts in screams and cheers the moment you appear. of course you have control here too. but it wasn’t built from doing dirty work, not anymore. not with blood on your hands or shame in your soul. you earned by rebuilding yourself.

he wants to forget everything; he wants his memories gone—burned, buried, erased. but you’re here now… have you always been here? have you always been more human than demon?

it’s like you died and were reborn. a wish from a shooting star, someone who escaped the endless maze, found the missing piece of the puzzle, and embraced their sins. he glances at his hands, and his own shame marks flicker in that same violet hue.

then you sing... and your voice? angelic. a complete betrayal of what you are. of what you used to be.

jinu clenches his fists and storms toward your dressing room. he doesn't know why he is doing something like this. as he enters, two familiar figures appear from the floor: a charming blue tiger and a three-eyed magpie bird, who is already wearing the tiger’s hat, again.

he pats the tiger’s head, and it purrs. then he pulls a blue envelope out of nowhere and places it gently into the tiger’s mouth. “wait for her, alright? she can resist me, but not you.” the tiger blinked, as it turned its head to the side, confused but listening and just going to fulfill the order. “be nice to her.”

and then he’s gone, off to prep for his performance.

GOTTA GO UNDER THE FULL MOON the show was over, and you kept killing it with your two new songs, “gotta go” and “full moon,” hit every note, every move, every soul, even the camera angle. don’t you love it when the cameraman knows how to do his job? give this man a rise. also the cover you chose? already trending, probably breaking the internet with edits. and the fans? oh, you adored them. pure, kind, unsuspecting humans, exactly the kind of souls you’d sworn to protect now, not harvest.

you walked into your dressing room, humming the last chorus under your breath, towel over your neck, heart still pounding, and you … freeze.

“did your master send you here?” you ask, staring at the unexpected visitors lounging on your couch like they are vips. a familiar blue tiger with big yellow eyes and a bird wearing the cat that was not his. “some habits never change, huh?” you kneel and scratch under the cat’s chin, it purrs like old times.

you missed them, only them. not him or the whole demon population. especially not the world you'd burned behind you.

then the cat padded forward and dropped something from its mouth. you blinked in surprise. a blue card? you picked it up and flipped it open.

“when the full moon rises, come see me.” – jinu

“is he out of his damn mind?!” you shouted, immediately followed by a guilty whisper after seeing how the two companions reacted. the cat blinks slowly, while the bird flaps twice in judgment. “sorry.”

you didn’t know why he wanted to see you. didn’t want to. what could he possibly want now? answers? closure? to poke at how you escaped? to ask again how you broke free from the grip of the demon king?

you don’t know, really don’t. it just happened.

all you remember is the hunter. the one who didn’t kill you. who saw your monstrous form and still spared you. who fought alongside you when you were still learning what it meant to want something other than power. maybe it was a blessing, or pure luck. maybe it was her.

you sighed, scribbled something on a small piece of paper, folded it neatly. “open,” you told the cat, and it obediently opened its mouth like a well-trained mailbox, as you tucked the paper in. “it was nice seeing you two. visit me next time without his creepy invitations, okay?”

except, you did end up going, because tonight was the full moon.

he’s sitting on a rock by the sea, waves crashing dramatically when you sneak up behind him. “nice spot. you come here often?” jinu screams, squealing like a little girl. “jeez, don’t do that ever again,” he groans, hand clutching his chest like the old man he is. “i was this close to becoming fish food.”

you laugh. can’t help it, because he’s the same even if he looks human. till handsome, still annoying. still... jinu.

"the moon’s beautiful tonight, isn't it?" he says, as you stand beside him, watching him gaze at the moon instead of looking at you. you hated how soft his features looked under the moonlight. hated that this felt right. then he turned to you, and like a coward, you looked away. it’s awkward. you both know what’s unsaid, both feel it burning beneath your skin like a song stuck on repeat. but you can’t say anything, not when gwima might still be watching.

so you talk about your career instead. your music, your fandom’s weird ship names with famous male actors. he seemed genuinely interested until he disappeared mid-sentence. you were smart enough to suspect something, just not fast enough to dodge the surprise wave of cold seawater he splashed on you from behind.

"what the hell—jinu?!" you yell, and he grins. "revenge is a dish best served wet."

“that’s not even how the saying goes!”

but you're already chasing him, splashing back, laughing like it’s 200 years ago and nothing even matters. knee-deep in the water, as you chase him while little cold waves hit your legs, and you laughed, he laughed harder. 

somehow, you ended up in his arms. you don’t know how you got in this position. giggles, flushed cheeks, eyes too close, lips too close. no need for words right now because your eyes are talking. the obvious three words feel special tonight. why is my heart beating so fast? when the full moon rises, you should give it all. it’s the perfect time for whispering love.

you're leaning in, so close. and then it struck. twelve o’clock. a silent bell tolled in your chest. you pulled away. what were you even thinking? you can’t be honest past this point.

his hands tighten just slightly. he doesn’t want to let you go. and you don’t either. but you have to. placing your hands on his chest, gently pushing him. he got the hint, and let you down, just like his hopes…like the dream he held for too long when it was just another illusion created to satisfy him for even a little while.

"i’m sorry, jinu..." he smiles. it doesn’t reach his eyes, and you see right through it. reaching for his hand, you squeeze it hard to reassure him it is going to be okay, but you are not the one to help him, you just can’t. "you’ll find your salvation. i promise."

and then you smile at him one more time before you vanish, teleporting when his hand reaches again for you, out of pure instinct, alas, you are already gone.

he stands alone under the moonlight, sea wind tousling his hair, eyes locked on the path of silver stretching across the waves. beyond that horizon, there’s another world out there where you meet again. there’s another world where you’re both free in his long-awaited dream.

BONUS cut to five saja boys sitting frozen on the couch in their dressing room. watching the tv with mouths wide open in shock, their souls leaving their bodies in slow motion. you’re on the screen, performing a cover of adult ceremony by park jiyoon. long and tight dress made of black silk, high heels ready to step on them. eyes glowing gold, lips tinted with red as the camera does a close-up and you wink. ending fairy style, the entire nation stops breathing. 

“did…did she just–” romance was too stunned to speak, and baby stole the remote from him. “shut up, and rewind it.” the saja boys are not okay. they’re in awe, terrified, fanboying. they need to collab with you immediately. but will you let them? will you let jinu be close to you once again?

taglist: @seneon @y2kuromi @maruflix @irethepotato @justanindiangirl12 @zuhaeri @levifiance @amery-benson-cvii @ririrenni3 @tsukimoon-chan (sorry if i missed someone; please let me know if you'd like to be added to the general kpdh taglist!)

©2025 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work.

[vxnillabxn]

Fully self indulgent, Can you do a LADS reaction to the reader’s body fully shutting down when under immense stress and needing to sleep? (Whenever I’m in a stressful headspace, my body essentially forces me to get in bed and nap for a couple hours)

𐙚˙⋆.˚ mainfive! x gn!reader ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ hurt/comfort! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ sfw! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ do not translate/copy/repost! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚hello! sorry for the delay ( ˶•ᴖ•) !! i hope you're doing well and that stress stays away for a long time!~ anyway, i actually think this is the best way to decompress, but i truly hope it doesn't happen too often! take care of yourselves, little pumpkins. remember to nurture your mind just as much as you nurture your body. ♡

𐙚˙⋆.˚ caleb! ꒰੭

his place was quiet.

too quiet.

he knew you had come back earlier; you'd told him he didn't need to pick you up.

so, when he stepped into the living room, closed the door behind him, and slipped off his uniform coat, he looked for you.

he could sense it.

something was off.

he could already tell from the way you texted him earlier.

no “lebbie.”

no emoji.

nothing.

your scent eventually leads him to the bedroom, where he finds your curled-up figure, hidden under the sheets.

he can tell by the way your brows are slightly furrowed, by how you unconsciously clutch at the blankets, by the way you twitch…

his poor baby is stressed out.

he lets you sleep, of course.

he moves quietly around you —careful not to disturb, yet always watching.

he wants to wake you, just so you'll eat something. but he knows better.

he knows your brain needs to reset.

so he waits, your favorite comfort food warm and ready for whenever you wake up.

if nighttime comes and you're still asleep, he'll gently slip under the covers beside you.

his lips will trace a path from your forehead to your mouth in soft, reverent kisses.

and if you begin to shift or blink awake, he'll hush you, gentle and apologetically.

“shh… it's alright, it's alright, pips. go back to sleep. everything is going to be okay.”

when you drift off again, he stays awake.

watching. thinking. planning.

he won't ask.

not yet.

but he'll find out what's been causing you distress, whether it's one thing or everything going on in your life.

and when you finally feel like talking…

he listens.

he holds you.

and he's already thinking of how to make it better.

for now, though, just rest.

let it all out.

and stay still, because he's going to bring you dinner and hand-feed you every bite.

you don't have to do this alone.

not when you have him to rely on.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ rafayel! ꒰੭

when you stormed into his studio and practically threw yourself on the comfy couch, he was confused.

no hug?

no kiss?

not even a hello?

were you mad at him?

he was about to shake you awake or throw himself on top of you, but upon stepping closer, he noticed your tensed-up body.

he could obviously tell what was wrong.

this man has studied your expressions, your gestures, your body, all through his sketches and devoted attention.

so it was easy for him to see your furrowed eyebrows, your clenched jaw, and even the way your chest was rising and falling rapidly.

you needed to rest, and he was not about to disturb you.

so he quietly stepped back, waited for you to finally fall asleep before putting a warm blanket over your body.

he could still continue working, naturally.

he was working before you came.

and, after all, he assumed you'd be waking up in a few hours from now, so he needed to keep himself busy.

however, he couldn't truly focus on anything else, when he was so, so worried.

he was thankful that you had such a natural —and apparently harmless— way to decompress.

but he couldn't help but pace around, wondering if he should wake you up to comfort you, let you sleep until your body finally rested, or find out what is happening so it never happens again…

or it never goes this far.

he kneeled beside your sleeping form, and rested his chin on your tummy, looking up at you attentively.

were you still breathing?

were you having good dreams, or nightmares about your exhausted state?

…were you even dreaming?

he couldn't tell.

he mindlessly traced light figures over your clothed body, sighing longingly.

when you finally wake up, no matter how long it takes, there he is.

you find his eyes tiredly looking at you, and his cheek squished against your abdomen.

he will totally ask what's wrong.

and whether you decide to tell him what's going on or not, that's up to you. he wouldn't force you to do so.

what he will force you to do is go take a relaxing bath with him, though.

not only will he have a little bit of time with you, but he'll make sure you keep resting even when awake, with the soft aroma of citric soap and flower petals surrounding you.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ sylus! ꒰੭

he knew you were stressed, but he didn't expect this outcome.

you weren't answering his texts, you weren't answering his calls…

according to mephisto, you were back at your place.

then why were you avoiding him?

he waited a couple hours. after all, he respects your independence, and you probably have your reasons for not answering.

but seven full hours went by, and he was not having it.

he wasn't angry.

he was worried.

mostly because he'd seen how much you'd been doing lately, and the way you struggled each day with the tons and tons of tasks you had to do.

so, naturally, he went to check on you.

he has the passcode, yet he knocks on your door.

he has a key, yet he waits.

ten minutes after, and he goes in.

your place is dark, and the only trace of you are the shoes by the door.

he finds you rather quickly when he enters your bedroom. you are asleep, lying on your side, holding your phone, and covered up to your nose.

when he carefully moves your phone away, he sees an unsent message directed to him.

“need to rest, can't talk.”

or well, something along those lines, because you apparently wrote it half asleep, and you mixed numbers, symbols, and letters all together.

he sighs.

he should've known your body would shut down like this.

he's dealt with stress before himself, but he has many other ways to release it, so he was in foreign territory when it came to this.

it didn't make him less cautious and loving, though.

he presses a soft kiss on your forehead and decides to let you rest soundly.

but with him around, obviously.

he waits for you while holding your hand and brushing his thumb on your skin.

no matter how long, he'll wait until your eyes flutter open.

and he won't need to ask what is going on. he just has to pull you into his arms, look into your eyes, and he knows you'll trust him with your struggles.

and honestly? it's hard not to, when he brushes his nose against yours and his lips linger against yours with each word you start to muster.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ xavier! ꒰੭

he wasn't around when you came back, practically shoved your things away and ran straight to bed.

your body was screaming for you to rest, your mind was about to explode, and to top it off, xavier had left indefinitely.

of course, he promised you he'd come back, and that it wouldn't take long.

and you knew he was going to keep his word, since he kissed you so much before leaving, and his hugs lasted hours.

so, all by yourself, you curled up under the covers and tried to release the atrocious levels of stress you've been holding on to for so long.

he came back that same night, and he was more than glad to find you already asleep.

he quietly got ready for bed, taking off his clothes and changing into something more comfortable.

he missed you so much, and he couldn't wait to snuggle up.

however, he could sense something was not quite right.

your things carelessly thrown away, your unrested expression even when sleeping, the way your eyes twitched ever so slightly…

he carefully sat beside your sleeping form and cupped your cheek tenderly.

what was happening? were you angry? just tired? stressed?

he felt guilty, especially because he hadn't been available or within reach over the past few days.

you couldn't talk to him about what was going on, and maybe that led you to pent up everything.

he sighed and decided letting you rest was for the best.

and he wanted to join you, of course. maybe his warm body and loving embrace would calm you down.

maybe his familiar scent or the comfort of his peaceful breathing would let you know you're not alone anymore.

or, better yet, that you've never been.

and you don't have to deal with your issues by yourself, no matter how complex or seemingly insignificant they are to you.

he would ask tomorrow, after making up for his absence.

he would also ensure you don't get to this point ever again, where sleeping is not a peaceful moment, but rather a scream for help after being stressed for so long.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ zayne! ꒰੭

he's quite literally the embodiment of “i'll accumulate stress and completely shut down later.”

so he is quick to recognize the subtle hints your body shows when things start to escalate.

of course, he talks and talks to you about different techniques to decompress, breathing methods, activities you could do to release some stress…

but he is aware of how difficult it is to stop, take a break, and relax —especially when you have so many things to do or think about.

so, when he waits for you at his office, already reviewing some menus for both of you to order takeout, and you never come?

he's alarmed.

he calls for you twice.

only twice.

and when you don't pick up, he takes his coat, his briefcase, and exits the hospital.

back at your home, he looks for you.

however, he soon stops in his tracks when you walk in just after him, closing the door and quite literally ignoring him as you make your way to your shared bedroom.

your slumped shoulders, your tensed jaw, your shaky breathing…

your body couldn't handle the stress anymore, and you got under the covers in seconds, closing your eyes and trying to shut down any thoughts or worries.

by the time he followed you, you were already asleep, as if your body needed to recharge urgently.

he didn't exactly follow what he preached when it came to healthy habits, so even though he knew what advice to give you, he also knew it was hard to follow himself.

and he also knew the last thing you needed was for your boyfriend to lecture you.

you were smart, and you'd heard tips and recommendations quite a lot —especially from him.

instead, he decided to quietly cover you with the blankets and fix your pillow.

he also placed a soft, protective kiss on your forehead and decided to let you be.

…at least, for the first hour.

the next few hours, he curled up behind you. his mind was the one racing now, thinking of how he could help you, and how he could actually learn how to manage stress, so both of you could follow each other's example.

but now? now he just cares about you and your state of mind.

and when you wake up, he'll be ready to talk.

not to lecture you, but rather to promise you he'll do anything in his willpower to help you manage stress.

even if that means starting to follow his own doctor's orders.

[lukyan-chan-blog]

DP x DC Prompt Your children will die young.

Bruce thinks he's cursed, actually he's not, although he might as well be. Biological half-brothers Danny, Damian and surprise, there are three more!

it's my first post, I never learned how to use this but the ideas don't come out of my head and there's no one to talk to about this so I'm sorry for spouting my delusions and English is not my native language (I don't follow the cannon, I don't know, I don't know what it is, I'm going to ignore it, it scares me but I did see DP although I don't think it counts for much, honestly)

Batman is spiraling after a powerful trio of siblings join the Justice League. They attract attention with their bright, exotic and painfully young (terribly powerful) appearance.

Since he has discovered that he is most likely the biological father. He doesn't know how to tell them this, or that maybe all three of them died from a curse he deliberately ignored for years. He wants to obtain DNA samples but since they are now ghosts it is not likely that they will leave DNA that he can take for paternity tests.

Do all three have the same biological mother? They are identical! (Maybe they could be clones?) Should I search and desecrate their graves? Will they notice? Were they even buried? Did anyone cry for them? Did they have a funeral? Were they cremated? Did an illness, an accident or a murder kill them? (How can I not ask all that? I need answers!)

Every time he and his family look at them, they can only cry inside and become distraught.

Your children are dead! He has to break this curse, apologize and bring them home! They are children, so young!

(When Flash asked how Phantom was the oldest of the three if Wraith appears fully grown with his height and large muscles, it ended in some tears from the speedster, causing much of the nearby team to become depressed)

Meanwhile the trio of ghosts:

Phantom (heavy fighter like Superman and Captain Marvel), Wraith (diplomat who spends time with the GL in space), and Shade (infiltration and caos) try to avoid Batman by pretending they don't know anything.

Then Bruce has his moment of crazy nights before leaving university, an "ex-girlfriend" - a woman he dated only twice becomes obsessed with him - Bruce obviously becomes gets rid of her easily

(we just went out for coffee and lunch, I didn't even know it was supposed to be a date.)

When Bruce rejects her, she swears that she comes from a line of witches and will curse him, if he doesn't marry her all his children will die. Bruce still checks it, but what he finds is just a story of three generations of eccentric women, so he ignores it and moves on with his life.

During another one night stand, his anonymous date gets pregnant and since she doesn't really remember much, she doesn't go looking for him either. This woman doesn't want to keep the baby and the doctor treating her actually needed a baby to pass as hers. Sheila takes this baby that she wants to tie Willis up with, but Willis already married Catherine. She leaves this baby "Jason Todd" with Willis as revenge.

Fast forward a few years later, Bruce has another crazy night with a couple.The Fentons have no problem having this baby and forget to call Bruce.

Years later Damian Wayne introduces himself as his only blood son, he becomes Robin.

Damián, now 17 years old, gets along well with a new heroine who is the youngest of a new trio that has joined the Justice League. The trio of siblings leave a bittersweet and painful feeling to the league because they are dead children.

Danny “Phantom”- 14 years old

Dante “Wraith” - 13 years old

Ellie “Shade”- 12 years old

One day they want to go to eat at this new restaurant in Gotham but although Robin can buy food with the suit they would attract a lot of attention with Shade giving off her supernatural glow, Ellie tells him that he can take a normal living human form and thus go out to eat. Once everything is agreed, on a nearby roof, Ellie returns to her human appearance and Damian realizes that they are terribly similar, very similar! He asks her if that's really what she looks like in life and she says yes

(Ellie doesn't really notice)

During the disturbing dinner on the roof, Damian asks him about his other two brothers.

"oh them? Wraith is actually my completely biological brother, our mother was really crazy and we ended up like this, you know? Phantom is our older half-brother, ever since he found out about our existence he has been tormenting our mother even more for what she did to us"

Damian is secretly going crazy but keeps asking.

"Phantom has been dead for longer, he doesn't usually change his living appearance much although sometimes he does, Wraith looks older just because he really felt very bad being so young and I don't have problems with how I look, although in reality I'm a little older than you"

(Ellie is actually lying a little for Danny's peace of mind, she sticks to her false story) Ellie even shows him a photo of her brothers looking alive. Damian is looking at a photo of three people who look a lot like his father, him, and for some reason Todd.

Damian returns to the mansion looking for old photos of Todd (because they look so similar too?!) and spiraling because the three new members could be his dead half-Siblings.

The batfamily finds out about Damian's conspiracy theory and panics. After some analysis they discover that Jason is in fact Bruce's biological son

(Jason feels cheated because Sheila was not his mother either and died in his attempt to meet/save her and because he has Bruce as his father)

Tim "actually they all died young, Shade at 12, Wraith 13, Phantom 14, Jason 15 and Damian died for a while at 16, that means that Bruce's next child has to die at 11 or 17"

Bruce…..

Tim "although if you think about it, most of us here also died at some point, only for a very short time unlike Jason and Damian"

Bruce, in a mental breakdown over his possible children and his dead children.

Phantom, who was floating invisible was about to ask Jason if he wanted to hang out, hears the conspiracy and runs to ask Jazz. (Jazz says yes, his parents had a threesome with some young millionaire they forgot to call and then lost his number)

Danny, who has been escaping for years from being adopted by Vlad, refuses to be adopted by another millionaire guy who also seems like a different kind of vampire.

(it's funny because Batman could pass for a vampire and Vlad also looks like a vampire, they both wear capes, they have a secret basement and they both want to adopt some boy with black hair and blue eyes)

From here on it's nonsense and a lot of misunderstandings because:

Danny and company don't want to be adopted or reveal themselves or explain the issue of clones or because Dan has a 13-year-old human body but is from another timeline.

The Batfamily wants to hunt down these kids to bring them home, find out if the apparent crazy mother is in prison for killing her two children, where is Phantom's mother? Was he also murdered? Because his casual comments about his parents seem to understand that this is the case.

Tim again notices the pattern that all the children have died for their "parents" or relatives.

Bruce has another nervous breakdown.

Dick cries for his poor dead brothers.

Jason blames all of this on Bruce and is still confused.

Damian doesn't know how to feel about not being the only blood child or that apparently he and Todd were lucky enough to get back.

Steph wonders if her dying minutes count her as Bruce's daughter.

Cass is sad ):

Duke doesn't know if he wants to stay in this family.

Alfred has had enough for this week

[thedosian-zine]

Hello fellow Dragon Age fanatics, it is I, @perkeleen-lavellan , and I come to you peddling that serialized zine project I mentioned!

Introducing Thedosian! Its goal is to be a fanwork sharing zine with three issues per year., each with its own unique theme. This year there will only be one, however, as I will be taking extra time to set everything up initially.

This zine is completely free and digital in the spirit of fostering a more interactive community. We value inclusivity, bringing visibility to smaller creators, and showcasing all the talent that this fandom has to offer.

MODERATORS

I am looking for 1-2 moderators to help me by moderating our discord and assisting me with communicating to our creatives, and in genral with planning the first iteration of this project.

You will have a schedule that I have planned and other guidelines to help you. Any relevant skills or input you have will be more than welcome. Although this project aims to be a long term one you do not have to stay with us for more than this one issue. The deadline for issue No. 1 is at the end of October, so you do need to be able to commit to being involved until then.

Mod apps end a week before the contributors.

1.8.2025

MODS APPLY HERE

ARTISTS & WRITERS

This issues theme is Heroes. We want you create art and writing focused on the protagonists that have made these games what they are, be they Wardens, Hawkes, Inquisitors or Rooks.

The contributor applications end August 10th, and you have until August 15th to accept the position.

The deadline for all the works is October 26th, so only apply if you believe you can finish in time.

Artists will be asked to create either a vertical single page illustration or a horizontal two page spread illustration. In addition we are looking for a cover artist, which would be a horizontal illustration covering front and back. We'll provide all our artists with proper page templates.

ARTISTS APPLY HERE

Writers will be asked to write a 5000 word fic at minimum with no hard upper limit. We do ask that you keep it at 3 chapters at maximum, and remember that you need to leave time for yourself for editing and beta reading if you wish to do that. It will not be a requirement however.

WRITERS APPLY HERE

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Marina behind the cut; “mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Not so much, no,” Kon says. “Just, like–okay so when a morally-upstanding superhero with unfathomable alien superpowers and a megalomaniacal asshole scientific genius billionaire hate each other very much . . .” 

“. . . please tell me there is not a reality where Uncle Clark had a baby with Lex Luthor,” Dick says. 

“The fact you immediately knew who I was talking about seems like its own answer there, man,” Kon replies dryly. 

“EW,” Jason says, visibly horrified. 

“Dad married Lex Luthor in your world?” Jon asks, looking grossed-out. “Seriously?” 

“Okay, that's a horrifying thought, thanks, but like–Jesus, no. And I’m not like their kid or whatever, I was just being . . . I dunno, snarky, or whatever. Fucking facetious, I dunno,” Kon says, making a bit of a face himself. Like–that's just not a thing, obviously, but also that would have to be the worst possible custody arrangement, Jesus. “I'm like . . . a composite reproduction. Uh–like, a synthetic hybrid. Like fifty-two percent Kryptonian, forty-four percent human, and four percent–I dunno, some trippy fabricated stabilizer thing. Just like–a custom-built Superman that Luthor was, unfortunately, involved in both the building and the customization of.”  

But absolutely not anybody's fucking kid, much less Clark and Luthor's. Not even, like–Ma and Pa’s, or . . . like–obviously not theirs. So like . . . 

It’s a stupid thing to be thinking about. Like–not something he does think about. Just–he’s only thinking about it because . . . like, because he . . . 

Just–Dick and Jon brought it up. That’s all. 

. . . like, they didn’t bring up Ma and Pa specifically, obviously, just–they brought it up, and he’s stressed the fuck out, and he doesn’t know if everyone he’s ever known is dead or if they’ve all forgotten him again and they’ll never remember he was even there and even Bart won’t remember, won’t know to come looking, and how the fuck is he supposed to do this, get back, fix this, be–

Are they dead? 

( WOULD Ma and Pa come get him, if– )

He stops thinking about that, because like–obviously that’s shit that there’s no point in thinking about. Shit that isn’t gonna help; isn’t “productive”. Isn’t gonna solve the problem or keep him from catastrophizing. Isn’t gonna help anyone find him. 

Or–come get him. 

“A–‘composite reproduction’?” Jon looks bewildered. Kon can’t really bring himself to smile at the kid, so just . . . shrugs, and tries to keep his jaw from tightening. 

“I’m a clone,” he says, and listens way too closely to Dick and Jason and Alfred’s heartbeats as he says it. None of them, like–spike, really, or do anything all that dramatic, but like . . . Bats, and all. So like . . . that doesn’t mean all that much, really. 

Jon blinks at him, still looking bewildered, and then–frowns, and looks–assessing, maybe. 

“So if you’re half made out of Dad, we’re family ‘cuz you’re, like, my . . . half-brother?” he asks, still frowning. “Is that why?” 

Kon really, really is not in a place to handle hearing that question right now. 

Or like–ever. But especially not right now.

[mammalsofaction]

I love that half of this post is literally talking about Monogram's son and not a single one of you seem to remember the son's name is MONTY. And the reason hes so unmemorable is because he's literally a cookie cutter perfect golden boy. They keep trying to ship him with Vanessa as this perfect romeo and juliet situation but its the single most boring het relationship concept i have ever laid eyes on.

(Carl HATES Monty. Genuinely. He has blackmail on Monty (pretty sure he has blackmail on most people) and Monty fondly thinks of him as a weirdo. If you can't tell yet I DO ship it because it actually makes Monty an interesting character.)

Jeff "Swampy" Marsh only ever remembers Carl btw. Like whenever he's asked in an interview that demands his character relate to a teenager, if Dan brings up Vanessa Swampy will bring up Carl. I'm dead certain they do not remember Monty exists 90% of the time. As far as anybody knows and behaves Carl is Francis pseudo-son. Absolutely fantastic classic dwampy style dynamic that you cannot find anywhere else

there has never been a more ‘just two guys’ dynamic then carl and major monogram. any attempt to classify their relationship fails. literally what the fuck is their deal? love it.

[cherryyserenade]

ur hee bf head canons were so cute 🫶 could u do a hoon version?

*ೃ༄ boyfriend enha headcannons ft. sunghoon

a/n: this ask was so sweet omg thank you :) i had so much fun writing this version so i hope you like how it turned out <3

pairing: 박성훈 x fem!reader ᨳw: mentions of jealousy, dry texting, teasing, simply just fluff

sunghoon is the type of boyfriend to...

01. …act like he’s annoyed when you cling to him in public, but never move away.

he’ll be like “ugh, why are you like this,” while literally adjusting his arm so it wraps around you better. his face is straight but his ears are bright pink. if anyone teases him about it, he’ll just say “she’s cold.” you’re not. he just likes having you close.

02. …refuses to share his stuff with the members but hands you his hoodie like it’s nothing.

jay once asked to borrow it and got a straight up “no.” you yawn once and he’s already taking the hoodie off the hanger. he’ll drape it over your shoulders all dramatic and then act like he didn’t just give you his favorite hoodie of all time. you’re the exception, always.

03. …makes fun of your music taste and then secretly adds all your favorite songs to his playlist.

he’ll say that it “doesn’t even match the vibe” while still letting it play. then two days later you catch your comfort song sitting in his “late night skate” playlist. don’t ask questions. just know he listens to it when he misses you.

04. …looks like he’s not listening when you talk, but remember every little thing.

you’ll mention craving strawberry milk one time, just randomly, and the next time you see him, he’s handing you one like it’s nothing. doesn’t even say a word. just gives it to you and keeps walking, because of course he remembered. and right before he turns away, he leans in and kisses your cheek like it’s just routine.

05. …let’s you put rings or hair clips or stickers on him and pretends he doesn’t care.

but the second you leave, he looks at them in awe for a weirdly long time. one time you stuck a pink bunny sticker on his phone case and he never took it off. when someone pointed it out, he said “oh i didn’t notice.” he definitely did.

06. …be brutally honest about everything except how much he loves you.

he’ll roast your outfit, your movie taste, even your sneeze — but the minute someone else teases you? oh this man turns into your personal defense lawyer. “shut up, she’s literally perfect.” and he says it so casually, like it’s just a fact.

07. …sees you across the room and tilts his head with that slow, lazy smile like he’s already yours.

he won’t wave. won’t call your name. just that look. that quiet smirk like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. like he’s not even surprised you caught him staring. he’s been staring.

08. …fake complains whenever you lie on top of him, but won’t let you move.

he’ll be like “can’t. breathe.” and act like you’re crushing him even though he literally pulled you into his lap in the first place. he’ll rest his chin on your head and scroll on his phone like it’s the most normal thing in the world. this is his happy place.

09. …sends dry, low effort texts like “ok” and “lol” but lights up the second he sees you.

he’s not the best at texting, just short replies, random memes, and the occasional “you up?”but in person? oh he’s all warmth. smiling before you even say hi, pulling you into a hug that lasts a little too long, like he’s been waiting all day. sometimes he brings you your favorite drink without saying a word. he’s just better at showing he cares when you’re standing right in front of him.

10. …secretly takes videos of you just doing random things because he thinks you look cute.

he literally has a camera roll full of you tying your shoes, yawning, even downing a energy drink like it’s a wildlife documentary. and he’ll never admit it. you’ll just find them by accident one day and he’ll get all flustered and go “don’t look at those.”

11. …gets jealous in the pettiest, quietest ways.

he won’t really say anything, but you’ll notice he gets real focused on his phone the second someone else makes you laugh. when you ask what’s up, he shrugs and says “nothing”, but then he’s suddenly sitting closer, casually reaching for your hand and resting his on your thigh like it’s no big deal. he’s not mad, just reminding you where your attention should be.

12. …does everything to keep up his cool guy idol image but completely melts when you call him pretty.

he’ll have his arms crossed, sunglasses on, trying to act all unbothered — but the second you say, “hoon you look so pretty today” with that smile on your face, he’s hiding his face behind his hand and trying not to smile. he’ll mumble something like “don’t say that” but you can literally see him glowing. he loves it. especially when it’s from you.

a/n: i LOVED writing this one actually. if there's a specific member you wanna see next, drop it in my inbox i am very easily influenced (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

[inthelibrarybtw]

you want me to pretend? | thirteen

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: college!basketball!captain!rafe x college!student!reader content: fluff, college au, smau/irl, banter

summary: You were trying to make one problem disappear. You were tired, so you lied. That small lie led you to contact the last person you wanted to ask for help. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Rafe; only that you didn’t want to deal with his constant teasing more than you already did. Also, you two weren't that close, but this one lie was going to bring you two closer and maybe help some truths come to light.

word count: 1.5k

authors note: this took me so long but I promise this next chapters are worth it and we're back in the present timeline. also go read deep end if you haven't, I'm still not over them.

12 | 13 | 14

Thursday

Before class, Rafe had seen you talking with Sarah, and he walked over to say hi. He ended up staying to talk, and when it was almost time for class, the two of you walked together and continued the conversation. As the class started, you found yourself sitting next to Rafe while the conversation continued. In any other situation, you would've quieted down, but this time it almost felt rude to do so. You didn't even remember what you were originally talking about, but lately talking to Rafe felt so easy and natural that it made you think about how much had changed since you two first met and how glad you were that it had changed. 

While Professor McKay explained something about economics in businesses, Rafe didn't stop talking, and you were far more interested in what he was going to say next than in whatever Professor King was explaining. The conversation was flowing, and you managed not to interrupt your classmates or the professor until Rafe said the stupidest thing ever, which made you laugh. In your poor attempts to keep it down, you only made it worse.

Rafe found it funny and even felt a rush of pride at being able to pull an honest to God laugh out of you. Unlike Rafe, Professor McKay was anything but amused at the two of you interrupting his lecture. 

“Ms. Y/N,  care to share what’s so funny about what I’m explaining?” You blushed as the attention was solely on you. “Or maybe Mr. Cameron can help you do so, as I see he also finds this very funny.” 

“I’m sorry, Professor McKay,” you apologized quickly

“Don’t interrupt my class, that goes for everyone,” he said in a stern voice, which made you feel like a little kid who just got scolded. At that, you gave Rafe’s foot a little kick, and he just smiled. He clearly didn’t care about what had just happened. 

“So…” he whispered.

“No…”  You whispered back to Rafe, “I don’t want to get kicked out of the class.” he just grinned, and Professor McKay gave you both another warning look. At that, you grabbed your phone to text Rafe and avoid more misunderstandings with the professor.

“Well, that was a fun class,” Rafe said with a big smirk while you just let out a noncommittal hum in response. “Oh, don’t give me that, you were laughing,” he nudged you with his elbow as you walked. 

“Yeah, in the middle of a lecture that I barely heard, and he scolded me in front of everyone.” 

“Us, he scolded us.” 

“Same thing, I don’t like the attention on me,” you said with a hint of something Rafe couldn’t decipher just yet. 

“I will take that into consideration for next time,” he said, and you chuckled softly. “There you go.” 

“Shut up,” you chuckled again

—

​​After the brief conversation you had with Rafe after class, you both went your separate ways. You decided to go home, get lunch, and tidy up the living and dining rooms before he arrived. Rafe, on the other hand, went to buy food and picked up Emily from a playdate she had after school. 

Before leaving, he put on a hoodie and grabbed his things. 

“Where are you going?” Emily’s little voice broke the silence of his room. 

“I’m going to study with a friend.” 

“Topper?” 

“No, Y/N,” she scrunched her eyebrows, trying to remember. 

“Who is she, Rafey?” she tilted her head to the side. 

“Remember the time you called me when I was at a party and there was a girl with me?” 

“The pretty girl!” she giggled. 

“Yes, the pretty girl,” he smiled. “She is also the one who sent the cookies last time.” 

“The heart cookies! I loved them.” 

“I know you did.” 

“You should bring more,” she said with a smile that won Rafe over every time. 

“I don’t know about that, but I will try to bring something else for you, okay, sunshine?”

After that, he kissed her on the forehead and left for your place. He arrived ten minutes earlier than you had originally told him. When you opened the door and let him in, he couldn’t stop thinking about how used to he had become to go to your house and how much he liked to spend time there. To spend time with you. You had also grown used to having him there; maybe the fake dating hadn’t been a bad idea after all; you had gained a new friend. A good friend who made you laugh, who always looked out for you, even back when the two of you were not as close as you are now. 

As you two settled in the living room, you played music to fill the silence that often accompanied your concentration on assignments. You enjoyed moments like this, music and company, while engaging in the most trivial and habitual tasks. Quality time and whatnot. His voice broke through your thoughts.  

“I made a playlist,” he said, sending you a link. “It has music we both like.”  He said as he took off the hoodie he was wearing and placed it somewhere on the couch. 

“Two hours?” You paused the song that was playing as you scrolled through the playlist. “Taylor Swift and One Direction?” You smiled.  

“You like them, don’t you?”  

“Yes, I do.” You looked at him, a smile still on your face, as if he had done the best thing ever, and he swore his heart might’ve skipped a beat. 

“Yeah, well… it’s so we can listen to something we both like.”  

“This is great,” You said, pressing play on the playlist.

As you two worked on your assignments, the playlist played in the background, and some songs distracted you, making you hum under your breath. Rafe noticed those little hums, and he smiled to himself. Another win in his books after making you laugh in the middle of class. 

“So… I wanted to ask you something.” You turned your head toward him as you heard his voice. 

“Yes?” 

“Is there a possibility that we can bake cookies or something?” he asked cautiously. You chuckled. 

“I’m not a bakery, you know?” you teased

“Oh, I know, just my sister loved your cookies and…” 

“And you can’t say no to her.” Your gaze softened at that. 

“Yeah, guilty as charged.” 

“Well, I would, but I don’t have anything to bake today. Since you started coming over more often, my ingredients last way less, and I can’t just bake on command, you know?” You gave him a look. 

“Oh, come on, not even for your boyfriend?” he teased, and you rolled your eyes. 

“Don’t pull that on me, we never said anything about baking on the rules.” 

“Well then, let’s add it,” you laughed. He had an answer on the tip of his tongue for everything you said. 

“Fine, I’ll bake whatever you want, but you buy the ingredients.” He unlocked his phone to add it to his notes. 

“Deal”

Around 6:30 PM, he started gathering his things. As much as he would have liked to stay longer, he owed Emily cookies, and she was not going to forgive him if he returned empty-handed. He left just as your parents were coming in, so he said hi and bye to them in the same breath, kissed your cheek goodbye, and left.

Friday

As soon as you received the email that your class was canceled, you left campus as quickly as possible. You had wanted to take a nap, read a book, or do anything but be in class, and this was perfect. When you got home, your phone buzzed, and plopped down on the couch to answer the texts.

After answering the texts, you didn’t want to stand up from the couch, so you scrolled through social media until you fell asleep. You woke up at 1:40 PM and decided to change and refresh your makeup before it was time to head out. When you made it to your room, you saw a hoodie that your mom had left on your bed. It was probably one she had taken out of your closet to wear and was just now giving back. Oh, the joys of having a mom who is the same size as you. 

You chose new shoes to match the hoodie and did your makeup since it got a bit smudged when you took a nap. After that, you grabbed the hoodie and put it on. It was bigger than you remembered; maybe your mom had taken it hostage a while ago, and you forgot how it looked on you. It also smelled different; had she washed it with a new soap? But then why did the smell seem familiar? 

You were about to take a picture, but the sleeves were hiding your hands, so you decided to fold them. When you folded the sleeves, it clicked. This was Rafe’s hoodie, not yours. You had one in the same color, and it was also oversized, so you couldn’t blame yourself for getting it confused. You still took the picture, and the outfit looked cute. You debated whether or not to change, but it was already late. You had to drive 20 minutes, maybe less if you drove faster.

taglist: @zyafics @maybankslover @niaunoffical @marleymarleymarleymarley @rafesbabygirlx @akobx @papercranesandinkstains @winterivory @my-name-is-baby @drunkinthemiddleoftheday @drewrry @ursogorgeous13 @pr3tty-pink @lmaowhatt @xoxosblogsblog @ayy1234567 @congratsloserr @moonywhisp3rs @iamheretoread1234 @rafesdrew @pogueprincesa @cokewithcameron @landososcar @drewstarkeyslover @wintersoldierslover @rafecqmeronslove @defnotayonna @wintercrows @letstryagaintomorrow @rafestoothbrush @angelicameron @dreamybabbyy @percysley @sideboobrry11 @diasnohibng @charchartumb-lr @mariamadison6-blog @drewstarkeyswife-7 @memoirofasparklemuff1n @wtfisastiles @lcversvoid @gabrielaperez11 @ggraycelynn @drewsephrry if you want to be added send an ask or comment! :) follow and turn on notifications on @inthelibrarybtw-notifs to get updates on everything I write

REBLOGS, COMMENTS AND LIKES ARE ALWAYS WELCOMED

INTHELIBRARYBTW ✧.

[ssoobunnies]

𝜗𝜚 : RUSHRUSHRUSH — karasuno first years x reader pt. two

❥ karasuno boys crushing on a ten ten baddie. not proofread. part one here.

╰ song : rush by troye sivan, pinkpantheress, hyunjin

long ahh hell too 😭 my first year goats 😭🔥 i’ve been debating whether to keep going with the scenarios where (name) has a set career path, still not sure let me know tho forealzies 🫩🔥

⭑ TSUKISHIMA KEI :

tsukishima wasn’t known for having a big appetite. he would pick at meals, ignored most of the snacks during breaks, and refused to even look at anything labeled “homemade” if it came from a classmate’s hands. his volleyball teammates knew this, yamaguchi especially knew this. so when tsukishima didn’t roll his eyes or scoff the first time (name) waltzed in with her little tupperware of sweets with a smile, humming, handing them out like life was all sunshine and rainbows—it was nothing short of suspicious. (name), a first-year, loud in all the ways that weren’t annoying. always talking about how flavor profiles could change depending on temperature, or the science behind accurate ingredient measurements when it came to baking. voice always melodic, animated. nails were always shiny and clean, her perfume a mix of vanilla and fresh fruit, and her face was pretty, pretty hard to ignore. pretty, pretty in a way that even tsukishima noticed. yet, he didn’t say much. not until she offered him an apple cinnamon cookie. he stared at it unfazed . “it won’t kill you,” she said with a teasing smile. he took it, bit into it and didn’t hate it. and that’s how it started a cookie, a tart. eventually, he stopped ignoring her and started waiting for her and whatever dessert she’d bring next, especially if it had apples in it. he would claim it wasn’t a big deal, but yamaguchi caught on when he saw tsukishima waiting until lunch to open a little wax paper bundle she had handed him that morning, savoring a spiced apple bar like it was some kind of delicacy.

“where are you getting all that stuff?” Hinata asked one day, eyeing the perfect slice of biscoff cheesecake on tsukishima’s lap. “it looks good, can i have some? just one bite!” tsukishima didn’t bother looking up, “absolutely,” hinata geeked out, “not.” hinata in-geeked and stomped his foot, “you’re evil.” yamaguchi, besties for life chimed in. “you could probably ask (name) for sweets she’s more than happy to share her love through food! she’s in the culinary club and in our class!” tsukishima slowly turned toward his best friend, brows raised, offense written all over his face.

about five minutes before practice wrapped, the gym doors creaked open and in she walked—(name), radiant even in her apron, hair pulled back, cheeks slightly pink from standing near an oven too long and in her hands: a tray lined with small bowls and containers. “hi!” she greeted, waving cheerfully. “thought i’d drop off the leftovers from today’s club experiment, save a life or two. we made a turmeric and cumin chickpea curry over saffron rice with a little twist.” the team swarmed like bees, tsukishima stayed in the back, towel around his neck, arms crossed, eyes trained on her like she was a science problem he didn’t mind studying. hinata lit up. “you made all this?” she nodded, already handing out small portions. “we were playing with layering spices today.” she glanced toward tsukishima, who just raised a brow. “you said something about balancing bitterness.” he spoke up, “ahh, you remembered!” she beamed with a hand cupping her face. tsukishima glanced off to the side. “you were talking loud enough for the whole class to remember.” she laughed, “sounds about right! cumin usually leans earthy and turmeric’s got that sharp edge, so we decided to add cardamom pods for warmth and a little citrus zest to brighten it.”

tsukishima took the bowl from her hands without protest. the scent was warm and rich, spices weaving together like a proper fraction. it was stupid how good it smelled. whilst the rest of the team moaned dramatically over how good it tasted. even kageyam let out a rare, low “this is really good,” while nishinoya and tanaka looked like he’d gone to cloud nine, yachi and kiyoko pointing their fingers at the food, “who made this?!” (name) beamed, “ahh, i’ll tell the club you guys enjoyed it!” tsukishima noted the stars in her eyes watching the team scarf down the food. finishing one by one and even some members asking for seconds, (name) packed up her containers and waved goodbye, tsukishima’s eyes lingering on her figure. everyone subtly glanced at tsukishima and the way his gaze lingered just a second too long as she walked out the gym, how his lips twitched just the slightest hint of a smile when she spoke animatedly about the spices the club had used. yamaguchi elbowed him, “didn’t know you were a fan of conversation.” his tall friend scoffed. “it was edible.” tanaka smirked. “pretty, edible.” high-fiving nishinoya who raised his brows with quickness at the tall blond. “i was talking about the food.” suga joined in the teasing “i bet you are.” the others broke into quiet snickers. tsukishma rolled his eyes at his teammates who missed the pink of his ears, maybe, just maybe, (name) was the little bit of sweetness tsukishima didn’t know he needed. not that he was ever going to admit that.

at least… not yet.

⭑ YAMAGUCHI TADASHI :

yamaguchi never really got the hype around makeup. he wasn’t against it or anything—it just wasn’t his world. he didn’t understand the concept of putting that much effort and then showing up at 9 a.m. sharp, faces already shimmering like they were headed to a runway instead of homeroom. glossy lips, winged eyeliner, sparkles that caught the sunlight like disco balls. he personally, thought it was a lot. but yet, when it came to her—his pretty, soft-spoken classmate—it wasn’t “a lot.” It was just her. the glittery blush across her cheeks. the smooth gloss that made her lips shine like clear water. the subtle scent of vanilla or rose whenever she walked past his desk. she wore glam like it was second nature, like she wasn’t trying to impress anyone, just expressing something delicate and golden that already lived inside her. yamaguchi found himself noticing. more than he’d actually like to admit. a glance that lasted half a second too long. a little smile she gave him when he was caught staring, it made his chest flutter. he wasn’t even sure when the crush started. probably at the beginning of the school year when she kneeled beside a crying first year in the hallway. the girl’s makeup had smeared from the rain and tears, mascara running down her cheeks, and everyone else had just passed by like she wasn’t even there. except her,

she had kneeled down without hesitation, wiping the girl's smudged cheeks gently with a tissue, voice soft like snow. not a single trace of annoyance, just the calm and kind within her. that was the day he realized her makeup wasn’t just “pretty.” it truly was a reflection an extension of her gentle soul who saw beauty in others even when they didn’t see it themselves. and slowly the colder months crept in, students dropping like flies becoming victim of sickness, (name) being one of them, so when she walked into class bundled up in a puffy coat, a scarf she gently folded on her desk, and a white sterile mask and not one product on her face yamaguchi did a double take. not because she looked weird, but because her skin a pale (color) due to the cloudy winter weather, a little dry from the cold, with the faintest flush on her cheeks that had nothing to do with blush. her eyelashes were long and curled possibly a tad bit of mascara. no shimmery gloss, just the natural color of her lips peeking out when she adjusted her mask to moisten them up. her eyes, usually enhanced with glitter or warm brown shadows, looked bigger somehow, raw in the most endearing way, framed by faint undereye shadows that proved she was, in fact, human. yamaguchi’s heart failed him because there right beside him was (name) looking like a straight angel, a sort of renaissance painting in physical form. he realized, that this wasn’t just a crush. it was something that had already turned into something much deeper, steady and quiet and glowing in his chest like a candle. even without her makeup, she still shined. and he liked her even more because of it.

⭑ KAGEYAMA TOBIO :

kageyama tobio: setter, a volleyball prodigy, socially awkward, but had never been the victim of a truly horrendous haircut. until yesterday it wasn’t entirely his fault. his sister was out with a cold so impulsively he decided to steer from his path and walk into a random barbershop because ‘how bad could it be?’ he walked the halls of karasuno with looks from all over. at practice: “who da fawk did your hair?” tanaka gasped at the sight of his teammate’s hair. which then turned into a small snicker, “a buzz would’ve sufficed!” kageyama ear’s blew a fuse due to embarrassment, but as if summoned—a divine intervention, (name) walked in. denim apron embroidered with her name in gold, cursive lettering. the girl kageyama had noticed since she came to watch one of their games. she was impossible to ignore so he actually sometimes wondered how he could have ever missed her. she was always done-up to perfection, hair glossy with careful curls, nails decorated with tiny floral designs, rings and bangles rested on her fingers and wrists that jingled softly when she moved, and always smelling like vanilla and something expensive. “sorry to interrupt but could i borrow little kageyama for just a second?” she looked over the coach ukai who looked slightly amused, everyone froze even tsukishima looked confused. “(name) can i be borrowed next?!” (name) waved off nishinoya with a smile which caused the boy to drop.

“come with me,” she said softly, to the still frozen boy, “please?” it all happened so fast, one second he was lowkey getting roasted, the next he was seated in a rolling chair, a soft cape around his shoulders, and her fingers combing gently through his hair as she muttered things like “criminal,” and “bless whoever gave you this because they need a license revoked.” a soft mutter escaped his lips, “i just needed it shorter.” with pink ears, “you poor thing.” she genuinely sounded sad, her bangles making sounds against his ears, her nimble fingers using pink clips to section his hair, her minty breath causing small bumps to flourish. “well,” she smiled, getting to work, “lucky for you, i love fixing bad cuts. it’s kind of my thing, i want to pursue this after graduation. cosmetology school, hair design, editorial stuff. ugh, i could talk about it all day! but what about you? you’re crazy good a volleyball i was at the most recent home game, may you successfully get a scholarship or go pro.” kageyama blinked at her through the mirror, “t-thank,” he cleared his throat, “thank you. i hope to go pro one day.” she hummed popping the small bubble she made with her gum, “you’ve got the fire, im sure you’ll get there.” his hair could blow off his head by how hot his face was.

and as she worked—delicately, skillfully, with the confidence of someone already living her dream—kageyama found his performing dives of its own. through small conversations followed by a comfortable silence. “well, i am all done, next time come to me first.” next time! he looked at the mirror, the love of his life (name) did more than good. “now go steal some hearts!” he thanked the girl with a deep bow as she dismissed him saying it was for “educational purposes,” by the time kageyama walked back to the gym he looked different clean cut, styled, still bright red in the face, but somehow more confident. “boo! special treatment!” “wow (name) sure works magic!” “wow the king’s queen pulled through.” his face only got darker in color which actually started to worry ukai. “sh-shut up!” maybe this haircut was a blessing in disguise even if it lowkey looked like he was running a 200° fever. when he would your eye in the halls of karasuno or at a match he would shyly reciprocate your much more enthusiastic wave and with a very evident blush on his face.

⭑ HINATA SHOYO :

(name) (last name), second year and head of the design and development club. a club known for its insane budget, creative freedom, and its excellent reputation. tasked with uniform alterations for the official school uniforms and commissioned custom work for athletic teams, cultural clubs, and school events. the volleyball team knew how much this meant when coach ukai and takeda mentioned their new uniforms were going to be designed by that exact club, it was a very big deal. and it seemed like the head of the design and development club wasn’t just known for her work ethic and fashion sense, she was also the beauty of the school. the kind of girl whose presence lingered in the halls long after she passed, whose curls bounced perfectly with every step, whose makeup was always subtle but flawless, and whose nails were clean and decorated with tiny designs that somehow made her seem even more untouchable. “who?” hinata blinked at nishinoya who was geeked out. nishinoya looked personally offended, “are you serious 🫩? how do you nawt know who (name) (last name) is?!”scratching the back of his neck, blush that reeked of embarrassment he replied back, “i dont really pay attention to people like that!”

the day of the fitting came, the gym doors opened, and in walked a few members from the club, rolling in racks of clothing, portfolios, and measuring tape. at the front, clipboard in hand, eyes scanning the team, glasses gently sliding down the bridge of her nose, with a professional calmness, stood her: (name) (last name). hinata’s jaw literally dropped, frozen in place. the way the light creeping through the gym windows hit her just right, hair done to perfection, skirt pressed, blazer sitting just right, and the gloss on her lips sending him into a trance. with a slight nudge from nishinoya and a “i told ya!” she cleared her throat, “okay, if you guys could line up, we will start taking your measurements.” six design and development members and twelve volleyball players. two per person, one on one and with hinata’s luck he was paired with (name). kageyama stood beside hinata eyeing his teammate, “i’ll start with shoulder width and height. kageyama please turn around and face the back wall. hinata please stand straight.” jerking upright with such an insane force he almost fell. a small smile made a way up to her face, up close, she was even more stunning. a soft shimmer on her cheeks, the sharpness of her eyeliner, the way her hair smelled like something expensive—she smelled expensive. (name) tugged the tape gently around his shoulders, so casually, like it was nothing. “relax, you’re way too tense.” scribbling down on her clipboard, she adjusted her glasses. “s-sorry! this i-is a new feeling!” with a nervous followed by soft giggles, “i need you to do a couple of movements. try jumping.” his signature vertical jump, she watched and scribbled on her clipboard. stepping forward with her measuring tape, “jump, arms up, like a spike.” he tried to perform but he was too aware of her sharp eyes on his figure. “hinata, dear,” she sighed, “i’ve seen you at your games you’re not this tense. let us try that spike again, this time like you’re actually playing. forget i am here.” easier said than done, unfortunately.

when the new uniforms arrived at the start of the week, sleek, breathable, and cut perfectly to each player’s build. the black and orange now looked sharper, more modern, and somehow made every member of the team stand taller. the design and development club had gone above and beyond, creating alternate sets—black and orange counterparts, tailored down to the smallest detail. and when (name) rolled into the gym with what looked like two hundred perfectly labeled boxes, she didn’t seem the least bit overwhelmed. calm and composed as always, she spoke in her soft, assured voice: “if you guys need anything alterations, or anything else that comes to mind please don’t hesitate. and here in these boxes are your uniforms. as our slogan goes: you feel your best when you look your best.” small details stood out immediately. the color contrast, comfort, and the embroidery. each player’s name stitched cleanly at the very edge of the jersey, quiet but meaningful. it felt like respect. admiration even. the team reeked of confidence, tsukishima smirked at the fitting and sugawara said it made him feel like a pro.

the next day after school right before practice (name)’s words echoed through hinata’s head which then a marvelous idea brewed in his head. “kageyama,” hinata said suddenly, “let’s go stop by and thank (name)!” kageyama looked over with a raised brow, “like right now?” hinata nodded, “yeah! it’ll be fast. just y’know gratitudes and whatnot!” kageyama gave a half-shrug, clearly not seeing the big deal but following anyway. the closer they got to the club hallway, the faster hinata’s heart pounded and when they reached the room the warm light pouring from inside, the faint sound of soft music spilling out, slight smell of coffee beans emitting, he stopped dead in his tracks. through the open door, (name) was in her zone, hair loosely tied up, a few strands framing her face as she leaned over a sketchbook, laughing at something one of her club members said, gesturing with a pen in hand, expression bright, surrounded by fabric swatches and open portfolios. there was a calm energy in the room that felt genuine. hinata froze, his face turning a concerning red color. clutching his shirt and looking around desperately. “what are you doing?” kageyama blinked, confused. “i-i can’t! she’s busy!” with an eyeroll kageyama spoke again, “well duh, she’s the club’s leader.” hinata slowly started creeping back down the hall, “you dragged me here, dumbass.” “i know but—argh!” eyebrows furrowed kageyama squinted at the boy, and it seemed like the more he stared at hinata the redder he looked. “wait. don’t tell me..” squeaky shoes bolted down the hall with kageyama after a couple of seconds of processing what just unfolded and with a devious smirk ran behind his partner. “shut up! kageyama stop!”

[loveforkenobi]

𝑨𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝑩𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐈𝐬: 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐴𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙🪽 𝐌𝐁𝐓𝐈: 𝐼𝑁𝐹𝑃 – 𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝑀𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟 𝐇𝐨𝐠𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞: 𝑅𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑙𝑎𝑤 𝐙𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜: 𝑃𝑖𝑠𝑐𝑒𝑠 𝑆𝑢𝑛, 𝐿𝑖𝑏𝑟𝑎 𝑀𝑜𝑜𝑛, 𝑉𝑖𝑟𝑔𝑜 𝑅𝑖𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔

𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐇𝐞 𝐈𝐬:

He was never meant to live among mortals. But somewhere between duty and disillusionment, he fell...not in disgrace, but in longing.

He’s quiet, steady, with a gaze that sees more than he ever says. His world used to be full of light, order, expectation. But he left it all behind to walk this world at your side. He carries old wisdom in his voice and peace in his presence. He doesn’t try to fix you. He simply accepts you. You never have to perform with him. There’s nothing fragile about him. His strength just looks different: it shows up in patience, in gentleness, in the way he listens before he speaks.

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐇𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮:

You don’t even realise he’s watching you at first. A warmth in the air when you’re alone. A weight in the silence that feels safe.

He first sees you at a moment when you think no one else is looking; when you’re tending to something small, something most would overlook. You care for it anyway. And that’s what draws him in. He approaches slowly, gently. Not because you’re fragile, but because he respects you.   And when he speaks with you, it's like the world feels colourful. Like there's so much more hope than he could ever imagine. 

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈𝐭 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐲 𝐇𝐢𝐦:

It feels like coming home after a long journey. He is your home. Your peace. The kind that lifts you off your feet and tends to you without a word. He remembers the smallest things about you. Like how you take your tea, what calms you when you wake from bad dreams, where your shoulders hold tension. His touch is careful. Not because he’s afraid to break you, but because he knows how much it means to be held gently. He sees every flaw, every scar, and never looks away. He loves in quiet actions, in soft glances, in the kind of loyalty that doesn't need proving. With him, you don’t feel worshipped. You feel understood.

𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬:

He’s protective in a quiet, lethal way. He doesn’t growl. He doesn’t roar. He just steps forward and people move. When someone makes you uncomfortable, he doesn't raise his voice, he raises the pressure in the room until they can’t breathe. No one is more precious than you.

When he misses you, his wings ache. Not metaphorically. Physically. It hurts when you’re far. And when he finds you again, he wraps them around you like a shield, like a home, like he’s whole again.

You asked once if he missed heaven. He said, “No. I remember the feeling I had when I saw you, and heaven never gave me that.”

He keeps notes of things you say in passing. A flower you like. A dream you once had. A poem you half-remembered. He brings them back to you when you least expect it.

He heals with his hands, but only with permission. When you ask, without thought, he looks at you with such love in his eyes. And ever since, he’s asked with a soft, “May I?” before every touch.

He doesn’t need sleep; but he lies beside you every night anyway. Eyes closed. Breathing slow. Fingers curled around yours like a vow.

He hums when he heals you, not always out loud, sometimes just under his breath. You don’t know the song. But somehow… you recognise it.

And when you say “I love you,” he always says it back; quietly, gently, like the words still astonish him.

Because of a lovely anon, I decided to make a quiz! Based on the Monster Boyfriend series, I hope you guys like it (especially the anon who asked for the quiz!) .˳·˖✶

So here it is:

𝑊𝘩𝑖𝑐𝘩 𝑀𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐼𝑠 𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝐵𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑?🩸

[dirtyl0ver]

The Cabin in the Woods - Part 2 (Tim Wright/Masky x F!Reader x Brian Thomas/Hoodie x Ticci Toby)

CW: Sexual content, foursome, double penetration, squirting, extreme degradation, spitting, slapping, dubious consent, rough sex, cigarette burning, minor injury, weapons mentioned, power imbalance, psychological domination, themes of obsession and control.

Summary: You thought the worst was over. That they'd had their fun and disappeared into the trees. But the next night, they come back. And this time, they bring company.

Wordcount: 15k

You’d slept for over twelve hours. Maybe more. Hadn’t even made your way to the bed, just passed out on the couch right where they’d left you. The sleep wasn’t even restful. Your body gave out before your mind did, shutting down under the sheer weight of it all: the ache between your legs, the raw pulse in your throat, the memory of hands and teeth and words that still echoed inside you.

The light had shifted by the time you’d opened your eyes, the pale wash of midday pressing through the blinds without warmth. You lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, blank and heavy, your limbs cottony and sore, your breath catching now and then like your lungs didn’t know if they were supposed to keep going.

Then you moved.

You paced the cabin for hours. Nerves gnawed at the pit of your stomach, each step more restless than the last. Your fingertips twitched, reaching for your phone, for your bag, for something, but never quite followed through. Guilt simmered under your skin, sharp and coppery. But beneath it… something else. Something ugly and needy and warm.

You thought about packing.

You didn’t.

You thought about calling someone. Just to talk. Just to ask, what do I do now?

You didn’t.

You even thought about reporting the incident to your Airbnb host, and calling the cops.

But of course, you didn’t.

Instead, you stripped down in the bathroom, the tiles cold under your feet, the mirror fogging around the edges as the water steamed up. You showered in silence. Let it run scalding hot, watching the dirty water spiral down the drain. You shaved, slowly, carefully, as if each stroke could scrub the memory away. Washed the dried cum from between your thighs. Cleaned yourself until your skin tingled raw. Until there was nothing left to rinse away but the truth.

Then you brushed your hair. Coaxed it into softness. Ran mascara along your lashes even though your hands still trembled. Spritzed perfume on your neck, the warm, floral one that made your pulse feel slower.

And then you slid them on: your favorite panties. Soft, lace-trimmed, barely-there. The ones that always made you feel pretty in a way that was almost painful. Ruinable.

You pulled the short nightgown over your head. Thin satin that skimmed your hips, clung to your chest, whispered across your skin with every movement. One strap slipped off your shoulder almost immediately, and you let it. You didn’t fix it.

You sat on the couch, legs tucked under you, facing away from the door. You didn’t check the time, didn’t pick up your book or scroll through your phone.

You just… waited.

Like your body hadn’t been fucked open the night before, like your soul hadn’t bent toward something dark and bottomless.

Like… you were hoping it would happen again.

They said they were going to be back. And ever since, your mind wouldn’t stop replaying it. The way Tim had held you down and fucked the gun into you, how Brian had whispered filth in your ear while splitting you open. The sharp sting of bruises blooming under fingers that knew how to take.

You’d never felt so helpless, and God, you needed more. Needed their mouths, their hands, but most of all, their rage.

You almost jumped when it finally came.

Knock.

You didn’t move right away, just let the moment stretch.

Then, very slowly, you rose. Walked to the door like your legs remembered them before your mind did.

You opened it.

And this time… there were three.

Tim, already grinning behind that same white mask, slouched against the porch post like he’d been waiting all day. Brian stood on the other side, still, hands in his jacket. His mask the same red-eyed frown, unmoved.

And between them–

A third man.

Tall, about Brian’s height, broad-shouldered, twitchy. Brown messy hair curled out beneath the straps of his goggles, which rested crooked on his forehead like he’d shoved them up with a shaking hand. He wore a mouth guard - high-vented, black, a tight wrap over the lower half of his face that only made his visible expression more unreadable.

But it was the eyes.

The way they twitched.

The way they moved over you - slow and then fast - like scanning and savoring and short-circuiting all at once.

Tim whistled low behind his mask. “Would ya look at that.”

Brian didn’t move.

The third man twitched once, a full shoulder jerk, then tilted his head.

“She’s–she’s still here,” he said.

His voice was rough. A little distorted behind the guard. Every few words cracked or stuttered. His fingers curled at his sides, clenching and releasing in rhythm with a tic in his jaw.

“She’s here,” he said again. “P–pretty. Fuck–she's s–so–”

“Don’t short out on the porch,” Tim said dryly. “You’ll scare her off.”

“She’s not running,” Brian said. “She’s dressed up.”

You flushed.

Tim stepped forward first, boots thudding softly against the wood. He reached out and caught the loose strap of your nightgown between two fingers, lifted it slowly back into place. His fingers trailed down your collarbone.

“Little thing got all dolled up,” he murmured. “Like she’s expecting us.”

“She was,” Brian said.

The third man twitched again.

He hadn’t moved from the top step, but his eyes were locked on your bare thighs - laser-focused, jaw twitching under the mouth guard. You could see the rise and fall of his chest under his hoodie, fingers tapping against his belt.

“She’s s–so fucking pretty,” he said.

Tim turned his head just slightly. “Told you she was.”

Brian finally moved - stepping in close, brushing past you into the cabin like he owned it.

You didn’t stop him. Didn’t stop any of them.

Tim followed, one hand low on your back, steering you inside like a hostess at your own destruction. The third man hovered in the doorway for a second longer.

Then he stepped in too.

The door closed behind him.

Click.

Locked.

You weren’t breathing right.

Tim stepped behind you, his voice low by your ear. “Go sit, sweetheart. Get cozy.”

You nodded weakly. Walked on shaking legs toward the couch again, the thin nightgown brushing the tops of your thighs. Your heart pounded in your chest. It wasn’t exactly fear, but something close. Your breath was wrong in your lungs, too shallow. Your skin buzzed like it had a heartbeat of its own. 

You sat down carefully, and when you looked up, they were all looking at you.

Tim leaned on the arm of the couch, jacket already off. Brian stood near the fire, unzipping his own jacket.

And the new guy? He was still by the door. Head tilted, fingers flexing. 

“She’s fuck–fuckin’ soft,” he muttered. “Sh–shivering. I can–can smell her.”

“Yeah,” Tim said. “That’s what happens when a girl spends a whole day remembering how good it felt.”

Brian spoke, voice flat. “You stayed, sweetheart,” he said. “So we came back.”

Something inside you snapped tight at that. Stayed. Yeah, you had, and not by accident. Because some sick, twisted, disgusting part of you wanted this. Even if it scared you, ruined you.

You sat back on the couch slowly, legs pressed together, heart rattling in your chest.

Tim was lounging on the armrest like he’d been there all along, like this was his couch, his cabin, his girl. One hand dangled lazily, fingers brushing the curve of your bare shoulder in soft idle strokes. Absentminded, like a man petting a favored pet.

Brian hadn’t moved from the fireplace. He stood with arms crossed, posture unchanged, but his gaze was razor-sharp. Behind the expressionless red-eyed mask, you felt the weight of his stare like a hook in your ribs. Watching every breath you took, noting every tremor in your hands.

The new guy stood in front of the couch, twitching fingers clenched and unclenched at his sides. His mouth guard remained in place, rising and falling with his breath.

The room was so quiet it ached.

Tim broke it with a soft, almost amused murmur.

“So… you gonna say hi, sweetheart?”

You blinked. “I-I…”

You tried. You really did. Tried to be polite. Small talk.

“So um… how do you guys know each other?” you asked weakly, like any of this was normal. The words tasted ridiculous the moment they left you, as if politeness could barricade what was coming.

Tim snorted. Brian didn’t blink, didn’t move. The new guy twitched once. Then laughed. “We a-a-are colleagues.”

Tim leaned in, resting his chin on his knuckles like he was watching a comedy. “You really gonna pretend you don’t know why we brought him?”

Your face went hot, shame curling up your spine like a hot wire.

Brian’s voice was dry. Final. “Toby here has been feeling lonely.”

You swallowed hard. So that was his name, Toby. You looked at him, this twitching, hungry Toby, and for the first time that night, your body hesitated. Tim and Brian had ruined you, shaped you, made you into a new version of yourself.

But this Toby? He felt… different. Unfiltered, like he didn’t know how to stop once he started. Your hands started shaking.

Toby tilted his head at an odd angle. “I-I heard what they did to you,” he said, voice rough. “They said you liked it. Said y-you were made for it.”

You flinched. “I-I didn’t-”

Tim grinned. “Didn’t what? Didn’t beg to be filled up like a little cumrag?”

Your thighs pressed tighter.

Brian’s voice was cool. “Didn’t suck us off like a good little thing before we even touched you properly?”

“You cried,” Tim added. “Then came on us like we were your boyfriends.”

You turned your face away, burning. This was all too much, the humiliation, the stares, the mocking. They were doing it all over again, tormenting you into submission. But you took it, because somewhere deep in your chest, beneath the mortification and the fear, was a hollow space that you knew they would fill. You’d realized it the moment they’d split you open the first time, wrecked you - and you’d thanked them for it.

Brian’s next line dropped like a guillotine. “You seemed like you were into being shared.”

You couldn’t answer. The words hit somewhere low and deep, folding you in on yourself, because they were true. You hadn’t said no, hadn’t resisted.

Toby stepped closer, which made you look up.

He was twitching still, one shoulder jerking, a tic making his head jerk slightly to the right. But his eyes were locked on your body like a predator who’d been told not yet for far too long.

He didn’t ask permission. He simply dropped to his knees. Right there, in front of the couch. Between your legs.

You froze.

“T-Told them I wanted to taste you,” he muttered. “W-wanted to know what the fuss was about.”

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out.

Tim’s voice was soft beside you. “Go ahead, Toby. She’s already wet. Always is.”

Toby reached out, slow at first, and placed both hands on your thighs.

His gloves were warm. His grip was tight. Then he leaned in.

You gasped.

He didn’t touch your pussy with his hands at all. Just leaned forward and inhaled. A long, slow breath.

“Mmmffuck,” he groaned. “Y-y-you smell s-so good.”

You whimpered, your hips shifting forward on their own.

Tim watched, delighted. “Look at her. Fuckin’ desperate already.”

Brian hadn’t moved. But you could feel him staring. His stillness had weight. You knew without looking that his jaw was tight. That this wasn’t approval, this was temporary permission. He was oozing that quiet, seething recognition that someone else was touching what he had already marked.

Toby tilted his head again, then pressed his mouth against the fabric of your panties. Just the mouth guard at first, firm, hot pressure against the soaked cotton.

You moaned. You weren’t even trying to look composed anymore. And then–

He unhooked the straps of the guard, pulled it off, and dropped it on the floor. You saw the scar immediately. The corner of his mouth, split and raw, puckered like a wound that had never healed. His tongue darted out instinctively to lick his lips, and when he did, he looked up at you. 

“G-gonna m-make a mess of you.”

You didn’t even get a chance to process the sight of his face, his scarred cheek, before he was biting the edge of your panties. His teeth hooked into the lace and dragged them down, slow, steady, inch by inch, until your hips lifted to help him.

Tim leaned in, voice teasing. “Careful, Toby. She’s sensitive.”

Toby didn’t answer. Just moaned, deep and animal, as his mouth pressed between your thighs and his tongue dragged a long, wet stripe through your folds.

Your head snapped back against the couch. “FUCK–”

He didn’t let up. His tongue was fast. Uncoordinated but hungry. He lapped at your clit, then dove lower, nose buried against your pussy, sucking like a man starved.

Your hands shot down to grab at his hair, messy, wild, and you were already bucking against his mouth before you could stop yourself.

He twitched again mid-lick, and the jerk made his teeth graze your inner thigh.

You whined.

Tim groaned beside you. “Look at her. Already losing it.”

Brian still hadn’t moved, but something in the set of his shoulders tightened, the cross of his arms higher now.

Toby looked up, lips shiny, eyes wide. “I l-like her,” he said, voice thick. “Wanna s-see her cum f-for me.”

Toby’s mouth was relentless. Messy, loud, completely uncoordinated, and somehow perfect. He moaned against your cunt like he was tasting heaven through heat and salt, and the vibrations made your thighs tremble. His tongue shook in gentle rhythms, tics lacing his every movement. And it worked.

You were already so close, and they knew it. Your thighs trembled. Your breathing fractured.

And that’s when Brian stepped forward. You felt it before you heard him, that cold edge slicing through the heat like a blade.

“She doesn’t get to cum yet.”

Toby faltered. Pulled back slightly, panting, lips slick, eyes glassy. “B-but–she’s–”

“She listens to us,” Brian cut in. His voice was flat. Final. “And so do you. We were nice enough to bring you here Toby.” He glanced at Tim as he said it, like it was mostly thanks to Tim that Toby was allowed to touch you. 

Tim’s fingers stroked lazy circles on your shoulder, casual, unbothered. “C’mon, Twitchy. Don’t be rude.”

Toby let out a strained breath and turned his gaze up to you.

And you, God, you nearly came just from that. The apology in his voice, the restraint in his hands. 

“S-sorry, pretty girl,” he muttered. “G-gotta listen.”

And then he kept going. Tongue dragging through your folds again, deliberately avoiding your clit, licking just enough to keep you trembling, but not tipping over. It was torture.

“Fuck, Toby, please-” you whimpered.

You were aching, shaking, so close you could taste it–

But no. Not unless they said so.

Brian stood beside the fireplace, arms crossed again, still stone. Watching.

He wasn’t even looking at you, he was looking at Toby. And if eyes could kill, Toby wouldn’t be kneeling, he’d be in pieces.

Toby pulled back just enough to speak, his mouth wet, jaw twitching, his scar pulling as he grinned. “She–she t–tastes like f–fucking sugar,” he muttered. “Wanna–fuck–drink her.”

And then he bit, hard. Right on the inside of your thigh.

You shrieked, hips jerking up, eyes wide.

“FUCK-what the-!”

He just growled. Did it again, on the other side this time.

“You think he’s sweet, huh?” Tim said lazily. “Thought the twitchy one might treat you better?”

Toby snapped his head up, face flushed, slick on his lips and chin. “I d–don’t share well,” he said. “She’s in my m–mouth now.”

Brian gave a quiet huff of amusement from the fireplace. “Oh look,” he said, dry as ever. “He’s territorial.” 

Then he took a few steps closer, standing closer to the couch, observing Toby’s work like a displeased teacher.

Toby went back in. And this time, he buried his tongue deep. He hooked his arms under your thighs and held you there, twitching fingers digging into your skin, holding you open while his mouth worked fast, fast, faster.

He avoided your clit, just fucked you with his tongue.

You couldn’t breathe. Your back arched off the couch, hands tangled in his hair, moaning so loud you didn’t even recognize your own voice.

Tim leaned in beside you, watching it unfold like art. “You close, sweetheart?” he whispered.

You choked on a gasp, nodding violently.

Tim smiled. “Say it.”

“S-say what?” you breathed.

“Say thank you.”

Toby moaned against you.

Brian’s voice was colder now. “Say thank you, Toby.”

“T-thank you, Toby,” you whispered. “P-please, I’m gonna–!”

But the hand on your thigh, Brian’s, firm and unyielding, gripped hard. “No, you’re not.”

Your whole body stilled.

“Not until we say so,” Brian added. “Not for him.”

Toby whimpered against your cunt. He kept licking.

You were trembling, every nerve flaring, every muscle straining toward orgasm, and denied. You didn’t even know you were crying until you felt the tears cooling on your cheeks.

Tim pushed his mask up to kiss your temple, a mocking gesture. “Good girl. You’re learning.”

And poor Toby looked up again, panting. “She’s d-d-dripping a-all over muh-my tongue,” he stammered. “Just for me.”

You couldn’t see the look on Brian’s face, but you knew it was sour. “Alright, that’s enough, stop licking.”

Toby didn’t stop right away, kept licking some more, like he couldn’t get enough of your taste, but a part of you suspected he also enjoyed provoking Brian. When he pulled back, he looked possessed. Eyes glassy, chin shiny. Mouth grinning under the scar.

Tim looked down at you, limp, glowing with sweat.

“You liked that?” he asked.

You barely managed a nod.

You were still catching your breath, legs parted where he’d slotted himself between them, kneeling on the worn cabin floor. The air between you buzzed with heat, heavy and close.

You gaze drifted from Tim to Brian. Arms crossed, mask unreadable. You wanted–

You didn’t know what you wanted.

But your hands reached out anyway, toward them.

Some desperate part of you needed them to see that you were still theirs. That someone else having you didn’t mean you were slipping away from them.

Tim caught it. His fingers found yours, squeezing. Possessive and proud.

And Brian… didn’t move.

But something shifted, slightly, barely there. His stance. His chin, a little nod thrown in your direction. 

Toby’s eyes dragged up your body, hungry and twitching, like he couldn’t decide where to look or what to do next. His hands were rough on your thighs, twitchy fingers squeezing just a little too hard.

Then he looked down, breath shaky, and muttered, “Hold still.”

That’s when you saw it.

The gleam of metal at his thigh, low, strapped tight, just beneath the hem of his hoodie. You hadn’t noticed it before, but now it was impossible to miss. A hatchet, black-handled and well-worn, tucked against his leg like it belonged there.

You opened your mouth to say something, but the words never came. He reached down and unclipped it in one fluid motion.

The sound of it dragging from the leather strap sent a chill across your skin.

“What-,” you gasped, instinctively tensing, but he was already looking at you again, eyes low, half-lidded, completely dialed in.

“Don’t worry,” he said. A tic pulled at the corner of his mouth. “This w-wont hurt.”

Then he leaned in. One hand gripped your nightgown near your sternum and yanked it taut. The other brought the flat edge of the blade to rest against the fabric, not your skin. Cold metal kissed cotton, right between your breasts.

He didn’t give you time to think. With one sharp pull, the blade sliced straight down, catching and tearing through the fabric in a single, brutal line. The nightgown split open, your chest bared to the flicker of the fire behind him. You gasped, half in shock, half in something else entirely. What was left of the fabric slipped off easily and you were left completely exposed.

He dropped the hatchet to the floor beside you. The thunk of it landing on the wood made your pulse spike.

His hands were back on your thighs a moment later, hot now, greedy, and his voice came low, rasped against your skin as he leaned in. “Much better.”

He hovered there for a second, breath hot against your now-bare skin, eyes flicking between your tits and your face like he didn’t know what he wanted more, your gasp or your gaze.

You felt the tremor in his fingers as he slid one hand up, callused palm dragging along the inside of your thigh. The other moved to your ribs, steadying you as he leaned in, tongue darting out to taste the skin just below your breast.

“F-fucking perfect,” he stammered, voice low and raw. “Like a p-present. Just for me.”

His teeth grazed your nipple and you jolted. A moan caught in your throat, high, needy. Toby twitched again, like the sound rewired something in him, and suddenly his mouth was on you, sucking hard, sloppy and desperate.

Beside you, Tim exhaled like he’d been holding his breath. He leaned forward again, hand sliding to your throat, thumb pressed just below your chin.

“Still playing shy?” he murmured. “Even with him between your legs and your tits in his mouth?”

You whimpered, arched, back hitting the curve of the couch as Toby's mouth moved lower again, trailing kisses and jerky little licks down your stomach. His hand slid under your ass, fingers digging in possessively, and his voice cracked when he spoke next.

“W-wanna fuck her,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Wanna feel her insides. F-fuck-Tim, can I-?”

Tim chuckled darkly. “You think she wants that?”

“She’s r-ready,” Toby insisted, voice hitching, hips twitching like he was already imagining it. “She w-wants it.”

And you did.

You were soaked - panting, flushed, still twitching from the aftershocks of his mouth. You wanted to cum so bad. Your thighs opened for him without thinking.

Tim’s grip on your throat tightened slightly. Just enough to hold you there. “Say it, sweetheart,” he said. “You want him to fuck you?”

You swallowed hard, gaze flicking from Tim to Brian - still standing silent, arms crossed, those red eyes staring daggers at you - and then back to Toby.

Twitchy and ferocious. Eyes blown wide.

“I want him,” you said. “Please.”

Toby growled.

You heard the clink of his belt being undone before you saw it, his hands were fast, fumbling, but determined. Pants shoved down enough to free his cock, and oh God–

He was huge. Thick and flushed. So hard it curved upward with its own twitching weight. He was so much bigger than you expected, and you couldn’t hide your surprise. 

Tim caught the look on your face and laughed, low and breathy. “Aw, baby. Didn’t expect our little freak to be packing, huh?”

Your cheeks flamed hot. You couldn’t look away. Couldn’t hide the panic tangled with want low in your belly. Toby didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just didn’t care.

Brian’s voice came next, unimpressed. “Try not to break her, Toby.”

Toby’s hands were on your thighs again, spreading you wide. You didn’t even have time to brace before he lined himself up, and pushed inside.

You cried out.

He gasped. “F-fuck–s–so warm–shit–!”

He was all jerky motion at first, like his own body was fighting him for control. But then, then he stilled. Buried to the hilt. His hips flush against yours, cock throbbing deep inside your cunt.

Your walls fluttered around him, and the noise he made was practically a sob.

“I c-can’t–fuck-I’m gonna–” he muttered, breathless.

“No, you’re not,” Tim growled beside you, one hand sliding up to yank at his shoulder. “Not yet Toby. Hold it.”

Toby’s whole body twitched, and he nodded frantically.

He started to move.

Slow at first - deep, dragging thrusts that filled you over and over - but it didn’t take long for the rhythm to break. His hips snapped forward, rough and messy, grinding against your clit with each thrust. His fingers bruised your thighs. His breath stuttered against your skin.

You moaned louder than you meant to.

“F-fuck, she’s tight–she’s–”

“You’re not the only one she’s gonna take tonight,” Brian said coolly, stepping even closer now. “So don’t be greedy.”

Toby groaned, deep and animal, and somehow that just made him fuck you harder.

Toby’s pace had turned erratic, stuttering, hard, more hips than rhythm. His head dropped against your chest, tongue darting out to lick the sweat between your tits, a low moan breaking from his throat like he was unraveling with every thrust.

But before you could fall over the edge–

“Alright,” Tim said beside you, voice firm, slightly amused. “That’s enough.”

Toby didn’t stop.

Tim’s tone dropped. “Toby.”

His hips stuttered. One last thrust and he pulled out with a groan that sounded like it hurt.

“No f-fair,” he muttered, eyes wild. “She’s still w-wet–”

Tim gave him a look.

Toby groaned. Hands in the air like he was about to argue again but stopped himself.

“Sit,” Brian told him, nodding toward the fireplace.

Toby hesitated, twitching, still flushed and hard and visibly frustrated.

Tim didn’t have to say anything, just nodded once.

Toby dropped to the rug like a scolded dog and sat, back against the brick, legs spread, cock still twitching against his thigh. He glared into the fire like it had personally betrayed him.

Your legs were still trembling.

The spot between your thighs throbbed with emptiness, walls fluttering, still clenching down on nothing. You could feel the sweat drying on your skin, feel where Toby had held you open, feel where his cock had been.

You glanced at him from across the room, saw his twitching form, his defeated stance, and your eyes met his. He stared, eyes trailing over your wrecked body, split open and flushed. At your heaving chest and slick thighs. It was clear he wasn’t done with you.

Tim was beside you on the couch, relaxed. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and took one out, lit it with steady hands.

Brian moved slowly, stopped right in front of you, the same spot that Toby had previously been in.

You looked up at him, eyes wet, throat tight, and immediately tried to straighten. You wanted to look presentable, wanted to please him. 

But Brian’s voice came flat and cold. “Sloppy.”

One word, that’s all it took. It landed like a slap. Shame bloomed low in your stomach, sick and sharp. You flinched at the word.

“You let him make a mess of you,” Brian continued. “Like a mutt dragging its food across the floor.”

He made it sound like this was all your fault, like it wasn’t them that had brought Toby here in the first place. This was their idea, their initiative, and now he was shaming you for it? You opened your mouth to say something, to explain yourself, to apologize, anything, but Tim spoke first.

“Don’t pout, baby. You can’t help it, that’s just what whores like you do. Take any dick that is given to them, right?”

You whimpered.

Brian tilted his head. His gaze raked over you like a measurement. “You want to be used properly?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Then show us. Mouth first.”

You were on your knees before you’d even processed it.

The carpet burned under your skin, and you sank down in front of him like you were born for it. Head tilted up, meeting Brian’s burning stare. Your hands rested softly on your thighs, waiting.

Toby made a broken sound from the fireplace.

Tim laughed. “Look at her. Eager little thing can’t even wait to be degraded.” Then he stood up from the couch, cigarette burning between his lips, mask tugged upwards just enough to reveal his mouth, eyes glued down at you.

You lifted your eyes and reached forward, shy now, tremulous, fingers fumbling with Brian’s belt first. Your hands shook as you unbuckled it, peeled back the zipper, revealing the length of him, thick and heavy. Just like you remembered it. He was already hard.

Your breath caught.

Tim’s voice above you was rich with mockery. “Blushing, baby? After everything?”

Your cheeks burned hotter.

You turned to Tim next, fingers working the button on his jeans. He didn’t help, just stood there, smoking, watching.

“Aw,” he cooed, dragging smoke from his lips. “Look at those shy little hands. So sweet. Maybe she thinks if she acts cute, we’ll be gentle.”

Brian scoffed. “She doesn’t want gentle.”

And you didn’t.

They were both out now. Cocks thick and leaking, standing tall just inches from your face. Your mouth watered. You didn’t even know who to start with.

“Well?” Tim asked, nudging your cheek with the head of his cock. “You gonna start sucking or just kneel there lookin’ pathetic?”

You moaned softly and leaned forward, licked a stripe up Brian’s shaft, your eyes flicking up to watch his reaction.

He didn’t flinch. “Keep going.”

You wrapped your lips around the head of his cock and sucked, deep and desperate, hollowing your cheeks. Your hands moved to stroke Tim in the meantime, your grip shaking slightly. He groaned above you. “There you go, pretty girl.”

But it wasn’t enough.

You switched, took Tim in your mouth next, letting his cock slide over your tongue while your hand worked Brian. You could barely breathe, lips stretching, spit pooling. They were too big to take together properly, but you tried.

You gagged once, tears burning your eyes. But you didn’t stop.

You wanted their praise. 

You wished you could see their faces. You felt it deep in your gut, that aching feeling. You wanted them, not their fucking masks. Last night, they’d kept them on the whole time, not letting you see their expressions, their reactions. You craved them, all of them, everything.

You pulled back with a gasp. “P-please,” you whispered, throat raw. “Can I… can I see you? Take them off.”

Brian grunted. 

Tim exhaled more smoke. Smirked. “You wanna see the faces of the men destroying you?”

You nodded, desperate. Lowered your head between them like a guilty little pet. “Please. I-I want to see you when you ruin me.”

Silence. Painful, embarrassing silence. Except for Toby’s occasional tics in the background.

Then: “God, you’re so far gone,” Tim said. “That little freak cracked you open and now you’re beggin’ to be broken all over again.”

Brian moved first. Fingers at the straps, slow and steady. Peeling the mask from his face in one smooth motion.

You swallowed.

He was so handsome to you, in that terrifying brutal way. A strong jaw. Sharp cheekbones. Expression dull, but eyes dark with control. With possession.

And then Tim pulled his mask up too and let it rest on top of his head.

Messy dark hair, stubbled jaw, dark eyes. That crooked smile. Sin personified.

You whimpered. And they both watched your face carefully.

“That better?” Tim asked.

“Y-yes,” you whispered.

“Then open wider,” Brian said.

Your lips parted again, raw and wet, tears still clinging to your lashes from before.

Tim's cock slid back into your mouth, thick and hot against your tongue, the taste of salt and smoke clinging to your throat. He didn’t ease in, just thrust, shallow and fast, letting your spit run freely down his length, letting you gag with a kind of amused detachment.

“God, you’re a mess,” he muttered, cigarette still clinging between two fingers. “All that practice last night and you’re still choking on it?”

You tried to breathe, but his hips didn’t stop. He was holding your head now, fingers in your hair, guiding your pace as you slobbered around him.

Brian stepped in.

Without a word, he took your head from Tim.

His cock replaced Tim’s in your mouth a moment later, but the difference was immediate.

No teasing. He drove into your throat with one, brutal snap of his hips and stayed there.

You convulsed, lungs spasming, eyes widening.

“Breathe through your nose,” he said flatly.

You tried. You tried. But you couldn’t stop choking.

Your hands gripped his thighs, nails digging in, and your vision spotted. You didn’t even notice the tears breaking again until they dripped onto your chest.

Tim laughed. “Fuck, look at her. Cryin’ already and we haven’t even touched her pussy.”

Brian held your head in place a second longer. Your throat stretched wide, jaw aching, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.

He pulled out.

You coughed violently, a sob raking up with it, and blinked up at him with red, dripping eyes.

“Pathetic,” he said.

You nodded. Agreed with him like an idiot.

You’d missed this so bad, missed them. You wanted to say it, but all that came out was a gurgled moan.

“What’s that?” Tim leaned in. “You miss us, baby?”

You looked up at him, lips trembling.

“Y-yes,” you gasped. “Missed you s-so much. Need you t-to ruin me again, please–”

Brian shoved his cock back in your mouth before you could finish the sentence.

You whimpered around it, tears streaming freely now.

Behind you, you heard it, a soft, broken string of tics. A gasp. A jerk. That short, sharp laugh Toby couldn’t suppress when he was overwhelmed.

You looked back, just barely, eyes glassy.

Toby was still sitting on the floor, cock red and angry against his thigh, fingers twitching near his knees.

“C-c-can I–can I help?” he stuttered, voice cracking with want.

“Not yet,” Tim answered, voice casual. “You already got to taste her. Wait your fucking turn.”

Toby sighed, cursed under his breath.

Your throat tightened again as Brian fucked your mouth harder now, brutal and deep, like he was punishing you. “Stop looking at him,” he growled. “Eyes on me.”

He grabbed your jaw and forced your head still.

You blinked up at him, choking around his cock, and the room spun as he snapped his hips forward again.

The wet, messy sounds filled the cabin. Your spit had soaked your chest, strings of it clinging from your lips to his shaft each time he pulled out.

That’s when Tim stubbed out his cigarette.

On your shoulder.

You didn’t register it at first - just the shift in his movement, the glance down, the flick of his wrist, and then the ember kissed your skin. A sharp sizzle, like meat on a skillet. The pain was immediate, piercing, blooming over already sensitive skin.

The cigarette dug in just enough to sear and you jolted violently, scream catching in your throat, swallowed by the thick heat of Brian’s cock as he snapped his hips forward again.

It hurt. God, it hurt, a line of pure fire, concentrated in one brutal second of contact. You could almost smell the burnt skin and smoke mixing with sweat and sex, clinging to your body like proof.

You sobbed around the length in your mouth, throat constricting, eyes rolling back as your nerves overloaded.

“There she is,” Tim chuckled. “Now you’re starting to look like ours again.”

Brian pulled out with a wet pop. You gasped, voice completely shredded, coughing hard as your body swayed. Your face was a mess of spit and tears, flushed and shining. 

You looked down at the burn mark, and then up at Tim, eyes wide and glassy, the pain still singing under your skin like it wanted to crawl inside your bones.

He smiled. Not kind, just deeply amused.

"Pretty little brand, huh?" he said, leaning in, thumb brushing the edge of the red, angry mark like he owned it. "Now you won’t forget who you belong to."

You didn’t answer. Your throat was raw, body trembling, chest heaving like it didn’t know if it wanted to keep crying or come apart completely.

“Get on,” Brian said, motioning to the couch.

You blinked up at him, dazed, starting to move.

He just stood there, cock slick and hard, watching you struggle to pull yourself together.

“You think you’ve earned it?” he asked, voice sharp. “You wanna sit on this dick?”

You froze, lips parting, your breath stalling.

“Beg,” he said. “Come on. Beg for it, slut.”

Heat shot through your body, shame and need twisting tight in your gut. “Please,” you whispered, humiliated. “Please let me–let me ride you. I need it.”

He tilted his head, unimpressed. “That’s not begging. That’s whining.”

You swallowed hard, your voice catching. “Please,” you said again, louder this time. “Please let me ride your dick. I want it–I want to feel you. I’ll do anything, just–please.”

A pause. He stared at you for a long, quiet moment, like he was deciding whether or not you were even worth the effort.

Finally, he sat back on the couch with a casual sort of contempt, spreading his thighs.

“Then get the fuck on.”

You scrambled into his lap with trembling knees, your whole body unsteady. Climbing onto him felt like surrender. His hands caught your hips instantly, gripping hard, dragging you down onto him like you were nothing but an item meant to be used.

You moaned, a broken desperate sound, as his cock filled you. Deep. You sank all the way, thighs shaking against his.

But when you leaned forward, lips trembling, eyes seeking connection, and tried to kiss him…

Crack.

His palm hit your cheek so hard your head snapped to the side.

You gasped. From the pain, from the humiliation.

From the way it made your whole body tighten.

His hand stayed firm on your jaw, holding you by the face, forcing you to keep your head turned away from him.

“Don’t get ideas,” Brian growled. “You’re not here for that.”

You whimpered, and nodded, eyes clenched.

“Use her throat,” he told Tim. “She doesn’t need to speak.”

Tim laughed. His cock was already in his hand.

“God, you’re such a romantic, Bri.”

He knelt on the couch beside you, grip tight in your hair, and pushed into your mouth again from the side - shallow thrusts now, teasing, letting you feel it while Brian fucked up into you from beneath.

You were being split, gasping and gagging between the two of them. One cock filling your cunt, the other using your throat. You couldn’t choose which felt better, or worse.

“Look at you,” Tim cooed. “Getting double stuffed like a filthy little toy. Think you can take more?”

You whimpered around him.

“Toby,” Tim called, voice rich with wickedness. “Come here.”

Toby was up before the words even finished leaving Tim’s mouth. He crossed the room fast, knees practically buckling, and stood at the edge of the couch beside Brian, hands twitching at his sides, cock bobbing, flushed and ready.

Your hand reached out blindly. Your palm wrapped around his cock and you started jerking him off, slow and clumsy.

Toby gasped, a soft, breathy sound like he'd been touched for the first time. “F-fuck,” he muttered, head tipping back, eyes fluttering shut. “Just like t-that baby, so g-g-good for me–”

“She’s ours,” Brian said flatly. But he didn’t stop you from touching Toby, he just fucked you harder.

And you cried again, not from pain this time, but because this was what you wanted.

You were surrounded.

Brian beneath you, his cock drilling you open with every brutal thrust from below. Tim beside you, his length slipping past your lips, grinning while you gagged. Toby on the other side, wide-eyed, shaking, and you were jerking him off like you needed to be touching them all at once or you might fall apart.

But it wasn’t enough.

They were all around you, so close, so deep inside you, but still half-dressed, their shirts clinging to sweat-damp skin, bunched up around their waists. The sight of them like that, nude from the waist down, cocks out and hard while their torsos stayed hidden, it felt unfair and incomplete. Like they were still holding something back. They’d done the same exact thing the night before.

You needed more of them. You wanted to see them. Their bodies. Their skin.

So between shallow thrusts, while Tim’s cock pressed to the back of your throat and your hips slammed into Brian’s lap, you managed to pull away just long enough to whisper:

“Take them off.”

Your voice was hoarse, barely audible. Your eyes watery.

Tim blinked. “Take what off, sweetheart?”

“Your shirts,” you whispered, dragging your nails over Brian’s chest, where the fabric still clung to his skin. “Wanna see you. All of you.”

For a second, silence stretched.

Then laughter.

Low and cold from Brian.

Soft and mocking from Tim.

“She’s getting sentimental,” Tim said. “You hear that, Bri? Thinks this is some kind of honeymoon.”

“She wants the full show,” Brian said. His voice was flat, but there was something colder in it. “Like this is some kind of romance.”

Your face burned, from shame, but also from hope. Because they listened.

Brian was the first to move.

He yanked his shirt up and over, tossing it to the side like it meant nothing.

What lay beneath? Not pretty. His chest was a battleground. Old scars crisscrossed his skin, long and clean, like blade work. Bruises still yellowing under his ribs. Faint burns along one shoulder. His chest was hard, unforgiving muscle, carved and damaged.

You couldn’t look away.

Tim pulled his shirt off next, slower, grinning at your awe. “Aw, she’s lookin’ like she’s seen ghosts,” he muttered.

And maybe you had.

Tim was bulkier, but no less marked. A lattice of slashes on his left side. A bite scar on his collarbone that never fully healed. His arms were battered, scarred. Veins thick under skin bronzed by exposure, muscle knotted from years of impact, wear, and violence. Bruises bloomed beneath old scars.

Toby hadn’t moved much, but when he saw you looking, saw your attention flicker from Brian’s carved-up chest to Tim’s bruised bulk, something in him shifted. His hand twitched at the hem of his hoodie. Then, slowly, like it was its own decision, he pulled it up. The fabric caught over his goggles for a moment before he yanked them down too, letting the hoodie crumple to the floor in a heap.

You didn’t breathe for a second.

Toby was leaner than the others, but no less ruined. His body was a mess of healing and hurt. Pale skin marred by jagged scars, bite marks, and strange bruising, discoloration in places that didn’t make sense. His shoulders were littered with scratches, some shallow, others deep, healed into warped tissue that told no clean story. A burn spiraled across his abdomen, low and dark. His chest bore long, knotted slashes, one reaching from beneath his collarbone down toward his ribs. And his arms, those twitchy, frantic arms, were covered in a patchwork of old damage.

But what caught you the most… was how unbothered he was. He didn’t flinch when you stared. Just tilted his head, eyes twitching with that barely-contained hunger, and whispered:

“Still p–pretty enough f–for you?”

Your throat bobbed. You couldn’t speak.

Tim laughed behind you, sharp and low. “You’ve got a type, huh, baby? All fucked up, all over.”

Brian just huffed. Still buried inside you.

You looked back at Tim and he caught your stare.

“You ever wonder what we do for a living, sweetheart?” he said, dragging fingers across a deep scar above his hip. “What kind of job leaves this behind?”

But your brain couldn’t process it. Not fully. Not when Brian’s cock was still buried inside you. Not when your jaw ached from Tim’s cock. Not when Toby moaned every time you squeezed his length.

You were too far gone.

Too broken open.

And they knew it.

Brian suddenly shifted beneath you.

His rhythm picked up and he thrusted upwards, roughly fucking into you. Like he was done chatting. Like whatever moment of calm had passed, and now he just wanted his.

You gasped, head snapping back, hand flying to his shoulders for balance. But Brian didn’t ease up. Didn’t slow. His hips slammed into you with a brutal rhythm, calculated and unforgiving. Each thrust felt like a sentence, like punctuation carved into your spine.

Tim yanked your hair, dragging your head back towards him, and shoved his cock back into your mouth.

You moaned, body jolting with every motion, thighs trembling from the force of it. Your nails dug into Brian’s skin, his scarred, unyielding skin, but he didn’t flinch. Just kept fucking you like he was trying to leave a mark that would never fade.

“She’s getting close again,” he said.

You gasped, hips stuttering, mouth falling away from Tim’s cock as your whole body tensed.

“F-fuck–please–just a little more–!”

But Brian’s hands slammed into your hips - and shoved you off.

You cried out, a raw high-pitched sound, as you fell backwards to the floor and landed right on your ass, hard, slick running down your thighs, aching and empty again.

“Jesus, man,” Tim muttered. “You could’ve at least warned her.”

You looked up through tears, stunned.

Brian didn’t even glance at you, he just stood. As if you were nothing but a used toy.

“She wants to be ruined?” he said. “She doesn’t get to choose how.”

Toby twitched, then stepped forward. He grabbed your arm roughly and yanked you upright like a rag doll, voice stammering but hungry.

“You o-okay p-pretty girl?” he mumbled. But his eyes weren’t on your face. They were everywhere else.

His hand slid over your belly. Your breast. Between your legs.

You moaned, sore and overstimulated, but let him. You needed to be touched.

Tim was already stretched out along the couch, flat on his back, his cock hard and glistening.

“C’mon, baby,” he said lazily. “Hop up.”

Your legs buckled once, but Toby kept you steady. You climbed on top of Tim, thighs shaking, cunt still dripping with Brian’s withdrawal.

He caught your waist, steadied you.

“Easy now,” he murmured. “Don’t break before the fun starts.”

You lowered yourself onto him with a trembling whimper. He filled you, slowly, all the way in. Your head fell to his shoulder, your arms weak as you held yourself up.

And for the first time since they arrived, Tim was… merciful. Not soft or sweet. But aware of the tremor in your body, the bruises forming. The mess they’d already made.

He cupped your cheek and pulled you in. The kiss was messy, wet. Tasting of smoke and spit and something desperate.

Your hips moved slowly over his. Your hips rolled, dragging your soaked cunt along his length, again and again. It hurt, a deep soreness creeping inside you, slow and spreading. Every movement pulled a strained moan from your throat, but you kept going. You wanted to, even through the ache.

Tim watched you from under hooded lids, smoke still clinging to his breath, his grin lazy and a little mean. “Look at you,” he murmured, thumb brushing your cheek. “Still working for it.”

You moved over him like you were trying to hold on to the last scrap of control, your thighs quivering with the effort. Tim just lay back, letting you do the work, letting you use him while your body trembled around him.

Your hand reached out and found Toby, who was still standing close, watching you fall apart on Tim's cock, wide-eyed and flushed. His length twitched the moment your fingers wrapped around it. You stroked him with shaky, unsteady movements, wrist sore, arm barely holding steady, but needing to touch something.

Your palm dragged slowly over his length before moving to his balls, cupping them gently at first, then massaging with clumsy care. He let out a strangled sound, hips jerking forward just a little. “Fuck,” he whispered, voice thick and cracked.

Tim chuckled beneath you, his thumb brushing lazily across your lower back. “Multitasking like a good little slut.”

You whimpered into the space between them, cunt fluttering around Tim’s cock as your body started to seize up again from the effort, the overload. Your wrist burned, your thighs ached, your whole body was screaming.

And then–

Brian was behind you again, kneeling between Tim’s thighs on the couch.

Hands on your waist, no words.

Just pressure.

You felt him press against your already filled entrance, and your breath caught in your throat. The memory of the night before slammed into you like a shiver - your pussy stretching to take both of them, the burn, the fullness, the way they didn’t ask, only took.

And now, they were going to do it again.

Brian didn’t say a word. His hands were on your hips, steady and cold, holding you in place like he was lining up a shot, not entering a girl. Tim’s chest rose beneath you, warm and slick with sweat, his hands dragging slow over your thighs.

Your body remembered before your mind could catch up - the way it stretched, the way it held them both. The way it gave in.

“No, please, not again, wait–”

He didn’t.

He pushed in.

Your scream caught in your throat, more soundless than loud, as your pussy was stretched impossibly. You let go of Toby, your hand dropping away from his cock like it no longer belonged to you. Your fingers curled against Tim’s chest instead, grasping for something solid, anything to ground you, as Brian pushed deeper.

Tim groaned beneath you. “Fuck, that’s tight. You missed this baby? Missed taking us both?”

You were shaking, arms trembling. Mouth open, but no words came out.

They began to move, opposite rhythms. One up, one down. You were filled. Beyond filled. Stretched to your limit.

“You like this, baby?” Tim whispered in your ear. “Like being torn open?”

“She’s fucking addicted,” Brian said coldly. “Couldn’t even wait a full day.”

You sobbed, broken. Overstimulated.

From the side, Toby stood trembling. His cock was flushed, leaking against his thigh, twitching with every jerky breath.

“F-fuck,” he muttered. “I-I can’t–sh-she’s–”

Tim looked over. “Well, one hole’s left, isn’t it?”

Toby was at your mouth before the sentence finished.

Your lips parted in invitation.

You took him in. Let him slide past your tongue, let him fuck your throat like it was the only thing you had to offer.

Their cocks moved inside you in opposite rhythms, Tim beneath you, deep and thick, his lazy grin betraying nothing of the way his hips snapped up to meet yours. And behind, Brian, fucking you like he owned you, thrusts punishing, perfectly angled to press you open from behind, filling every inch.

But it didn’t feel unfamiliar anymore.

You’d had both of them before, just once, but your body remembered. It knew what to do. It welcomed the pain now.

You stretched easier, felt deeper. A new kind of fullness, not just in flesh, but in need. In surrender.

“You’re taking it better this time,” Tim murmured, watching your dazed expression. “Little slut’s learning her place.”

“Don’t praise her yet,” Brian growled. “She’s close.”

You were.

Every thrust punched the air from your lungs. Your hands gripped anything, Tim’s shoulders, the back of the couch, skin, muscle, Toby’s wrist where it hovered near your cheek as he still fed his cock into your mouth.

Your moans were muffled by him, but you pulled back, just for a second, your lips red and raw, voice shaking.

“P-please–I’m–gonna–cum–”

The words barely formed.

They laughed.

Laughed.

“Already?” Tim said, cock twitching inside you. “Didn’t even beg this time.”

“Pathetic,” Brian added coldly, slamming into you harder. “All it takes is two dicks and she’s ready to fall apart again.”

“Motherfuckin’ whore,” Tim muttered, and snapped his hips upward violently.

And that was it.

You shattered.

You came with a scream, your body locking down around Tim like a vice, and then–

Wet heat exploded from between your thighs.

You gushed hard, pulse after pulse, soaking Tim’s chest and stomach, the couch beneath you, Brian’s thighs behind you.

Your release sprayed in rhythm with every tremble of your overstimulated body, leaking and pulsing in messy waves. You couldn’t stop it, couldn’t even think, just shook in their hands, legs twitching, breath gone.

“Oh, fuck–fuck!” Tim howled, laughing through it. “She fucking squirted all over me!”

Your head dropped, eyes squeezed shut, breath gone, voice broken.

Brian held you there, strong arms locked around your waist, forcing you to ride out every aftershock, every twitch, every high-pitched whimper that left your lips. His cock still dragged against your walls, slower now, almost cruel in how deep he stayed.

And then he pulled out.

“Messy little slut,” he muttered, brushing your soaked ass with the back of his hand. “You fucking drenched him.”

You could barely breathe.

Tim was grinning up at you, wet and flushed. His chest gleamed with your release, and he didn’t seem the least bit bothered. He almost looked proud.

And then Toby moved. He leaned in from the side, mouth already parted, eyes glazed and starving.

And licked a long, deliberate stripe up Tim’s chest.

Tongue dragging through your release like it was something sacred, something worth savoring. He slurped audibly at the mess on Tim’s chest, even sucked one of his nipples clean with a filthy groan like it was the best thing he'd tasted all night.

“Jesus fuck, Tobs–” Tim jerked back, trying to shove him off, half-laughing, half-horrified. “You’re sick, man.”

Toby just shrugged, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and grinned wider. “She tastes s-so sweet. Can’t let it g-g-go to w-waste.”

Brian didn’t say anything. Just exhaled sharply through his nose, like he was barely holding back a laugh - or maybe just disgusted. Hard to tell with him.

You couldn’t speak. You could barely move. You were shaking, open, dripping, your body ruined and twitching from the high, and now, watching Toby drink you off another man’s skin, your cunt pulsed like it wanted more.

But then–

You saw it. Long, angry red lines clawed down Toby’s forearm - four of them, raw and fresh, already starting to welt. Bright against his skin like open wounds.

Your stomach dropped.

You remembered, fuck, you remembered, how your hands had scrambled blindly in the middle of your orgasm, grabbing for anything, and how they’d landed on someone’s arm. How you’d dug in. Hard. Fingers curled like claws, nails dragging down in one brutal, uncontrollable stroke.

You immediately panicked, thinking back to when you scratched Brian last night and got brutally punished for it.

“O-oh my god, I–Toby–I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”

But he just looked at the marks, blinking like he was only just noticing them. Then he looked at you.

And grinned. Wide and wild, almost fond.

“C-can’t feel a thing,” he said softly. “Swear.”

He didn’t elaborate. Just reached for you.

His arms wrapped around your waist, trembling but strong, and he lifted you. Away from Tim and into his grip.

You gasped, still shaking, body wet and open and exhausted, but didn’t resist.

He held you like you weighed nothing, your legs wrapping around his waist, your breath catching as he pulled you into his chest.

His mouth was on you a second later.

Kissing you.

Not like Tim. Not cruel or mocking.

Genuinely hungry, starved for you.

He kissed like he’d been waiting hours to be allowed. Like he didn’t care if he was sloppy or soft or anything else.

You tasted yourself on his lips and moaned into it.

And then he lowered you.

Guided you, right down onto his cock.

You sank with a cry.

Still so wet. Still gaping from Brian and Tim. But even now, your body squeezed for Toby like it wanted him. Like it recognized him as something different.

“F-fuck,” Toby moaned. “S-she’s–so warm–so soft–shit–”

Your arms went around his shoulders instinctively. He held you tight, breath ragged, forehead pressed to yours.

And inside you? He pulsed.

His hips started to move, shallow at first, careful.

But it was building. Your head rolled back.

“Please…” you whispered. “Don’t stop…”

Toby groaned like it hurt.

His hands gripped your hips with a kind of desperation you hadn’t felt from the others, something more than just possession, something like panic. Like he was terrified you’d disappear before he got his fill. Like you weren’t real unless he was inside you.

He was standing, holding you up like you weighed nothing, your legs dangling and trembling around his waist. He was already buried to the hilt, thick, twitching everywhere, and your breath came in short, shattered gasps.

“F-fuck,” he whimpered, rutting up into you. “She’s s-so wet, won’t stop fucking clenching–”

His voice cracked mid-sentence, his jaw ticking as he thrust again, deeper, and your back arched violently.

The rhythm was harsh, stuttering, absolutely unforgiving. Every tic in his body jolted through you, full-body spasms that made each thrust land harder, more unpredictable, more brutal. You couldn’t brace or prepare, it was pure chaos.

You sobbed into his neck, holding on for dear life.

Tim sat slouched on the couch, arms hooked over the backrest, watching like it was his favorite late-night show.

“She looks like she’s gonna cry again,” he said, lazy and amused. “You fuckin’ her that good, Twitchy?”

Brian stood nearby, arms crossed, his chest still glistening with sweat. He didn’t smile or joke.

But he watched. Eyes locked on where Toby’s cock disappeared into you, over and over, wet and loud.

Toby growled low in his throat, a sound more animal than human. His thrusts got faster, sloppier, his head twitching hard as he bit down on your shoulder, breath hot and ragged.

Then he kissed you again.

It was filthy. Desperate. Tongue deep, lips messy. He licked into your mouth like he was trying to taste your cries.

And you kissed him back. Something in you, broken and rewired, wanted all of them. Even the twitching man gasping into your mouth and calling you his.

When he pulled back, his face changed.

His eyes narrowed, lips curled.

“You’re such a fucking slut,” he spat suddenly, thrusting harder, teeth gritted. “Bet you’d let all of us fuck your pussy at once if you could.”

Your mouth dropped open, but only a moan came out. “Toby–Please–”

“C-could fuck you in the woods, in the blood, in the dark,” he hissed. “You’d still beg for more.”

You flinched from the whiplash. You were starting to see it now. Toby didn’t stay one thing for long. He could be soft, almost nice, and then turn on you with a sentence. A twitch, a snarl. And then come back around like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just spit venom in your face.

His hands gripped your ass, bruising. He slammed you down harder, again and again, until you were crying again, from overstimulation, from how good it felt, from not knowing who you were anymore.

You buried your face in his shoulder, whimpering.

But something pulled your gaze away.

You looked back at them.

Tim. Smiling wide now, stroking his cock lazily, eyes fixed on your ruined little frame.

Brian. Still. That lazy unimpressed scowl pressed into his face, even if his cock was hard.

You couldn’t help it.

“B-Brian,” you moaned, voice ragged. “Tim–please–”

Both their heads turned.

Tim grinned wider. “Look at that Toby. She’s getting fucked stupid by you, and still calling our names.”

Toby twitched. His rhythm stuttered.

“You d-don’t even know what you want,” he growled, biting your neck. “Crying for them while you’re on my dick.”

But he didn’t stop. He was fucking you like he had something to prove, like if he made you scream loud enough, you’d forget the others.

But you wouldn’t. They’d already claimed you.

You were theirs.

All of theirs.

Toby’s grip on your thighs tightened, a sharp, possessive squeeze, and then he dropped.

Still inside you.

Still pulsing.

He knelt with you wrapped around him, trembling and gasping, and then lowered you to the cabin floor with terrifying carelessness. Your back hit the worn wooden planks, your hair fanning out, the scent of sex and sweat thick around you.

His hands stayed on you the whole time, twitching, fumbling, but sure. He hovered above you now, panting, wild-eyed, cock still buried to the hilt.

“N-not done,” he muttered, jaw twitching. “W-wanna see your f-face. W-wanna break it.”

Your thighs trembled around his waist.

His hips snapped forward hard, with brutal strength, direct. He was in deep, pressing your spine to the floor. You sobbed out a sound between agony and addiction.

Toby moaned like it hurt. His tics worsened, full-body jerks, neck spasms, little sharp barks of breath, and every one of them drove his cock deeper, sharper, like your cunt was his grounding wire.

You looked up at him through wet lashes, totally gone. Chest heaving helplessly.

And then it happened.

A sharp tic, a sudden movement - his palm lashed out across your face. It cracked loud, unforgiving, his hand snapping across your cheek with brutal force. The burn bloomed immediately, hot and red, the impact echoing through your skull like a fire alarm.

You gasped, eyes wide, the sting bringing new tears to your eyes. But you couldn’t pull away, he was heavy on top of you, holding you down. So you simply moaned. God, you moaned.

Your head snapped back to look at him, cheek burning, cunt dripping, brain static, and he was just staring at you. Like he hadn’t even realized what he’d done. Or maybe he had and was just indifferent to it.

The hatchet came next.

He reached for it without breaking rhythm. You stiffened, but he didn’t lift it, didn’t threaten.

He set it. Right across your tits. The flat of the blade lay over them, metal kissing your skin, cold and heavy, the flat edge resting between your nipples.

“L-look at you,” he whispered, voice cracking. “You’re s-so fucking perfect. A mess. M-made for me.”

You were sobbing now. Overstimulated and raw. You wrapped your legs around him, ankles locking behind his back.

“C-cum inside me,” you begged. “Please, fill me up, Toby–want it so bad–”

His whole body spasmed. His mouth dropped open like he couldn’t believe you’d asked. He thrust harder, meaner now, chasing that edge like his life depended on it.

From the couch, Tim let out a low whistle.

“She’s begging for it,” he said. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Twitchy.”

Brian, still standing, arms crossed, didn’t smile, but his voice held something close to approval. “At least someone’s making use of her.”

You couldn’t stop crying.

Toby loomed above you, chest heaving, hatchet resting on your sternum, eyes locked on yours like you were his anchor and his breaking point all at once.

“G-gonna cum,” he gasped. “C-can’t–fuck–take it–”

“Do it,” you whispered. “Please. Fill me–want you to cum inside me–”

And then he broke.

His hips slammed forward and held.

He came with a sound that was half-snarl, half-whimper, his entire body convulsing above you. You felt it. The pulse, the heat, the messy wave of release inside your already raw cunt.

He stayed inside, panting, twitching, chest pressed against yours.

The hatchet clattered off to the side as he trembled, breath stuttering like an engine seizing.

You wrapped your arms around his back, didn’t know why, just needed to hold something.

“She’s fucking gone,” Tim said behind him. “Look at her.”

“Used,” Brian added, voice low. “Just how she likes it.”

And it was true.

Toby slipped out with a shaky groan, collapsing backward onto the wooden floor. His legs folded awkwardly beneath him, chest heaving, eyes unfocused. His head tilted slightly with every tic, breaths fast and uneven, like he'd left something behind inside you, and honestly maybe he had.

You were trembling, thighs soaked, cunt pulsing with his cum, body aching in every place that mattered.

But your eyes were already drifting.

To him.

Brian.

You pushed yourself up on your elbows, then your knees. Every limb trembled, but you didn't stop. You didn’t speak.

You crawled.

Bare knees dragging across the floor, streaked in slick and sweat and ruin.

You crawled to him like a dog.

A worshipper.

A whore.

You reached his boots and rested your palms on his thighs, looking up - your face tear-streaked, flushed, mouth open, wrecked.

You mustered up the courage to whisper his name. “B-Brian…”

He looked down at you, face cold, chest rising slowly.

You nuzzled against his thigh like you needed it to breathe. Your hands brushed the skin of his legs, feeling the strong muscles beneath your fingertips.

“Please,” you whispered. “Please, I… I need–”

He didn’t respond.

Just stared.

And waited.

Waited for you to fall further.

Let you humiliate yourself right there in front of him. 

You sobbed, forehead pressing against his hip, mouth open, useless. Pleading. You were so far gone, so desperate for his touch, his approval, that if he’d told you to lick the dirt from his boots, you would’ve done it without hesitation.

And then, with zero warning–

He moved.

Rough hands grabbed your waist and yanked you up with no gentleness. Your breath hitched, legs flailing slightly as he turned and carried you the few steps toward the dinner table.

You didn’t even have time to respond before Brian slammed you onto the tabletop. Flat on your back. Limbs splayed.

He stood, towering over you, body flush to the edge of the table, cock hard, thick and glistening, and your cunt welcomed him like it had missed him.

“Brian–fuck–please–”

He lined up and thrust in.

You screamed.

He ignored your reaction, just slammed into you again, and again, the sound of your bodies colliding echoing through the cabin. It was wet, brutal, and terrifyingly merciless.

Tim gave a low whistle from the couch. “Bitch barely wiped the last load out, and she’s already begging for seconds.”

You whimpered, shame and arousal knotting in your gut, every thrust from Brian punching your breath out harder.

The table creaked under you.

“Careful, Bri,” Tim called out. “Table’s gonna snap in half if you keep pounding her like that.”

Brian didn’t respond. Didn’t even look at him. Just fucked you harder, like maybe that was the goal all along.

Your tits bounced with every thrust, every movement, the edge of the wood biting into your shoulder blades. He held your thighs wide open, forcing the stretch, giving you nothing but that same dead-eyed stare and the punishment of his cock.

He spit in your face without hesitation, wet and disrespectful, watching it drip down your cheek with that same stare, like you were just a hole, just something for him to ruin. “Look at you,” he muttered, tone flat. “Filthy fucking whore.”

You should’ve felt disgusted. You should’ve flinched, turned your head, done something. But instead, your thighs trembled harder in his grip, slick pooling between them like your body hadn’t gotten the memo. The spit was cooling on your cheek, but all you could think about was how you wanted more of his disdain, more of his weight, more of him.

You looked up at him through the mess, wide-eyed and wrecked, silently begging for a scrap of attention, even if it came with cruelty. Please, your mind whispered, frantic and stupid. Please use me. Please keep looking at me like that.

Tim watched lazily from the couch, one hand wrapped around himself, stroking slow.

“Look at her,” he muttered. “Fucked dumb on a dinner table. Bet she doesn’t even know what day it is.”

And you didn’t.

You just cried and moaned and whimpered, pathetically.

Begged some more.

Brian grunted above you, rhythm never faltering.

You reached up blindly, fingers grazing his arm. Your mind scrambled, broken and spinning, reaching for any anchor.

“Where’s your gun?” you choked out. “M-miss it… miss when it was inside me–”

Brian snarled.

Something snapped in his face.

He slammed in even harder.

“Fucking slut,” he growled. “You miss it?”

You nodded, tears spilling down your cheeks.

“Yes, yes, I miss it–I want it–please–Brian–please–”

That did something to him. Maybe it was the fact that you’d brought up his beloved gun - not just any weapon, that one. The one he cherished so much, the one he and Tim had used on you last night like it belonged inside you more than it ever belonged in his holster. It flipped a switch in him - he realized that you weren’t afraid anymore, not at all. That you remembered, and most importantly, that you liked it.

He shoved his cock deeper inside you, hand closing around your throat this time, fingers splayed like he was gripping the last piece of your sanity. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, started feeling faint.

Then–

He kissed you. For the first time.

It wasn’t soft at all, absolutely not sweet.

It was a fucking mistake, and you felt it in the way his mouth crashed against yours, like he was punishing himself for even wanting it. His tongue shoved between your lips to mark the last place he hadn’t already ruined.

He tasted like fury. Like restraint fraying at the seams. Like he hated the fact that he wanted this, hated you for dragging something so human out of him. His teeth scraped your lip. His grip tightened on your throat.

And still, you opened for him. Kissed him back like it meant something.

And then… his hands softened.

A little.

They moved to your tits. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, once, twice, the contrast shocking. Like a man pulling flowers from a grave.

Your moan broke. Something in you cracked open.

“F-fuck–Brian–thank you, thank you–”

You didn’t even know what you were thanking him for. For the kiss? For not hurting you worse? For the way his hands had stopped treating you like a thing and started touching you like a woman again, just for a second? Or maybe it was for the softness in his thumbs as they brushed your nipples, like he hadn’t meant to be gentle, but was anyway. Like some tiny, buried part of him cared, even if he’d never admit it.

You were thanking him for all of it. For giving you anything at all.

He didn’t let you finish.

His thrusts turned erratic.

He was close, you felt it immediately.

You cried, gasped, wrapped your legs around his waist, but he pulled your hips down, fucked into you deep, once, twice, three more times–

And then he came, hard, a guttural sound tearing from his chest as his cock throbbed inside you, his cum filling you to the point of spill. His hips jerked one final time before stilling.

You sobbed through it, arms wrapping around his shoulders, desperate to keep him there.

He didn’t stay. He pulled out, slowly but roughly, and let your legs fall open like you were nothing again.

And at this point, maybe you were.

On the floor, Toby twitched once. Then again. His eyes were locked on you. And the look on his face? Hunger.

Brian barely looked at you.

He stepped back, pulled out one of the worn wooden chairs, and sat. Legs wide. Hands on his thighs. His gaze dragged over you, used, shaking, covered in slick and bruises, and then turned away, as if you'd served your purpose.

“Go to him,” he said. Flat. Dismissive.

You knew who he meant.

Tim was still sitting on the couch, legs spread, one arm over the back, the other hand dragging lazy strokes along his abs. That smug fucking grin carved across his face like he’d been waiting for this.

“Saved the best for last, huh, sweetheart?” he purred. “Come on, crawl if you gotta.”

And you almost did. Your legs barely held. But somehow, you stood.

Every step was a trembling surrender. Your thighs slick, breath shaky, eyes half-lidded and burning. You reached him like a ghost in your own body. He watched you like a predator licking his lips.

You collapsed into his lap. He caught you like you were nothing, weightless, ruined, and when he slid inside, it was too easy. You were already open, dripping.

“Look at that,” he murmured, dragging his lips along your ear. “So used up you just slip right on.”

And when he guided your hips down, when your body welcomed him in like it remembered, the sound that left your mouth was broken relief. You folded into his chest, barely upright, arms trembling around his neck.

He didn’t move at first.

Just let you sit there, full of him, flushed and shaking.

Then he slapped your cheek lightly, a sting more than a strike. “Hey,” he murmured. “Eyes on me, slut.”

You blinked. Looked up.

He smiled.

“Atta girl.”

And then he moved.

Hands on your hips, arms coiling under your thighs, lifting you slightly, flipping you in one sharp motion like you weighed nothing at all.

Your back hit the cushions.

Your legs were thrown up, over his shoulders, bent at the knee, and his hands held you there, open, trembling.

“Tired, baby?” he cooed. “Good. You don’t need to do anything but take it.”

The sound of your moan melted into a gasp as he started to move, slow at first, then faster, deeper.

“You want it again, don’t you?” he groaned. “That sweet little gush you gave me? Bet you don’t even know what you look like when you do it.”

His pace shifted, brutal now, and your breath shattered.

Across the room, Brian stared into the fire, jaw tight.

You reached for Tim's shoulders, dragging your hands across his chest, the slope of his collarbones, the ridges of his muscles, the faint scars you hadn’t seen before. You pressed your lips to his neck, kissed wherever you could, mouthed soft thank-yous into his skin like prayers.

Tim’s mouth dragged from yours to your jaw, then your neck, biting lightly, sucking harder. You moaned, head tipped back, every inch of skin oversensitive and starving.

Then his lips reached your shoulder to that spot. The burn. The cigarette mark he’d given you earlier in the night, still fresh, angry and red against your skin. You flinched when he touched it, but Tim didn’t tease you this time. He simply kissed it.

A low, smug sound left his throat, part groan, part satisfaction. He lingered there, mouthing over the wound like it was something precious. Like he was proud of it, like he owned it. Owned you.

“Good girl,” he murmured against the burn. “Still warm. Still mine.”

Then his hips slammed forward again, knocking the breath out of you. Your moan hit the ceiling.

And then he kissed you. Hot and hard, tongue greedy.

He devoured your mouth as your thighs trembled around his shoulders, his grip branding your hips with each thrust. He was everywhere, all at once, the weight, the sound, the sweat, all of him. You clawed at him, body strung tight, heat building deep and fast.

In the background, you could hear Toby. Tics snapping through the silence.

You turned your head and saw him, bare, sitting near the hearth, watching. His cock was hard again, standing up just for you. His jaw clenched, hands twitching at his sides, pupils blown wide.

He looked at you like he wanted to devour you.

And then he moved.

One hand fisted around his cock, stroking in messy, desperate pulls, the other bracing him as he crawled forward, slow at first, then faster, like something inside him had broken loose. He dropped to his knees in front of the couch, panting, twitching, staring at where Tim was buried inside you.

You met his eyes.

And that was it.

He lunged forward and kissed you, hard and needy. His mouth crashed against yours, tongue wild, breath sharp and hot.

Tim pulled back with a grunt, hand locking around your jaw like he meant to yank your face away. “Hey–” he scowled down at him. “Seriously? Back the fuck–”

But Toby didn’t even hear him. Or didn’t care.

He kept jerking himself off with sharp, frantic strokes, mouth still pressed to yours, tasting Tim’s previous kiss, your sweat, the wreckage of the night all smeared across your lips.

He pulled back just far enough to pant, breath ragged and uneven. His voice was barely a whisper, all twitch and tremble and hunger.

“W-wanna see–c-close up. Fuck–please–don’t stop, j-just let me–”

You didn’t say a word, just spread your legs wider between Tim’s shoulders, tilted your hips a little more toward Toby, like you were giving him a better view. Giving him permission.

His mouth dropped open, a broken little gasp escaping as his eyes locked between your legs, on where Tim was driving into you, slick and perfect and obscene.

He moaned and then kept going. Stroking, panting, cock in hand, eyes locked on the place Tim disappeared inside you over and over. His strokes were quick, frantic, like he was trying to keep up, like he needed to be part of it again.

Tim glanced down, rolled his eyes. “Jeez. You already came.”

Toby’s breath hitched, he didn’t even look at him. Just grinned, manic and trembling. “I can go for hours.”

Tim groaned. “Fuckin’ lunatic.”

Then he made a decision, clear and firm. He tuned Toby out entirely. Ignored his panting and staring, and instead, his focus snapped back to you. His eyes darkened. His hand gripped your thigh tighter, angling your hips with practiced ease.

His voice was low, smooth. “Gonna give me another show, baby? Gonna soak me again like the little mess you are?”

You moaned, nodded before you even knew you were doing it. You felt it, you were so close it hurt. 

He leaned down close, lips brushing your ear.

“Do it. Make a fucking mess.”

He pounded you. So hard you saw stars. So deep it felt like he was in your spine. Your pussy squelched with every wet, relentless thrust, obscene and perfect.

And then–

Your whole body snapped.

A cry ripped from your throat as the heat crashed over you, white-hot, unrelenting. Your back arched, fingers digging into Tim’s shoulders as your release poured out of you in pulses you couldn’t stop.

It soaked the couch. Your thighs. His cock.

You were shaking.

And Tim just laughed. He loved it. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he laughed. “You’re insane.”

He didn’t stop. He fucked through it, harder now, faster, grinning down at you like you were the best thing he’d ever wrecked.

“So messy. So fucking desperate.”

You moaned, clung to him, hips jolting with every thrust, brain long gone. He was all you could feel, all you could be.

Toby moaned at the sight of the wet mess you’d made. Like it hurt him not to be inside you, not to be part of it.

His hand shot down between your legs. He touched it.

Fingers sliding through the slick mess pooling on the couch cushions, up your inner thigh, between your trembling folds where Tim’s cock was still buried inside you, hot and deep. Toby gasped. Twitched. “F-fuck,” he stammered. “She’s–she’s soaking–fucking hell–”

He was twitching, panting, too far gone to stop. A shaking mess on his knees, jerking himself off frantically.

Brian sat, still, arms crossed, watching it all with that cold, unreadable stare. Then, finally, he spoke. “Look at you Toby,” he said flatly. “Fucking embarrasing. Can’t even touch her without losing it.”

Toby twitched, hard, but didn’t stop. His jaw clenched.

“Jacking off like a dog,” Brian added. “You proud of that, Twitchy? Begging for scraps while someone else actually fucks her?”

For a second, Toby said nothing. Just moaned softly, head tipped back, breath ragged.

Then, suddenly, he grinned.

Didn’t look away from you, or stop stroking. If anything, he sped up.

“Y-you’re just mad,” he panted, twitching again, voice wobbling between smug and cracked, “because my d-dick’s bigger than yours.”

Tim let out a short bark of laughter without breaking pace, still pounding into you like you were just a warm hole between them - something to fuck while they argued over who mattered more.

Brian didn’t respond. But the sharp flex of his jaw spoke volumes.

And you, sprawled under Tim, stuffed and wrecked and glowing, you smiled. Couldn’t help it.

Because fuck, Toby was something else entirely. Twitching and broken, a man that was so obscene and unpredictable, and yet somehow still lighting a fire in your gut.

Your smile was soft and dazed, but completely real.

Toby saw it. And his moan came louder this time, like your approval cracked him open further and pushed him over the edge.

Brian exhaled through his nose, quiet and controlled. Then, under his breath, barely loud enough for you to hear: “And yet I’m the one she fucking worships.”

Toby ignored him completely. Instead, his hand sped up even more. He was close.

Then, with one violent full-body jerk, his orgasm overtook him, cock twitching in his hand, hot streaks of cum spilling over his knuckles. But he wasn’t done.

He stood, fast and unstable, nearly stumbled as he climbed up and stood over the couch, already leaning in, cock still leaking, eyes locked on you.

Tim kept fucking you, didn’t stop him. Didn’t even look at Toby.

Toby grabbed your jaw with one trembling hand and shoved himself into your mouth. “P-please–” he gasped. “Swallow it–fuck–don’t waste–”

You opened without thinking, let him in, let him feed it to you. His cock twitched against your tongue as he came, a desperate cry leaving his lips as he pulsed down your throat.

You took all of it. Swallowed around him as he trembled above you, one hand still pressed on your jaw like he couldn’t let go of you.

He stared down at you like you were something divine.

And then he pulled back. Unsteady, glassy-eyed, breathing ragged. He stumbled back from the couch, hand dragging across his thigh, his cock still twitching, and dropped into the chair by the fire like his legs gave out. He sat there, dazed, watching you. Watching both of you.

You felt Tim finally tense inside you and you knew he was close.

His hips kept slamming forward, and then - one last time, deep, hard, and he stayed there. A shudder rolled through his chest as he came, groaning, voice hoarse and guttural.

You felt it, every twitch, every throb, inside. He filled you up to the brim.

His cock pulsed inside you, thick and heavy and so fucking deep. The heat of it flooded your cunt, so much that you could feel it leaking already, dripping from where you were stretched wide around him.

He stayed buried in you, breathing hard against your neck, one hand still clutching your thigh like he couldn’t let you go.

Then finally, he murmured, voice soft, wrecked, like a compliment pulled from the bottom of his lungs: “Fuck–baby–you’re perfect.”

You lay beneath him, wrung out, dazed, glowing with ruin.

Brian was turned half away, sitting by the dining table, but you knew he’d seen everything.

Tim finally stilled. His breathing was still ragged, mouth parted slightly as he looked down at you, wrecked, limp, stretched out beneath him.

He blinked a few times. Then, with a groan, pulled out and eased off you, dragging your body down with him as he slumped into a sitting position on the couch. One of your legs slid limply to the side, resting against his thigh, still twitching.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “That was… yeah.”

He leaned forward, grabbed the crumpled cigarette pack from the floor, slid one between his teeth. Lit it with his lighter.

The first inhale hit hard, and his shoulders dropped. The kind of drop that only happens when everything’s been spent.

“Not bad for a weekend getaway,” he said to you with a half-smile, smoke curling up around his jaw.

You couldn’t answer. You just laid there, eyes barely open, chest rising and falling in slow, shaky breaths. Your legs were shaking. Your throat burned. Your body hummed from everywhere.

You were… satisfied.

Absolutely ruined. But satisfied.

Brian was already moving.

He stood without a word and began getting dressed. He reached for his jeans first, tugged them up over his hips without urgency, buttoning them with quiet efficiency. Then the belt, leather sliding through the loops with a slow, metallic whisper, the buckle clicking into place. Next came his shirt, fabric pulled tight across the line of his chest. He didn’t rush or speak.

The mask came last. He picked it up by the straps and rested it lightly on the crown of his head, not pulled down. His face remained visible, jaw sharp, expression empty. That familiar, detached stare cutting across the room like a blade.

Tim looked over at Brian. Raised a brow. “You gonna sit, or what? Relax a little.”

Toby looked like he was already ready for round three. He was still shirtless, pants halfway up, hands flexing like he didn’t quite know what to do with them. His eyes were on you.

But even he could read the room.

His jaw twitched, then he groaned quietly and shoved himself back into his pants. No one told him to. He just did it.

Tim exhaled another plume of smoke and glanced over at him. “Sorry, bud. Show’s over.”

Toby didn’t respond, just hovered.

He moved to the edge of the couch, near your head. One hand reached out, hesitant at first, and then started to toy with your hair. Light, twitchy strokes. He didn’t say anything. You felt the heat of him above you, the quiet mess still vibrating under his skin.

You tilted your head, just slightly, resting your temple against the couch, and let him touch.

Tim passed you the cigarette.

You blinked at him, dazed.

“Go on,” he said. “You earned it.”

You took it with trembling fingers, brought it to your lips. The smoke burned, sharp, harsh, but it grounded you. A taste of normalcy in the aftermath of something that would never be normal again.

Tim leaned his head back, arms stretched lazily across the couch, one leg nudging yours.

“So,” he said casually, like they hadn’t just devoured you, like the air didn’t still reek of sweat and sex. “You leave tomorrow, huh?”

You inhaled again. Exhaled slow. “...mhm.”

That’s all you could say. That’s all you had.

And then–

Brian’s voice cut through the quiet.

“We took care of the Airbnb guy,” he said flatly from across the room as he was lacing his boots with precise care.

The words landed heavy.

Tim didn’t even blink.

Toby chuckled, an eerie sound with no real joy behind it.

You… didn’t move. But your heart did. It started to beat harder. Your eyes flicked open, just a little more alert.

Brian adjusted his sleeves. Voice calm, unbothered. “So the cabin’s yours. Whenever you wanna come back.”

Silence.

The fire crackled once behind him.

You stared at the ceiling. Smoke hovered near your lips. Your fingers twitched once.

The words didn’t register at first. Not fully. But then… they did. And something inside you paused.

You didn’t ask what he meant. You didn’t want to know. Because the way he said it… it was a promise. A gift.

You didn’t speak. Not because you didn’t have questions, you did. A thousand of them, stacked like sharp stones in your throat.

But because something deeper than fear had settled into your bones.

Understanding.

You’d stayed. You’d let them take you again. You’d asked for it, begged for it, and thanked them after. There was no hiding from that now.

And this was the price.

The cabin was yours now, and you were theirs.

And this, your aching, stretched, broken body, was their expectation.

They would be waiting. Every time. Whether you showed up next weekend, or next month, or the next time you couldn’t sleep without remembering how it felt to be split in half and ruined from the inside out.

You curled a little closer to Tim’s side.

The smoke drifted between you.

Brian sat down across the room, finally. Back to the wall, eyes closed. Toby stayed by the couch, tracing invisible patterns on your shoulder with two shaky fingers.

And you?

You stared at the ceiling. Eyes wide, heart slow. Body completely wrecked.

You didn’t say thank you.

But you didn’t need to.

They already knew.

Epilogue: The Cabin in the Woods

A few weeks later

The woods were quiet.

Evening light filtered through the branches, painting the path in warm gold and deep shadow. The breeze stirred the leaves just enough to remind you the world kept moving. The cabin waited ahead, half-hidden by the trees, as quiet and composed as if nothing had ever happened at all.

The car door slammed shut behind you. You stepped out slow, fresh-faced, hoodie zipped up halfway over a fitted tank, denim shorts hugging your hips just right. There was a calm to your stride now. That same cabin ahead, dark wood, shuttered windows, the faint scent of pine and ash still clinging to its bones, it didn’t feel ominous anymore.

It felt like yours.

You reached into your tote bag, pulling out a small ring of keys. Your fingers found the one easily, worn, slightly scuffed, a red plastic tag still looped around the metal.

You twisted it in the lock and it clicked. Welcome back.

The cabin was clean and quiet, a little cold. Waiting.

You took your time. Slid your shoes off at the door. Moved through the space like you belonged, because you did now. You unpacked slowly: a bottle of red on the counter, a new candle for the fireplace mantle, a change of clothes folded on the couch.

Your fingers grazed the couch’s fabric, lingering where the imprint of past nights still seemed to hum beneath the surface. You smiled.

The sun was already starting to drop, shadows curling deeper. Time ticked forward.

You lit the candle.

Changed into something lighter. Red silk, clingy and curve-hugging. Something you knew they would like.

By the time the light fully faded, you were back on the couch, legs folded beneath you, wine bottle untouched on the table, head turned toward the door.

Waiting.

Just like before.

And when it came, slow and deliberate, like clockwork, your breath caught just a little.

Knock.

[oceannote]

Seventeen's Reaction—Realising he is in love with another member's girlfriend (Vocal Unit)

Note from author: My bad for taking literal ages to come up with part two, but life has been on one. Hope you will enjoy.

Summary: OT13's realising they are in love with the girlfriend of another member.

Warnings: Impossible love, kind of cheating allegations

1️⃣ Jeonghan: When Vernon first introduced you to the SEVENTEEN members, you were visibly shy, nervous even, your hand firmly clasped in his like it was the only thing grounding you. You barely said a word that day. Jeonghan remembers you exactly like that: quiet, polite, sweet, but detached from their world.

He didn’t think much of it at first. Not in a cold way, Jeonghan was never the type to be rude. But you seemed like someone from another orbit, and he had no reason to imagine your paths would ever meaningfully cross. He figured Vernon would keep you separate from their chaos, and maybe you preferred it that way.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

It started at a casual dinner, one of those “family and friends” evenings where the members all brought people close to them, a rare night of laughter, too much food, and inside jokes. By chance, you ended up seated next to Jeonghan. He braced for polite small talk, maybe awkward silences. Instead, you threw out a sarcastic comment about the way he meticulously arranged the cutlery in front of him.

"Is this a dinner or a military drill, Jeonghan?" you teased, eyebrow raised.

He looked at you, surprised, then laughed, really laughed. The rest of the evening became a volley of dry wit and strange topics, the two of you poking fun at each other between mouthfuls of bulgogi and spicy rice cakes. You kept him on his toes. And he liked it.

From then on, things... shifted. Slowly, at first. He started noticing you more. The way you talked with the staff so naturally, the way you always looked Vernon in the eye when he spoke, like you really listened, the way you were always doing something small but kind, tidying up cups after practice, bringing someone their charger without being asked.

Then there were the nights you’d hang out with his sister, nail nights, you called them, where you’d experiment with gel tips and glitter polishes. He’d come home to the sound of your laughter mixing with his sister’s, the smell of pizza or ramen filling the kitchen.

You started asking him for rides when Vernon was still at the studio. At first, the drives were quiet, awkward even. But then you started controlling the playlist. He didn’t fight it. Somehow, the car always ended up full of bad singing, loud choruses, and your laughter when he tried to rap along. You’d always tap his arm or give it a small squeeze when he pulled up to Vernon’s place, grinning.

“Thanks for the ride. You’re officially my favourite chauffeur,” you’d joke.

He told himself it was nothing. Just a friendship. A good one, even.

Then came that night.

You dropped by the company with homemade pizza, cheesy, perfectly crisped, with little notes on each box. "Don’t let Woozi hog the pepperoni," one of them read. The boys were thrilled, and someone suggested a game of Mafia.

It started off playful. But then you stood up mid-round, pointing at him dramatically.

“Yah, Jeonghan! You liar!” you called out, eyes narrowed, half-laughing, half-accusing. “You’re the mafia. No way you just guessed Mingyu was the doctor and wasn’t going for the money.”

The room erupted. Jeonghan sat there, stunned. That was his oldest trick, one he’d perfected. No one had ever called him out like that.

He smiled, but something inside shifted.

The final moment came later that evening, when the two of you were voted to go grab drinks from the nearby corner store. A stupid, innocent task. The city was quiet, the alley dim, the world reduced to your shared footsteps.

You swung the plastic bag in your hand as you walked beside him, close enough to brush shoulders.

“You know,” you said casually, “when I first met you, I was kinda terrified of you.”

He turned his head, surprised. “Me? Why?”

You chuckled. “I don’t know... You looked like you had everyone figured out. Like you could read minds or something. I thought you’d be... unapproachable.”

He raised a brow. “And what changed your mind?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Your sister. Watching how much you care about her, how soft you are around her. It made me realize that underneath the sarcasm and the smirks, you’re actually just... a really loving person.”

Jeonghan blinked, taken off guard.

You smiled, eyes warm. “If you treat her that well, I can only imagine how lucky your future partner’s gonna be.”

Then you squeezed his arm, a quick, friendly gesture, and walked ahead, humming a tune, the plastic bag rustling softly.

But Jeonghan stood still.

In that quiet second, the world around him dulled. The distant city sounds faded. He watched you in front of him, laughing softly to yourself about something. And he knew.

He was in trouble.

Because now, all he wanted was for him to be the person you were talking about. The one you imagined. The one you'd see like that.

But you were already someone else’s.

His friend’s.

And you trusted him.

Jeonghan inhaled sharply and followed after you, a small, wistful smile on his lips.

He wouldn’t say a word. He couldn’t.

But he knew exactly what he’d just lost, something he was never allowed to have in the first place. 2️⃣ Joshua: The first time you met Joshua was… anything but normal.

You’d been dating Dino for almost six months now, but between your work exchange abroad and his packed schedule as an idol, your relationship had been more long-distance than either of you planned. After two months away, you were finally back in Seoul, ready to pick things up where you left off. You missed the small, quiet things the most: grocery runs together, late-night ramen, falling asleep with the TV on.

But as fate would have it, your return wasn’t met with a sweet reunion, it was met with a delay. Dino’s solo music video shoot had gone overtime by hours, and the remote filming location left you stranded at a countryside bus stop nearly 100 kilometres outside of Seoul, your phone at 8% and two ridiculously heavy suitcases at your feet.

That’s when Joshua stepped in.

“Hyung, can you do me a favour?” Dino had asked him, already half-panicked over the situation. “Can you pick up Y/n? I swear I wouldn’t ask unless I had no other option. She’s probably freezing out there.”

Joshua agreed without hesitation. That’s what friends do. Besides, it’s just a pickup, get her, drop her off. No big deal.

But nothing could’ve prepared him for the moment he pulled up to that dimly lit stop, headlights cutting through the October gloom, and saw you.

You were sitting on one of the metal benches, jacket sleeves pulled over your hands, shivering slightly from the cold. The streetlight above flickered, casting a soft glow on your face. You looked up as his car rolled in.

You stood up, brushing your hands over your jeans. Joshua got out of the car, smiled politely, and extended his hand.

“Hey, I’m Joshua.”

“I’m Y/n,” you replied warmly, slipping your hand into his with a soft shake.

His chest tensed. His body buzzed. That was… weird.

He dropped your hand quickly. “Let me get those bags. You must be freezing.”

You nodded, thankful. Joshua popped open the trunk and hauled your suitcases into the car with ease, while you slid into the passenger seat, rubbing your hands together for warmth. The door shut with a soft thud.

The first fifteen minutes of the drive were filled with the kind of silence that wasn’t quite awkward, but wasn’t quite comfortable either. You both exchanged small talk. Where you were from, how long you’d been with Dino, what your job abroad had been like. Joshua tried to focus on the road, but his thoughts kept slipping sideways to you.

You were bright. Articulate. Funny. And, he hated himself for thinking it, you were exactly his type.

About thirty minutes into the drive, you leaned forward slightly.

“Thanks again for coming all this way. Must’ve been a pain, huh?”

Joshua glanced at you and smiled gently. “Not at all. It’s… nice to meet you, honestly.”

Something shifted after that. You started talking more naturally, about Dino, how you two met during a company event, how you fell for his charm, how the distance had been hard. Joshua found himself asking more questions. Not just to be polite, but because he genuinely wanted to know you better. You shared music you liked. He played one of your favourite songs. Then another. Soon, the two of you were belting out lyrics together as the car sped down the highway.

By the time he dropped you off, it felt like you'd been friends for years.

After that night, Dino started bringing you along more often. And Joshua thought that was a good thing, he told himself it was. You were a great match for his friend, and the two of you seemed happy.

But then there were moments.

Little, almost invisible moments that clung to him more than they should have.

The way you'd both hum the same song at the exact same time without realizing it, then laugh when you catch each other doing it. The way you always remembered his coffee order. The way you’d ruffle his hair absentmindedly when walking past him, like you’d known him forever.

And then there was the dinner with his mom.

It was mid-November. Dino had invited you, Joshua, and a few of the other members to join for dinner at a quiet hanok-style restaurant while Joshua’s mom was visiting from the States. Joshua hadn’t expected much. A pleasant meal. Polite conversation.

Instead, he found himself watching you and his mom seated side-by-side, engaged in effortless conversation for almost three hours straight, laughing, exchanging stories, teasing each other like old friends. Something inside him twisted at the sight. You weren’t just a passing phase in Dino’s life.

You were someone a mother could love.

He tried to tell himself it was admiration. A crush, at most. Something fleeting.

But then Christmas morning came.

His mom was visiting again, and Joshua was making breakfast while she sipped coffee at the kitchen table, scrolling through her phone.

“That girl. Y/n,” she said casually, not even looking up.

Joshua stiffened slightly, flipping the eggs in the pan. “What about her?”

“She’s a sweetheart,” his mom said, taking a long sip of coffee. “She was so lovely at dinner. So genuine.”

“Yeah… she is.”

A pause.

“Joshua?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“How long have you liked her for?”

The question hit him like a punch to the chest. He turned fully, spatula still in hand.

“What?”

His mom finally looked up, eyes knowing, gentle. “You heard me.”

“I…Mom,” he stammered. “She’s Dino’s girlfriend.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Joshua set the spatula down. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not judging,” she said softly. “I just know what it looks like when my son’s heart is somewhere it’s not supposed to be.”

He looked away, jaw clenched.

“She was never mine to feel for,” he said after a moment, voice quiet. “It doesn’t matter how I feel.”

His mom reached across the table, resting her hand on his arm. “Feelings don’t always make sense, Josh. But you don’t have to punish yourself for having them.”

He smiled bitterly. “It’s not about punishing myself. It’s about not hurting the people I care about.”

She nodded slowly, squeezing his arm. “That’s what makes you a good man. But don’t lose yourself in the process, okay?”

Joshua didn’t answer. He turned back to the stove, flipping the eggs mechanically, trying to shake the image of you, laughing across a candlelit table, your eyes crinkling just so, your voice soft as you talked about the things that made you feel alive.

He told himself over and over again that it would pass.

But the truth was, falling for you had never been intentional.

It had just… happened.

And now, he had to live with the ache of it. 3️⃣ Woozi: It had been a long time coming for Mingyu to start dating someone. The members had teased him endlessly over the years, but when he finally introduced his girlfriend, a fellow solo K-pop artist, no one was more genuinely happy than Woozi. Mingyu had always been warm, earnest, and loyal. He deserved someone good. So when he said he was seeing someone seriously, Woozi smiled and clapped him on the back.

It wasn’t until a few weeks later, during rehearsals for Seventeen’s comeback, that Woozi actually met you.

You walked into the practice room still in sweatpants and a hoodie, fresh from a recording session at your company. In one hand, you held a small bag of food for Mingyu, and in the other, a box of snacks for the rest of the members.

“Hey guys,” Mingyu called out as the music faded. He walked over and took your hand, grinning like a fool. “This is Y/n, my girlfriend.”

You gave a small, polite bow. “Nice to meet you.”

Woozi, seated on the floor beside the speaker with a half-eaten protein bar, looked up and blinked. You looked almost comically small beside Mingyu, but there was something effortlessly confident about the way you stood there, like you belonged.

You ended up hanging around for a bit that day, watching them practice and chatting with the members. At one point, Woozi had drifted off to the side, scrolling through demo tracks on his phone, when he felt someone approach.

“I just wanted to say…I’m a huge fan of your work.”

He looked up. Your eyes were kind, but sharp, observant. You weren’t just saying it to be polite.

“Oh, uh, thank you,” he said, a bit startled. “I really like your songs too.”

You smiled, then sat next to him without hesitation, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “No, I mean it. Especially the songs you’ve written for other groups. The ones most people don’t even know are yours.”

Now that caught him off guard.

“Really?” he said, locking his phone and turning to face you fully. “Most people just mention Seventeen’s hits.”

You grinned. “Those are great, obviously. But there’s this one track you produced for that rookie group last year, I swear, I cried when I read the lyrics. You write about loneliness in a way that’s... painfully accurate.”

His heart beat a little funny at that. He wasn’t used to this kind of attention, not from someone who looked at his work before anything else.

“Which one’s your favorite?” he asked, more curious than he expected to be.

You laughed. “How much time do you have?”

That day planted something quiet in him. Not attraction, not yet. Just a budding curiosity. A silent interest in who you were beyond the pop image. You were clearly talented, but you were also passionate, perceptive, and surprisingly grounded.

Over the next few months, you became a familiar presence. Mingyu would bring you around to hang out during rehearsals, studio sessions, even casual dinners. Sometimes, when he was busy, you’d end up in Woozi’s studio, listening to whatever new track he was working on.

You gave thoughtful feedback, pointed out subtle things in his lyrics he hadn’t even realized he’d put there. He’d say he liked hearing your thoughts, what he didn’t say was that he liked hearing your voice, period.

And somehow, somewhere along the way, he wrote a song with you in mind. A track tailored to your vocal color, your emotional tone, and when he shyly offered it to Mingyu to pass along to your company, it ended up becoming the title track for your next comeback.

Now, months later, you were in the recording booth, headphones on, Woozi behind the glass, watching you through the studio window.

“Alright, whenever you’re ready,” he said into the mic. “Let’s try the bridge.”

You gave him a thumbs-up, but he could tell. Your shoulders were tense, your tone just a little too tight. You weren’t in it emotionally, and this was a song that needed emotion.

The first three takes were off. By the end of the third, you were rubbing your temples, visibly frustrated.

“Hey,” Woozi said gently. “Want to take a five-minute break?”

“No, no…..I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” You sighed, voice tight. “Can I try again?”

He leaned into the mic again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You turned to face him, lifting the headphone on one ear. “Do you have any tips? Like… how can I feel this better? I don’t want to let your song down.”

Your sincerity made something twist in his chest. You meant it. You always did.

He hesitated, eyes flickering down to the lyrics in front of him, his lyrics.

“Try to connect with what the lyrics are really saying,” he said slowly. “Sing it like… like you’re living it.”

You nodded, took a deep breath, and read through the lyrics again in silence. Ten whole minutes passed.

Then you looked up, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “This is honestly the most gut-wrenching thing I’ve ever sung. Who broke your heart, Woozi?”

He smiled back, but it was the kind of smile he’d perfected over the years. The polite, rehearsed one. The one he gave when he didn’t want to say too much.

Because how could he tell you?

How could he tell you that you were the heartbreak in the lyrics? That every line he’d written had come from moments when you were sitting across from him, laughing at a joke, complimenting his lyrics, asking for feedback. That every chord progression came from stolen glances, from nights spent lying awake asking himself how he’d let this happen.

That this song was what it felt like to love someone who wasn’t his. Had never been his. And never would be.

So instead, he looked down at the soundboard, adjusted a level, and pressed the button.

“Let’s try again,” he said softly. “From the top of the bridge.”

And this time, when you sang it, you sang it like your heart had been broken too. 4️⃣ Seungkwan: Now, this wasn’t supposed to happen.

When you started dating DK, it took no more than two working days before you met Seungkwan. And from the very first moment, you two clicked. Effortlessly. You were like puzzle pieces from the same chaotic set, gossiping about idols, trading hot takes on comebacks and stage outfits, you spilling your latest office drama like he was part of your department too. Somehow, he always knew exactly what to say, and you always knew how to make him laugh.

You started tagging along to his volleyball games, especially when the other members were busy. He liked having you there, a familiar face in the crowd, cheering a little too loud, yelling inside jokes from the bleachers. But none of it ever crossed a line. In Seungkwan’s eyes, you were the closest thing to a little sister: protective warmth, light teasing, and safe distance.

You were DK’s girl, and more importantly, Seungkwan genuinely adored you, but only platonically. Or so he thought.

Things shifted, almost imperceptibly, when Seungkwan started seeing someone new. You and DK were as strong as ever, fully supportive of Seungkwan finally stepping into the dating pool.

“That’s so exciting! Are you nervous?” you’d asked when he first told you.

“A bit,” he’d said, cheeks pink. “But like… in a good way. She’s cool.”

You even helped him pick out a date outfit one afternoon. You were both at a small boutique after lunch when he stepped out of the dressing room in a fitted blue shirt that clung just right to his shoulders.

“Okay, wow,” you said with a grin, eyes widening in mock surprise. “Kwan, where have you been hiding those babies?”

Seungkwan let out a half-laugh as you got up and walked toward him, fingers reaching for the collar of his shirt.

“Also, how do you manage to misbutton a shirt this badly?” you teased, fixing the buttons like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But it wasn’t. Not anymore.

Because suddenly, Seungkwan couldn’t breathe right. Your perfume hit him differently, not just nice, but intimate. He could feel the warmth radiating from your fingertips. His eyes dropped, unintentionally, to your lips mid-sentence.

He swallowed thickly.

No. Nope. Stop.

He told himself it was just nerves about the date. Just overthinking. Just… a fluke.

But it wasn’t.

That moment planted something in his chest he couldn’t unfeel. Because after that, something felt off. The girl he was seeing? She was pretty. Smart. Charming. She even laughed at his dumb jokes and liked mint chocolate, she should’ve been perfect. But something was missing. Every time she leaned in, he found himself looking for someone else’s eyes. For your eyes.

And so, weeks later, you found yourself beside him on a park bench in the middle of a humid summer afternoon. The cicadas hummed in the background, and Seungkwan looked defeated, not in a dramatic way, but quiet and heavy, like someone who’d been trying too hard for too long.

“She’s not bad,” he said, rubbing his temples. “Like, not at all. The dates are fine, conversation’s okay, sex is… yeah, no complaints there.” He let out a dry laugh. “But I still feel like I have to put on the idol mask around her. Like I have to perform even when I don’t want to.”

You watched him for a second before responding. “That’s exhausting,” you said gently, rubbing his back. “It’s not supposed to feel like that. You deserve to just be with someone.”

He nodded, slowly. “She always wants me to be the mood maker, you know? If I’m quiet for five seconds, she thinks I’m upset.”

“I get that,” you said, turning toward him. “And it's normal to feel frustrated. But love shouldn't feel like a tightrope walk. You should feel safe, like you're home. It should feel easy to be yourself.”

He paused.

You didn’t know it, but you’d just cracked open the truth he’d been refusing to name. His head turned slightly, his eyes landing on you. The way your brows furrowed just slightly when you were concerned. The way you always got it, without him needing to explain. How your voice always leveled him out.

“I think I need to find someone who feels like home,” he said softly, not taking his eyes off you.

You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder without thinking, like you always did. “You will,” you said, sure and warm. “That person’s out there. I know it.”

There was a long silence, filled with everything unsaid.

“Maybe even closer than I think,” he murmured, almost to himself, letting out a sigh that sounded like surrender.

You didn’t notice the way he looked at you in that moment, the softness, the ache, the silent war behind his eyes.

Because now he knew.

He was screwed.

Not because he’d fallen in love, that part felt inevitable now, but because he hadn’t meant to.

Because somewhere along the way, he had started looking for you in every girl he met.

And the worst part?

You were never trying to be anything more than his best friend.

But God, you already felt like home. And nothing else could compare.

5️⃣ Dk: You and Joshua were like two peas in a pod, the kind of couple people couldn’t help but comment on. Too good-looking. Too in-sync. Too perfect. It was almost cinematic the way you matched each other’s energy: the way your laugh fit with his timing, how he always knew when to offer his hand without a word. Fans noticed it. Staff noticed it. The members noticed it. And no one was prouder of that pairing than DK.

Because he introduced you.

You had been working with SEVENTEEN as a performance director for a few comebacks now, one of those backstage fixtures who somehow became part of the family without forcing it. You blended in naturally, not just with the production crew, but with the boys themselves. Especially with DK.

He’d known you long before Joshua had. You’d shared several late-night meals with the choreo team and dancers, the kind of quiet bonding that happens when you're exhausted and buzzing from rehearsals. He remembered the first time he made you laugh, really laugh, during a ramen break at 1 a.m.

"You know you eat like someone who’s auditioning to be in the group,” he’d teased, watching you balance your chopsticks mid-rant about lighting cues.

You had grinned, not missing a beat. “You say that like I wouldn’t outdance half of you.”

From that moment, you two clicked. Not romantically, not at first. It was just that spark, that ease that made everything feel lighter.

And so when the group wrapped up filming for their comeback MV and celebrated with a long-overdue night out, it felt natural for DK to bring you along. Everyone was there, drinks flowing, music just loud enough to blur the edges of exhaustion.

That night is burned into DK’s memory.

You had your hair down, casually tucked behind one ear. You were already tipsy by the time he arrived, cheeks flushed, arms thrown around one of the stylists, mid-story.

You lit up when you saw him. “DK! I was just talking about you.”

He had grinned, leaning in. “Hopefully something flattering.”

"I was saying how you’re weirdly good at making people feel better without even trying."

It was the kind of compliment that stays with you.

Joshua joined your table later, and DK, half-drunk and entirely in a good mood, had introduced you with a laugh. “You guys would totally vibe. Y/N’s basically one of us already.”

Joshua had smiled, curious. You’d offered him your drink. That was the beginning.

Within weeks, you and Joshua were an item, soft and sweet and almost annoyingly cute. You brought snacks to rehearsals for him. He made playlists for you. The guys would tease, but it was the good kind, everyone liked you too much not to root for you both.

DK kept telling himself that this was the best-case scenario. Two of his favorite people finding happiness. It should have felt rewarding.

But it didn’t.

At first, it was small things.

You’d show up with a new hairstyle, and he’d notice it before Joshua did. You’d bump shoulders with him playfully during rehearsal, and his heart would flutter. You’d send him memes late at night, not in a flirty way, just out of habit, and he’d reread them five times, wishing the context were different.

Then it got worse.

You started opening up more, becoming a version of yourself that DK hadn’t seen before. The girlfriend version. The one Joshua got to see late at night when you were curled up on his couch, hair messy, voice soft. The one who made pancakes on weekends, who bought matching phone cases, who left notes in lunchboxes.

And DK realized something terrifying:

He didn’t just like you.

He wanted you.

Not in a shallow, fleeting way. But in the ache-when-you-smile kind of way. The I-know-your-favorite-rant-and-I-still-want-to-hear-it kind of way.

At first, he thought he was just being clingy. Everyone knew DK had a naturally affectionate personality. But this? This was different. This felt like betrayal. Because every time Joshua's arm slipped around your waist, every time your head found its place on Joshua’s shoulder, DK’s stomach coiled so tight he thought he might throw up.

And he hated himself for it.

He started withdrawing, subtly at first. Shorter conversations. Less eye contact. He forced himself to laugh harder, to joke louder, like volume could drown out what he was feeling.

You noticed.

Of course you did.

"You okay, DK?" you asked one afternoon after practice, while Joshua had stepped out to take a call.

He hesitated, surprised by your gentleness.

"Yeah," he said too quickly. "Just tired."

You didn’t press, just offered him your water bottle and sat next to him in silence. It made it worse, somehow, how thoughtful you were, how much you noticed even the things you weren’t meant to.

There were moments he nearly cracked.

When you wore DK’s old hoodie because it was comfier than Joshua’s.

When you said, “Sometimes I think you know me better than he does.”

When you fell asleep during a late-night edit, and DK had to carry you to the couch before Joshua came back, standing there for just a second too long, brushing hair from your face, trying not to cry.

He told himself to stop. He begged himself. But the heart is a traitor, and DK’s was louder than his logic.

He even tried dating again. Went on a few set-ups, even messaged a girl he used to be interested in. But it all fell flat. None of them were you.

Eventually, he accepted that the feeling wasn’t going anywhere. And that he would never act on it.

He didn’t have the right.

You were Joshua’s. And Joshua was his brother. SEVENTEEN wasn’t just a group, it was family. He couldn’t tear that apart.

So he loved you from the sidelines. Quietly. Consistently. In the little ways that didn’t mean anything to anyone else. He kept your favorite snacks stocked in the practice room. He stayed late during rehearsals when you were behind on choreography notes. He kept sending memes. He never stopped caring.

And maybe that was enough.

But sometimes, when the room was dark and the apartment was quiet, he’d ask the ceiling a question he already knew the answer to:

"What if I hadn’t introduced you two?"

And then, like always, he’d shake the thought away.

Because some love stories aren’t meant to be yours. Some are just meant to be felt.

[dragonnarrative-writes]

GhostGaz Week Day 2 - Tied Up /Quick Escape

CW: Kink discussion, rope play, a light bit of pre-negotiated distress (with heavily-implied aftercare)

“Safety is your main priority,” Kyle says to the room of class attendees. He makes eye contact with everyone in the room, rigger and bottom alike, and continues, “We’re here to have fun, but rope can cause permanent damage a damn sight faster than most people think, so the first thing we’re learning is how to get your partner out of the rope, quickly and safely.”

There are a few distracted people, and he would normally be annoyed, but he knows that Simon makes a pretty impressive display. He turns around and lets himself have a moment to admire his work, as well. Simon blinks up at him, placid, hovering three feet above the ground in a side suspension. He looks comfortable, decadent, nude besides a pair of boxer-briefs and his balaclava. He’s spilling out, just a bit, around the ropes holding him captive. It’s a good look.

Kyle tweaks his nipple with a wink, then spins his sub to show his back to the room. He turns, himself, and asks, “Ghost has been up for a good ten minutes. Does anyone know what I should be looking for?”

A tentative hand goes up, and a young man in the front row says, “His fingers have blood flow?”

“That’s one,” Kyle praises, and tosses a pack of fruit snacks his way. “Anyone else?”

“Can he wiggle his fingers?” A woman asks from the back of the room, and she grins when he lobs another pack of fruit snacks her way.

Simon wiggles his fingers and toes and says, “Everythin’ seems in workin’ order.”

The next 10 minutes go well. Kyle has to encourage some of the rope bottoms to speak up, but by the time he’s considering bringing Simon back down to the floor, everyone is engaged. When he puts his fingers against Simon’s palm, he gets three squeezes, so Kyle gives his bicep a pinch back.

“Okay, Ghost has let me know he’s gonna be pretty damn uncomfortable in about five minutes, so let’s get him down so we can actually talk about some of the 101 ties,” Kyle announces. “And when I’m done bringing him down, I want to talk to you about the most important tool to have on you if you’re going to tie anyone, for any reason. Take a minute to discuss together while I get him settled.”

This, Kyle knows, is Simon’s least favorite part of the class, so he runs his hands over his chest and belly as he coos, “Doin’ a great job, big guy. You make me look good, up here.”

“Sweet talker,” Simon grumbles, and Kyle can tell he’s smiling behind his mask.

“You deserve sweet talk, gorgeous,” Kyle chuckles as he lowers his partner’s body a hand and a half, then ties him off to focus on lowering his legs until his knees are on the ground. He cups Simon’s face in his hands and squishes his cheeks. “We should have you demo for Price’s praise class, tied up just like this.”

“Watch it,” Simon grumbles, and Kyle grins as his chest flushes red.

“No, you’re my good boy,” Kyle agrees, wrapping his arms around Simons shoulders and pulling him in for a hug. “Gimme your color.”

Simon takes a few seconds to think about it, the way Kyle always makes him. Then he says, “Green. Three point five.”

Kyle hums. “Not four?”

“Not four,” Simon confirms.

“Up for a cuddle, then?”

“You better give me a fuckin’ cuddle,” Simon grumbles, tilting his head to bite gently at Kyle’s obliques. He growls as Kyle laughs and tries, not very hard, to inch out of his reach.

“Alright, alright,” Kyle chuckles, leaning down to press a kiss to Simon’s forehead through his mask. “Gonna keep your arms tied. Green?”

“Green.”

Kyle pats his shoulder and turns to the class. “Okay. Who knows what your most important tool is when tying?”

“Rope,” three people call out at once, and the whole class bursts into laughter.

Kyle laughs with them, and shakes his head. “Rope definitely helps. But no. That’s not the tool I’m thinking of. Remember, we’re talking safety.”

From the middle of the room, a woman calls, “Safety shears.”

“Bingo,” Kyle says, under-handing a pack of snacks into a waiting hand. He crosses his arms and lets out a heavy breath. “I meant it, earlier, when I said that rope can cause permanent damage faster than you think. Improperly placed rope and lack of preparedness can kill your rope partner. So. Safety shears.”

Kyle pulls his safety shears from his thigh harness, circles around behind Simon, and cuts the one rope still holding him up in two good cuts. Simon sags back against his legs with a grunt, and Kyle automatically reaches forward to squeeze his shoulder and then wrap a hand around his neck.

“Easy. I let you down on purpose,” Kyle whispers, as Simon’s shoulders start to shake. “I’ve got you, You’re doing perfect. Say it back.”

“Doin’ perfect,” Simon grits out, then takes a deep breath. “You’ve got me. Not dropped.”

“Not dropped,” Kyle says back, petting Simon’s shoulder firmly. “You’re doing so well. Gonna do the rest of the class under my hands, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Simon grunts. One of his hands grips the leg of Kyle’s trousers. “You’ve got me.”

“I’ve got you.”

When Kyle looks up, he smiles softly and holds up the shears. “Having to cut someone down can be stressful, for a lot of reasons. But it’s something we can all recover from. Nerve damage, blood, and airflow interference? Not so much. So! There’s a box of scrap rope some shears up here, everyone come practice cutting. And then I’ll teach you some basic cuffs.”

[inlovewithl3vi]

I could imagine MC keeping a grudge against Belphie for soooo long all because he drooled on them.

He needs notes from a class he slept through? You won’t help him, you just tell him to go ask his brothers.

He wants to take a nap in your room? No, he can go sleep in the attic.

He needs to go somewhere and wants to bring you along? Yeah, you’re not available.

It’s not like you’re being outright mean to him (although he’ll say you are) you just refuse to do anything for him or with him.

He doesn’t even know why you’re doing it, what could he have possibly done?

Until he remembers that night you threw him out of your room.

He didn’t know why at first, he was too tired and all he heard was you yelling at him. Until he remembered the wet spot on your shirt from where he was laying.

Sure he should’ve apologized… but he forgot, you can’t blame him he just woke up!

But he misses napping with you… and going out with you… and using class work as an excuse to hang out with you.

So, he apologizes. He goes to you and apologizes for drooling on you, and that he really didn’t mean to he was just tired.

You of course accept his apology (and honestly you were about to let it go) and he promptly takes you to his room to nap with you.

And while you nap together to make up loss time, he drools on you… again.

[moonit3]

yandere! batfam x batgirl! reader

ᯓ★ SYNOPSIS: after getting shot during a dangerous mission, you found yourself struggling in having a ‘normal life’.

ᯓ★ WARNINGS/INFO: gn! reader, yandere elements, some angst, mentioned death and resurrection, violence, an original character make her debut and some things that I can’t really remember, a curse word. also batlet is a play with the word ‘starlet’ which basically means a star in ascension.

ᯓ★ A/N: well, the second part is here! I got way too excited in writing a continuation from my first post, but I swear I am taking it slowly and nice. next post will be either with an original concept or my in law are obsessed with me! so keep an eye open!

three months.

that’s how long it's been since you last wore the batgirl costume—and just as long since the entire family started treating you more gently.

from the moment when the others heard the news of your almost death, they became more permanent figures at your daily routine. even dick, who didn’t live at gotham anymore, began showing up with his long hours conversations about his own problems and new work from bludhaven.

“leading the titans has been such a headache,” he’d say, throwing himself onto the couch and casually swinging his legs over your lap as you were trying to read the newspaper after a long day after school. “garfield and sally are always arguing over the dumbest things! can you believe that? they act like children! not they you’re irresponsible or anything, [name]—but you get what I mean, right?”

you just nodded, too tired to talk. your mind can’t focus on anything else other than the newspaper in hands. more specific in a certain headline from one the articles.

BATGIRL VANISHES: ONE OF THE CITY’S PROTECTORS MISSING FOR THREE MONTHS

the article itself didn’t speak much—just speculation, quotes from scared citizens, and a blurred rooftop photo of yours from a year ago. from what you read, most of gothamites thinks you are dead. great.

you folded the paper in half, jaw clenched before throwing the newspaper away, not bothering to look where it lands. a sigh comes out of your mouth, trying to stay calm as your heart beats faster.

the bullet wound in your shoulder has long since healed, leaving behind only a small scar. to the public, it’s nothing more than a skating accident—an easy lie, they accept it without question. but your family, the ones who know the truth, never seem to let it go. the scar may have faded, but to them, it still bleeds.

it took an extra couple of minutes before dick realized that you weren’t paying attention to his rambling, and so he sat on the couch. one of his arms wrapping around your shoulder, bringing you closer to his chest as he kinda forced you to rest on him.

“why the sad face, batlet? did someone got your attention other than your dear older brother?” he asked, giving you the biggest smile possible when kissing the top of your hair.

dick acts like he doesn’t know why you’ve been so out of yourself lately. in fact, everyone in the family knows why you are acting so tired in the couple past of months.

you silently shake your head when dick pulls you for a hug, “i’m tired of just spending time in the hideout with barbara and acting as tim’s hacker in my free time. don’t get it me wrong, it’s fun learning how to alter the academy’s menu to fries and pizza… but I want to go back and patrol the city as batgirl.”

his expression shifted—brows tightened with sudden intensity as he looked at you like you are the most all, fragile person in the world. (not that you are—after all, you’d taken down men three times your size.) still, that didn’t matter when he reached out and gently ruffled your hair. like you needed his protection anyway.

“well, I think it will happen faster than you think.” those aren’t the words you wanted to hear, but it does bring you some kind of relief when realizing that dick might be not as overprotective as father and barbara are. “but for now, how about we watch some movie together?”

you nodded, “yeah, i think that will be fun.”

lunch break has been your favorite part of the day ever since you first set foot in Gotham Academy. if anyone asked why, you’d blame it on the meals—how the academy’s private chefs always prepared something warm, delicious, and way better than anything a normal cafeteria could offer. but the true was simpler: you just want to be alone

being adopted into the wayne family made you an instant headliner within the academy’s walls, whether you liked it or not. the surname came with a heavy weight, whispers and expectations comes as a packet. because of that, you wish for at least five minutes where you aren’t someone’s curiosity.

but unfortunately, that isn’t the case always.

three months ago, you couldn’t be batgirl anymore, a tragic moment in your twelve years of living. but, you also gained the opportunity to make a friend, a real one.

“[name]!” safiya’s voice echoed through the academy’s halls halls as she jogged after you, careful not to trip over the hem of her skirt. she isn’t exactly the most athletic student, but she managed to cover the distance surprisingly fast—just to catch up.

“i cant’t believe you left me behind! you know i’m a slower eater eater,” she juggled, catching her book bag with dramatic offense.

you nearly laughed. safiya—though she preferred to be called safi—looked furious, but her soft features and slightly puffed cheeks, it was hard to take her seriously. she is two years older than you, but at times like this, all you could think is how ridiculously adorable she is.

“sorry, safi.” you replied, letting her pinches your cheeks as a ‘punishment’ as she always did. “but everyone began approaching me in the cafeteria and i just had flee the scene!”

at your response, safi lets go of your cheeks—but not before giving your hair a playful tousle. her dark eyes rolled as she watched you trying (and fail) to smooth it back into place, only make it worse with each attempt. she bit back a laugh, lips twisting with amusement as she crossed her arms and shook her head.

“I accept your apology,” she said with a dramatic nod, slipping her hand into yours before pulling you down the hall. As expected, she was eager for her daily round of exploring the academy before lunch ended.

“But now,” she added with a spark in her eyes, “I have to show you something I found!”

Safi dragged you through corridor after corridor, occasionally bumping into other students along the way—not that she seemed to care. Her focus was locked on whatever mysterious destination she had in mind. No matter how many times you asked, though, she refused to tell you what it was, only flashing a mischievous grin as she led you deeper into the maze of the school.

it’s only what you think to be ten minutes or so that you finally arrived at the so called mysterious spot. and of course, it didn’t disappoint you.

a trophy case—tall enough to nearly reach the ceiling, and just bout the size of the storage room back at the manor. to make it even more impressive, it is packed from end to end with gleaming trophies and plaques, mostly of them earned through sport victories.

safi rambles about it, already discussing how the gotham should’ve more trophies in sports if wasn’t for metropolis. her warm brown skin almost glows as she continues to talk regarding how much the academy has lost its reputation in sports, even going as further to proclaim that if she becomes a manager of the american football team, gotham would return to its glory.

even with safi’s words being interesting—almost inspiring, you couldn’t help but focus on a certain plaque on the trophy case.

ACADEMIC EXCELLENCE AWARD

presented to

JASON P. TODD

for archiving the highest overall academic score in Gotham Academy history

“my brilliance is forged, not born with.”

— awarded with distinction, year 12

your heart sank the moment you eyes saw the name etched into the plaque. jason. bruce’s second son—and of course, the robin who came before tim.

a hero whose existence only seems to appear in whispers as father and the others refuse to talk about him, but a tragic event that took place on the wayne family according to the public’s eyes. it almost comical that you’ve learned more about jason from strangers than your own family.

“a good kid, a bit sketchy and easily irritable, but still a great student during his time at the academy.” said your science professor once, smiling when telling you how smart jason was.

“he showed me the middle finger during class many times, but he also fought the students who used to bully me back when I was a senior.” a professor assistant told you, even going as further to show the photos of the bullies after jason beat them.

“sometimes i think he would become a teacher,” the headmistress, an old but elegant woman replied when you asked her about jason’s personality. “of course, he had a lot problems and personal issues from what i could tell from the time he attended gotham academy…but at the same time, i also could tell he has working hard to have a good life within the walls of the academy as well with your family.”

that’s all there. everything you know about it jason comes from people who never truly knew him. professors, students, even the headmistress—they all have opinions, sure. but none of them spoke to who he really was

all their words were about the version he showed in public—the polished wayne kid, the student, a boy behind the famous surname. but not the jason your family knew. not robin. they didn’t know him at all.

all of that are about how he portrayed himself in public, under the wayne name and not as your family knew him. not as when he was robin, those people truly don’t know him at all.

“[name]?”

you turn to face safi, her expression no longer a happy one when stepping closer. she takes a handkerchief from her jacket pocket to clean the tears out of your cheeks. when did you start crying? as she finishes cleaning your face, safi put her handkerchief away.

her dark eyes soft when seeing how emotional you’ve become and it doesn’t take much time to her to understand why. even as a transfer student, she knows about the tragic end of bruce wayne’s second son.

“come on,” she slipping her hand into yours once more, this time more slowly and carefully. as you notice, safi is being more cautious in interacting with you now. “we should head for the gym, i heard the professors and the headmistress will do an announcement. something about how the table tennis team is going for the nationals.”

you nodded, letting safi take the lead. not bothering to speak up, not when your mind is too far behind to think about anything else other than the brother you’ve never met.

sometimes you wonder, would jason see you as a younger sibling if he hadn’t die?

“[name], sweetheart,” bruce says, voice low as he swallows dryly, refusing to meet your eyes. his hand gently brushes through your hair—a small and familiar gesture meant to soften whatever’s coming next. “there’s someone I want you to meet.”

you tilt your head, already suspicious as the pieces start to click. and then, right as you thought, an unknown man steps out of the shadows of the batcave (because of course he does—everyone insists on doing dramatic entrance around here). his head lowers, hand stuffed into the pocket of his civilian clothes, but you catch the tension in his posture immediately.

bruce gently takes your hand, guiding you a few steps closer to the man.

the mysterious man is tall—like father—broad-shouldered and built way more than dick or even father if you believe. scars mark his face and part of his neck like worn-out stories of past troubles. but what truly catches you off guard is the streak of white in his dark hair—a sharp and unmistakable line that stands out.

“hmmmm…ugly hair.” the words slip out before you can stop them, and immediately both adults in the hideout turn to stare at you like you’ve said something truly offensive.

father’s grip on your hand tightens—just slightly—but more than enough to serve as a silent reminder: be nicer.

“i-i mean,” You stammer, backpedaling, “who are you, uh…mister?”

the mysterious guy recompense himself, taking a deep breath before finally introducing himself. “well, i’m….i’m jason, your older brother.” your self proclaimed brother watches your face almost dropped to the ground, knowing bruce is probably the reason why you’ve pass out with the information.

your gaze, flocos back and forth between jason—your-no-longer dead brother—and your father, again and again, trying to make sense of the impossible scene in front of your.

then the pieces of this weirdly out puzzle start to fall into place, slow at first, then all at once. your head, small compared to the rest of the family, didn’t take much to make everything click on place.

“wait,” your head whip back to jason, this time locking eyes with him—those sharp, unmistakable blue eyes. you try to look imitating, staring him harder and doing your best to look intimidating (or at least as intimidating as a twelve years old can). “you’re the red hood!”

jason doesn’t deny it. he just nods, his gaze shifting away like he is already embracing for what’s coming.

“and you fucking shot me!” you shout, swinging your foot and kicking him hard in the ankle with every ounce of strength you have.

he stumbles, he stumbles hard, nearly losing his cool just enough to almost fall over. “OW—okay, what the hell, that actually hurts!” he mutters, learning over the batcomputer as rubbing at the spot like he hadn’t just been almost taken down by a middle schooler.

“you shouldn’t be here, you are meant to be buried not standing here like nothing happened!” you snap, turning on your father now. “why did you bring him home? he is a danger to gotham’s city and a lunatic!”

bruce takes a deep breath before saying anything. his eyes staring at you, hoping that you would just stay calm and apologize to jason, but he knows that you have the right to be mad in a situation like this. that’s why, he decides to take a different approach.

“well, jason is here because he wants to apologize.” he said, catching you and jason off guard—who even stood up without complaining about the pain you’ve caused him. in another hand, you look to unsure to believe those were father’s initial intention. “now, now, i know it’s hard, but jason could you please apologize to your sister? i know you’re mature enough to understand that your previous actions hurt your sister in the past. both mentally and physically.”

jason nodded, still reluctantly in interacting with the kid who appears to be ready to kill him, but he knows that he should admits his fault. especially if that makes the so called kid friendly with him.

“im sorry, okay?” he said, trying to sound apologetic—more polite than usual, even. he went as far as to kneel down, bringing himself to your height.

“i messed up…a lot of things a few months ago. like, turning gotham into a territory of gang wars, hurting you, and—uh—almost blowing up part of the academy…”

wait—what?

“but i want you to know that i’ve changed. as much as a person can change after being killed and then dragged back to life,” he said with a crooked smile. “it’s a lot, i get it. but shooting you? that was definitely a mistake. especially since you’re, you know… still a kid.”

so he is saying that he wouldn’t feel guilty for having shot you if you were eighteen years old or older?

he reaches out, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear—searching for face for some sign of forgiveness, or even for sympathy.

and luckily, jason saw how less angry you seem towards him. a hidden blush on your ears, a sign that you aren’t that much angry at him anymore.

“that’s why i am here,” he said softly. “i mean it—I’m sorry for hurting my little sister. that guilty worm go away. it just…sit there forever. so yeah, i’m sorry, [name].”

he extended his arms, smiling at you. it’s obvious he wants a hug, one that will—maybe make a new relationship bloom between the no-longer-dead son and the no-longer-batgirl kid.

and bruce just stares at the scene from the sidelines, secretly hoping you won’t try to kick jason anymore. at least for today.

“so, how about a hug?” jason asked, giving you his best smile. “then we can go out for some ice cream. alfred told me that you love mint chocolate—which is weird, but i am willing to try it for you.”

a smile grown on your lips at the offer, almost ready to accept the invitation. it’s almost as the hideout shines with the glow of your face when your words are vocalized.

“no, thanks.” you replied, making the two adult staring at you again, this time like you said something even more repulsive than before. “i mean, it’s a nice gesture and offer, but i gotta go and study with tim for my incoming chemistry test.”

you pull both jason and father into a quick hug—brief, almost rushed—before turning on your feet and heading straight for the exit. no time for lingering.

they stay behind, watching silently as you disappear up the stairs. and the moment you reached the living room, your voice echoes through the manor.

“tim!” a high pitched voice of a twelve years old easily makes the crows around the manor flee in response. “you aren’t going to believe what just happened!”

“so, jason is alive?”

“yes.”

“and he is just at the batcave, talking with bruce? like nothing has ever happened.”

“yes, again.”

tim stares at you like you’ve grown horns, almost in disbelief when learning such news coming from you. what was meant to be a studying session with his younger sibling turned to be a moment of clarity of how jason got resurrected because of the al ghul (not that you mentioned anything, but it doesn’t take much for tim to put the pieces together).

a sigh of disbelief came from his lips when getting out of his chair, joints protesting with every moment. he muttered under his breath—something about the killer croc and the sewers—before sitting down at the carpet beside you. the ache is clearly a souvenir from his last patrol with killer croc.

he settled down in front of you, eyes scanning your face before a hand of his gently came to rest on your shoulder—the same one that still held the scar.

a scar that isn’t just your. it is a reminder of a night that everything went wrong. of how he and bruce had failed to protect you.

and definitely the reason why father still hadn’t let you return to the field.

a moment of silence takes of the room, but it’s easily broken with a question that has been haunting the manor for the past couple of months.

“do you think that he will allow me to return as batgirl?” you asked, already knowing the answer to that, but still struggling to accept the reality. after all, hope is the last one to die.

tim doesn’t answer, not immediately. after all, he had this same conversation with bruce weeks ago, asking if he could take you to patrol some safer streets of gotham just to put you back on track.

and unfortunately, he has received the same answer as you.

“I don’t think so,” he replied, pulling you for a hug when seeing the tears coming from your eyes. his hand caressing your hair when hearing you sob against his chest. “i’m sorry, [name]… but there is nothing else you can do about it.”

the manor suddenly become colder that day.