#lazy rap in a good way

[jinnie-ret]

WE'RE GETTING CHAN LAZY RAP THIS COMEBACK LETS GOOOO

[suguann]

tags. fem!reader, boss/employee relationship, stupidly domestic, little wife kink in there somewhere, nanny reader, single dad gojo, breeding kink [18+ only]

You sometimes find yourself wistfully imagining having a family of your own—a soft and sweet little bundle to cuddle and someone strong and capable (competent) at your side. But you can’t think of the last time you’ve been on a date where that person had the same interest in something more serious than casually sleeping around. 

Nannying seemed like the natural conclusion, especially when you’re still settling in a new city and barely scraping by for rent and student loans for a degree you don’t use. 

You pick up a few jobs just to get a feel for it: parents going away for a honeymoon, a last-minute call-in, a weekend business trip. Then a friend of a friend says she makes enough to afford one of those picturesque apartments that overlook tall high-rises and iridescent lights, the very ones you’ve dog-eared in real-estate magazines.

All it takes are a few phone calls and an interview until you’re packing up your apartment and taking the freeway outside of the city to somewhere remote and expensive, your car looking almost out of place parked beside the shiny new one in the long driveway.

You rap on the front door before you lose your nerve, and a few moments later, it opens, and you’re unsure who looks more out of place: this man with a smile too big, dressed for work, immaculate suit dampened by the baby rag slung over his shoulder and what looks like drool on his crisp collar, or you in your scuffed shoes and second-hand store clothes, standing in front of the nicest house you’ve ever seen.

“The nanny?”

“Yes,” you mutter, licking your lips. “That’s me.”

“Good, Ren just woke up from his nap,” he says, opening the door a little wider with a creak. The darkness behind him is almost comforting.

You take a deep breath and pass over the threshold into his home.

The entire time, his hand stays on the small of your back to steer you toward the nursery, and a shiver threatens up the length of your spine.

Three months. That’s how long it takes before your employer poses a problem.

It’s not that he’s a terrible boss; in fact, he’s quite the opposite. He lets you take over one of the many spare rooms in his massive house, pays you double the regular rate, and gives you time off when you ask for it.

It also helps that Ren is cute, only a year old, and still so sweet and tiny. 

Perfect.

The problem lies in that you know what he sounds like first thing in the morning, that he knows how you like your coffee, that he helps you fold laundry in the living room while the baby naps, how you catch him staring anytime you hold his son—his expression shuttered, a foreign thing that you can’t read. It’s all so terribly domestic. 

Terrible in that you think it’s a horrible idea to develop a crush on your boss, that you can’t help but get flustered anytime he so much as looks your way, even if it’s fleeting. How a sleepy smile before he retires to his room for the night can turn your thoughts into a scattered, ill-defined mess of what they used to be until all that’s left are words like spun sugar melting on your tongue.

But also, it’s not normal, at least not from your experience. 

You were lucky in the past if your employer even wanted to know about their kid’s day. Barely saying hello once they walk through the front door before sending money to your bank account.

Satoru—because that’s what he asked you to call him one afternoon while you were in the middle of feeding Ren mashed banana, a lazy smile curling the edges of his lips after you say it for the first time—wants to know everything: what Ren ate, if he laughed, how your day was, if you finally got your hands on that book you’ve been meaning to buy. 

“You don’t have to ask about my day,” you tell him shyly, accepting the glass of wine he proffers you after spending the past hour trying to put a teething baby to bed. “To make me feel better, that is.”

“Would it be so bad if I said I want to? You live here, too.”

You try to separate the two: that he cares as your employer and not for any other reason, and how you sometimes catch the soft look in his eye whenever he looks at you could make you believe otherwise.

Cool fingers cup your chin gently, thumb caressing the top of your cheek, now close enough that you catch a few of the warm notes of his cologne, a move that’s probably very inappropriate between a boss and an employee.

“I never say anything I don’t mean.”

You swallow, nodding, slightly shaky, breath caught in your chest. “Okay.”

“Good girl.” He retreats to his office before witnessing how those two words knock the wind out of you.

He starts saying things like our shopping list, our car—because he gave you the keys to the SUV parked beside his car and hasn’t touched it since; for you and the baby, he said, plus it’s terrible on gas when I drive it to work—our house, our baby. You don’t think he means to do it; it's more of an easy slip in conversation.

But then, one morning, he’s rushing around the kitchen, hair still damp and smelling like his shampoo, as he grabs his coffee and briefcase from the counter, kissing Ren’s forehead first…and then yours.

You’re half convinced that you imagined it—that his lips hadn’t stayed there for a second longer than necessary—until he straightens his tie and heads out for the day with a ‘be good’ tossed over his shoulder, and you’re left wondering if he meant to say that to you or Ren.

It sets off a chain reaction of thoughts whirling away in your head, leaves you wanting and wondering—only ever allowing yourself to fantasize a little when the house is quiet and dark, the baby monitor humming on your nightstand, and images of your boss flit behind closed eyelids as you fit your hand underneath your soft sleep shorts.

In the morning, you worry he can tell what you did, his smile almost too sharp, too something—more teasing than what you’re used to—his hand resting on your lower back as he leans down to kiss Ren’s chubby cheek while you make breakfast.

“I have a meeting this afternoon, so I’ll be late. Want me to pick up some food on the way home?”

No, you think, there’s no way he knows.

You spend most of the morning cleaning and folding the array of graphic onesies Satoru has a penchant for dressing Ren in, and the later half walking around the pool because it’s warm and Ren enjoys splashing around in the water. It’s enough to tucker him out for bed early, unable to keep his eyes open while eating a plate of mashed potatoes.

It’s also the first time in weeks that you have the night to yourself, no baby keeping you busy, no Satoru to—well.

After a long shower, you step out of the bathroom, moving into the hallway. And there are many reasons why you felt confident walking the few steps it took to reach your bedroom. Most revolve around what Satoru told you that morning, so you don’t expect him to be standing there, shirtsleeves rolled up, piercing gaze sliding down the length of you wrapped in a towel and little else.

“I brought home those drunken noodles you like,” he says when his eyes focus back on your face, his whole expression softening into a smile.

A beat. “Thank you,” you whisper, unable to look away.

He tucks the wet strands of hair clinging to your cheek behind your ear. “Why don’t you get dressed, and I’ll join you downstairs?”

The noise in your brain goes static.

You’re unsure what causes it, but everything changes when he comes home early one afternoon and finds you and the baby napping in the nursery. He has this soft look on his face and something else you can’t decipher with his piercing blue eyes settled firmly on you.

Ren coos softly into your shoulder. 

When Satoru picks him up and settles him in the crib, then walks you to your room—here, let me help you—and when he hovers in your doorway, you let him in without question.

He doesn’t waste any time peeling off your clothes, eager to have you naked and splayed out underneath him. You cum on his tongue more times than you can count until you’re silently begging him to fuck you.

He laughs, large hands spread over your tummy. 

“Use your words, baby. I’m not a mind reader.”

You feel like you’re someone else watching you from somewhere else, another body rocking against the length of your boss’s cock, back arching every time you manage to find the friction you need. He’s hard against your back, thick in a way that makes you wonder if he did enough to stretch you out. 

“I-I want—”

All other thoughts are obliterated by the stretch and press of him against your cunt. 

“Think I’m going to keep you,” he rasps, lips dragging over your throat. “Keep this drippy little cunt spread open on my desk whenever I want while the baby naps. Would you like that? For me to fuck you full until you give me a baby.”

You clench, nerves shot.

“Gonna get all round with my baby, stay here forever,” he mumbles when he draws away, and you can’t tell if the words are meant for you to hear or slip out without him realizing. “Fuck—breed my little wife until it takes—”

Your eyes roll up, lost in the little promises he paints across your skin, body shivering over and over until you’re sobbing from it until he has to clamp a hand down over your mouth—shh, you’re going to wake the baby—going limp when he finally cums, pressing as deep as your body will allow, as if he can somehow imprint himself there. 

Wonders if maybe he’s been building up to this moment all along. 

It’s so easy to lay there after, blissed out while he litters kisses across your face and collarbones, letting him lift your hips up to slide a pillow underneath, even though the position is awkward when he tries to cuddle you afterward.

His fingers draw shapes on your stomach, giving you a wistful look, like he can’t believe he’s laying here with his cum still dripping between your thighs—no matter how many times he scoops it up and pushes it back inside you. “Do you think it’ll take?”

And you don’t have the heart to tell him about the little foil packet of pills tucked away in your nightstand.

[tension4mari]

Sex with Nam-gyu and Reader who has a hand fetish >ᴗ<

Not proofread

☘︎ ݁˖Paring-Nam-gyu x Fem!Reader

.☘︎ ݁˖Warnings-18+content. Fingering, soft choking, Reader has a hand fetish, cursing, fem receiving, Probably more im just too lazy to tag it

.☘︎ ݁˖Summary- Was requested... Here

.☘︎ ݁˖Blowing all of your money on stupid things was the worst mistake you could have made. Now you're here, inside of a room with hundreds of people you dont know.

.☘︎ ݁˖You had made friends with a girl who was nice enough to invite you into her group she was forming. it was only the three of you before two other guys came up, one claiming to be a rap God named 'Thanos" and the other, you didn't really take notice on his speaking, you were distracted, by his hands.

.☘︎ ݁˖They looked rough but soft at the same time, how would they feel around your neck? you wondered if you would ever find out. you started to bite your lip from the thought, unfortunately you were interrupted by your new friend, Se-mi asks if it was ok with you to let them join you three.

.☘︎ ݁˖ "Huh" you look up from your distracted gaze to the stranger Infront of you, praying no one saw you looking. "Well? what do you say, you don't mind if they join, right?" she asks playing with her lip. "Oh, yea I don't mind." you softly mumble playing with your own hands. "Alright. That settles it! we will be a team!" the purple haired guy announced pretty loudly.

.☘︎ ݁˖ Luckly you all made it through the death obstacle in one piece. Sticking close to the only other girl in the group Se-mi, your eyes betrayed you once again drifting to the guy Infront of you. You look down at his long thick fingers. 'fuck' you thought to yourself. How would they feel inside you? God, you could only imagine, you squeeze your legs together at the dirty thought.

.☘︎ ݁˖Once arriving back at the beds, you decide to stick with your group, you all sit down, Thanos and Nam-gyu cooking up a conversation in a hurry, Se-mi and Min-su talking about nonsense. You're left alone thinking deep in thought. It doesn't take long for your mind to reach back at dirty thoughts you had earlier, but seriously, who wouldn't want those fucking hands on them?" you could feel yourself getting wet from all of that thinking.

.☘︎ ݁˖You could see from the corner of your eye, Nam-gyu using his hands to sweep the hair from his face, you're watching his hands every move. You're so desperate, it honestly sad. As you're busy staring at his fingers, he looks at you for a spilt second, seeing you nonstop staring at his fingers, He could only let his mind wonder at the thoughts you're having right now.

.☘︎ ݁˖He decides to test the waters, bringing his hands towards his thigh, letting his hands rest there for a spilt second before moving to the middle of his pants.

And you're watching his hands every move.

.☘︎ ݁˖'Lights out in 30 minutes' the feminine voice called out on the speaker, opting you had enough of today you decided to bid your farewells to your group. "I'm heading to my bed. Goodnight guys!" you spoke out in a whatso lively voice. "Are you sure?" "You're not gonna stay with us?" Se-mi asked looking at you. "Yea, You're not going to stay with us tonight? You scared?" Nam-gyu asked in a teasing voice chuckling softly "Nah I'm al good, you guys have fun, I'm feeling tired already." Nam-gyu got up, placing his hand on your shoulder. Leaning down and whispering in your hear quietly "Night." before his hand made its way to the crook of your neck, squeezing it softly and being removed fast before anyone else could notice.

.☘︎ ݁˖"Mhm!" you quickly mumble before sprinting off and waving back at everyone else.

.☘︎ ݁˖You make your way to your bed before slipping off your shoes and taking off your green jacket. You lay down getting comfortable before drifting off to a deep sleep.

.☘︎ ݁˖You wake up, noticing everyone was still sleep. You sit up on the bed, rubbing your eyes before breathing in a long yawn, you were abruptly interrupted by a dark figure roaming behide you, before you could scream a hand catches you in the act.

.☘︎ ݁˖"Chill-It's just me" Nam-gyu reveals himself standing Infront of you before moving his hand from your mouth. "What were you doing?" you said raising your eyebrows and scooting back onto the hard mattress. "None of your business." he spoke before stepping closer to you "Well? You can go...It's still night and we need sleep." you said lifting the thin sheet onto your legs.

.☘︎ ݁˖He grabs the sheet, throwing it to the end of the bed. "Nah im not tired." "Plus, I came to ask you something" he uninvitedly sits beside you on the bed, before putting his hands on your upper thigh. "Ok... What is it?" you said staring at the warm touch on your thigh "What's your problem with my hands? is it a fetish or sum?" he said eyeing you "W-what- I have no idea what you're talking about! ' You whisper shout before trying to scoot away from his hands. "Don't be embarrassed, it's hot.

.☘︎ ݁˖While you were trying to find an excuse, he cuts you off. "Shh.. Just shut the hell up, Fuck." He moves his hand from your thigh to your chest, squeezing your tits. "What the fuc-" you were cut off by his lips hitting yours. "You attempt to push him off of you to see what the hell is his problem "Do you want this or not." he's staring in your eyes. You turn your head from him.,"Mhm.." "Then just relax... I'll make you feel good."

.☘︎ ݁˖He pushes you onto back before reaching for your legs, traveling his fingers from your ankles to the waist band of your pants. He slides them down enough so that he can get a clear view of your panties. "Fuck... Look at this, you're soaking..." You cover your face from the lewd words. "Stop talking..." you mumble into your hands.

.☘︎ ݁˖He brings his finger towards your clothe cunt, rubbing his finger up and down on your wetness leaking through your underwear "Hm! stop teasing me... It's annoying." "What are you in the rush for? we have all night.." he says before finally pulling your panties off and tucking them into his sweatshirt, going unnoticed

.☘︎ ݁˖His middle finger finds it way inside you. Moving it back in forth, he immediately adds in another finger. You turn into a moaning mess he quickly shuts you up by shoving his free hand finger into your mouth "If I were you, ill shut up. Don't you see these people sleeping? Hm?'' He says in a deep voice that you swore you got more wet hearing it. "Unless you want them to hear you." he says smirking. thrusting his fingers even harder into your wetness. He pulls his fingers out your mouth bringing his hands to the softness of your cheek, smothering your own saliva on your face and giving your face a couple of soft taps.

.☘︎ ݁˖"Is it as you wished? Feeling my finger inside you?" you nod your head with closed eyes. "Good." his hand reaching your neck, rubbing it before wrapping his hands around it completely. "You look so good like this-" he says moving his face to lick your abused cunt "And you taste amazing" "God you're going to kill me.."

.☘︎ ݁˖He's sucking your pussy like his life depended on it, he looks up at you squeezing your neck "Look at me-" you open your watery eyes looking down at him eating you oh so good. "Mhm.." you moan. bringing your hands to go through his hair, slightly tugging at it "Don't stop!" you silently moan bucking your hips up into his face, basically full-on riding his face.

.☘︎ ݁˖You don't stop pulling his hair till you came undone on his face. "Fuck.. you've had the best pussy I've ever tasted-" he says catching his breath, you're too fucked out to comprehend what exactly he's saying.

.☘︎ ݁˖You're laid on your back with squeezed closed legs from the orgasm you just had. "Uh huh." you blabber. His hands go to spread your legs, kissing your cunt before letting your legs go flop on the bed. "You did so well for me" he says rubbing your thighs, "I have to go back now..." he says pulling the sheets onto your exposed legs "I'll see you later." he says letting go of the sheet, "m'k.." you groan finally opening your eyes.

.☘︎ ݁˖Nam-gyu disappears into the dark and eventfully you got up to put back on your pants, wandering where the hell you put your panties?!

Sorry if it's all over the place in the beginning.. took me two different days to complete this.. ☠️

[inkskinned]

yesterday while feverish i wrote about how boats can moor next to each other like pigeons, cooing with the gentle rap of water against their hull. you once said that that the way i see things - birds in the water, feathers in marina paint - was "childish and naive." you said i'd been misdiagnosed - "it can't all be adhd. you might be just kind of stupid and lazy."

i still do certain things like how you taught me - turn the pillow case inside out before putting it on. drive defensively. hate myself entirely.

the prompt for this poem is "mahler's fifth." i wish it wasn't, but mahler's fifth was our song. it ended up in my book. every person that knows your name has promised me they'll give you one swift rabbit punch, right to the face. dean read the book and showed up on my front porch, drenched in sweat from running the 8 miles at 4 in the morning. he was shaking. pacifist and gentle - he works with children - i'd never seen him furious. a punch isn't going to do it, he said, and then said i'm sorry. i had to come to see if you were okay.

mahler's fifth was mine first, like my girlhood. i like the way each movement piles onto the next movement, each instrument bleeding into the next. i like the horn version the best. before i met you, i danced to it on grass still-wet from sprinklers.

later you would tell me that the way you heard it was somehow better. you understood something in it that i couldn't quite wrap my fingers into. once, on our anniversary, you asked the classical music radio station to play it for us. we missed hearing it because we were fighting. one of the things people get wrong about abuse is that sometimes victims are, like, brutally aware of the stupidity of our situation. what do you mean that you thought i wasn't good enough for you? you? you're just... nothing.

sometimes people can pull the poetry out of your life. i watched my words become clothesline, and then thin out into kite twine. i watched you chew through every good syllable of me. so many good songs and places and moments were ruined. i am glad you didn't like most of my music - less to tie back to you.

but still mahler's fifth. the music swells, and i am 21 and throwing up in a bathroom on my birthday. a woman i will later refer to as lesbian jesus runs a cool hand down my back, her perfect pantsuit starch-pressed. she told me to leave you. she said - and this is true, and not an invention of rhyme or fantasy - i'm you from the future.

i am 22, and i got home from an award ceremony, and i remember you telling me - you act so proud of yourself when you're actually so fucking embarrassing. i took you to disney world. you took my virginity. i gave up visiting spain for a week with my family - i instead choose you, to spend the time just-cuddling. you called it "our fuck week." the music swells. it probably should have been a red flag that for about 3 years - i just gave up on crying. my grandfather died and you said nothing. my uncle died and you ghosted me for 3 weeks. you said i need to protect myself from your ongoing tragedy.

every so often i come back to the memory of one of our last afternoons in person. i had just told you that i wasn't going to law school, despite the free ride - i was going to join a creative writing program. master's in fine arts. i was going to finally do it - i was going to follow my dreams. this blog was already internet-famous. however reluctantly, i would occasionally refer to myself as a poet. i got into umass amherst's writing program for fiction authors. it is one of the the top 5 programs in the country.

wait are you seriously considering actually attending that? dumbfounded, you turned completely towards me in your seat. for the 3rd time in our relationship, you almost crashed the car. you actually want to be a writer?

the first time i went viral, it was for a poem i wrote about you:

he wants to say i love you but keeps it to goodnight because love will take some falling and she's afraid of heights.

every time i see that, i want to throw up. you weren't in love with me, you were in love with the control you had over me. a little truth though: i am afraid of heights. you caught a rabbitgirl and skinned her alive.

mahler's fifth still makes me sick.

give me that back. give me back music. give me back everything i had before you. give me back fearlessness. give me back bravery. give me back a scarless body.

give me back what you took from me.

[joehillsshark]

listen👂 grian🌾

nobody🫥 touches👉 my bush🪴

you're done✅️

it all started🏁 when grian🌾 touched🖐 my redstone🔴

he played⚽️ himself like a xylophone🎹 set on automatic🚗

doc👨‍⚕️ monster👾 is a savage👹, with technical👨‍💻 skills🔧

and crazy🤪 vocal🎤 acrobatics🤸

i’m a legend📖 of the nho, with etho, beef🍖 and double o🅾️🅾️

docmc is coming🚶‍♂️ for4️⃣ you sevenfold7️⃣

got rendog🐶 and other firemen👨‍🚒

to douse🚿 the flames🔥 that you shoot🌠 at this leviathan😈

iskall can🥫 try again🔄

yo🇪🇸

you think💭 i'm in hiding😶‍🌫️, i'm just biding my time⏳️

putting pen🖊 to paper📃, coming up⬆️ with rhymes

we’re the star-studded⭐️ group👨‍👩‍👦‍👦 that got together👫 just to crush🥰 you

once☝️ we start something you know🧠 we're gonna see👁 it through💘

i'm the knight⚔️, the soldier🪖 who brings the fight🤼 at first1️⃣ light🔦

y'all had to incite✊️, so now i gotta indict👊

you're guilty👩‍⚖️ of getting murdered💀 with words📝

y'all are out-gunned🔫, go home🏠 nerds🤓

wohoo

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

if you think🤔 you can stop🛑 the symmetry↔️, that's false👎

g team🇬 is dialing☎️ for help🤝, but i'm ignoring😒 their calls📵

and when their bodies🐖 dissolve🫠, you’ll know that false’s🚫 on a killing🗡 spree👯‍♀️

try to stop my pvp🛡 and perish painfully😵

i'm the queen👑 of hearts❤️, heads🗣 and body parts🦵

your diamond💎 armor👕 can’t compare📊 to my martial arts🥋

i'll send a poison☣️ dart🎯, to make you breathe🫁 your final breath🌬

g team's name🏷 will be the only thing left🚷

yeah

caffeinated☕️, animated🎆, redstone innovator👨‍🔬

my behavior's crazy😜, can’t phase👨‍🎤 me, impulse⚡️ is never lazy🛋 (uh)

tango💃, why would you betray💔 me, now my scope🔬 is aiming (what)❔️

better run🏃‍♀️ for cover📔 from all the ghast👻 balls🔮 that i be taming🐈 (what)

without a sound🔇, without no hesitation🙅‍♀️, my creations🎨 are amazing🤩

better watch⏱️ your step🪜 or the g team will end up blazing💥

who's the better team?⚖️ there is no controversy😎

but before it's said👄 and done you'll be begging🙏 us for mercy💗 (all-right)

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

x🩻 gone give it to ya🎁, i'm gone give it to ya😼

x❌️ gone give it to ya😳, what ❓️

lyrical boxing📦, dropping💧 blows💨 on all my foes

and the g team they're looking👓 unclean🤢 needing some sunscreen🧴

getting burnt🕯 by words to hurt🤕 this herd🐑 of nerds

it's absurd🤯 how my rhymes got them injured🩸

danger⚠️, danger☢️

i got lasers💄 to cut✂️ 'em up like razors🪒

it's flexin'💪 season❄️ and i got flavor👅

their weak😫 defenses🥅 like trenches and fences🤺

that these dense heads🙄 are presenting🖥

they're presenting them alright👍, they're not very good🙌

i could walk👟 over that, i could jump🕴 over that

i could use an ender pearl🦪

i could use my elytra🪽

come on g team, jeeze✝️

yo, i don't know what to say🤷‍♂️

um, let me think🧐

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

now i'm back🔙, got some things i wanna say🦜 (yeah)

whats the letter✉️ that starts the alphabet🔤, ay🅰️

ladies🚺 gotta get in line〰️, the diggity's be on the way🌌 (cliff)⛰️

cleo🧟‍♀️ dont know who she freaking 🥴with (ooh)😯

all the signs🪧 say to notify🔔 her next⏭️ of kin👥️

this diggity🐕 dog be dropping📍 bombs💣, nothing but hits🤜 (ay)

spit💦 that rhyme again (brrr)🥶, 'cause the message📨 is

i can mumble😐 rap and still🚹 be the best🏆 there is (woo-ah)

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

hermit gang, hermit gang🐚

oh you wanted me👨 to do a verse🆚️?

i'll have to check✔️ with g team-

i mean uh🤐, i'd have to😬, i'll have to check with my schedule📅

and see if i can...see👀 if i'm able to do that sort of thing😅

i'm a busy guy💼, got lots of ....things to do😮‍💨

yeah, i mean, i just don't know🤥 if its a good idea💡 for me to be part of this song🎶 really...

[eternalxvenus]

ˏˋ°• jealousy, jealousy *⁀➷

summary: You and Sarah have been seeing each other in secret for a while. When she catches you flirting with Rafe, she gets a little jealous.

cw: smut 18+, sarah cameron x f!reader, fingering, oral, scissoring, light nipple play, some fluff towards the end, JJ is a pain in the ass

wc: 1.8k

notes: based on this request from @percyswhxre !! this was my first time writing sapphic smut but i loved writing this and i really i hope you enjoy it!!!

You were at the Chateau having a lazy day with all the Pogues and Sarah. JJ and John B sipped on beers while you all listened to Kie recall the time John B had kissed her.

"Remember how you just kept apologizing and then tried insisting I was acting weird afterward?" She laughed.

John B shook his head. "That's not entirely true! And in my defense, JJ was the one who talked me up to it."

"Okay, now that is true... but I thought she was into you, man don't blame me," JJ chuckled, throwing his hands up in surrender.

The rest of you rolled your eyes and laughed at their banter. Pope and Cleo sat closely next to each other, and you sat next to Sarah with your legs draped over hers.

"Okay, realistically, who'd make the cutest couple in the group?" Pope asked everyone as the laughter died down. Almost instantaneously, everyone's eyes looked over to you and Sarah.

The fire in the middle of your somewhat circle felt like it moved directly in front of your face. You and Sarah had been seeing each other, but haven't told anyone else. It's not that you were ashamed, but you just weren't sure how everyone would take it. After all, she was John B's ex, even though they broke up mutually and on good terms.

Sarah laughed before giving you a quick glance. "Why are you guys looking at us? Personally, I think we all know the real lovebirds are Pope and Cleo. Look how cuddled up they are. No love club my ass."

Cleo shook her head, denying loudly. "No no no, don't try and put everyone's attention on us. You two have been all close and cuddly for a while."

The fire crackled lowly as everyone waited for your rebuttal. You shook your head with a sigh. "You guys are crazy."

JJ jumped in, pointing at you both with skeptical eyes. "We may be crazy, but you guys are hooking up, no doubt about it." 

You gasped, throwing a stick from the ground at JJ. "You're fucking drunk JJ." Sarah nodded in agreement, laughing. Her phone buzzed, and once she checked it, a smile formed on her face. "Come on guys, we're gonna go crash a Kook party."

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱✩•̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

The Twinkie finally pulled up in front of Tannyhill, and the music could be heard from a block away. Out the window, you could see the many bodies holding drinks, talking, dancing, and everything else Kooks did.

Upon entering, you guys got some sideways looks, but no one could say anything since it was Sarah's house. Everyone grabbed a drink and chilled outside. Topper came over and tried talking to Sarah, but she quickly brushed him off.

As you sat back, sipping your drink and people-watching, JJ leaned over and whispered, "I stand by my earlier statement. You know you could tell me." Referring to you and Sarah hooking up. You rolled your eyes and pushed him away, not wanting to deal with his pestering attitude.

A few minutes later, you stood up, announcing you were grabbing another drink. The inside of the estate was loud and humid. Rap music was blasting, and sweaty bodies were all around, drinking and dancing. After grabbing a Mai Tai out of the cooler, you see Rafe across the room talking to a few of his friends. Pushing the bodies out of the way, you made your way to him, smiling once he looked your way. "Hey Rafe, how are you?"

Rafe licked his lips and took in your body with a smile. It was known that he found you attractive, trying to flirt and make passes that you always ignored. "Hey pretty girl, I didn't know you were here. What can I do for you?"

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱✩•̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

Sarah tried to look into the house from her seat, wondering what was taking you so long. She went in after you to make sure there wasn't any trouble being started. When she walked in, she immediately saw you talking to Rafe. She watched as you placed your hand on his bicep and kissed his cheek before walking away.

There was a tense look on her face as you got closer to the door. You saw her by the door with her arms crossed. "Hey baby," you giggled, placing a hand on her hip.

She moved back, making your hand fall. "Don't 'Hey baby' me. You were flirting with my brother. You kissed him on the cheek!"

You tried to hide your smile but failed. "Aw, are you jealous?" Sarah scoffed. "Don't be mad! I was flirting just a little bit. For... this." You pulled a baggie out of your pocket that had weed in it. "I just wanted free weed."

She looked at the bag and rolled her eyes. "Fine. Next time you're gonna flirt with my brother for free weed, get enough for both of us. Plus you know he wants you," she stated rather than asked. You nodded, hands finding their way back to her hips, squeezing softly. "Yeah, but I don't want him. I want you." 

Sarah stared at your lips, which had formed into a cute pout before she grabbed your wrist and dragged you upstairs into her old room. She closed and locked the door, immediately pushing you onto the bed. Her lips crashed onto yours, and she kissed you hard. The feeling of her soft lips made you moan as your hands slid down to grip her ass through her shorts.

The blaring music from downstairs seemed to fade away as she moved down to your neck, biting and sucking. You brought your hands to the front of her shorts to get them off, and she did the same for you. Next to go were shirts and bras, leaving both of you in your underwear. You sat up, taking her nipple into your mouth and massaging her other breast. The softness of your hands elicited a quiet moan from Sarah's lips.

One of her hands cradles the back of your head while the other slides down to rub your covered clit. "You're already so wet and we've just started baby." Looking up to meet her eyes, you smile. "What can I say? Seeing you all jealous was hot as fuck."

Both of you removed your final piece of clothing then Sarah pushed you down once again, getting on top of you in the 69 position. "I'll never get tired of seeing your pussy so wet and ready for me." she groaned, not wasting any time and sucking your clit into her mouth. You moaned loudly, copying her movements with your tongue.

Sarah's hips stuttered as you slipped a finger into her hole that was begging for attention. She started rubbing your clit as she felt her orgasm approaching. "Fuuuuck– baby don't stop!"

You sucked harder and moved your fingers faster as she started to fuck herself on your fingers for more stimulation. A gush of wetness spilled onto your mouth and chin as she came, her whimpers filling your ears.

"I wanna see your pretty face when you cum," she breathed out as she maneuvered her body so that she was scissoring you. You squeezed her thigh as she rocked back and forth at a speed that made your eyes roll into the back of your head. "Ohmygod– Sarah right there, right fucking there!" 

The messy wet sound of your cunts sliding against each other was making your head spin. You pulled Sarah down to place a messy kiss on her lips, wanting her closer than what seemed possible. Her perfectly manicured hand found its way to your sensitive nipples, pinching them with a knowing smile.

The tight knot of pleasure in your stomach was getting tighter and tighter, you knew you wouldn't last much longer. "I'm so close... please, I wanna come with you," you whimpered out. Sarah nodded, and the rhythm of her hips became erratic and sloppy. "You ready baby?" she groaned, and the look in your eye said it all.

Your orgasm took over your entire body, and you almost screamed, leaving your pussy slicked and spasming while Sarah tried to keep her hips moving as her orgasm hit her too. "Oh fuck– God, I love you!" Sarah moaned out, not realizing what she'd said.

She moved to lay next to you while you both caught your breath. When your eyes finally opened, and you looked over at her, you could see the blush on her cheeks.

"You love me?" you asked softly, not sure if it was something she said in the heat of the moment or if she really meant it.

Her head turned to you, and she had a sheepish smile on her face. "Of course I do... you make it hard not to." 

You didn't try to hide the grin on your face as you leaned over and kissed her deeply. "You make it hard not to love you too."

The moment was broken when you heard your phone buzzing somewhere on the ground. When you found it you saw several missed calls and texts from the Pogues. They were all along the lines of 'Where are you?', 'We're about to leave.', and 'Is Sarah with you?'.

After rushing to get dressed and make your way downstairs, you hoped they didn't leave yet, or you and Sarah would be stuck with no ride. They weren't outside where you all originally sat. Walking to the front of Tannyhill, you saw the Twinkie parked in its spot with the doors open as everyone sat around waiting.

Kie saw you guys first. "Fucking finally! Where the hell were you guys? We've been calling and texting you both."

JJ chimed in, saying "I can't tell you where they were, but I bet I know what they were doing." Sarah flipped him off as she climbed inside the car.

"Topper and John B fought. Again." Kie said with an accusatory tone. John B shrugged. "He was being a dick."

You sighed at what seemed to be their never-ending rivalry. After a few minutes of silence, JJ tapped your knee. "So... where did you guys sneak off to?" he questioned, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Give it a rest JJ." You groaned.

He threw his hands up in mock surrender. "Okay, fine! I'm just asking 'cause..." he looked at you with a smirk. "I'm pretty sure those are Sarah's shorts. And the hickey forming on your neck is a little distracting."

You felt your cheeks burn as you gasped, looking down at what were definitely Sarah's shorts. Everyone in the car— including you and Sarah— burst out in laughter. You flip JJ off in the middle of it as Sarah leaned in closer and kissed you lovingly on the cheek.

likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[lovethestarrs]

yours forever

for this request by anon:

“How about a Donnie Darko fic, where the reader is forbidden from seeing him by her parents, with heavy consequences if caught. So they keep their relationship verrry secret?”

before interacting: I am not 18, so if that makes you uncomfortable dni or block

contains: donnie darko x fem!reader, sad donnie (poor baby.), he’s so sweet in here, argument with readers!mom, use of baby, y/n, honey, angel, sorry if there are any movie inaccuracies, not proofread (maybe when i’m not lazy), kinda short

+•.*✧

it was late at night, the clouds being lit by the moon, you were out on the lawn of donnie’s house. donnie had been waiting for you but you had to wait until around midnight.

you’re parents weren’t fond of him. they called him mean names that you didn’t dare to repeat. it broke your heart that you were not allowed to be with him, he was your one true love, your donnie.

“y/n, that boy is no good for you!” your mother scolded. “you don’t understand, mom! he loves me.” tears had fallen down your eyes, mascara smudged and dripping. “my god, hes already poisoned your mind. you’re no longer allowed to see him.” your eyes widened, “no, mom! please.” you were screaming at this point, trying to sniffle back tears. “if i catch you with that boy, we are moving and that is final, missy.” she walked out of your room, leaving you broken on your bed.

but nothing could ever stop you from seeing him. so you’ve resorted to sneaking out and visiting him.

donnie’s parents knew about you not being able to see him and they knew to keep it a secret from your parents. they thought you were a good influence for him. when you were there he seemed happier, he wasn’t plagued by his thoughts.

you could see there were a few lights on in the living room, donnie has been waiting. your knuckles knock on the wood, three raps against the door. knock, knock, knock. donnie had been sitting in the living room waiting for you, he quickly stood up and opened the door.

“hi, don.” you smile. you walk a step forward and before you know it your in his arms. you hardly even saw his face before he grabbed you. “whattsa matter, baby?” you coo, his head in the crook of your neck.

he didn’t respond, just shook his head and choking back sniffles. his grip was tight around your waist. you managed to walk over to the couch so you wouldn’t be standing in the middle of the doorway. he never let go the entire time, you held him close. softly cooing him as he cried in your arms. your fingers played with his dark hair.

“donnie, please talk to me.” you wanted to know what was wrong so you could make him feel better. he pulled his head from the crook of your neck. “jus’ missed you.” he mumbled out. your face dropped in awe from his admission. “oh, don. i missed you too. but i’m here now.” a sweet tight lipped smile on your lips. his oh so innocent eyes admired it so much, his brows furrowed in sadness.

he silently pleaded for you to kiss him, you could never deny him anything so you placed a gentle kiss to his soft lips. his hands traveled from your waist to the soft plush of your thighs, out of habit he squeezed and kneaded the flesh. his mouth enveloped your own and it made your face burn with delight.

pulling away from the heated kiss, you decided to join him up in his bedroom.

you both sat on the bed, him pulling you into his arms. your head rested on donnie’s chest. “i love you so much, y/n.” his voice still raspy from his previous sobs. you looked up to him, your hand caressed his cheek, “i love you too, my honey.” his cheeks blushed and he placed a kiss to your forehead.

+•.*✧

days pass, you haven’t spent time with donnie since the last visit. your heart was heavy with need for him. seeing him around school, the eye contact you both held in class, in the halls, seeing him everywhere hurt. you’ve found ways to speak to him, slipping notes into each others lockers. written in them, were confessions of love and longing.

y/n, i cant stand it anymore. i miss you and i cant handle the pain. i know i see you all the time but i miss the feeling of you in my hands, on my lips, the sweet hum of your voice. please come and visit me. i love you.

- your donnie

he signs it, ‘your donnie’. no matter where in the world he was, sleeping or awake, dead or alive, he was your donnie.

you write him back, slipping it into his locker.

donnie, i’m sorry i haven’t been able to visit, my parents have been staying up later than usual. i miss you too. i cry at night when i think about you. but i think about you all the time. i love you.

xoxo, your’s forever

when he receives your letter his heart breaks. his baby is crying over him? it makes him sick to his stomach. so he came up with a plan.

it sounded so stupid but it was his only chance. it could fail miserably or succeed and he just needed to try. so that night he showed up to your house, knocking at your front door. your mother opened it and she was shocked to him.

“mister darko, what are you doing here?” she was shocked to see the boy she had bashed at her front door. “i need to see y/n. i know you don’t like me but please, i need to.” he pleaded with all the strength he could. “i’m afraid you can’t, donald.”

he wasn’t willing to give up, no. you were too important. “please. i promise i can take care of her. i’m not a freak. i love your daughter. i love her so dearly just give me a chance. she’s all i have.” his voice was breaking and tears began to spill.

your mother huffed a breath. “fine. but i swear donald darko if you break her heart you will never ever see her again.” she had finally gave in and stepped aside, allowing him passage. he muttered a soft ‘thank you’ and made his way to your room.

when he came through the door it shocked you, “donnie? how are you-?” before you could finish your sentence, donnie’s lips were pressed against yours. you melted in his arms, becoming jello in his hands. “i love you so much, angel. i’m never letting you go.” he says it so breathlessly it sounds like a plea.

a tear falls from your eye, “i’m not going anywhere.” your thumb caressed his cheek. and returned to the kiss.

+•.*✧

donnie kept his promise. he never ever hurt you. and you were his forever. his girl, his baby, his perfect angel. you were his world and he never let you go.

[wingsoffirenews]

At Mike Holmes' recent book signing, he stated:

Mike explains that he enjoyed illustrating Darkstalker's scenes in Talons of Power: Graphic Novel because he's a complicated character and he wanted to bring out his emotions and the parts that "you hate to love him or love to hate him." He's interested to see how readers react to those scenes and said he had fun illustrating it.

He describes Turtle as a very complicated character because he's not necessarily "heroic" like past POVs, and he's interested to see how readers react to his scenes as well.

He says the further the series goes, the deeper he gets into it and he finds it interesting to see how characters "bounce off" of each other and believes Tui makes their relationships work, which makes it fun for him to draw.

He says that the last frame from Escaping Peril: Graphic Novel with Darkstalker in it had to be redrawn 3-4 times because he kept thinking the drawings weren't right. The final frame we got he kept because he felt it had the right amount of fantasy (I think this is the word he said) and surprise.

He hasn't looked much into illustrating the third arc because as of now he's only set to do the rest of the second arc. He's trying not to look into it too much so he can focus on the books he's illustrating now.

He's just started drawing illustrations for Darkness of Dragons: Graphic Novel, saying he loves the way the story raps up (noting when he finished the first arc it felt like a "big weight off his shoulders") but is focusing on one book at a time despite his excitement for the second arc to end so that he doesn't become confused due to thinking about multiple books at once.

He says if he were a dragon tribe from Wings of Fire, he's thought long and hard about the fact he'd be a RainWing because he likes naps, and sometimes between drawing he takes naps and breaks. He appreciates that the RainWings are underestimated by a lot of the other tribes, and he feels that as he grew up there were things about himself that people underestimated due to him being smaller as a kid/teen, and people didnt expect much of him. He thinks the RainWings' powers are amazing despite the other tribes thinking they're lazy.

When he started illustrating the Wings of Fire graphic novels, he used his pets as models to try and put their energy and emotion into the characters.

His favorite duo to draw is Winter and Qibli (whom he pronounces Kibli because he's never asked Tui how it's pronounced) because he thinks it's really fun how they cancel out each other. He describes Qibli as living his life while Winter is more sheltered.

He also mentions Peril and Turtle as a duo he enjoyed drawing, thinking they couldn't be more opposites of each other. He describes Peril as always being used her whole life as a weapon which she's trying to move on from, but she's always at the forefront. He says Turtle was in the background his whole life despite his powers and nobody expected anything from him, but Peril's power has always been front and center and everyone knows what she's capable of. He says it's interesting to see how they bounce off each other, seeing how Peril pulls Turtle out of his shell while Turtle shows her how she can soften her approach. Mike believes the things they say to each other is funny.

He says he hopes everytime he draws for the Wings of Fire series that it'll cause a good reaction from readers.

Here's the video!

[takusan-no-ai]

The Way of the Househusband

PAIRING: Jane x Male Reader (Romantic) (Fluff)

SUMMARY: After a long day at work, it feels nice to have someone to come home to.

She huffed, grabbing her belongings, and leaving Pubsec. Jane got into her car, sitting back for a moment. Her phone rang, signaling it was time to go home. She picked it up, looking at the contact name. “Always right on time,”—She answered it—“Hey honey, have a good day today?” She asked.

“Of course. I was calling to ask if you could pick up some paprika for the chicken?” (Y/N) asked her. Jane loved the sound of his voice, blushing ever so slightly. She finished talking with him and hung up.

She drove to the nearest grocery store, looking at the spice rack. While pursuing the spices a child ran by her, tears in his eyes, as he grabbed for his mother’s hand. “I told you to be careful about running around.” She said, putting a bandage on the scrapped knee and kissing it.

Jane watched from the corner of her eye. “So sweet.” She thought. “A family to care for…,” she mumbled under her breath. Snapping out of it, she purchased the paprika and drove home.

Finally back, she walked in, kicked off her shoes, and flopped on the couch. Footsteps approached her exhausted figure. “Rough day?” (Y/N) asked, petting her ears.

She smiled, leaning into his touch. “No day is ever too rough for me. I just…want to be myself for a bit.” She gently grinded her front teeth as (Y/N) held her in his arms. He picked up the grocery bag and walked back to the kitchen.

“I love you most when you’re you.”

While he was cooking, Jane took a shower and got dressed; putting on her lazy clothes and wearing her glasses. Before leaving their shared room, she opened her jewelry box and put on her ring; her second most prized possession. The man who gave it to her? Her first.

Walking back downstairs, she went into the kitchen and rapped her tail around her husband. “Thank you.”

“For what?” He asked with a chuckle.

“For being the one I can come home to.”

- Fin

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Bit Slow

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Jan 2025 Week 1

Ongoing Series - Thai

ThamePo (Fri YT) ep 4 of 12 - Okay, that bit where Jun tells Po not to “get carried away” did you notice Jun's particle use? He went informal/intimate with an elder AND he also went slightly queer coded - illustrating he knows Po is gay. Interesting, slightly rude, and confrontational choice. I like Jun less because of it.

Frankly speaking, I'd rather a rap battle than sing-off but I still fast forwarded the rap (I muted the singing). Not sorry.

The bit where the 2 of them are talking for hours was the most realistic portrayal of a budding romantic relationship I’ve ever seen in a BL. Virginia Woolf was an interesting choice.

Your Sky AKA How to Train Your Seme (Sun iQIYI) ep 7 of 12 - Fah is so sweet. He’s terrible at talking but he’s always trying to communicate with Rak anyway. I love that for them, and us. Rak's confession to his friends scene was so adorable. I love this friendship group a lot. Thomas’s English is v good, also I kinda love his parents. Still the mains were apart for most of this ep so it fell in the standings.

Sangmin Dinneaw (Sun iQIYI) ep 1 of 10 - Oh my goodness aren’t these 2 pretty? What a fun little show. I am enjoying it so far. I really like that Sangmin is actually bilingual. Or at least has the appearance of being so. This feels a lot stronger to start than any of the other co-country BLs I've seen.

Fourever You (Thurs YT) ep 14 of 16 - They cute. I remain a little concerned that North is so easygoing that he got railed into this relationship (literally and figuratively). His body language indicates he’s not super into Johan, so with these 2 I’m often thinking about peer pressure.

North didn’t keep that gear for very long, did he? I would’ve loved it if the twist was just that North was secretly a genius. He aced all of his tests, and was lazy because he wasn’t being challenged.

Gamer side couple are bothering me, now that there’s catfishing involved. 

Caged Again (Fri Gaga) ep 9 of 10 - Why am I now thinking of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and the child catcher with these bad guys?

Again I found myself largely bored. I’m beginning to think this show could’ve been cut down by at least 2 eps.

For linguistic cuteness, did you notice Sun & Junior use rao/ter? SO ADORABLE!

Perfect 10 Liners (Sun YT) ep 10 of 24 - I like Santa and Perth’s chemistry more than I thought I would. The brothers' bickering and tension is interesting, are they all adopted or meant to be actual bothers? Meanwhile, cohabitation trope is a go.

The Heart Killers (Weds Gaga) ep 7 of 12 - no episode this week because of New Year’s.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

See Your Love (Taiwan Weds Gaga) ep 12 of 13 - "Happiness came so fast I couldn't think about how long it would last" could be the statement for every penultimate BL episode ever. This main couple is just so gorgeously wonderful and precious and lovely. What a way to execute the Adams apple fetish.

Our Youth AKA Miseinen: Mijukuna Oretachi wa Bukiyo ni Shinkochu (Japan Tues Gaga) ep 9 of 10 - Just so painful. "You've always been alone." These characters are so casually cruel to each other. And, of course, the running of the gays! 

Eternal Butler (Taiwan Fri Gaga) eps 4 of 12 - I am growing to love that little push-up of the glasses that he does. Sex herb trope continues to be v amusing. Nice to see Ever 9 again! We got backstory for our poor little damaged rich boy, very soap opera. I am more interested in Ever 4's backstory tbh. Uh oh the glasses came off.

Teenager Judge (Vietnam Sat YT) ep 14 of ? - Well at least something happened and things finally came to a head (or "a body" as the case may be). Will we continue with any kind of progression next week? I hope so.

It's airing but......

Winter Is Not The Death of Summer (Thai ???) - has been picked up to air on WeTV, or something? Criminals who meet in prison fall in love. I did find it on YouTube, initially un-subbed, then subs happened by which time I got distracted. It is very pulp but intriguing. For now it's to the wayside until someone tells me it landed safely. Occasionally Thai pulps want to be edgy and it's not a good look on them. But sometimes they do good.

In Case You Missed it

End of year wraps are here!

2024 Trend Report

MY BEST & WORST BLs of 2024

Best Kisses (and sex scenes) of 2024

BL's 2024 Quirky Awards

2024 Awards - Quick Picks

Strange is doing a pretty interesting deep dive into Omegaverse et al. I particularly enjoyed this week's installment: Why Do Women Write So Much Gay Fanfiction?

I rarely (if ever) report on the gossip, BTS relationships, or sasang behavior of the fandoms but here is a 2024 retrospective from someone else if you want all the gossip and drama (YouTube). Or are afraid you missed something important.

Next Week Looks Like This:

2 ending, 2 starting.

January Drops

1/5 The Boy Next World (Sun IQIYI) 10 eps trailer - MAME warning. Multiverse slip through time kinda thing. Mame + high concept, we in for a bumpy ride. I should trash watch and live blog but I don't think I have the energy.

1/6 Ossan‘s Love Thailand (Mon YouTube) 12 eps - WHY MUST THIS BE?!!

1/9 When it Rains it Pours (Japan Thurs Gaga) 10 eps - Convoluted story about a man in a relationship who is sexually unfulfilled and his friend who is in love with him, who accidentally become secret confidants.

1/15 Impression of Youth (Taiwan Weds ????) 9 eps - Same team as DNA Says Love You, so I have high hopes.

2025 Line Up

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 1

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 2

20 BLs Announced for 2025 That I'm Really Excited About

GMMTV 2025 Line Up - My Totally Biased and Wildly Flawed Feels

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

Yeah I got nothing for ya. It'd just be all ThamePo.

(last week)

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

[sturn777]

readers reaction to rapper!chris new song "now we're strangers" (central cee) about them and their messy break up :(

now we're strangers ,, rapper!chris x reader

you don’t even have to press play. you already know.

but you do anyway.

the beat rolls in smooth, heavy, the kind that creeps under your skin and settles deep in your bones. his voice follows a second later, familiar in a way that makes your stomach twist.

"i can still recite your number off by heart..."

your breath catches.

you hate how true it is.

he could dial your number in his sleep, same way you could recognize his voice in a crowded room, even now. but what does that matter when he never calls anymore?

"you can leave, but we can't erase the memories..."

like hell you can.

they stick, no matter how hard you scrub them away. the late night drives, the stolen kisses between studio sessions, the way his hoodie still sits at the bottom of your closet because you can’t bring yourself to throw it out.

your grip on your phone tightens as the verse continues.

"broke my baby's heart, and now she partyin' and hoein'..."

your eyes narrow. hoe? is that what he thinks?

your lips curl in irritation. typical. he messes up, and suddenly you're the villain for moving on. you knew he’d find a way to spin the story, lace his guilt into a beat and let the world sympathize with him.

but it still doesn’t stop the way your heart clenches when he says,

"say your skin's breakin' out because i cause you stress

then you left, you're lookin' sexier than ever and you're glowin’..."

you swallow hard.

so he noticed.

he always noticed.

but it doesn’t change anything, does it?

your phone buzzes in your lap.

you blink, staring at the screen.

he’s waiting. waiting for you to react, to call, to tell him he’s wrong—or worse, to tell him he’s right.

your fingers hover over the keyboard. type. delete. type again.

what do you even say?

that the song made your chest ache? that hearing his voice still does something to you, even when you wish it wouldn’t? that you still think about him when you're alone at night, even though you’d rather die than admit it?

your hands shake, frustration bubbling up.

he doesn’t deserve a response.

not this time.

he’ll have to sit with this one.

you don’t even check the messages ; just see his name light up your phone, over and over again, until it’s nothing but an annoying reminder that he still gets to you.

that one makes you pause. bet? bet what?

but you don’t have to wonder long.

a sharp knock at your door sends a jolt through your chest.

you already know who it is.

you make him knock again before you finally push yourself off the couch, fingers curling around the doorknob. you take a deep breath, school your face into something indifferent, and pull it open.

there he is.

same chain. same low eyes, scanning your face like he’s tryna figure out just how mad you are. he’s got a bouquet in one hand, white roses, your favorite, like he ain’t just rapped about breaking your heart in front of millions of people.

“hey, baby.” his voice is smooth, almost lazy, but you know him too well. his jaw flexes like he’s holding back something, like he doesn’t really wanna be here, but has to be.

you cross your arms, unimpressed. “what do you want?”

he huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head. “knew you’d be on some shit.” he pushes the flowers toward you, tilting his head. “take ‘em.”

you hesitate, eyeing him for a second before snatching them from his hand. they smell good. annoyingly good.

“so what? you think you can just pull up with flowers and i’ll forget you dropped a whole song about me?”

he exhales through his nose, shoving his hands in his pockets. “never said that.”

“but you're here.”

he tilts his head, watching you, and you hate how easy it is to fall back into this. the quiet stares, the unspoken shit that lingers between you both.

you shift your weight, glancing down at the flowers. “why’d you really come, chris?”

he steps forward. “wanted to see you.”

your breath catches.

his fingers brush against your arm, slow, deliberate, like he’s testing the waters.

“wanted to see if you was really done with me,” he mutters, voice lower now. “or if you just tryna act like it.”

your throat tightens. “i am.”

his lips twitch. “yeah?”

you don’t say anything. you don’t pull away when he reaches up, thumb brushing against your jaw.

his eyes flick to your lips. “you still mad at me?”

you should be. you were.

but he leans in, and you don’t move.

he smirks, just a little, before pressing his lips to yours.

and just like that, you lose.

──────────────────────────────

© STURN777

[valeriianz]

Dream is trying to be good. He is out of his house, for starters, attempting to mingle among the crowds. He figures this effort alone is worth at least 10 points on the socialization scale.

He may be wearing black on black as usual, but at least this is his nice pea coat, and his jeans don’t have any rips in them. His hair is even washed (though he hadn’t bothered with a combing, minus 3 points).

It’s New Year’s Eve, he’s standing at one of the few scattered tables around the large space. The bar’s ceiling and walls are lit up in a colorful agglomeration of Christmas lights and twinkling decor, so much that the people around him appear to have pink or blue or orange skin, otherwise the place is dark.

Dream drums his fingers on the tall table’s surface, scanning the crowd and trying not to look too uncomfortable at the DJ’s choice in thumping bass and current rap trends blanketing the ocean of conversation happening all around him.

“Hey, how are you?”

Dream watches as a man walks around him to stand across the table, setting a drink down and smiling in a lazy, drunk way.

Dream just stares.

“Sorry, I saw you standing alone and thought you might want some company.”

The man has to lean forward and yell to be heard over the music and people. Dream is responsive enough to at least lean in as well to catch the stranger’s words.

“I’m fine, thank you.” Dream barely has to raise his voice, thanks to his natural baritone. He’s thankful for that; he hates shouting and to do so just to commit to a conversation would be tribulation.

The man doesn’t seem to catch Dream’s response though, or doesn’t care to. He takes a sip of his drink and tries again, his fingers curling around the pint.

“Can I get you a drink?”

Dream seizes the opportunity to politely turn this man away from him.

“No, thank you. My boyfriend is getting my drink.”

The man’s brows pinch together.

“Where is your boyfriend?”

He says it like it’s a joke. Like he’s caught Dream red-handed. Dream sighs and turns to look at the crowded bar.

“He’s right…” Dream’s eyes desperately scan the scene of chaos at the bar, hoping to find Hob’s familiar head of dark brown hair, his mischievous caramel brown eyes, or even the bomber jacket he wore tonight. But from here, it’s difficult to spot anyone’s face in the crowd. The blinking lights give off strange shadows and everyone is moving, either dancing or stumbling to push through the dense sea of bodies.

He hears a soft laugh from the man across from him and looks over to find him shaking his head, but he’s smiling.

“Look, I don’t mean to come off strong, but someone as gorgeous as you shouldn’t be alone on New Year's Eve.”

Any patience left for this man is immediately snuffed out, like water tossed onto a fire.

“I told you, I’m–”

“Waiting for your boyfriend, uh huh.” He grins with his teeth and Dream barely restrains from throwing his head back in annoyance. 

If there weren’t a threat of getting lost in the crowd, Dream would abandon his station here and go looking for Hob. But he knows it’s better to stay here and wait as he had been, despite the nuisance still attempting to converse with Dream.

He steps around the table to stand next to Dream, who takes a deliberate step sideways away from him.

“What’s your name?”

Dream ignores him, head now permanently angled towards the bar.

“You know,” he starts up again and Dream eyes flutter shut, praying for patience. “The longer you ignore me, the more persistent I’ll become.”

Dream opens his eyes and levels the man, who is definitely drunk, with an unamused look.

“Even if I weren’t already spoken for, this is a terrible way to receive my affections.”

“He speaks!” The man exclaims and laughs. Dream pinches the bridge of his nose and has officially made the decision to lose his mind at the stranger, when he blessedly feels two familiar strong arms wrap around his waist.

“Sorry that took so long,” Hob speaks directly into Dream’s ear, no need to shout with lips tickling his skin. “I got us two drinks each so we don’t have to deal with that again.”

Dream smiles, unaware of how tense he was as his body relaxes against Hob’s– before it sharpens to a smirk at the utterly baffled expression on the strange man’s face.

Hob’s lips trail up the shell of Dream’s ear, his nose nudging in his hairline as he speaks again, his hot breath warming Dream up from the inside and sparking a sudden and intense feeling of surrender in Hob’s possessive hold. 

“Who’s your friend?” And fuck, Dream can hear the control in Hob’s voice. The question is innocent enough, but the way his tone pitches into a growl, low and dangerous, makes Dream’s toes curl. 

“I don’t know,” Dream answers simply, one brow arching at the other man, giving him the decency to turn and walk away on his own before Hob can make a show of animalistic ownership that Dream can practically feel radiating off Hob’s self-control.

Thankfully the stranger leaves, which is just as well, though Dream would have rather liked being ravished with an audience.

He turns to face Hob properly, duly noticing the drinks on the table and slips his arms around Hob’s middle, bringing them flush together in what can only be described as a bear hug.

Dream tucks his face under Hob’s jaw– bending his knees a little– and inhaling deeply, the scent of Hob’s cologne grounding him, and exhaling loudly through his mouth and smiling again at Hob’s deep chuckle that rumbles through his own body.

“You good?” Hob asks into Dream’s hair, placing a kiss there.

“Mm…” Dream hums. “I’m great.”

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: “All Yours”

You still look at him the same way.

Like he’s just Marshall, the kid from the wrong side of Detroit who used to borrow your notes in English class. The one who walked you home even when it added thirty minutes to his own route, who couldn’t stop rapping under his breath, even with a busted lip.

Even now—after the world knows his name, after the stages and screaming crowds, the platinum plaques and chaos—you still reach for his hand under the table like it’s just him and you and nothing in between.

He never tells you this, but it drives him crazy. The way you blush when he calls you his girl. The way you hide your face against his chest when he’s got that gravel in his voice and says things in your ear he shouldn’t say in public. The way your submission is so natural it makes his fucking chest ache.

You don’t even realize it.

You're standing in the kitchen now, barefoot, wearing one of his old shirts that falls halfway down your thighs. You’re biting your lip while reading a recipe off your phone, concentration furrowing your brows. You’re so soft, so sweet—so his. And you don’t even realize how much he’s watching you like a starved man.

“Hey,” he rasps from the doorway, voice low.

You jump, startled. “God, Marsh—don’t sneak up on me!”

He smirks, slow and lazy. “Didn’t sneak. You were just too focused on that phone.”

You shift your weight, fingers curling around the hem of the oversized shirt. You always do that when you’re nervous, and somehow you still get nervous around him. “I was gonna try that cookie recipe you liked last week…”

“You don’t gotta do that,” he says, stepping closer. “You already do too much.”

Your eyes lower. You’re not even aware of how you melt a little at praise. How you almost instinctively tilt your chin so he can press a kiss there. How every movement of yours whispers obedience—soft and subtle, untrained, but real. It’s not a role. It’s you.

He cups your jaw, his thumb stroking the corner of your mouth. “You know what you do to me, baby?”

You blink up at him, innocent. “What do you mean?”

And fuck, that answer. That look.

He growls low in his throat and backs you up until your hips hit the counter. You let him, eyes wide but trusting, never fighting him—not because you’re afraid, but because deep down you want to be taken care of. You need it. He sees it every day.

“You really don’t know,” he murmurs, dipping his head until his mouth brushes the shell of your ear. “You walk around here in my shirt, looking at me with those big eyes like I’m your whole world. You do everything I say without even thinking twice. You don’t even try to be good—you just are.”

You shiver, lips parting like you want to say something but can’t find the words.

He kisses your throat once, slow. Then again. “You ever wonder why I can’t keep my hands off you?”

You shake your head.

He chuckles, dark and warm. “It’s ‘cause of that. That softness. That quiet way you say my name when you need something. You don’t even know how sexy that is, do you?”

Your voice is barely a whisper. “No…”

He grins against your skin. “Good. Don’t start now. I like you just how you are.”

His hands find your waist and he pulls you against him, humming at how perfectly you fit. His shy little wife. The only thing in the world that keeps him grounded.

“You belong to me,” he says. Not a question. A statement. A truth.

And you, sweet and obedient, nod like you always do.

“Yes, Marshall.”

You feel his breath against your neck, warm and steady, and it sends a shiver straight down your spine. His hands haven’t moved from your waist, but they tighten slightly, pulling you even closer like he wants to feel your heartbeat through your skin.

You can’t help the way your eyes flutter shut. Every time he gets like this—close and quiet, voice like velvet—you forget how to think. You don’t understand how just standing there, letting him hold you, makes your knees feel weak. But it does. It always does.

“You ever think about what that does to me?” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear now. “The way you listen so good… the way you let me take care of you, even when you don’t know you’re doin’ it.”

You shake your head again, too shy to answer, too overwhelmed to try.

His lips curve into a smile against your skin. “That’s alright, baby. I like that you don’t know. Makes it even sweeter.”

He leans back just enough to look at you. His thumb grazes your cheek, your lips, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you. There’s heat in his gaze, sure—but something else too. Possession. Devotion. That quiet intensity that’s always been there when it comes to you.

“You remember when we first got married?” he asks, voice softer now.

Your lashes lift. You nod slowly. “Mhm.”

“You were so shy you couldn’t even say ‘I do�� without whisperin’ it,” he murmurs, smiling fondly. “You looked up at me like you were scared I’d change my mind.”

“I wasn’t scared,” you say softly, shaking your head, eyes on his chest now. “I just couldn’t believe you picked me.”

His jaw tenses. Gently, he grips your chin between his fingers and tips your face back up. “I didn’t just pick you,” he says, voice low and rough. “I claimed you. You’re mine, and you’ve always been mine. Don’t ever forget that.”

You swallow, nodding under his touch. “I know.”

He leans in, pressing a kiss to your lips—slow, deep, possessive. The kind that leaves no room for doubt. When he finally pulls back, you’re breathless, blinking up at him like he just pulled the world out from under your feet.

“You make me wanna be better,” he says, forehead resting against yours. “But you also make me wanna keep you locked away so no one else ever gets to see you like this.”

Your breath catches. “You don’t have to do that,” you whisper, smiling timidly. “I only look at you like this.”

He groans low, hands sliding down to your thighs. He lifts you up like it’s second nature and sets you on the counter, stepping between your legs. “Say it again.”

You blink. “What?”

“That I’m the only one.”

You nod, lips parting around the words. “You’re the only one, Marshall. Always have been.”

That’s all it takes for his control to snap.

His mouth crashes onto yours again, more urgent this time, hands gripping your hips like he never wants to let go. And through it all, you stay soft beneath him—pliant, trusting, his. You still don’t fully understand the way you affect him, but he doesn’t mind.

He’ll show you. Again and again.

And every time, you’ll let him.

His lips never leave yours as he lifts you off the counter, holding you like you weigh nothing. You clutch his shoulders on instinct, heart racing, eyes wide and trusting as he carries you down the hall like something precious. Like he’s scared if he lets go, you might vanish.

You don’t say a word. You never have to.

The bedroom door shuts behind him with a quiet click, and he sets you down on the edge of the bed. His hands find your knees and gently part them, standing between them, his eyes dragging up your frame slowly—like he’s savoring you.

“You look so damn innocent like this,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “Sittin’ there in my shirt, lookin’ up at me like you’re waitin’ to be told what to do.”

You squirm slightly under the weight of his gaze, your fingers twisting in the fabric at your thighs. You don’t know how to be anything but soft for him. You don’t even try to resist it. You wouldn’t want to.

He leans down, his hands bracing on either side of your legs. “Take it off,” he says quietly. “Let me see you.”

You hesitate—not because you don’t want to, but because you’re shy. You always have been. Even after all this time, after years of being his, you still blush when his eyes are on you like this. But you obey. You always do.

Your hands tremble just a little as you pull his old T-shirt over your head, letting it fall beside you. You sit there bare, chest rising and falling, eyes lowered. You can’t bring yourself to look up, not with how intense he gets when you’re like this.

But his hands come to cup your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks.

“Goddamn,” he breathes, voice almost reverent. “You don’t even try to be perfect, but you are.”

You look up at him finally, lips parted, vulnerable in a way only he ever gets to see. “I just… I wanna be good for you.”

His jaw clenches. His fingers tilt your head up, and he kisses you again—slower this time, like he wants to savor you. His tongue slides against yours, coaxing soft whimpers from your throat that he drinks down like he needs them to breathe.

He lowers you back onto the bed with careful hands, trailing kisses down your jaw, your throat, between your breasts. Every inch of you is worshipped, touched like you’re sacred. You arch into him without thinking, your body responding to every wordless command.

When he finally slides inside you, your fingers grip his back, your mouth parting in a quiet gasp. He groans, forehead falling to yours.

“You feel that, baby?” he murmurs, thrust slow and deep. “No one else gets this. No one else gets you. You’re mine.”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Only yours…”

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he growls. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

Your back arches, a moan escaping you. He grabs your wrists and pins them gently above your head, eyes locked to yours as he moves inside you like he owns every part of you—which, he does.

You don’t fight. You never would.

You give. Every time. Every part of you.

And when you fall apart beneath him, trembling and breathless, he follows right after—burying himself in you with a guttural groan, like he’s never known anything sweeter.

His body stays pressed to yours for a long moment—his breath warm against your shoulder, arms wrapped tight around you like he needs to make sure you’re still here. Still his.

You’re quiet beneath him, dazed and soft, your fingers ghosting across his back in slow, lazy patterns. You always go quiet after. Not out of discomfort—but because you’re still floating, lost in that space where all you know is him. His voice, his hands, his weight. His love.

Marshall finally shifts, just enough to ease out of you and settle beside you, pulling you into his chest instantly. His arms cage you in. One hand strokes your spine beneath the blanket he tugged up over your bare bodies. The other rests on your hip, fingers possessive even in rest.

“You okay, baby?” he murmurs against your hair.

You nod, so small it’s almost imperceptible. “Mhm.”

His chest rumbles with a quiet laugh, rough and low. “That’s all I get? A little hum?”

You lift your head a bit, cheeks warm as you meet his eyes. “I’m just… I feel floaty.”

That makes his expression soften in that way only you ever get to see. He brushes your hair back with surprising gentleness, kissing your forehead. “That’s ‘cause you gave me everything. I don’t take that for granted. You hear me?”

You nod again, but this time you speak. “I know. I trust you.”

That simple truth hits him harder than it should. Trust, for him, has always been fragile—shaky, earned through battles. But with you, it’s effortless. You hand it over without fear, without question. And he’ll never stop protecting it.

“I’m gonna get you some water, alright?” he says, but he doesn’t move yet.

Your hand curls in his chest. “Don’t go yet.”

He smiles—touched, always, by how much you need him even when you’re too shy to say it out loud. “Okay, okay. Just a minute longer.”

He tucks you tighter into his arms, letting you press your cheek to his chest as your breathing slows, your body relaxing fully against his.

“You’re perfect like this,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the top of your head. “Soft. Sweet. Mine.”

And even as you drift off in his arms, you whisper it back.

“Yours.”

Your body’s just starting to melt into sleep when it happens—

the sharp chime of Marshall’s phone from the nightstand, slicing through the warmth like a cold breeze.

He groans under his breath, head dropping back against the pillow. “Fuckin’ hell…”

You don’t move at first. You’re too wrapped in that hazy softness, that post-everything glow that makes your limbs feel like silk and your thoughts slow and quiet. But when you feel him start to shift, feel the arm around you loosen just a little, you react without thinking.

A soft little whimper escapes you as you burrow closer into his chest, nuzzling against the warm skin there like he’s your shelter from the world.

His hand immediately comes back to your spine, stroking slow, calming. “Hey, hey… it’s alright, baby. Just my phone.”

You hum in protest, your fingers curling against his skin like you’re scared he’ll leave if you don’t anchor him down.

“I don’t want you to go,” you murmur, voice thick with sleep and that helpless little vulnerability that only he ever sees.

He exhales hard, like the sound hurts. “Shit. Don’t say that.”

Your cheek presses against his chest, right over his heartbeat. “But I mean it…”

“I know you do,” he says quietly, hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head. “That’s the problem. You make it so fuckin’ hard to walk away.”

The phone chimes again.

He growls low, but doesn’t make a move for it. Instead, he kisses your temple and lets his lips linger there. “I got that session this afternoon. You remember, right?”

You nod, slowly. “But can’t they… do something without you first?”

He laughs softly, tired but charmed. “You tryna keep me in bed, sweetheart?”

“Just for a little,” you whisper. “You’re warm.”

And damn, if that doesn’t undo him all over again. Not because of anything wild or seductive—but because it’s so you. Sweet, honest, soft to the core. Still somehow shy, even after everything.

He rests his chin on top of your head, both arms wrapped around you now, the phone forgotten.

“You know what?” he mutters. “Let ‘em wait. They’ll live.”

You smile against his chest. You don’t say anything else. You don’t have to.

He holds you like that for as long as he can get away with—his shy little wife curled against him, still soft, still his. And even when he does leave later, reluctantly, you know he’ll come back needing you all over again.

Because you’re the only thing in his world that makes him feel peace.

And he’d do anything to keep you soft like this.

---

The third chime finally makes Marshall sigh, long and low like it physically pains him to pull away. He presses one last kiss to your temple and eases back just enough to reach for the phone, squinting at the screen.

“Paul,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “Probably pacing in the damn booth by now.”

You murmur something unintelligible and curl tighter into the spot his body just started to leave, like you're trying to hold on to his warmth. The oversized blanket slips off your shoulder, and your bare skin peeks out, soft and flushed from earlier. You're blinking up at him, eyes still heavy with sleep, like he just tore you away from the safest dream.

It wrecks him.

“You’re really gonna make me leave lookin’ at you like that?” he asks, half-teasing, half-tortured.

“I don’t mean to,” you whisper, voice small.

He groans and tosses the phone back onto the nightstand, scrubbing a hand through his hair as he looks at you like you’re a problem he wants to have for the rest of his life. “Goddamn… you’re too soft right now. Like, dangerous levels of soft.”

You blink slowly, confused. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” he mutters, leaning back down to kiss the corner of your mouth, “if I walk out this door without you, I’m not gonna be able to think about anything else.”

You give him this sleepy, innocent look—like you still don’t quite understand the effect you have on him, even after all this time.

That seals it.

“Get dressed, baby,” he says, pulling away and grabbing a hoodie off the chair. “You’re coming with me.”

You blink, still quiet. “To the studio?”

“Yeah. You think I’m leavin’ you lookin’ like that? Nah. Sit in the booth, nap on the couch—I don’t care. I just need you close right now.”

Your lips part like you want to protest, maybe say you’ll be a distraction. But the moment you sit up and reach for one of his shirts again, he’s already tossing you a pair of sweats from your drawer, helping you get dressed like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind if he gives you the chance.

And when you’re bundled in his hoodie, hair messy and face still flushed, he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you in for a deep kiss at the door.

“You always look this sweet after?” he mutters against your lips. “You’re gonna have me recordin’ love songs today.”

You giggle softly, and it’s the only sound he needs to hear to know he made the right call.

He keeps his hand on your thigh the entire drive, glancing over at you every few minutes like he still can’t believe you’re real.

---

The second Marshall walks into the studio with you tucked under his arm—wearing his hoodie, your hair all soft and messy, your cheeks still tinted that telltale pink—everyone in the room knows.

And they notice.

Paul barely even looks up from his laptop before deadpanning, “Well, well, look who finally decided to show up. And look who he brought—fresh out the honeymoon suite.”

You shy immediately, tucking into Marshall’s side like you can disappear into the fabric of his hoodie. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink.

“Yeah,” he says flatly, steering you toward the couch like he owns the place—and you. “And?”

A couple of the guys snicker from across the room. One of the engineers coughs something that sounds suspiciously like “whipped”. Someone else whistles low under their breath when they catch the way you settle on the couch, curled up like a sleepy kitten in Marshall’s hoodie, blanket and all.

Marshall just throws his hoodie off and grabs a bottle of water, calm as hell. “Y’all act like you wouldn’t bring your girl if she looked like this after gettin’ wrecked.”

You gasp softly and slap his arm without thinking. “Marshall!”

He smirks at you, full of smug affection. “What? It’s true. Look at you. You still floatin’, baby?”

You duck your head into the hoodie, muffling a whimper that only makes him grin harder.

Paul groans. “Jesus. You two gonna make me start charging y’all rent to use the studio as your second bedroom?”

“You’re lucky she’s here,” Marshall mutters, popping his knuckles like he’s ready to get to work. “Otherwise I’d say way worse shit.”

Despite the teasing, no one really presses him. They know better.

Because Marshall doesn’t let anyone touch this—you. The softness, the quiet, the way you stay close and blink up at him like he hung the damn stars. He wears your devotion like armor, and if anyone thinks they can joke him out of it, they’re sorely mistaken.

He slides into the booth a few minutes later, glancing once through the glass to see you curled up with a throw pillow and a bottle of water. Still soft. Still sleepy. Still glowing with that post-him look that makes his blood run hot even now.

And when the beat drops and he starts spitting bars, there’s a new kind of heat in his voice—raw, possessive, laser-focused.

Because you’re in the room.

And no one gets to have that but him.

---

The session's winding down, and the booth’s gone quiet for now. Marshall’s leaned over the mixing board with his headphones on, one hand adjusting levels while the other taps idly on the desk, eyes narrowed in focus.

You're still curled up on the studio couch, legs tucked under you, sipping water and half-dozing while everyone else lounges around the room, talking low and lazy now that the intense part’s done.

It starts with one of the guys—Tone, maybe—stretching out with a groan and throwing a smirk across the room.

“Man, we were wild back in the day,” he laughs, shaking his head. “Sometimes I wonder what my body count woulda been if we were famous younger.”

“Way higher,” another one jumps in. “No way you could’ve handled groupies at eighteen.”

That cracks a few of them up. Suddenly they’re all tossing numbers around, comparing, embellishing, bragging—typical guy banter, but low-key and harmless.

Nobody even thinks to ask Marshall.

He’s the one guy in the room with a clear, unspoken line around him—especially when you’re here. Everyone’s seen the way he is with you. They know.

But then one of the engineers—newer, maybe a little too bold—grins and leans back in his chair. “What about you, though?” he says, tilting his head toward you. “What’s your body count?”

The room goes dead quiet.

Even Marshall, mid-adjustment, stops. Fingers hovering. Shoulders tense.

You blink. Confused. “My what?”

The guy chuckles, light and easy. “Your body count. Y’know—how many people you’ve slept with.”

Your eyes go wide.

Marshall doesn’t turn around. Not yet. But his head tilts just slightly, and everyone in the room can feel him listening now. Like a wolf with his ear to the ground.

You look down, cheeks heating fast. “Oh,” you whisper. “Um…”

Then you pause.

Brows knit a little.

“What if… what if I don’t really know what that means?”

That breaks the tension. The room bursts into low, startled laughter—not mocking, just fond. Like they suddenly realize you really are that sweet. That shy. Like Marshall’s been keeping the softest secret all to himself.

Someone across the room grins. “It just means how many people you’ve had sex with.”

“Oh.” Your voice is even quieter now, eyes flicking up, then back down again as you fidget with the hem of the hoodie. “Um… well, then I guess just… one.”

Silence.

And then—

Marshall turns around in his chair, slowly.

And the look on his face?

Possessive. Fierce. Wrecked.

His jaw’s tight. Eyes dark. Like your answer was a punch to the gut and a gift all at once. His gaze zeroes in on you like you’re the only thing that exists, heat rolling off him in quiet, controlled waves.

You flush all over again, your whole body tingling under the weight of it. Like you said too much. Like you’re too honest. But that’s all you’ve ever been with him.

He doesn’t say a word. Just looks at you.

And in that silence, every man in the room suddenly remembers why no one ever asks Marshall personal questions.

Because this—this soft, sweet, shy thing that’s still red in the face on his studio couch—is his.

The room stays dead quiet. You shift in your seat, suddenly hyperaware of how heavy the silence has gotten, how still Marshall is.

Then—

Without a word, he stands.

The chair screeches softly as he pushes it back. His headphones come off with one smooth motion, tossed onto the desk. The tension in his body is palpable—shoulders squared, jaw clenched, veins visible in his forearms like he's holding something barely beneath the surface.

And then—

His eyes cut to you. Sharp. Burning.

You barely have time to blink before he’s across the room.

His hand finds your wrist—not hard, but firm—fingers wrapping around it like a command. A tether. Something primal and possessive in that simple touch.

“Let’s go.”

You blink up at him, stunned. “W–what?”

“I said let’s go.” His voice is low. Rough. Dangerously calm in that way that says it’s not calm at all. “We’re done here.”

The guys glance at each other but don’t dare speak. They know that tone. They've seen it before—usually in the booth, in lyrics that tear skin. But now it's real, right here, carved into the air like smoke from a gun barrel.

You let him pull you up, your legs wobbling a bit as you follow, hand still clasped in his.

He doesn't look back.

Doesn’t explain.

Just drags you gently but insistently toward the door, his fingers curling tighter every time you stumble. Like he can’t wait another second. Like whatever’s building inside him will break if he has to keep his hands off you any longer.

Someone tries to say something—maybe Paul, maybe one of the guys—but Marshall doesn’t stop walking. Doesn’t respond.

The door shuts behind you with a hard click.

Out in the hallway, he finally slows, but only so he can glance over his shoulder at you—eyes dark, expression unreadable, voice still rough with that barely contained edge.

“Just one?” he rasps.

You nod, breath catching. “Y-yeah. Just… just you.”

Something in him shatters—but not in a way that hurts.

It’s reverent. Feral. Like your innocence is a gift he doesn't deserve but will burn the whole world down to keep.

His hand rises to cup your cheek, thumb brushing along your skin as he exhales hard through his nose.

“You really don’t fuckin’ know what you do to me, do you?”

You shake your head, wide-eyed.

That makes him groan, low and guttural, forehead pressing to yours. “You’re so goddamn sweet, baby. So good. And you think I’m just supposed to walk that off?”

You press your palms to his chest, shaky and flushed, trying to breathe around the weight in your throat.

“Get in the car,” he murmurs, voice dark velvet. “Now.”

Because whatever restraint he has left?

It’s already unraveling.

---

The second the passenger door shuts, the air in the car changes.

Marshall’s behind the wheel, one hand gripping it tight, the other flexing restlessly against his thigh. His jaw is clenched so hard you can see the tension in every sharp line of his face, his eyes fixed on the road like it’s the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.

You sit in the passenger seat, quiet and flushed, fingers tangled in the hem of his hoodie you’re still wearing. His scent surrounds you, thick and familiar, but there’s something new riding underneath it now—heat. Possession.

The car is too quiet.

Too charged.

And then he speaks—low, rough, like gravel dragged across velvet.

“You really meant it?”

Your voice comes out soft. “About… my body count?”

His jaw twitches. His knuckles go white on the steering wheel.

“Yeah.”

You nod slowly. “Of course I did.”

Silence.

His tongue runs over his teeth, like he’s trying to process the words, contain the storm clawing its way up his spine.

He doesn’t speak again for another two turns. Then—

“You never wanted anyone else?” His voice sounds wrecked now. Like he needs to hear it. Like it’s killing him not to know every inch of what lives inside you.

You turn your head, eyes wide. “No. Just… just you. Always you.”

His breath leaves him in a shudder.

He doesn’t say anything else.

Just hits the gas a little harder.

His hand leaves the wheel only once—to rest on your thigh, firm and grounding. His fingers splay wide, squeezing gently but with purpose. Like he’s making sure you’re real. Like he’s silently reminding you who you belong to.

By the time you’re pulling into the driveway, his hand is still there, and he’s visibly barely holding it together. His leg bounces as he throws the car in park. He kills the engine, sits there in the silence, and turns to you slowly.

Eyes locked on yours.

There’s something unhinged in the way he’s looking at you now—like that one soft confession cracked something open in him he doesn’t know how to put back.

He leans in, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You better get your ass inside, baby.”

You swallow, heart pounding. “W–why?”

“Because if I touch you in this fuckin’ car, we’re not makin’ it to the house.”

And when you open the door, legs shaking just a little, his hand is right back on you.

Guiding. Possessive. Starving.

Because now that he knows he’s the only one—

He’s going to make damn sure you feel it.

---

The door clicks shut behind you—and it’s like flipping a switch.

Marshall’s on you in seconds.

Your back hits the wall with a soft gasp, and his hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, your waist, cradling your face like you’ll vanish if he blinks. His mouth crashes onto yours with a heat that steals your breath, rough and messy, all teeth and tongue and need.

“Mine,” he growls between kisses, his voice a broken rasp. “You don’t even know what you do to me, do you?”

You shake your head, dazed, lips swollen and parted. “I—I just said the truth…”

He pulls back just enough to look at you—really look at you. Your flushed cheeks. Your wide eyes. The tremble in your voice.

“You don’t get it,” he mutters, brushing his nose against yours. “You could’ve said anything else—any number—and I’d still love you like I do. But you say just me?”

His voice breaks, just a little.

“I’ve been the only one inside this soft little body?” His hand curves around your throat, not squeezing, just holding. Owning. “Only one who’s ever heard the sounds you make when you fall apart?”

You whimper, eyes fluttering.

His grip tightens on your waist. “Only one who’s ever had you like that.”

“Y-yes,” you whisper, and that’s it.

He lifts you like you weigh nothing, your legs wrapping around him on instinct, and carries you down the hall with purpose in his step. Bedroom door? Slammed shut. You barely hit the bed before he’s on you again, pushing the hoodie off your shoulders, stripping you with the kind of reverence that feels like worship disguised as ruin.

“You think I’m gonna let up now?” he murmurs, dragging his hands down your bare thighs. “After hearing that? After knowing I’m the only one who’s ever touched you like this?”

You can’t even find the words to answer. You just nod, breathless.

And he smirks—dark, possessive, eyes full of something wild.

“Oh, baby…”

He lowers himself over you, lips trailing down your neck, across your chest, down, down, down—

“I hope you weren’t planning on walking tomorrow.”

Your gasp is swallowed by the sheets the moment his mouth finds you—hot, sure, hungry. He’s not slow about it, not this time. There’s no teasing. No playing. Not when he’s this wrecked over you.

Not after that confession.

He drags your thighs over his shoulders, holding you open with a grip that says you’re not going anywhere. His breath fans hot over you for half a second before he dives in, tongue sliding through your slick like he’s chasing something buried deep.

And he is.

He's chasing claim. Proof. Something only he can ever have.

Your hands fly to his hair, tugging, trembling, thighs twitching as you try to close them—but he growls against you, the sound vibrating all the way through your core.

“Don’t,” he hisses, pulling back just enough to lock eyes with you, face flushed, lips wet. “Don’t you dare hide from me, baby. You gave me that truth, now you let me fuckin’ own it.”

You nod, eyes glassy, so far gone already.

He groans, low and wrecked, like the sight of you like this is dragging him under. “That’s it. My good girl. So fuckin’ sweet. So perfect—just mine.”

His tongue is back on you in an instant—sliding, circling, dipping, devouring—until your thighs are shaking and your hands are fists in the sheets. You try to warn him, try to say his name, but it comes out in a broken little whimper right before you shatter around him, hips stuttering, body arching as pleasure crashes over you like a wave.

But he doesn’t stop.

Doesn’t even pause.

His hand snakes up to your chest, fingers curling over your throat again as he lifts his head, panting.

“One ain’t enough,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “You think I’m gonna stop at one after that? Nah, baby. You’re not gettin’ up till I’ve ruined you for real.”

You try to speak—some soft little plea—but all that comes out is his name, breathy and trembling.

He crawls up over you slowly, grinding his hips against your soaked core, cock heavy and hard between you. You feel every inch of him, and your body trembles at the thought of taking him again.

“You gonna let me, sweetheart?” he murmurs, one hand stroking down your side like a question. “Gonna let me make sure I’m the only one you’ll ever want, too?”

“Yes,” you whisper, already breathless.

“Good.”

Because when he sinks into you again, it’s not fast—it’s deep. Possessive. With every thrust, he’s not just fucking you. He’s sealing something in. Rewriting your body with his name, his rhythm, his need.

And he doesn’t stop.

Not when you come again.

Not even after.

By the time he collapses over you, sweat-slicked and trembling himself, you're spent. Boneless. Barely able to form words.

He wraps himself around you like he can’t bear the space between your skin.

Still inside you.

Still holding on.

Still whispering, “Mine,” like a prayer.

---

The room is dim and warm, the quiet hum of the house settling around you like a lullaby. Your limbs feel like liquid, your body trembling with aftershocks, your skin hypersensitive to even the faintest shift. And Marshall—he hasn’t moved much either, still buried inside you, still hovering over you with his forehead resting against yours, like even gravity can’t pull him away yet.

You whimper—just a little—when his hips shift, not even on purpose. It’s not pain, not even discomfort. Just too much. Everything is too much.

“Shh, baby,” he whispers, brushing your hair back, his voice like velvet soaked in honey. “I know. I know, you’re so sensitive now.”

Your fingers clutch weakly at his sides, pulling him closer, like if he moves away you might float off the edge of the world. He feels it—how soft you are, how far gone—and his arms come around you instantly. He rolls to his side, bringing you with him, keeping you wrapped in the warm cage of his body.

You end up half sprawled on top of him, your cheek pressed to his chest, one leg thrown over his hip. His hand cups the back of your head. The other strokes gently down your spine, up and down, again and again. Calming you. Grounding you.

“You did so good, baby,” he murmurs, lips brushing the crown of your head. “Took me so well. So sweet, so soft for me…”

You whimper again and shift, your thighs aching and slick, but all you can do is cling tighter, your breath hitching when his thumb drags softly along the back of your neck.

“I got you,” he breathes. “M’not goin’ anywhere.”

He kisses your temple, then your jaw, then the shell of your ear. You make a tiny, broken sound—almost a sob, but not from sadness. From being completely undone.

“You’re okay,” he whispers, rocking you gently. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. Just breathe for me, baby.”

Your fingers curl into his chest, your breathing slow and shaky. His hands never stop moving—slow, steady, reassuring.

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he murmurs again, voice rasped and reverent. “You say one little thing and I lose my fuckin’ mind. But I’ll always take care of you. Always.”

You nuzzle in closer, lips brushing over his skin, and he lets out the softest sound—something between a sigh and a prayer.

“You still with me, angel?”

You nod sleepily. “Mhm. Just… floating.”

That makes him smile, even as he holds you tighter. “Stay here with me. I’ll keep you grounded.”

And he does. He holds you until your breathing evens out, until the trembles fade, until the only thing left in the world is his heartbeat beneath your cheek and the warmth of his arms wrapped around you like a promise.

---

Morning slips in soft through the blinds—barely-there sunlight kissing your skin, painting the sheets in pale gold. But it’s not what wakes you.

It’s him.

You feel it first in the way his hand strokes slowly over your hip, gentle and patient like he’s been doing it for a while. His other hand is buried in your hair, his nose tucked behind your ear, breath warm where it spills down your neck.

“Mornin’, baby,” he murmurs, voice still husky from sleep. “How you feelin’?”

You try to stretch, but everything’s sore—hips, thighs, even the back of your knees. You let out a quiet sound, somewhere between a sigh and a whimper, and immediately feel his arms wrap tighter around you.

“Aww, baby…” he croons, pulling you closer, cradling you against him. “You that sore?”

You nod, cheek pressing into his chest. “Mhm.”

There’s a pause. Then a quiet, sheepish laugh that rumbles through his chest.

“Shit. Guess I really meant that promise, huh?”

You give a soft, sleepy laugh. “You really did.”

He leans in, kissing your forehead, your cheek, your shoulder. “You should’ve seen your face last night,” he whispers, voice full of warmth now instead of heat. “So gone. So fuckin’ pretty when you fall apart for me.”

You hide your face in his neck, embarrassed, and he grins, his hand smoothing gently up and down your back.

“Don’t do that,” he says, tipping your chin up so you’ll look at him. His thumb traces your bottom lip. “Don’t hide. You got no idea what you looked like. How perfect you were.”

Your cheeks flush all over again.

“Hurts, but… I feel good,” you admit quietly.

That softens him even more, something deep in his eyes going warm and melted.

“Good,” he murmurs, nuzzling your nose. “You deserve that. All of it. Gonna take care of you all day now. Can’t let my sweet girl be sore and floaty without spoilin’ the hell outta her.”

His fingers drift lower again—slow and featherlight. “Wanna get in a bath with me? I’ll wash your hair. Rub your back. Carry you if I have to.”

Your body’s still heavy with the afterglow, and your mind even softer, but that thought makes you smile.

“I’d like that,” you whisper.

And the look he gives you?

Like he wins every time you whisper something soft like that. Like your quiet love is his greatest treasure.

“Yeah?” He kisses your knuckles, lacing your fingers with his. “Then it’s done. I’m not lettin’ you lift a finger today, baby. You gave me everything last night.”

He rolls out of bed, pulls on some boxers, and lifts you into his arms like it’s nothing—your legs instinctively curling around him, face tucked into his neck again.

“I’ll take care of the rest.”

And he does.

[spivecream]

ur actually so real abt the whole pearl thing and how ppl hate her but love greaseball who is in turn TERRIBLE to dinah. the problems with greaseball lie within a male character who is inherently at least a little bit misogynistic being changed to a female character without any rewrites. there’s a lot of problems with revival greaseball that ppl are willing to overlook bc oh lesbian!!1!1! and i say that as a lesbian. it doesn’t seem fair to criticize pearl for things that go hand in hand with being a young person, especially female identifying, but can excuse greaseball being terrible to her partner at any given moment. i love greaseball but we can’t criticize other characters without criticizing her.

You said it perfectly!

The situations with Pearl that I’ve described (while widely experienced) are not usually fun or nice situations, and to weigh them up morally, they sure are a hell of a lot better than verbally abusing your partner.

(I’m going to talk about female Greaseball here)

People seem to forget that Greaseball is supposed to be one of the villains. A few years ago we used to be able like villains and find them hot without endorsing their actions. Now, in StEx, it’s “omg hot lesbian!!! omg!!! she’s so hot and did nothing wrong ever!!!!” and I’m not even exaggerating. I have only seen one, maybe two posts criticising Greaseball.

Now, obviously, dramatically changing Greaseball would not work for the story. If Greaseball was a good partner to Dinah she wouldn’t have asked Pearl to go with her. Even The Rap wouldn’t be the same without “Dinah, shut it!”

Just because changing Greaseball’s character and attitude wouldn’t work doesn’t mean we can’t criticise it. I firmly believe you can’t properly consume any media without criticising it, so you can and absolutely should criticise lesbian Greaseball! And yes, just because she’s no longer misogynistic doesn’t mean she’s excused from how she treats Dinah. Bad idea to gender swap her with no rewrites at all.

Fan conversations that we should be having about Greaseball are not “wow she’s so hot i’d hit” or “dinah’s so real for going back to hot muscly woman” but rather What stereotypes does lesbian Greaseball perpetuate? Should another character’s gender have been changed? How does this affect Dinah? Should Dinah have gone back to Greaseball and does this perpetuate stereotypes too? Is female Greaseball worse than male Greaseball? What about Pearl?

Of course I’m not saying that you can’t criticise Pearl as well, but it’s not fair to make her out to be conniving bitch and dismiss Greaseball for arguably worse behaviour.

Just a quick aside- I know in some productions Pearl is supposed to be manipulative. I really think that was a terrible idea and is a lazy and misogynistic way to portray her.

[secretsecretbunny]

Just friends: stray kids smau.

Get to know the characters/story set up.

pairing: lee minho x f!reader - roommate!skz.

genre: fluff, angst, smau, (maybe smut in the future idk yet, may have written parts as well) roommates au.

notes/set up: boys are non idols, but some still do music/dance + other jobs. they all live together in a big ass house that's owned by richboy!felix's family. chan, minho, changbin, and y/n were college friends. chan and felix are cousins. felix, hyunjin, han, seungmin, and innie were college friends. literally all college dropouts which is what they all bonded over. ended up living together by association basically. chan, bin, and han are still 3racha, and are known, just not famous.

↓about them↓

chan: nicknames- channie, dad, pops, paparacha, sometimes gets called chris but usually only when someone's mad/serious. producer for social media musicians/small time musicians, and 3racha. almost always at the studio. group dad. supportive, sweet, helpful, responsible, overworker, protective, peace keeper. loves his friends more than anything, also loves music, romcoms, running/jogging, working out with changbin. well off but not super rich.

minho: nicknames- min, catboy, grumpy, twinkle toes, dancing queen, loverboy, hoe. choreographer/dance instructor. cold on the outside, squishy in the middle. doesn't express his feelings well, but tends to be softer around y/n. loves cats, movie nights, night walks/drives, and true crime podcasts. social weed smoker and drinker. hardworker, sarcastic, flirty, funny, makes inappropriate jokes. he likes to pretend he doesn't care, but secretly does.

changbin: nicknames- binnie, bin, binbo, crybaby, muscle man, beefcake. personal trainer, duh. loud. straight up himbo. his appearance scares people but he's protective, kind, caring, and will cry at cute things/when he's happy. absolutely loves cute things, y/n's cooking, cheesy TV dramas, rapping, working out, and affection. all around soft boy until you piss him off.

hyunjin: nicknames- hyune, hyunnie bun, jinnie, gorgeous, rapunzel, punzie, bob ross. he's rich. also sells his art. sarcastic, blunt, artistic, boujie, addicted to shopping. also likes to pretend he doesn't care, but probably cares too much. loves painting, drawing, and being lazy with his friends. a little in love with felix, no one can tell if he's serious or not. will absolutely start painting on the walls, floors, or ceilings just because he can. everyone loves it though.

jisung: nicknames- hanji, ji, hannie, babygirl, smokeshow, bud, han yolo. does random odd jobs and makes a suspicious amount of money from it + sometimes streams with felix. stoner, great friend, supportive, anxious, hyper, has mad adhd, loves anime, rapping, and sweets. he's a little weird but in a good and cute way. loves sharing his weed with his friends. also loud.

felix: nicknames- lixie, lix, pixie, sunshine, golden boy, richy rich, brownie boy, angel. also just rich, part time streamer. literally sunshine ofc. social butterfly. always trying to drag y/n or one of the boys somewhere. sweet, generous, kind, happy, excitable, loves cute things, baking, video games, and also anime. him and ji bond over it.

seungmin: nicknames- seungminnie, minnie, puppy, bitch, dickhead, devil. luxury dog walker (started his own dog walking business). sarcastic, sometimes rude, easily annoyed, but overall a great friend. likes dogs more than people. protective af but tries to hide it. will 100% shut off his rude and sarcastic comments if his friends really need him. loves pranks, coffee, singing, writing, and scary movies.

jeongin: nicknames- innie, in, babyboy, coffee boy, bigmouth. barista at a fancy coffee shop. wants to make his own money and not live off of his wealthy parents. sweet, kind, generous, can be sarcastic when he wants to be. loves animals, coffee, video games, asmr, and singing. can't keep a secret to save his life. plays innocent but is definitely not. once smoked weed and and cried because he couldn't remember how to make a latte. never smoked again. he's the only one of the boys who calls y/n noona.

y/n: nicknames- bug, bubs, princess, tiny, sweetheart, pretty, feisty, attitude, noona. has lots of secrets and trauma. no one knows what she does for work. she refuses to tell the boys and any time they have tried to find out she catches on and puts a stop to it. they just know she's getting paid well. sweet, kind, funny, people pleaser, messy. has an attitude sometimes and can hold a grudge. when in a fight or flight situation it's 50/50. she'll either punch you in the face or run so far her legs turn to jelly. acts confident and bold: isn't. just a great actress. gets sad often but pretends she's not. loves cooking, ghibli movies, plants/flowers, cuddling, fire, and her friends. hates her family. smokes with ji a lot but is a social drinker. she grew up really poor so she tends to get anxious about spending money/people spending money on her. 100% gets princess treatment regardless.

Socials:

part one || part 1.5 || part two || part three

[scary-grace]

Designated Villain (Chapter 2) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You loved BNHA's ending, mostly, but a few weeks after the last chapter is published, you get isekaied into BNHA on the day the story begins. That would be a dream come true, except you ended up in the body of a common criminal, and instead of enjoying life in your favorite fictional world, you find yourself struggling to survive in a world that's much crueler than you ever imagined. Armed with nothing more than BNHA Tumblr brainrot and a highly suspicious iPod Shuffle, you set out to fix the few things that are wrong with BNHA's ending. But as you learn more about the villains you hated and every change you make pushes the plot further off the canon storyline, it's not long before your feelings about the ending start to change. (cross-posted to Ao3)

(dividers by @cafekitsune)

Chapters: 1

Chapter 2

The noise inside your cell, which you share with five other women, is apocalyptically loud. Two of them are arguing over something, while a third eggs them on, and not only do you not care about whatever they’re fighting over, you need to be well out of the way when the fists start flying. You lie down on your bunk — the bottom bunk, because you’re at the absolute bottom of the pecking order — and stare up at the slats of the bunk above yours. You usually save practicing for quiet time, but you need to get better at remembering under pressure.

You take a deep breath and let it go. “Hi. My name is –”

Your real name gives you seizures if you try to say it, so you’ve been practicing calling yourself the name of the person whose body you stole. You’re practicing everything else, too. Your age is easiest to remember, since you’re twenty, same as you are in your world, and you’re the same height as you were in your world, too, as well as the same weight and the same blood type. Your body is basically identical to the one you have back home. That part is easy to remember. The next part is harder.

Your backstory in this world sucks, and not in the tragic sense. Your parents were dirt-poor drug addicts who took just enough care of you to avoid being reported for neglect, and you didn’t exactly pick up the slack. You were kind of filthy in school. You had bad manners. You made bad choices, but not bad enough that anyone offered to help you. And you didn’t do all that well academically. You can’t tell if the person whose body you live in was smart and just lazy about it, or if you’re trading off the knowledge you brought with you from your world right now. Smart or not, lazy or not, you were on your own by age sixteen. You dropped out of school. Since no one would hire you, you had to find some way to make money.

You aren’t quirkless, but your quirk is stupid — all you can do is generate small bursts of white light, none of which last for longer than three seconds. It’s not useful for anything but making a getaway, which you guess is good for a person who steals for a living. You’re not too good at stealing. You can’t count the number of times you’ve had to temporarily blind a shopkeeper in order to escape with whatever you snatched.

And that’s how you got your real rap sheet — while you’ve got a pile of theft charges that could probably stretch to the moon, your felonies are all for assault, which is what they call using your quirk on somebody in the act of committing a crime or resisting arrest. Nobody’s charged you yet for throwing up a flash in Kamui Woods’s face, but it’s only a matter of time, isn’t it? They’ve held you without charges for a month and a half. Something has to happen soon.

“Talking to yourself, huh?” The newest prisoner in the cell plops down on the end of your bunk without asking permission, and you almost jump out of your skin. “I don’t blame you. Places like this mess with your mind. First time in?”

“Yes,” you say — but that’s not true for the person whose body you’re in. “No. I’ve never been in one this big before.”

“Which ones have you been in?”

You’ve been in jail before, in Aomori and Kurouzu and Oshima and Shiroiwa. The new cellmate shakes her head as you list them off. “That’s nothing compared to this place,” she says. “Prefectural jail is a whole new ballgame. Only place worse is prison. Ever been?”

You shake your head. “What about you?”

“Honey, I’ve been in more times than you can count,” your new cellmate says, and laughs. She extends a hand to shake. “Hiikishi. Nice to meet you.”

That last name rings a faint bell in your head, but not enough to merit notice. You’re too busy trying to remember your own name. You say it, then shake Hiikishi’s hand. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“Now that we’re friends, let me offer you a little piece of advice,” Hiikishi says. She flicks a few strands of her dark auburn hair over her shoulders. “Cut the talking to yourself, and try to look a little meaner. These clowns are nothing, but if you get moved to a tougher cell, you won’t be anything but fresh meat.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You sit up, narrowly avoiding banging your head on the bunk above you. “I won’t be here much longer. They’re charging me soon.”

“How long have you been in?” Hiikishi raises her eyebrows. You tell her, and she gives you a sly look. “What did they arrest you for?”

“Skipping a warrant, resisting arrest, unauthorized quirk usage, and assault on the hero who tried to capture me.” Your face burns with shame when you think about it. You were so stupid to run. Why did you have to make things worse for yourself? “That’s pretty bad, right?”

“I’d say yes. You should have been on your way to prison a month ago,” Hiikishi says. Your stomach ties itself in a knot. “Did anything — untoward — happen while they were capturing you?”

Untoward? “They didn’t, like, assault me,” you say, offended. “Heroes don’t do that.”

“Heroes do whatever they want,” Hiikishi says. “What happened?”

“I got knocked out a window,” you say. Hiikishi gestures for you to elaborate. “From four stories up.”

She whistles. “Did somebody see?”

“There was a guy taking pictures.” It clicks for you, suddenly. “They’re worried it’ll come out if I go to trial?”

“Damn right it’ll come out. As soon as you’re formally charged, those pictures will hit the internet,” Hiikishi says. “Nothing matters more to a so-called hero than their reputation, and actually killing criminals — especially little slips of a thing like you — looks bad.”

“I didn’t die, though,” you say. That’s true. You didn’t die. “I guess I came close. And nothing I did to the hero was permanent. So if they’re not going to charge me –”

“They’ll keep you in here as long as possible, to keep you off the street and keep crime down,” Hiikishi says, yawning. “When this place gets overcrowded, like it is right now, they’ll let you out. You’ll be back in soon enough.”

“No, I won’t.” As soon as you’re out of here, you’re getting on the straight and narrow and staying there for the rest of your life. “I’m never coming back here.”

“That’s cute.” Hiikishi pats your leg. “Keep telling yourself that, babe. Now clear out.”

“Huh?”

“I’m a bottom-bunk kind of girl. Get up top.”

Back in your world, when you were still you instead of a stupid, reckless criminal, you’d have demurred by default. Said you were okay, said it was fine. But you’re an opportunist these days, and Hiikishi can absolutely kick your ass if you say no. Bottom bunk to top bunk is a promotion, honestly. You scramble up without another word.

One of the other cellmates notices. “Get down from there. If anybody gets a top bunk, it’s me.”

The urge to back down wells up, but so does frustration, anger. “I’ve been in here longer than you. It’s mine.”

“Oh yeah, you little shit?” The cellmate crosses the cell and starts partway up the ladder. “I’ll drag you down from there, brat. Who do you think you are?”

Somebody who doesn’t want her nose broken, who’s going to climb down in a hurry — but Hiikishi’s words echo in your head. Fresh meat. You hold your ground, and when the cellmate’s head appears over the edge of the bed, you clamp one hand down over her face and throw a flash.

Your flashes aren’t all that bright, but they’re effective at close range. The cellmate yelps and tumbles backwards off the ladder. “I’ve got more where that came from,” you say, trying to sound threatening. “You’ll run out of eyesight way before I run out of these.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I’ve already got assault convictions,” you say. “Against heroes. You think I care at all about what I do to you?”

The cellmate on the floor is scrubbing at her eyes. The other three exchange glances, and you feel a sick stab of guilt. It doesn’t matter where you sleep. You could have just climbed down — should have just climbed down. Why did you hurt her? Hurting her isn’t the choice a good person makes. It’s the choice of a bad person. A villain. And all it’s done is made you enemies. You’re going to sleep with one eye open tonight.

A hand appears over the edge of the bed and taps your leg. “Nice work,” Hiikishi says. You squeeze your eyes shut.

It’s not a quiet night. A new transport of prisoners has arrived from other towns in the prefecture, and the cell block is noisy and jam-packed, chaotic from when the lights switch off to when they come back on. It’s a mess, but after a month and a half in jail, you know the drill.

Wake-up is half an hour before dawn, so they can herd everybody to the showers in shifts. The showers are communal, which means more people have seen you naked now than you could ever have imagined, even in your worst nightmares. When you tried to keep your towel on, the other inmates stole it. Meals are fed to you in a cafeteria twice per day, and you get a snack midday, like you’re in primary school or something. You get some time in the yard, which is a tiny, narrow box bricked in on either by the men’s wing and the women’s wing, and separated from the rest of the world by a high, electrified fence. Prisoners who behave and who don’t have dangerous quirks get time in the rec room every week, where there’s a TV and a bookshelf with books you can check out — if you behave, and if you don’t have a dangerous quirk.

Your other cellmates are all on notice, but Hiikishi hasn’t had time to get in trouble yet. “I gotta behave while I’m in here,” she says two weeks after she arrives, as the two of you walk to the rec room with the others in your cell block who’ve been approved. “They’ll quit giving me my meds if I don’t.”

“That can’t be right,” you say. Hiikishi gives you a long-suffering look. “It’s medicine. You need it to survive!”

“They don’t think so,” Hiikishi says. You look askance at her. She sighs and lowers her voice — which is pretty low to begin with. “Do I have to spell it out, honey? It’s E.”

E. Estrogen. Hiikishi’s on estrogen? Your surprise must show on your face, because Hiikishi sighs again. “You’re a little slow, huh? Or I pass better than I thought.”

“That one,” you say. Something is pulling hard at the back of your mind, but you can’t think about it right now. You need to be alert, or you might end up micro-aggressing Hiikishi to hell and back. “Sorry. I just — it’s medicine. They don’t get to withhold it if you mess up. They wouldn’t withhold mine.”

You’ve been on anticonvulsants since you were released from the hospital. Nobody wants you to have another seizure, including you, but you don’t need medicine to prevent them. All you have to do is quit trying to tell people about the isekai thing. “You’d be surprised,” Hiikishi says. The two of you have slowed down, enough that a guard gives you a shove and smacks Hiikishi in the hip with the barrel of his gun. “Hey. At least buy me dinner first, or I might have to take that toy away.”

“Nice try. I know how that quirk of yours works. My gun is safe.”

“Sure,” Hiikishi says. She picks up the pace, and as she passes you, you hear her mumble something under her breath. “But you aren’t.”

You don’t know what Hiikishi’s quirk is. It’s easy to tell for most of the inmates because of the different ways the guards handle them, but hers must be something weird. She’s in a mood now, so you give her space in the rec room. She heads for the TV, and you go for the bookshelf, wondering if there’s going to be anything new.

Some of the books are the same as books from your world, but all of those are old — Pride and Prejudice, Dracula, a Shakespeare play here or there, along with a bunch of titles in Japanese you aren’t familiar with. You can read them now, though, and you’ve read a few. Even the old books you’ve never read remind you of home, because they were all written before there were quirks. And because they’re good. Books written after quirks are kind of…boring.

You’ve read a lot of the good ones, but new titles get added every so often, and there’s a new one today. It was originally written in English — you can tell by the author’s name — but someone translated it, and made some edits, based on the title. You crack it open for the publication date: 1906. Perfect. It’s something new to read. It doesn’t matter that the summary makes absolutely no sense. Maybe that’s just the translation.

You check the book out, sit down, and read until the rec period is over. Hiikishi falls into step beside you on the walk back to your cell. “Celebrity Bachelor Japan was boring. He kicked the cutest girl off the show,” she complains. “What have you got there?”

You hold out the book and she inspects the cover. “The Night Land: A Story Retold. What’s it about?”

“It’s a little weird. Not sexy weird,” you clarify when Hiikishi raises her eyebrows. “There’s this guy, and he meets this girl. But then she dies.”

“Sad.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “But then he starts having all these really weird dreams — not sexy dreams — about the future. And the future is –”

You only made it partway into Chapter 2 before rec ended, and the impression you’ve gotten so far is “bad”. But before you can head off Hiikishi’s incoming joke about whether it’s a sexy future, an excruciatingly loud alarm goes off, so loud that you drop the book to cover your ears. It doesn’t help even slightly. You let your hands fall, crouch down, and snatch up the book again. “Fire alarm,” a guard hollers above the noise. “This is not a drill. Follow the evacuation plan –”

What evacuation plan? You’ve been here for a month and a half, and nobody’s ever said anything like that to you — but if there’s a fire, you need to be outside. Hiikishi’s thinking the same way. She grabs your arm, yanks you around, and starts pulling you towards the stairs that lead to ground level.

The two of you aren’t the only ones who’ve had the idea. The staircase is packed with inmates and with guards, so much that it’s difficult to move forward. Going back isn’t an option; more and more people are piling up behind you, all of them shoving hard for the door — which is locked. “Unlock it!” someone screams from the front of the crowd, in a voice that sounds oddly strangled. “Do you want us to die?”

“Fuck this,” someone else snaps. You don’t see what they do, but whatever it is, the door opens onto the rec yard, and people spill forwards in a wave.

You were hoping to find open space, room to breathe, but the rec yard is already crowded. “Shit,” Hiikishi snarls. “Arms up, now!”

You put them up. “Not that far! Like you’re boxing,” Hiikishi orders. You lower them slightly. You’re still holding the book. “Stay on your feet. We have to get to the fence.”

“It’s electric,” you protest. People are pressing in around you on all sides. Hiikishi is shoving and throwing elbows, trying to clear a path to move along the wall. “We’ll get shocked –”

“It’ll be faster than the fire,” Hiikishi says grimly. “Faster than this, too.”

The air around you is hot. You can smell smoke, but worst of all, you can smell sweat. You keep your arms up, but the pressure is increasing against your back, against your sides, even as you try to follow Hiikishi. You’re still moving, however slightly. The woman next to you isn’t moving at all. Her arms are down at her sides, her mouth open. Her gasps for air take on a weird, rusty quality, and a moment later, you hear a dull snap, followed by another. As you watch in horror, the woman’s chest deforms, and she crumples, falling to her knees. People tumble forward into the space she left, and in the second before she disappears entirely, you see someone’s foot come down on her head, crushing it inwards.

You scream. You can’t help it, and soon you’re not the only one. People are screaming all through the yard, women and men, and underneath it all you hear the strange gasps, the dull snaps. People are dying here. People are being crushed to death where they stand, trampled when they fall, and while you’re almost at the edge of the crowd, there’s only unforgiving brick in front of you. If the crowd falls the other way, they’ll crush you against it.

“Come on,” Hiikishi snarls. She grabs you and yanks you up against the wall with a grunt of effort. “The fence is off. You’re gonna clear a path.”

“I can’t make it.” You’re going to die here, burned to death or crushed flat. Why were you even brought to this world? Did you come here just to die horribly? “Even if I could, other people — it would collapse –”

“Fuck them. It’s them or us.” Hiikishi spins you so your back’s to the gate, then plants one hand in the middle of your chest. “I’m picking us.”

You have a split second to protest before you’re thrown backwards with incredible force. Your feet are off the ground, the left side of your body scraped raw against the bricks, and every time you shove past someone, the crowd collapses inwards. Hiikishi is following the path you cleared, and she’s not the only one. How is she throwing you? You come to a stop. She catches up, smacks you in the chest again, and throws you harder. You’re close enough to the gate to hit it at close to full speed, striking so quickly and sharply that the chicken wire bends outwards, then rips free of the frame. Your skin is torn to shreds as Hiikishi’s quirk forces you through the gate, and you skid another twenty feet, hands still up, still holding your stupid book. Maybe you hit your head or something, but it looks like you’re glowing. Glowing pink.          

The noise of the crowd is even worse now. When you look back, you can see people pressed against the fence, their bodies deforming just like the woman’s did, but Hiikishi’s forcing herself through the gap you left in the corner of the fence. She’s not the only one. Two more inmates follow her, and then a guard. Before the guard can get to his feet, Hiikishi kicks him in the side of the head, so hard that his helmet flies off and his sunglasses dislodge from his face.

“Teach you to hit me,” she spits. She crouches down and picks up the sunglasses, taking the time to brush them off even as more people struggle to squeeze through the fence. She puts them on, then turns to face you. “What do you think, honey? Are they my color?”

You nod, but your mind’s running a thousand miles a minute, piecing together the details — the pink light that surrounded you, the way she threw you, the auburn hair and the E and the sunglasses. You didn’t notice, because you didn’t pay much attention to the villain-centric chapters and episodes of BNHA, but you should have seen. Not Hiikishi. “Magne?”

“That’s me.” Magne strides past you, looking totally at peace, as if she’s already forgotten the horror unfolding behind the fence. “If you wanted out of here, now’s your chance.”

Escape? You could escape. You’re on the grounds, with no guards. Your clothes are ripped to shreds on one side and you’re missing a shoe, but — “The others,” you say. “We should –”

“You want to go back up to that fence like some hero? Stand there while it falls in on you?” Magne turns, grabs your arm, and hauls you up. “Them or you, babe. Choose you.”        

She drops your arm and bolts. You stay frozen for just a few seconds more. You. It has to be you. You turn and run towards the edge of the complex, just like the others who made it through the fence, just like Magne. Just like the other criminals. Just like every other selfish person, who’s leaving so many others to die. The screams and groans fill your ears, the worst sounds you’ve ever heard, and tears sting your eyes even as bile rises in the back of your throat. You have to stop to vomit twice before you clear the edge of the complex. But you don’t turn back.

The other escapees scatter. You lose track of Magne, and although you want to find her, some instinct left over from the person who was here before tells you that she’s done helping you. It’s time for you to help yourself, and the person who was here before knows how.

She knows where to find clothes, because your jail coveralls stand out like a sore thumb, even in the dark. She knows how to pay for clothes, too, even though you don’t have any money. You end up with a bad taste in your mouth and a long coat, black and hooded, that’s way too big for you but covers your inmate’s clothing completely. That’s a good start. Enough to get you deeper into the city and onto a train. The person who was here before might not have a home address, but she had a home base, and it’s not here.

It’s three hours’ ride on the train. You realize you’re still holding the book from the jail library and tuck it away into the largest pocket of your coat. That gives you the idea to search the other pockets, and you do, coming up with spare change, a couple of receipts, and a set of headphones. The headphones would be great if you had music to listen to, but you don’t. All you have are the sound of screams, echoing through your mind, and the dull snaps of bones breaking burrowing into your ears.

You can’t get what you saw out of your head. No matter what else you try to think about, it’s there, and if you’re able to distract yourself for even a second, it comes right back the instant you let your guard down. You fumble the book back out of your pocket and reopen it to the very beginning, starting with the foreword you skipped. It doesn’t quiet your mind enough, so you give yourself another task – translation into your native language from Japanese, one sentence at a time. It slows you down enough that you don’t faint or vomit, and by the time your train comes to a stop in Niigata, your mind feels focused enough to get yourself back to base.

First stop is a bank of storage lockers in the station. It takes you a second to find the combination in the memories that aren’t yours, but once you get it open, you find a backpack and a duffel bag, both of which you take to the bathroom to sort through in one of the handicapped stalls. As if you needed anything else to feel guilty about. You console yourself with the thought that you’ll be fast and get to work.

There’s clothing in the duffel bag, and shoes, but there’s also a skeletal first aid kit, and a decent amount of money. There’s also some kind of support gear – a pair of goggles and a mask that would cover the lower half of your face, like you’re on Naruto or something. When you dig further through the bag, you find prepackaged food, too. In some ways it reminds you of the things you put in your backpack at school, which your friends used to joke doubled as a starter kit for the apocalypse. You and the person whose place you took have something in common other than your height, age, weight, and blood type: You both like to be prepared for anything.

You can go through the backpack later. You switch out your clothes, grimacing as you reopen every scrape and scratch on your body, and put on the pair of shoes. You think about leaving the coat behind with the coveralls, but you didn’t steal it, you earned it. After what you had to do to earn it, you’re not letting it go. You throw the coveralls in the trash on your way out and pick your way through Niigata’s streets, heading for the bad side of town.

The capsule hotel might have been a nice place once. As it is, your memories tell you that it’s a known way station for people on the wrong side of the law. In spite of that, the cops don’t go in often. They can’t verify exactly who’s in there, and they don’t want any nasty surprises. Maybe that’s why you feel your shoulders relax the instant you step through the door, why you feel safe haggling a little with the person at the front desk, why you believe her, just a little, when she says she’s glad you’re back. She gives you your usual capsule, and you settle in for what’s left of the night.

It takes a little while to get the water running in the shower so you can rinse the dirt out of your scrapes, and the water is freezing-cold and weird-tasting when you let some of it run down your throat. There’s a couple hooking up in the supply closet – a couple, or maybe not – and some part of you is grossed out. The rest of you remembers how you got your coat and spends a little while dry-heaving in the sink.

You swore you wouldn’t commit any more crimes, but since the fire alarm went off at the Shizuoka prefectural jail, you’ve committed half a dozen at least. You might have rented this place legally, and the clothes on your back and the contents of the duffel and backpack might belong to you, but you got the coat through less than legal means. Worse than that, you broke out of jail, and helped other people do it. And now you’re on the run. Even if you never slip up again, you’ll still be carrying every last one of those mistakes, forever.

You’ve ruined everything. Whatever was left of everything to ruin. The person whose place you took did a great job ruining most of it already.

You want to go home. Home where you’re not a criminal, where nobody’s hunting you, where nobody gets crushed to death in a prison yard – home where you’ve got friends and a family and a whole life ahead of you that was starting to look pretty good. Do people who get isekaied ever get to go home? If you landed in the body of someone who died here, did you die in your world, too? Maybe if you figure out why you were brought here, you can fix whatever you’re supposed to fix, and then whatever brought you here will let you go home. But what could you possibly need to fix? There’s nothing wrong with how BNHA ended.

You can’t think about it anymore. You’ll go insane. But even as you curl up inside your capsule, willing your mind to go blank, a plan settles slowly into your head. You need to find out why you were brought here. That’s the most important thing. You can’t find that out if you’re in jail, so the next most important thing is to stay out of jail. No matter what you have to do to make that happen.

You feel a twinge of unease at the thought, but you shove it away. You’re not stupid. You can stay out of jail without committing any more crimes. No matter what the person whose place you took did before, you can still find a way to be good.

<- part 1

taglist: @shigarakislaughter @deadhands69 @f3r4lfr0gg3r @lvtuss @xeveryxstarfallx @cryptidfuckerofficial @lacrimae-lotos @issa-ortiz @evilcookie5 @stardustdreamersisi @minniessskii @aslutforfictionalmen @frog-fans-unite @doumadono