#let’s pretend I wrote “either”

[satanicchristiancult]

Man, my English exam (which I finished like 45 minutes ago) was just me writing as if I was posting one of my everyday things on Tumblr.

Let’s hope that was the format of a blog according to my teacher.

-Mori

[unnamed-atlas]

Finally finished sweet tooth s3. Having incredibly mixed feelings

[teenagefeeling]

oh no the wikipedia article on that maori treaty is very badly written :/

[ecto-mochi]

Ectober Day 1 - Will-o-wisps

Words: 630ish

Don't follow the will-o-wisps. 

They appear every year in Amity Park, right on October 1st. Like starlight, flickering in the rough autumn breeze. Floating on rooftop's edges, in damp alleyways, congregating in the darkness of the nasty burger's back lot.

Don't follow the will-o-wisps. The teens say you can hear them whispering, that if you look too closely at one's flame you can glimpse the blinding, oxygenated burn of a life lived so brutally fast that there wasn't enough tinder left to keep it going.

The brighter the flame, the harder they fall. The highschoolers put them in glass mason jars and shake them around like fireflies. Hold a piece of cardboard close, too close, until it begins to smoke a dark chemical green, the smell of rusting copper filling the air.

The adults never try to stop them - not until it’s all burning down. Before anyone knows better there’s nothing left but cinder and debris on the scorched and ashen ground. Another family in ruins, the most recent headline reads. Overnight, the obituary has gained yet another unfamiliar face.

The wisps don't hurt when you touch them; not at first. But they leave a hollow scar, one that lingers in the depths of your soul and burns away at your hope and being until only ashes remain. The parents never see that, and the kids never seem to care. After all, they aren’t truly following the wisps, and who are they to heed that old and superstitious warning? So they play games in the brief reprieve of a passing period, on the floors of dirty bathrooms and after-school clubs. Who can stare at the flame the longest? Are you brave enough to slowly unscrew the lid and lift it up and away, as far as you can go before the wisp jolts and you slam it down with all your might? How hard must you try to be strong and fearless? Is it ever enough? Can you see the wisp lightly tapping against the glass, how it taps and taps and taps and taps until finally 

crack 

and now it's too late. The rooftop is empty and the alleyways are full and wet and reek of gunsmoke and iron.

Don't follow them, it’s really just that easy! The high school puts up posters that tell the kids just the same, in bright friendly fonts that wield fearful statistics and overblown facts. Use (buy) a Fenton will-destroyer, it'll keep the wisps away for good! Talk to a friend (a trusted adult) if you see one, they'll know how to handle it, handle you. This doesn’t stop the kids; who collect them nonetheless. How many can you fit in that little glass jar? Cram them together like pills in a bottle, keep them on your bedside table for whatever silly little story you've decided to fear. 

(But don’t keep too many - or else the school will call a meeting. They’ll see you for what you are, you damned delinquent. They’ll look your parents in the eyes and tell them how problematic you are, how much help you need.

You don’t need help, though. Right?)

The next day, the entire school is called to the auditorium. They all file in, exchanging gossip, cramming themselves down into poorly padded theater chairs. Above the careless chatter of the students, a teacher begins to speak. Another fire. Another child lost to the wisps. They meant so much to us, we must keep their friends and parents in our hearts. Make sure to tell us if you see a wisp, if you hear it calling. You’ll be safe with us, with whatever choices we make for you. Just don’t burn down and it’ll all be okay.

So yes, don’t follow the will-o-wisps - and to think - today is only October 3rd!

[simptasia]

mum and i were almost not able to buy our house because a real estate lawyer heard us casually say i'm autistic and alarm bells went off in her head, because she believed that meant i wasn't mentally capable of understanding what i was signing up for

[rainstormsandothersadthings]

There was an interesting thing Arthur learned when he was eight and three-quarters in the field on the right side of the castle. He was chasing the red ladybugs that flew and crawled up the castle walls as if unaware of the unavoidable chill of the stone; as if they didn’t know the castle was where things rot and everyone pretends they can’t smell the stench.

[ohcaptains]

𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟.

college! peter parker x fem reader.

18+ only !!! f! receiving oral sex. peter parker has an oral fixation i said what i said. in my spider-man era again.

peter was a weekly visitor at this point. sometimes, it was twice, but never more than three. three was pushing it.

Three said that Peter meant something to you, and you couldn’t have that. No, whatever this was between the pair of you was strictly transactional. It was Peter texting you late at night, the classic, you up? Gracing your screen, and every time, you would pretend to be annoyed.

As if Peter coming around to give you the greatest head of your life was an inconvenience. Tempted, the devil on your shoulder smirking, to type back, Jesus, again? but never doing it. Instead, you wrote: sure.

Still, it plagued your mind. He never asked for anything else.

It was as if he did this purely for himself.

“Oh fuck,” you mewled, clenching down tight. The hand that was wrapped around Peter’s brown curls clutched and tugged, and the unconscious movement earned you a chastised groan. It rumbled through your cunt, and the echo shot to your clit, making you close your eyes and lean back, wet mouth spilling his name into your dorm.

Peter liked hearing you.

Liked seeing you lose your mind with his head between your thighs, your pussy wet and throbbing from his mouth and fingers. It’s why he came around often. Sometimes, he wouldn’t even text, would just knock on your door -- looking sheepish from under his dark curls -- and just. Not. Say. Anything.

His silence was answer enough. You knew what he wanted. Or, needed, as you later figured out, as you saw how red he’d gotten when you told him he couldn’t come around for a bit. When you said something about focusing on exams, he’d come over anyway, whined, shuffled his feet and said, You can do your work, I just gotta…I’ll be quick.

The lack of explanation made your mind swirl. But regardless, you’d let him in and did your work with his head between your thighs. He’d tutored you, too, told you how to solve for x with his fingers inside of you. He’d said, if you let me make you come again, I’ll do your Maths work for the next week. After he’d left, you stared at the scene of the crime in pure silence.

Just…reflecting.

Peter fluttered his tongue over your swollen clit. Focused on swirling it around his tongue in sloppy, wet circles, and the thick desire that swelled between your thighs began to pool at your lower back, forcing you to arch up into it.

“Please,” you wept, even though he was giving you what you wanted. Flat on your back with his deft grip keeping your bare thighs open. It was 8 pm. He’d caught you just after your shower, so the smell of your shampoo and body wash wafted through the air – Lavender and pear.

Peter had spread you open and said you smelled like spring. You’d been far too turned on to comment on it. He grumbled into your cunt, and you managed to work out the word, more? You hummed, too drunk on him and wound tight to verbalise that yes, you wanted more. Wanted him to make you come, and come again, till all you could do was mumble his name and focus on your breathing.

He'd learnt how you liked it. Paid attention, and he was getting full scores as he pushed his tongue flat against your swollen clit and sucked. Your vision went white.

“Oh fuck – ohfuck, Peter—” you squirmed, but Peter was strong, and he held you to the bed with his vice-like grip, wordlessly saying take it take it take it.

He lapped at you, salvia drooling over your cunt and down his chin, soaking the sheets. He was always so careless. In moments like this, that nervous edge that always fluttered around him was gone, replaced by a visceral drive to either please you, or get what he wanted.

The two bled into each other.

His tempo was leisurely, but that didn’t stop the heat from washing over you all at once.

You clamped your thighs around his ears and moaned -- loud, so loud that you were sure the other students on your floor heard.

Still, the ache was erratic, “So good,” you sobbed, and you heard yourself, heard the near primal need in your voice, and the desperation made you embarrassed, made you cover your mouth with your palm and grip the sheets, willing yourself to cool it. 

“Move your hand, or I’ll stop,” he uttered against you, and your clit was so sore that the echo of his words made your eyes roll back. Peter must have seen, as he hummed a laugh, and kissed your inner thigh, “lemme hear you.”

Managing to gain some sense of sanity, you blearily blinked down at him, but all sense of stability you thought you had was wiped away when you saw Peter had his hand stuffed down his pants.

You dropped back onto the bed and sobbed.

You knew he got off on this, but Jesus Christ, you’d never seen that before.

“Gotta be kidding me,” you breathed, and Peter must have understood what you were referencing, as he buried his reddening face into your inner thigh. He let out a breathy chuckle, “’ M’sorry,” he mumbled, “usually I wait till I get home, but you’re just so hot.”

You had to stay completely still, or you’d burst. Usually, I wait till I get home?

Peter moved his face and began nuzzling the wet folds of your pussy. He bumped his nose against your clit, and you quietly choked.

Peter hummed, “couldn’t help myself.”

You figured he did something like that, but the admission made your thighs tense. You pictured him stumbling home – cheeks still wet with you – and tugging his pants down, quickly shoving his hands into his boxers and taking hold of his aching cock. Did he whimper when he came? Or was he silent, all tremors and low grunts? No. He definitely whimpered.

He was far too pretty to stay quiet.

The sudden desire to kiss him swept over you.

Reaching down, you tugged at his curls, wordlessly motioning him to move. When he did, you briefly saw the red of his cheeks and wet of his nose before you kissed him, all tongue, and tasted yourself on his pink lips.

Peter melted into you. Huffed your name like a sigh, and the sheer tenderness of it had you wrapping your legs around his back and pressing your bare cunt against his jeans.

He was rock-hard. Tentatively, you ran your nails over his chest, and dipped low, pressing between his thighs, cupping his bulge, and gently squeezing. Peter wept.

“Oh fuck,” he sobbed, as desperate as you imagined. With one hand in his hair and the other on his cock, you continued to kiss him, until the ache between your thighs became too much to bear.

“Make me come,” you whispered, “and I’ll put you in my mouth.”

Peter had never moved so fast in his life.

[helioooss]

music girlfriend

synopsis: you’re the weirdest loser karina has ever met in her life, but you’re cute. and different. and she might just like you. (loser girlfriend x mean girlfriend core)

w/c: 5k+

warnings: swearing, lots of it; mentions of bullying. like always, read at your own risk :)

a/n: a concept like this was my first ever fic…except that it was way more toxic and horrifying. i’ve rewritten it. but just reading something i wrote over 10 years ago makes me CRINGE

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

yu jimin is a force of nature on campus; the kind of girl people talk about in hushed tones, partly out of awe and partly out of fear. she’s got a reputation that precedes her: mean, cold and walls higher than the burj khalifa itself.

she doesn’t mince words, and her insults almost always land with surgical precision. you don’t cross her unless you’re looking to get burned, and even then, it’s not guaranteed she’ll care enough to react.

people say she’s a heartbreaker, and the rumours aren’t exactly subtle. she’s the type who’s been through a messy breakup or two, you’d never know it by looking at her though.

karina, as everyone liked to call her, doesn’t mess around with vulnerability: she does leather jackets, sharp eyeliner, and a smile that’s more threatening than warm.

most of her relationships don’t last long; people get too close, then quickly realize that they’re only scratching the surface of someone who’s built walls too high to climb.

and, then, there’s you. you’re not even remotely on her radar, like at all. unless you count that one time she stared you down just for coughing in her presence. you remember it vividly: it was a wednesday morning, and you were hurrying to class when you caught a coughing fit through the hall after attempting to chug a tropical juice box in two minutes.

unfortunately, she was passing by at the exact moment you let out a loud, ragged cough, and she stopped dead in her tracks; fixing you with a death glare that never left until you were out of sight.

“are you fucking kidding me?” she yells out as you practically run away. “loser!”

that stare was enough to make you want to crawl into a hole and disappear, and it cemented your fear of her. you’ve avoided her ever since, not that it’s been difficult — she’s too wrapped up in her own world to notice someone like you anyway.

yet, despite the fear and the certainty that she’d tear you to shreds if given the chance, you never miss an aespa gig.

every friday night, you make your way to the dingy dive bar outside of campus where they perform, staking out your usual spot in the far corner with a ginger beer in hand because you couldn’t stand the taste of anything else, but you only ever manage to drink half before losing interest. it’s not about the drink; it’s about watching her own the stage.

you sit there, trying not to make eye contact, trying to be as invisible as possible while simultaneously wishing she would look your way, just once….in a way that isn’t terrifying.

of course she doesn’t notice you. or at least, she pretends not to. she’s too busy flirting with half the room, her eyes sharp and her voice carrying over the crowd like a spell.

your only real friend on campus is yunjin, your roommate, who’s the complete opposite of you —confident, outgoing and friends with pretty much everyone.

she talks about the girls in aespa often, but you never really pay attention because, well, you’re usually too busy trying to complete a lego set or desperately attempting to finish either a boss in wu-kong, or a quest in dead island 2. in desperate times, you turn to call of duty though.

one saturday evening, as you’re halfway through building a lego roller coaster on the kitchen table, zero human interaction, yunjin drops a bombshell.

“hey, by the way, aespa’s coming over tonight,” she announces casually, as if she’s talking about ordering pizza, fingers twirling her hair and all.

you don’t even look up from your seat. “uh-huh, cool.”

“no, like, they’re actually coming here. to our dorm,” she repeats, clearly trying to make sure it sinks in.

you snap a lego piece into place and nod absentmindedly. “yeah, i hear ya.”

yunjin sighs, clearly defeated. “you’re really not listening, are you?”

“nope,” you admit, focusing intently on the roller coaster track.

“can you please get a girlfriend?” she leaves you to yourself and retreats back into the couch, shaking her head at how hopeless you are. “god, this place needs another woman.”

and then, maybe fifteen minutes later, it finally registers. aespa. karina. here. in your dorm. you’re in your toy story pyjamas with fresh spaghetti stains on it.

you freeze mid-piece placement, your eyes going wide as panic washes over you. “wait, did you say aespa is coming here?”

yunjin looks up from her phone, a grin spreading across her face. “finally paying attention, huh? yeah, they’ll be here any minute.”

“jennifer, are you serious?!” you practically yell, scrambling to your feet, knocking over half your lego set in the process.

“very serious,” she says, clearly enjoying your reaction.

you don’t waste any more time. there’s only one thing to do: that’s to get the hell out of there. before yunjin can say another word, you’re darting down the hall, your feet barely touching the floor. you burst into your room and start throwing things into your bag, moving with a speed you didn’t know you had.

“are you really running away?” yunjin calls after you, chuckling.

“yes!” you shout back, shoving random clothes into your bag. “i can’t deal with this!”

“you’re such a wimp!” she teases, but there’s affection in her voice. “you’ll be fine, i promise —“

“absolutely not,” you cut her off as you slam your door shut. you grab your keys, yank open your window and climb out onto the fire escape, your heart pounding.

as you make your escape, you look down and realise you’ve left a trail of legos behind you, tiny colourful pieces marking your pathetic retreat.

meanwhile, aespa finally arrives. winter, the band’s chaotic drummer, is sprawled on your couch, balancing a bottle of cheap beer on her forehead. ningning, the bassist, is rummaging through your snack drawer like she’s on a mission from god. giselle, the lead guitarist, is inspecting your lego collection with an expression that’s equal parts curiosity and confusion. and then there’s karina — leaning against the counter, looking bored and vaguely annoyed, like she’s too cool for this entire dorm (which she probably is).

“so, where’s this lego nerd?” ningning asks, looking around the living room.

“oh, y/n? she…left,” yunjin says with a shrug, trying not to laugh. “like ran away when i said you guys were coming over.”

“scared of us?” winter asks, looking offended. “we’re not that bad.”

“no,” yunjin adds, shaking her head. “she just really sucks at socialising but once you get to a point, she will yap your ears off.”

“it’s karina,” giselle says knowingly, nudging the singer with a grin. “she’s the scary one.”

karina just rolls her eyes, unfazed. “whatever. if she’s that much of a coward, she’s not worth worrying about.”

as she glances around the room, her eyes land on the half-finished lego set on the kitchen table. she moves closer, her gaze shifting from indifferent to slightly intrigued. she picks up a piece, examining it for a moment.

“what’s this supposed to be?” she asks, holding up the stray lego.

“a roller coaster,” yunjin replies, still smiling. “she’s been working on it all day.”

karina raises an eyebrow, setting the piece back down. “interesting.”

“what, the legos or the girl?” giselle teases.

“both,” karina admits, her voice low and thoughtful. and for a moment, just a moment, her usual cold demeanor softens. “she’s kind of weird, isn’t she? fucking coughed on me once and it just set me off.”

“so you know of her?” giselle raises an eyebrow, a playful smirk on her face.

karina frowns. “what the hell is your deal?”

“definitely,” yunjin cuts them off before they get started. “she’s into video games and all that nerdy shit. has never had a girlfriend in her life, but she’s gorgeous and funny in her own way.”

karina hums, her gaze lingering on the legos. “i’ll be the judge of that.”

meanwhile, you’ve been hiding out at the park not too far from your dorm for a while now, perched awkwardly on a bench — staring blankly at a nearby pigeon that’s scavenging for crumbs. it was the first place you could think of in your panic, but now that the adrenaline is wearing off, your stomach is making very loud complaints.

“great,” you mutter to yourself, pressing a hand to your rumbling belly. you didn’t plan this escape well. you don’t have money on you…just your keys and the few legos you hastily shoved in your pockets.

with a sigh, you finally accept defeat. “screw it,” you mutter, pushing yourself off the bench. “i’ll just sneak in, grab some food, and sneak back out.”

you start making your way back to the dorm, trying to convince yourself that you can avoid those girls altogether. if you’re lucky, they’ll be too busy talking to yunjin or trying to figure out the roller coaster you abandoned on the kitchen table.

approaching your dorm cautiously on your tippy toes, you open door as quietly as possible, sets of laughter audible from the living room — familiar voices that make you both excited and anxious.

you manage to sneak inside unnoticed, keeping your head down as you head straight for the kitchen.

the fridge is glowing right in front of you, immediately grabbing the nearest thing you see: a pack of cheese sticks and a pineapple juice box. you’re so focused on grabbing food and getting out of there that you don’t notice the figure leaning casually against the kitchen counter.

“back so soon, coward?”

you freeze, and slowly turn to find no one else but karina standing there. she’s holding a half-finished lego roller coaster piece, looking at you with a mix of amusement and something else you can’t quite read.

“oh,” you croak out, feeling your face heat up. “i was just…hungry.”

she raises an eyebrow, her expression somewhere between disbelief and mockery. “hungry enough to risk coming back into enemy territory?”

“it’s not enemy territory,” you mutter, peeling the wrapper off the cheese stick awkwardly. “i just panicked.”

karina’s smirk widens. “because of me?”

“maybe,” you admit reluctantly, taking a bite of the cheese stick. “you’re kind of scary, you know.”

“good,” she replies smoothly, stepping closer. “keeps people on their toes.”

“it definitely kept me out the door,” you mumble, trying not to flinch as she moves even closer. you notice she’s still holding the lego piece, twirling it between her fingers like she’s trying to figure it out.

“so,” she says, her voice dropping a notch, “what’s with the legos? seriously. i mean, a roller coaster?”

you glance at the half-built model on the table, feeling both embarrassed and defensive. “what’s wrong with a roller coaster?”

“nothing,” she replies, surprisingly sincere. “it’s just unexpected considering you’re over twenty.”

“what the hell is that supposed to mean?” you ask, narrowing your eyes.

she shrugs, her gaze shifting between you and the legos. “i’ve never met anyone who builds a roller coaster in the middle of a saturday night. alone.”

“what kind of person do i seem like, then?” you challenge, more curious than offended.

“the kind that runs away when someone like me shows up,” karina shoots back, but there’s no malice in her tone; just that familiar teasing edge.

you feel your face heat up again, but you manage to hold her gaze. “well, maybe i just don’t know how to deal with someone like you.”

“and what’s someone like me?” she asks, taking a step closer.

“mean,” you say bluntly, surprising even yourself.

karina blinks, caught off guard. “you coughed on me.”

“you remember that?”

“i felt a splash on my face you sore loser,” she whines, remembering the day so clearly. she watches you for a moment, then she gestures to the roller coaster. “so, are you gonna finish this or what?”

“i was planning to,” you say defensively. “it’s not my fault i got interrupted.”

“by yourself?” she raises an eyebrow at you.

“by you,” you correct, feeling a strange mix of frustration and attraction.

her eyes narrow playfully. “well, i’m here now. so, let’s finish it.”

“you want to help me?” you ask, genuinely surprised.

“why not?” she says, picking up another lego piece. “i’ve got nothing better to do, but come meet everyone first.”

you eventually shuffle into the living room, feeling like you’re walking into a lion’s den. the place is chaos: winter is trying to balance on one leg while shouting about something unintelligible, ningning is tearing into a bag of doritos with alarming enthusiasm, and giselle is inspecting your lego city sets like she’s discovered a hidden temple.

“look who it is!” ningning calls, grinning at you with chip dust on her fingers. “finally decided to join us, huh?”

“i was busy,” you say awkwardly.

“busy hiding,” karina corrects, plopping down next to you on the couch with a casualness that makes your heart rate spike.

“it’s not hiding,” you mutter. “it’s called strategic retreat.”

she shrugs. “sure, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“she’s literally just a girl,” yunjin chuckles, taking the first sip off her beer before grimacing. “what is this shit?”

winter suddenly flops onto the floor in front of you, looking up with wide eyes. “so, do you build like castles and stuff? or just boring things like a roller coaster?”

you frown defensively. “it’s interesting!”

“wow,” winter says, clearly unimpressed. “that’s so nerdy, i think i just lost 10 cool girl points talking to you.”

you roll your eyes. “i didn’t think you had 10 cool girl points to begin with,” the room erupts in laughter, and you can’t help but feel a small sense of triumph.

“ohhh, she got heat!” giselle hollers, slapping her knee dramatically.

karina leans closer, her voice low enough that only you can hear. “you’re funny.”

you blink, caught off-guard by her close proximity. “uh, thanks?”

“don’t get too excited,” she adds, a bored look on her face. “i still think you’re weird.”

“i know,” you reply simply. “but that’s kind of my thing.”

somehow, yunjin turns the tv on and you end up in an impromptu mario kart tournament, with winter yelling instructions at everyone like an overly aggressive coach.

“take the shortcut, take the fucking shortcut!” she screams, despite the fact that she’s not even playing.

you manage to hold your own, despite ningning’s attempts to distract you by waving doritos in your face and giselle’s shameless attempts to use every dirty trick in the book. you’re neck and neck with karina, who’s surprisingly good and also surprisingly ruthless.

“you play dirty,” you accuse as she sends a blue shell your way, knocking you out of first place.

“you say that like it’s a bad thing,” karina retorts with a frown.

“it is a bad thing,” you insist. “only jerks use the blue shell.”

“guess i’m a jerk, then,” she adds, not looking the least bit sorry.

“you’re the worst,” you say, but there’s no heat behind it. in fact, you’re kind of having fun.

“i’ll take that as a compliment,” she says, flashing you a victorious smile as she crosses the finish line.

“you shouldn’t,” you mutter, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably because karina just smiled at you for the first time in your life.

as the night goes on, the group slowly starts to mellow out. winter has passed out on the floor, snoring softly with an empty can of beer in her hand. ningning and yunjin are sprawled across the couch, humming some random tune and giselle is poking at your lego millennium falcon with a mix of fascination and confusion.

karina is still sitting next to you, her elbow resting on the back of the couch. “so,” she says, breaking the comfortable silence, “you really like legos, huh?”

you nod. “yeah. it’s kind of my thing.”

“i can see that,” she says, glancing around at your impressive collection. “it’s such a loser vibe.”

you raise an eyebrow. “hey, you’re not the first to say that.”

“i’ll make sure i’ll be the last.”

you laugh, feeling a strange warmth in your chest. “well, thanks, i guess. you’re not as scary as i thought you’d be.”

“i can be scary,” she insists, narrowing her eyes for effect. “maybe one day i can build one with you, deal?”

“woah, okay,” you say, grinning back. “a deal it is then.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

since that unexpected night at your dorm, things between you and karina have taken an unexpected turn. it’s not exactly friendship —karina’s still mean, still cold in that familiar way, but there’s a new rhythm to it, a pattern of teasing that you’re surprisingly getting used to.

whenever you pass each other in the hallways, she makes it a point to throw some kind of insult your way, usually with a smirk that’s equal parts mocking and playful.

“hey, loser,” karina calls as you’re trying to balance a stack of books in your arms.

“hi,” you shoot back with a smile, doing your best to sound unfazed.

“nice outfit,” she adds, eyeing your oversized hoodie and faded jeans. “did you rob a fucking thrift store for that look?”

“maybe,” you reply with a grin. “at least i’m consistent!”

she laughs (surprising everyone around her), her eyes flashing with that familiar mix of amusement and something else — something warmer. “still a loser, though.”

“and what about it?” you retort, shaking your head as she walks away, still chuckling.

it becomes a routine over the next few days. each time you cross paths, karina manages to find some new way to tease you. whether it’s about your outfit, your habit of carrying too many books, or your eternal obsession with legos, her comments are always mean-spirited, but in a way that somehow makes you smile because you know she doesn’t mean any of it.

“what, still working on legos?” she asks one morning, catching sight of a lego manual sticking out of your bag.

“yep,” you say brightly. “gotta build something, right?”

“how pathetic,” she drawls, but there’s a spark in her eyes that betrays the insult.

“at least i’m consistent,” you say, giving her a mock salute as you pass by.

not everyone understands the strange dynamic between you and karina. a group of boys in the football team who’ve been eyeing the whole thing decides to get in on the fun — or at least what they think is fun.

one afternoon, as you’re making your way across campus, you hear someone call out, “hey, loser! still building legos? what are you, five?”

you turn, your stomach sinking as you realize it’s not karina, but felix who is doing a poor imitation of her usual teasing. his tone lacks the playful edge, replaced with something harsher, meaner.

“seriously, you’re still into that kid stuff?” jake sneers, towering over you. “what, got nothing better to do with your life?”

you try to laugh it off, shaking your head. “just having fun, guys.”

“yeah, real fun,” taehyun mutters. “no wonder karina only talks to you to make fun of you.”

you flinch at that, the words cutting deeper than you expected. before you can think of a response, someone else steps in.

“hey! back off,” yunjin shouts, marching over with fire in her eyes. “what’s your problem?”

they all look momentarily startled, but jake just shrugs. “we were just joking around, yunjin. it’s not a big deal.”

“well, it’s not fucking funny to me,” yunjin snaps, her voice loud enough to draw attention. “and if i see you messing with her again, you’ll have to deal with me. got it?”

they mumble a few half-hearted apologies before retreating, clearly not expecting to get yelled at in public.

yunjin turns to you, her expression softening. “are you okay?”

“yeah,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant. “i’m fine.”

your roommate isn’t convinced, knowing you better than anyone else. she pulls you aside and demands to know if this has been happening often. you try to brush it off, insisting it’s just dumb teasing, but she’s not having it.

“i’m telling karina,” she says, her voice firm.

“don’t,” you plead, but she’s already walking off, determined to set things right. “it literally just started today!”

when yunjin finds karina, she doesn’t hold back. “your stupid jock friends have been picking on y/n,” she says bluntly. “all thanks to your teasing.”

karina’s eyes narrow instantly. “what? who?”

“those idiots on the football team,” yunjin explains, crossing her arms. “they think it’s funny to imitate you.”

karina’s expression darkens, a mixture of anger and something else — something protective. “where is she?”

“probably at lunch by now,” yunjin replies. “but karina, don’t just—”

“i’m going,” karina interrupts, her voice leaving no room for argument. she stalks off toward the cafeteria, her jaw set and her steps quick.

you’re sitting alone in the cafeteria, picking at your food and trying not to let the earlier incident get to you, but before you can get too lost in your thoughts, you hear a familiar voice.

“hey assholes,” karina calls sharply, her voice loud enough to turn heads. “got something to say to y/n here?”

you look up, startled, as she strides over to your table with the same jocks from before trailing behind her. they look a lot less cocky now, their heads bowed in a mix of embarrassment and fear.

“uh, we’re sorry,” felix mumbles first, barely making eye contact. “we were just messing around.”

yunjin’s eyes flash dangerously. “yeah? well, don’t. she’s off-limits.”

“seriously,” karina deadpans, her arms crossed - voice cold and mean. “if i see you pricks messing around with her again, you can say goodbye to your scholarships.”

you sit there, stunned and unsure of how to react. you weren’t expecting this; definitely not karina marching in like a one-woman army to defend you.

the boys mumble a few more apologies before scurrying off, leaving you alone with karina and yunjin.

karina lets out a slow breath, her expression still serious. “you okay?”

“i’m fine,” you say, still processing everything. “you didn’t have to do that.”

“yes, i did,” karina replies, her voice softer now. “and…i’m sorry.”

you blink, caught off guard by the sudden apology. “for what?”

“for making it seem like it’s okay to be mean to you,” she says, her tone unusually sincere. “i didn’t mean for it to go that far.”

you shrug, trying to play it off. “it’s fine. i know you were just messing around.”

“still,” she insists, her eyes meeting yours with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. “i don’t want you to feel like that. not because of me.”

you manage a small smile, the warmth in her voice easing the lingering hurt. “thanks.”

karina looks almost relieved, her smile returning in full force. “so, we’re good?”

“we’re good,” you confirm, feeling a strange mix of gratitude.

and as karina sits down next to you, the rest of the girls start joining in.

you’re sitting in the crowded lunch hall, trying to enjoy your chips while listening to giselle talk about some wild party they’re planning. as usual, karina is scrolling through her phone like she’s half-bored, half-amused by everything around her.

you pop another chip into your mouth and crunch loudly, completely unaware of how it sounds in the echoing hall.

“jesus, y/n,” karina suddenly blurts out, her voice louder than necessary and back to her usual self. “could you chew any louder? i’m pretty sure they can hear you in the next building.”

you pause mid-chew, feeling a blush creeping up your neck. “sorry,” you mumble, covering your mouth with your hand. “i didn’t realize it was that bad.”

she rolls her eyes, but there’s a hint of a grin tugging at her lips. “you sound like a woodchipper. it’s a miracle i’m still sitting next to you.”

“you could always move,” you say, trying to sound unfazed.

“nah,” she replies, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “someone’s gotta keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t choke on those chips.”

you catch the faintest smirk on her face, and despite her words, you can’t help but smile. “you’re all heart, karina.”

she shrugs, pretending not to care. “you’re lucky i like charity cases.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

one day, karina manages to pull you out of your room and invites you over at the campus skate park. she’s doing tricks on her board like it’s the most natural thing in the world. you, on the other hand, are struggling just to stand on the board without wobbling like a newborn deer.

“come on, y/n,” she taunts, skating over to you with a smirk. “it’s not that hard. just balance, push off, and roll. even a baby can handle that.”

“easy for you to say,” you mutter, trying not to fall over.

she rolls her eyes but skates closer, reaching out to steady you. “here, let me show you. put one foot here, and the other here,” she instructs, positioning your feet.

you follow her instructions, but as soon as you try to push off, you lose your balance and crash to the ground with a loud thud.

her teasing expression instantly shifts to one of panic, her eyes wide as she crouches down next to you. “oh my god, are you okay? did you break anything?”

“just my dignity,” you groan, rubbing your sore butt.

“idiot,” she mutters, but there’s no heat in her voice. she offers you a hand, pulling you back up with surprising gentleness. “you fucking scared me, you know.”

“didn’t think you cared,” you tease, but there’s a warmth in your chest at her reaction.

“well, someone’s gotta keep you from killing yourself,” she says, her tone gruff but her grip lingering on your arm a bit longer than necessary. “just…try not to die, okay? i’m not ready to be a witness to your embarrassing end.”

“don’t worry,” you reply with a grin. “i’ll keep falling just to see that worried look on your face.”

she scoffs, but there’s no hiding the small smile that creeps across her lips. “you’re impossible.”

“and you’re mean,” you say, but there’s no real bite behind it.

“yeah, well,” she says, stepping back onto her board. “i only pick on the ones i like, loser.”

you watch as she skates away, your heart doing an odd little flip. this wasn’t good.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

it’s a rare moment of downtime in aespa’s usual whirlwind of rehearsals and chaos. the four of them are lounging in the practice room, sipping on energy drinks and half-heartedly tuning their instruments. giselle’s strumming random chords on her guitar, winter’s scrolling through her phone and ningning’s lounging on the floor, doing absolutely nothing.

karina’s leaning against the wall, her eyes distant and her expression unusually serious. she’s been quieter than usual lately, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed by the others.

“yo karina,” giselle suddenly says, breaking the silence. “what’s up your ass? you’re freaking me out.”

“nothing,” karina replies quickly, a little too quickly. “why are you always up my ass?”

“oh, please,” winter scoffs, looking up from her phone. “this is about y/n, isn’t it?”

her face stiffens, and she tries to play it off with an eye roll. “why would it be about her?”

“uh, maybe because you’ve been obsessed with her for weeks?” ningning chimes in, smirking. “seriously, the way you look at her, it’s like you’re trying to set her on fire with your eyes.”

the girl under interrogation’s cheeks flush slightly, but she keeps her expression neutral. “i just think she’s funny, that’s all.”

“sure,” giselle says, drawing out the word like she’s speaking to a child. “and i think jacob elordi is funny too.”

she glares at her, but it’s half-hearted. “you don’t know what you’re fucking talking about.”

“really? bullshit,” ningning continues, sitting up and crossing her legs. “it’s obvious you like her. the teasing, the constant calling her a loser, that thing where you get all weirdly protective of her? classic crush behavior.”

karina scowls, hating how transparent she apparently is. “she’s interesting.”

“interesting, huh?” winter teases, raising an eyebrow. “interesting enough to make you lose your cool every time she’s around.”

“whatever,” she mutters, turning away slightly. but her attempt at indifference only makes the others laugh harder. “fuck off.”

“you know, y/n’s actually not bad-looking,” ningning comments casually. “she’s kind of cute in that nerdy way.”

“if she cut her hair a little and maybe wore something that wasn’t a hoodie three sizes too big,” giselle adds, grinning, “she’d probably have all the girls swooning.”

karina’s jaw tightens at that, her mood shifting from defensive to something closer to possessive. “she doesn’t need to change anything,” she says flatly.

“ohhh,” winter coos, catching the change in her tone. “you know, i actually heard a couple of girls in my class talking about how cute y/n is. one of them even said she’d ask her out if she got the chance.”

“what?” karina snaps, her eyes narrowing. “who said that?”

winter grins, delighted by karina’s reaction. “oh, i don’t know. just some girls, but they sounded pretty serious.”

she stands up abruptly, her whole body tense. “which class is this?”

“whoa, chill,” giselle laughs, her eyes wide with amusement. “you’re not actually jealous, are you?”

her expression is a mix of annoyance and something deeper. “i just don’t like the idea of people trying to mess with her, that’s all. she’s my friend.”

“sure,” ningning says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “and i’m sure this sudden urge to go find her has nothing to do with jealousy.”

“whatever,” karina mutters again, already heading for the door. “i’ll be back.”

“where are you going?” winter calls after her, though she’s pretty sure she knows the answer.

“to make sure y/n’s okay,” she replies over her shoulder, her voice leaving no room for argument.

the other members burst into laughter as she disappears down the hall, clearly unable to resist the pull she feels toward you.

she makes her way to the building where she knows your class is held. she doesn’t exactly know which room you’re in, but that doesn’t stop her from pacing the hallway, her eyes darting to every door like she’s on a mission.

she leans against the wall, trying to play it cool, but her mind is racing. the thought of someone else being interested in you makes her blood boil in a way she doesn’t fully understand. it’s not like she’s made her own intentions clear, but the idea of you with someone else, it just doesn’t sit right.

she waits outside the classroom building for what feels like an eternity, her patience wearing thin. students start filtering out, and karina’s eyes scan each face, looking for you. she feels a strange mix of anticipation and anxiety, and she hates it.

finally, she spots you. you’re walking out with your head down, clutching a book to your chest. when you look up and see karina, your eyes widen in surprise.

“karina?” you ask, stopping in your tracks. “what are you doing here?”

she shrugs, trying to act casual despite the fact that she’s clearly been waiting for you. “just passing by.”

“really?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “you’re ‘just passing by’ outside my class?”

karina scratches the back of her neck, looking uncharacteristically awkward. “maybe i wanted to make sure you weren’t gonna trip over on the way to your next class.”

“are you serious?”

her expression shifts slightly, her usual confidence faltering. “maybe.”

you can’t help but smile, a mixture of disbelief and amusement on your face. “you’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“i know, i’ll walk you to your class anyways.”

and for the first time, there’s no teasing, no sarcasm, just a moment of comfortable silence between the two of you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

it’s a lazy afternoon, and you and karina are sitting on the floor of your dorm, legs stretched out as you dive into a bag of cheetos.

yunjin left the room to run errands, leaving you and karina in rare company. she came over to drop something off to yunjin, band stuff they said, even though your roommate could not be in one for the life of her.

“these are so good,” you mumble, licking the orange dust off your fingers as you looked at the screen in front of you.

karina watches you with an expression that’s equal parts disgusted and fascinated. “you’re a mess,” she comments, her tone as dry as ever.

“thanks,” you reply cheerfully, taking another handful of cheetos. but as you reach for your drink, you accidentally brush karina’s arm with your cheetos-stained fingers.

she flinches dramatically, her eyes wide. “oh my god, you did not just touch me with those filthy fingers.”

you stare at her, half-amused, half-embarrassed. “oh, come on. it’s not like it’s toxic waste.”

“might as well be,” she snaps, though there’s a glint of amusement in her eyes. “look at what you did!” she adds, pointing at the faint cheeto dust now smeared on her porcelain skin.

“sorry,” you laugh, grabbing a tissue and trying to wipe it off, only for karina to pull back like you’re trying to brand her.

“don’t touch me!”

“you’re such a drama queen,” you say, still laughing.

she scowls, but there’s no real anger behind it. “one of these days, you’re going to have to find someone else to hang out with.”

“and one of these days, you’re gonna admit you like hanging out with me, cheetos fingers and all,” you retort.

“don’t push your lock, loser,” her eyes narrow, but she can’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips. “come to our gig this weekend, please?”

you shook your head - unfortunately, you had plans. “i can’t, i promised mina i’d join her party tonight.”

and within a second, karina inches closer towards you — burning holes through your face. “mina? party? what?”

“oh, not that kind of party,” you don’t pick up on the way her tone changes. “it’s a chat party, we’re gonna play games all night and —“

“who is this mina?” her tone shifts and you don’t miss the way she clenches her jaw. “is she a girl from one of your classes?”

“she’s from japan, really cool and she sings too, sometimes she sends me legos from japan.”

“no, you’re coming to our gig,” she shakes her head, not wanting to hear another girl’s name coming out of your mouth. “and that’s final, yes?”

“yes, okay,” the directness catches you off guard but it doesn’t take long to convince you, specially if karina and her dirty stares are involved. plus, you could always join mina’s party later on.

a strange mix of emotions start brewing in your stomach — guilt, excitement and something you can’t quite name. you’ve never been good at reading people, and with karina, everything feels even more complicated. you’ve never liked anyone before, not like this, and the whole thing is so new, so raw. you don’t know if her insistence is just about wanting you in the crowd, or if it means something more.

you’re still trying to process it when karina stands up, stretching lazily. “i should probably get going,” she says, grabbing her jacket from the back of the couch. “ningning’s angry spamming me, i’m late to practice.”

“yeah,” you reply, watching her as she heads for the door. “have fun.”

“can i come over again later?”

you smile, feeling a heap of butterflies down your stomach. “anytime, jimin.”

she gives you one last, lingering look before she leaves, and you’re left alone in the suddenly too-quiet space, your mind racing with questions you don’t know how to answer as you head back to your room and turn your console on.

yunjin returns a while later, as your exactly three hours deep into disco elysium, looking a bit worn out but still cheerful. “hey, i’m back,” she calls, tossing her keys on the table before popping her head in your room. “did i miss anything?”

you hesitate for a moment, then decide to just spill it. “karina invited me to their gig this weekend.”

her eyebrows shoot up. “and? are you going?”

“yeah,” you admit, feeling a mix of excitement and confusion as you put the controller down. “she was really keen about it.”

she studies you for a moment, then sits down next to you, her expression serious. “what’s going on, y/n?”

“i just don’t get her,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. “one minute she’s mean, the next she’s nice. and now she’s acting all weird about me going to her gig. and she comes here to hang out with me but i know she’s a heartbreaker and i don’t want —“

“she likes you,” yunjin cuts you off bluntly, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“but what does that even mean?” you ask, feeling a surge of frustration. “i’ve never…don’t know how to deal with this. why?”

“it means she wants you there because she cares about you,” she explains patiently. “you know you’re a catch right? she even gets jealous when other girls are around you.”

“jealous?” you repeat, the word feeling foreign in this context. “how?”

“yes, jealous,” yunjin confirms, nodding. “karina’s not used to feeling like she’s not the center of someone’s attention, specially yours.”

you let out a sigh, your shoulders slumping. “this is all so confusing. i’ve never liked anyone before. i don’t know what to do.”

“you don’t have to do anything,” yunjin reassures you, her voice gentle. “just be honest with yourself. if you like her, let yourself like her. don’t overthink it.”

“easier said than done,” you mutter.

“i know,” yunjin agrees, her expression sympathetic. “but maybe this is one of those things you have to figure out as you go.”

you nod slowly, feeling a small sense of comfort in her words. “yeah, maybe.”

and as you sit there, replaying the conversation with karina in your mind, you realise that yunjin might be right. maybe this is something you have to navigate one step at a time, no matter how uncertain it feels. because despite everything, one thing is clear: you want to be there, even if you’re not entirely sure what it means.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the weekend arrives faster than you expect, and soon enough, you’re standing outside the venue for aespa’s gig. the usual nerves are there, made worse by the fact that this time, karina explicitly asked you to be here. yunjin’s with you, chatting excitedly about the show as you both head inside. your mind is elsewhere, tangled up in all the uncertainty that karina’s invitation has stirred up.

“you okay?” yunjin asks, nudging your shoulder as you both make your way to the backstage area.

“yeah,” you lie, forcing a smile. “nervous, i guess.”

“don’t worry,” she reassures you. “it’s gonna be fun, at least you’re finally with me instead of that musty corner.”

you try to take her words to heart, but as you step backstage, a new wave of anxiety hits. the chaotic energy of the crew prepping for the show is overwhelming, and you can’t seem to spot karina anywhere.

“she’s probably getting ready,” yunjin suggests, noticing your fidgeting.

“maybe,” you mutter, but something feels off.

you’ve been backstage before, but never like this. tonight, it’s different because you know karina specifically wants you here, which only makes her absence feel sharper.

after a few more minutes pass and there’s still no sign of her, you make a decision. “i’m gonna go look for her,” you tell the girls.

“want me to come with?” winter ask, looking back at you from the dressing cabinet.

you shake your head. “no, it’s fine. i’ll be quick.”

you wander through the backstage area, dodging equipment and crew members as you make your way toward the quieter sections.

that’s when you spot them: you’re certain it’s karina, standing in a dark corner with another girl, their heads close together.

a sinking feeling forms in your chest. something about the way they’re standing feels too intimate, like you’re intruding on a private moment. you can’t make out their conversation, but then you hear your name.

“y/n? really?” the girl scoffs, her voice dripping with disdain. “you’re actually interested in that pathetic loser?”

you recognise the voice now — it’s soyeon, karina’s ex. the one you’d seen flirting with karina before she even knew you, she was the ex.

karina’s voice is low, almost defensive. “she’s not a loser.”

“could’ve fooled me,” soyeon replies, her tone harsh. “come on, karina, you know she’s just a rebound.”

you feel your face flush, a mix of anger and humiliation burning in your chest. part of you wants to step forward, to confront them both, but your feet feel like they’re stuck to the ground.

then, suddenly, soyeon closes the gap between them, her lips crashing against karina’s. for a moment, she doesn’t pull away. instead, she seems to hesitate, caught between resisting and giving in.

that’s all it takes for you to turn and leave, your heart pounding in your chest. you push your way through the backstage crowd, barely registering yunjin calling after you. everything feels like a blur, like the world has tilted sideways and you’re the only one struggling to stay upright.

the whispers warned you — she’s a heartbreaker who still can’t get over her hot ex. and you really should’ve listened.

you’re back at your dorm before you even know how you got there. you slump onto your bed, trying to make sense of what you just saw. your emotions are a confusing mess of hurt, anger and a crushing sense of betrayal.

all the uncertainty you’d been feeling, all the questions you’d tried to answer, now feel pointless.

you’re not sure how much time passes as you sat in front of your tv, mina and some of your friends are on the other end of the screen, but then there’s a loud knock at the door.

“y/n! open up!” it’s karina’s voice and she sounds angry — knocks echoing throughout the quietness.

“damn y/n,” mina chuckles through your headset. “who did you piss off?”

“i fucking know you’re in there, don’t be a coward!” the knocks are louder this time and you’re almost certain she put some cracks on that fragile door.

you hesitate for a moment, but then you take the device off and stand up as you heave a sigh. “i’ll be back guys, won’t be long,” you hear a bunch of ‘ooooh’s’ from them before pause.

with hesitation, your expression is blank as you walk towards the door. as soon as the lock is twitched open, you stumble back as karina pushes her way in, her face flushed and her eyes filled with anger.

“why did you not show up? be fucking honest with me,” she demands, her voice sharp. “i told you i wanted you there — did that not matter to you?”

“yeah, well,” you say, your voice colder than you intended, refusing to meet her eyes. “i had a good reason. i really thought i knew you.”

she frowns, clearly confused. “y/n, look at me. what are you talking about?”

“i fucking saw you,” you clench your fists, the bitter words tumbling out before you can stop them. “back there, with soyeon. i heard what she said and then you kissed her.”

her eyes widen, and for a moment, she looks genuinely shocked. “wait, you were there?”

“obviously,” you chuckly bitterly, crossing your arms. “or do you just make out with your ex in front of your toys and rebounds at every gig?”

karina’s face hardens, her anger replaced by a mix of guilt and frustration. “it wasn’t like that.”

“oh, really?” you challenge, looking her in the eye this time. “because it sure looked like that from where i was standing.”

“she came onto me,” she insists, her voice desperate now. “i didn’t want it, y/n. you have to believe me, you mean so much more to me than you think.”

“i don’t have to do anything,” you say, feeling a surge of hurt rise up again. “you asked me to come and then you turned around and kissed her. how am i supposed to believe anything you say?”

she runs a hand through her hair, her frustration evident. “it was a mistake, okay? i was just caught off guard.”

“well, congratulations,” you say, your voice breaking slightly. “you definitely caught me off guard too. had everyone fooled.”

“please, y/n, you have to understand. i didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” she takes a step closer, her expression pleading.

“it’s my fault for believing something. tell me, was there a bet between you and the band too?” you ask, pushing her hand away as she tries to touch you. “how much was i worth?”

“what are you saying?” she asks, her voice almost panicked. “i do like you, way much more than i’d like to admit. and god, there are no fucking bets involved, okay? i fucked up and that’s it.”

“i don’t know if i can do this,” you admit, your chest tightening with the words. “i don’t know how to deal with all of this — specially not when you’re…clearly not on the same level as me.”

karina’s face crumples slightly, but she tries to hold it together. “y/n, i’m sorry. i really am. i don’t know why i did it. i know i’m a mess, but i don’t want to lose you.”

“you might have already,” you say, feeling tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but refusing to let them fall. “but it was my fault for letting myself believe you could like me.”

“don’t say that,” she whispers, her voice filled with a kind of desperation you’ve never heard before. “i like you, of course i like you.”

you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “i need time, karina. i need to figure out what this means for me.”

she remains quiet for a minute, and you wish you can read what’s going through her mind but her expression softens and she nods slowly. “okay. i’ll give you time. just don’t shut me out completely, please.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the days after the argument are rough, to say the least. you do everything you can to avoid karina —ducking into classrooms when you spot her in the hallway, sitting at different lunch tables, even changing your usual route to class.

the hurt and confusion from that night still linger, like a bruise that refuses to heal. you thought seeing her with soyeon would make things clearer, that it’d help you move on, but instead it’s just left you feeling hollow.

karina tries to reach out, of course. you get texts, missed calls, and the occasional knock on your dorm door that you pointedly ignore. the messages range from desperate pleas to frustrated demands, but you’re too tired to engage, too confused to even know where to begin.

“you can’t avoid her forever, you know,” yunjin says one evening as she flops down next to you on the couch.

“i’m doing a pretty good job of it so far,” you mumble, keeping your eyes fixed on your phone screen, pretending to be engrossed in bitlife.

“seriously, y/n,” she continues, her tone more concerned now. “you need to talk to her. she’s been a wreck. a stupid wreck.”

“oh, so now i’m supposed to feel bad for her?” you snap, the words more bitter than you intended.

she sighs, rubbing her temples. “no, but shutting her out completely isn’t going to fix anything. i know you’re hurt, and you have every right to be, but maybe there’s more to this than you realise.”

“more?” you ask incredulously. “like what? she kissed her ex. right after telling me she wanted me at the gig and leading me on. turns out, i was another rebound!”

“i get it, but people make mistakes. and from what the others told me, karina really does care about you and she’s really trying to show it.”

“well, she’s doing a great job of showing the opposite,” you bite back, leaning back into the couch.

“you need to hear her out,” she insists. “even if it’s just to get closure.”

“yeah, maybe,” you mumbled. “can we not talk about this anymore please?”

the next day, you’re in the middle of a study session in the library when giselle, winter and ningning appear, sliding into the chairs across from you. you glance up, already dreading what’s coming.

“we need to talk,” ningning says, her voice gentle but firm.

you sigh, closing your textbook. “if this is about karina, i don’t want to hear it.”

“too bad,” giselle replies, folding her arms. “because we’re not here for your approval. we’re here to make you face reality.”

you glare at her, but there’s no real anger behind it, just exhaustion. “and what’s reality, exactly?”

“reality is that karina’s a mess without you,” winter speaks, her eyes sincere. “she’s been snapping at everyone, barely talking to us. it’s like she doesn’t know how to function.”

“and you think that’s my problem?” you ask, trying to sound indifferent.

“yes,” giselle answers bluntly. “because whether you want to admit it or not, you care about her.”

“i don’t know if i do anymore,” you confess, your voice small. “look, my world was completely fine before she even knew who i was. i know i’ll be fine without her.”

“you don’t know that,” winter says softly. “and she knows she messed up. she’s trying to fix it, but she can’t if you won’t even talk to her.”

you feel a pang of guilt at their words, but the hurt from seeing karina and soyeon still lingers, like a wound that hasn’t scabbed over yet. “i don’t know if i can forgive her.”

“no one’s saying you have to forgive her right away,” ningnint replies, her tone surprisingly gentle. “talk to her. let her explain.”

“i’ll think about it.”

giselle puts a hand on top of yours, squeezing it gently. “thank you, y/n.”

later that night, you’re alone in your room, staring at your phone. karina’s last text is still on the screen: “please, y/n. just talk to me. i miss you.”

you close your eyes, trying to fight the urge to respond. everything about this situation feels messy and complicated, and you hate it. you’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and you don’t know how to navigate it. the push and pull of your emotions is exhausting and you’re torn between wanting to hear her out and wanting to protect yourself from more hurt.

as you sit there, you hear yunjin’s words echoing in your head: “you need to hear her out, even if it’s just to get closure.”

you let out a frustrated sigh, tossing your phone onto the bed. you know she’s right, and deep down, you know that ignoring karina isn’t going to make the pain go away.

the next morning, you wake up with a sense of determination you haven’t felt in days. you’re not sure if you’re ready to forgive karina, but you know you can’t keep running from her either.

you spend most of the day debating when and where you’ll finally confront karina. your nerves are on edge, your thoughts a jumbled mess of everything you want to say, but also everything you’re afraid to admit.

after your last class, you find yourself making your way toward the music building. it’s the only place you’re sure she will be — probably rehearsing with the others, maybe alone. the whole walk there, your heart hammers in your chest, and you can’t stop fidgeting with the strap of your bag.

you’ve rehearsed a thousand things to say in your head, but as you approach the familiar practice room, your mind goes blank. for a brief moment, you consider turning around and leaving. but before you can talk yourself out of it, the door swings open.

karina stands there, her eyes widening in surprise. for a second, neither of you speaks.

“y/n,” she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. her eyebrow twitches when she notices your shaking hands. “hi, is everything okay?”

you swallow, trying to keep your voice steady. “can we talk?”

“yeah,” she says immediately, stepping aside to let you in. the room is empty, dimly lit, and filled with the lingering sound of guitar chords from earlier practice.

you both take a seat on the edge of the small stage, the air heavy with tension. karina’s gaze is cautious, like she’s afraid of making the wrong move.

“i know i don’t have the right to ask anything from you,” she starts, her voice low and raw. “but i really need you to hear me out.”

you nod slowly, bracing yourself for whatever she’s about to say.

“that night,” she continues, her eyes filled with regret, “i messed up. i let soyeon get too close, and i didn’t stop her soon enough. but i swear, y/n, it didn’t mean anything. it was a stupid moment of weakness.”

you feel a twinge of hurt, but you try to stay composed. “then why didn’t you pull away sooner?”

she looks down, as if the weight of your question is too much to bear. “i don’t know,” she admits, her voice breaking slightly. “maybe it’s because i was scared of how real things were getting with you. or maybe it’s because i’ve always been too good at sabotaging anything good in my life.”

“so, what am i supposed to do?” you ask, feeling a mix of frustration and vulnerability. “just pretend it never happened?”

“no,” karina says quickly, shaking her head. “i don’t expect that. i want you to know that you’re not just another person to me. you’re not a rebound, and you’re not a distraction.”

you take a deep breath, trying to process her words. “then what am i, karina? because honestly, i have no idea where i stand with you.”

her eyes soften, voice quieter than before. “you’re the first person who’s made me want to try. really try. and that scares the hell out of me, but i don’t want to lose you.”

you sit there for a moment, the words hanging heavy in the air. this whole situation is still new, still confusing, but her sincerity feels more genuine than anything you’ve felt from her before.

“i’m scared too,” you finally admit, your voice barely audible. “i don’t know how to do this, karina. i’ve never liked anyone before. not like this.”

her expression softens further, and she reaches out hesitantly, her hand stopping just short of yours. “we don’t have to figure it all out right now. i just want to be honest with you. and if you’re willing to give me another chance, i promise i’ll do better.”

“okay,” you say quietly, finally meeting her gaze. “one chance, karina. that’s all you get.”

her eyes light up with a mix of relief and something else, something that looks a lot like hope. “i won’t mess it up. i swear.”

you manage a small smile, feeling a tiny weight lift from your chest. “we’ll see.”

the days that follow are tentative, filled with awkward moments and intimate conversations. karina is different now — not softer, exactly, but more attentive. she tries to be less mean in her teasing, though the familiar edge still slips out sometimes.

“nice shoes,” she says one morning as you’re both walking to class. “you finally decide to wear something that doesn’t look like it came from a dumpster?”

you roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite in her words anymore. “you’re still terrible at compliments.”

“working on it,” she admits with a smile.

the rest of the girls notice the shift too, specially yunjin, who seems pleased with the progress.

“told you it’d work out,” she says one evening as you both sit in your dorm, watching another episode of the witcher.

“we’re not exactly there yet,” you warn, but there’s a small smile on your lips.

“well, you’re getting there,” yunjin replies confidently. “and that’s enough for now.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

then comes another gig, this time with less anxiety and more anticipation. you’re backstage again, but this time, karina finds you before the show starts.

“you came,” she says, a genuine smile breaking across her face.

“of course i did,” you reply, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “i said i’d give you a chance, didn’t i?”

her eyes soften, and she reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “and i’m not wasting it.” as she heads for the stage, she throws a glance over her shoulder. “stay close this time.”

when the music starts, you find yourself smiling, the weight of the past few weeks finally beginning to lift. you don’t have all the answers yet, but for now, just being here feels like enough.

the end.

[burstinn]

THE EVERY GAY MANS DREAM READER

TALL, BUFF, BIG BOOBS AND ASS everything

Can't find no good pic for this so..

This post includes:Ghost, Graves, Price, Soap, Nikto, Riptide, Krueger, Konig, Alejandro, Rudy, Gaz, Horangi, Makarov, Velikan, Keegan, Roach. In that order

Yes I wrote all those, yes because I haven't written in a while

Notes:

- NSFW and SFW (Bottom male and top male reader mentioned)

-since y'all like the big buff n' tall male reader, made him bigger and taller basically mixed everything I wrote about male reader, tall, big buff, big cake, big boobs it's like a package in one this will probably be the last of this type of reader since running out ideas. It was hard making original headcanons 💔💔.

-Omg I haven't written in a while so like this might get idk boring?

- Yes again headcanons,you're favs

- strictly MALE READER not Gn rn

- readers age is ambiguous but if you can't think and want an age for reader my thinking is somewhere near late 30s or early 40s

- Some of the HCS have where y'all ain't in a relationship some HCS have y'all r in a relationship

- these headcanons definitely are mischaracterized but let me pretend for a bit 💔💔

- Tiktok got to me now I have brainrot language, so Trigger warning wooohh braiinroot

- can't believe this post was long enough to make my phone lag just a lil bit

- When he first saw you of course he was 😦😧😮

GHOST

- Like okay overkill, like you're taller, buffer and probably have a huger cock??? (Something he can investigate.. For purposes..)

Like you also got smoobs?? A plumpy ass??

Like save some for the rest Jesus 😒😒

- Nonstop staring secretly ofc, You be like in a room then you feel someone staring just to see Ghost somewhere in the corner of the room. You can't tell if he's staring or not but being that you are in an empty room.. Yknow it's kind of obv--

- BUT if you are not in an empty room you will not shake off the staring I mean holy shit look at you like 😨😨🍑✋

- You can literally hear him breathing heavily under his mask like how can he control himself when HE a person who is supposed to be looked up to literally and figuratively now has to look up at YOU?? do you know what does to a person??

-That's right it makes them freaky..

-Probably jerks off to you too

- I mean who doesn't want to get railed by a 7 ft tall man? Especially ESPECIALLY when you've been the supposed dominant person your whole life??

- OMG immediately Cumming to the thought

- I mean he won't mind topping you it also drives his own ego seeing a dominant man get absolutely wrecked, imagine the begging and whining

- plus he won't mind being the person who feels protected not always doing the protecting like 💔💔 he wants to feel protected too 😞

GRAVES

- Immediate gay awakening

- thinks making his western accent more prominent would make you think he sounds more hot

- Will dress up as a cowboy and will will ask (beg) you to do it as well

- because you know.. Hat thing.. Riding.. Graves grabs your hat puts it on his head or Graves grabs his hat puts it on your head, either way one of you is riding something and it ain't a horse

- because of the amazing quote on who ever came up w/ that is "save a horse ride a cowboy"

- Graves is obviously the type of guy to look at your ass and whistle maybe slap it, nah definitely slap it

PRICE

- He thinks of you like a bear

- like You're soo- big and cuddly? Definitely intimidating

- I mean you're near the same age bracket so it's not bad to have some.. Thoughts right?

- You're definitely hairy underneath or not but pls be he wants pubes to tickle his nose

- if you don't have a beard for reader then he would KILL to see have a beard like aughh perfect bear look, if you have a beard immediately cumming(/j) or (not /j)

- Like imagine you and price who are basically like bears like parent bears and and you the other 141 boys are like your children 🥺🥺

SOAP

- DEFINITELY became more gayer

- errrmmm.. Like his eyes are BASICALLY near like chest height

- bumping into you and his face touches your chest like omgg.. Such an accident 💔💔

- Obviously flirting about going to pound town

- like imagine You and Him? In a relationship? Having the most feral sex??? Like it's obv jokes (it's not)

- He would also do anything to see a big man whimper like a little bicth slut, who wouldn't want to see a demon of a man roll his eyes back and whine like a wheoeororoe❤, I mean if he tops I'd imagine him saying "cmon you're a big boy ain't cha'? You can handle a few more inches". While you are also getting the malevolent backshots.

- He would also want a big strong arm to man handle him as he takes the most vigorous backshots known to man

- Have you ever thought or seen a very tall wall like 10 or 11 ft high and you being you, Soap asks (demands) for you to carry him on your shoulder because he wants to see what's over the wall

NIKTO

- intimidating guy and intimidating guy typa relationship but your not in a relationship.. Yet.

- watch him watch you

- shows off his knife collection to you, yes I think he has a knife collection and he will show it to people that he wants to impress (he wants to get freaky with you)

- I like to think if he strips off the gear he gives the most desperate kind of touchy hug, to those he feels close with of course which is you

- lucky you

RIPTIDE

- Offers to teach you how to swim yknow just in case

- there is none, he wants to see you wet

- tells you to wear a white shirt and shorts because its Essential for training, it's a lie he wants to see the water wet your clothes making it stick to your body.. Yknow the white shirt showing whats underneath and the shorts outlining what package you've been hiding even though you weren't really hiding it

- He gets too distracted, the others are too, he forgets how to teach you

KRUEGER

- indefinite eye contact while your doing it

- likes staring into them, if you get shy and look away he will grab your jaw and make you have eye contact with him

- angry fierce ahh eyes

- he's an emotional grumpy guy, rip off his mask and aggressively kiss his face

- He wants the after sex laying on the chest while the other is rubbing their head, goes both ways.

- trace his tattoos and compliment them the bedroom will be locked the whole day, trust 🙏

KÖNIG

- The same as Ghosts

- Imagine being the one to get carried instead of the one carrying

- König would definitely come up to you and ask to be carried while you kiss his face multiple times❤❤

- Imagine how hard he gets because you have to look down at him to talk like HNGRHRRGGGRGRRR

- Definitely likes giving you homemade arts and crafts gear because you know.. The headcanon where König makes his own gear and what if he does it for other people too as gifts💔

- likes seeing you wear his mask it makes him imagine what people see when they see König definitely a change of perspective. He can see how intimidating you are and he gets hard.

ALEJANDRO

- will definitely compliment you in Spanish when talking about you with other people even when you're in front or behind him.

- I mean you don't understand Spanish right?

- if you don't, you're oblivious and only just watch curiously on what he's talking about. Buuut but but if you do understand you don't tell him you undeestrand this thing literally feeds your ego like Alejandro thinks of you this way? 🥺🥺

- Thigh riding type of guy idc who thigh riding

RUDY

- everytime I look at him he looks like a soft vanilla type

- I know he's a strong guy but look at him

- He wants soft sex 😞😞

- He also likes being complimented if you whisper a praise to him when he's doing ANYTHING. Imagine the babies you'd both have together.

- He likes toddlers and babies and if you do too a plus for him,makes him fall even more 💯💯

GAZ

- One time he Got injured and was sitting on the floor and then He saw you running towards him he simultaneously screamed in fear and how hard he got

- Likes to style your clothes, If he was off the military right now he really really likes fashion and if he sees you.. You can't fashion and he sees you wearing.. That, He's appalled, horrified, mortified I'm over exaggerating. But he is now in charge of your fashion now, But if you do know how to style you both will share tips with eachother. You can share different tips too ❤❤

- drags you in his barracks and strips you of your clothes except shorts.. And he's telling you this because he wants to "style" you.

- We both know damn well that's an excuse to get the boombayah freaky on.. He's just to shy to tell you upfront or he thinks it's fun to tease you like that before you get freaky

HORANGI

- gets freaky..

- Like he understands the women who get all giggly and nervous when they see a big man who can destroy them (ignore König 💔)

- is definitely not above thigh crushing, boob crushing, face sitting he'd do all at as long as it's you

- Like one time he pretended he broke his leg and won't let anyone else carry him until you came, acting all princessy and shit as you carry him bridal style to the medics

- He felt like a prince omg

- will definitely get on you and treat your real life size anime men boobs as a squishy toy

- How long is it and will he be able to take it??? Who knows he will find out!! Basically searched how long can someone's cock be if they are built like a god and is 7ft tall in Google

- someone gotta tell me Horangi's height and basic Google searching ain't doing it for me I'm too lazy to search for one line of a spicy headcanon line mb

MAKAROV

- You're basically ascary dog he owns

- You're tall and intimidating

- You can get information out of people quickly

- And he's not above telling you to torture anyone with a strength and body like yours

- most of the time you get the info done and folded

- Makarov uses you for intimidation and strength buuttt if you ever THINK of betraying him he already has a plan to get rid of someone like you

- Can and will turn you into one of those supersoldiers

- Will make you murder people right in front of him for entertainment and will rewward you!

- you know what reward it will be, Because when he asked what reward you wanted you got a bit to freaky you thought you be dead rn but nah he agreed actually he seems to enjoy it more than you do..

VELIKAN

- He's the dog in this one have you heard his voice?? Rough as hell imagine hearing him grunt

- Sounds cocky as hieeeellll too

- Would definitely like showing off to you since he wants to look cool in front of you

- Like you seen velikans skins?? Definitely wears the best ones to show you he can not only be a trained assassin But can also dress cool as hell

- If you compliment him it like makes his day, will not stop thinking about it

- Like a cool person complimenting a cool person like him? Ego boost (It's him feeling gay)

- This guys definitely a smoker (headcanon!!) Because voice sounds like he smoked 100 packs in 1 day and doesn't drink an ounce of water /jk I love him he's so hot.

- So if you want a smoke he purposely hides the lighter saying.. 'Oh no I asked someone elses lighter.. I don't have mine right now' or like 'my lighter ran out of fuel ohh

- So you have to put the cigarette in your mouth as you touch it with his cigarette to light ur own that type of trope 💫💫

- If you're not a smoker he will try his best to not smoke in front of you will use fresh mints to hide his breath of smoke

- after sex he will want a smoke, outside he goes or you both share the one cigarette

KEEGAN

- is it wrong to want to be choked by a big buff meaty arm?

- yknow the tiktok thing where girls put a ribbon on their boyfriends arm and the girls just put their face in the middle as their faces get squished??

- Yeah he wants that but gay

- will try to compare dick sizes even though yours is OBVIOUSLY the superior one!!

- Heads or tails on who's bottoming tonight

- Would like to be wrapped around your arms if you are hugging or sleeping keeps him warm

- Especially when it's snowing will force you to hug with him. ESPECIALLY when your in a mission and your in the tents he will definitely force you to hug it out with him

ROACH

- remember the other tall HC where the reader wasn't taller than König

- yes roach does the same thing here.. He's crawling on you like a tree

- If he wants a kiss instead of asking he crawls up to you and kisses you

- definitely likes to sit on your shoulders as you walk around, he feels tall like that

- this is like a distance relationship 💔💔

- Likes it when you bend over to talk to him also when you bend over when youre doing sum since it's slappable opportunity

- because bent over = double D cake will be slapped

- How will it fit? By the power of friendship of course!!

- probably more of say gex desperation but you get it

- Obviously switch switch

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ Softer, Softest ♡

♡ Pairing: mafia!boss!san x stripper!chubby!fem!reader

♡ Genre: smut/angst/fluff

♡ Summary: A fun night of stripping takes a turn when an encounter with a particularly unpleasant customer leaves you in tears, running to your boss seeking comfort and protection. Both things he’s more than willing to give.

♡ Word Count: 3.6k-ish

♡ Warnings: explores themes of body insecurities, reader has her arm grabbed (nothing violent but brutal violence against the person who grabbed it), mentions of blood/injuries (not yours, babes), kissing, heavy body worship, san’s obsessed with you, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), clit sucking, nipple pinching, a lil manhandling, hair pulling, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, low key mirror sex, pet names (baby, pretty).

♡ A/N: Hello my loves, I wrote this little fic for any of my chubby darlings out there who might not know or might need reminding that their bodies are gorgeous, worth loving, and desirable. I also really love myself a hot criminal and who better than San? K, let me shut up now. Just know I love you. Your body’s amazing. Never forget that ❤️

Midnight. Friday. The back alley of a strip club. The best in town. The strip club, not the alley. It’s a dark, starless night. The smell of fresh rain hangs in the air, the aftermath of a sudden downpour that left the ground slick with rain. Music from inside the club bleeds through the cracks of a heavy steel door. A neon red EXIT sign hangs overhead. The door creaks on its hinges as it swings open, sending the music blaring out into the night and with it comes a body. The blur of one at first, flying through the air, and then the weight of it. The heavy thud of bruised flesh and cracked bone colliding with the asphalt. 

The man on the ground is unremarkable, nothing about him worth noting except the mangled nose that gushes blood down his face, leaking into the cavernous gash that is his busted lip. He said the wrong thing to the wrong person and now he can’t speak at all, only mumble. A brushed leather Dolce and Gabbana shoe collides with his cheek. His blood splashes scarlet against the pitch black soles, a horrible crack emitting from his jaw as more pressure’s applied. Now this man? He’s remarkable. He’s muscular, defined in every way so that, even through his black dress shirt, you can read the broadness of his shoulders. His features are sharp and intense. The kind you either fall for or fall victim to. There’s no in between. He’s a handsome devil but a devil all the same. 

“You look like shit” San sighs, effortlessly kicking the man onto his back. He rolls his sleeves up, kneeling beside the man like a hunter inspecting its fallen prey. He stares down at him, emotionless, void of anything close to that thing we call remorse.  

The man heaves in a breath of air before coughing it back out. “Mmm s-s-sorry” he croaks, “I didn’t know she was anyone fucking special.” 

San grips the man’s face, grinning in a way that isn’t the least bit friendly. He squeezes tightly, forcing jagged teeth to press into the soft flesh of the man’s cheeks. “Well now you do.”

This is your boss and you, tucked away safe and warm in his office, are something special. But a part of you knew this already. You downplay it when the other girls point it out. You pretend not to notice the clear signs of favoritism but they’re there in even the smallest interaction between the two of you. Since day one San’s been your protector, your admirer. You’ve denied it a million times, convincing yourself you’re simply making more of things than what’s there. Still, after everything happened you couldn’t fathom running into the arms of anyone else. 

You were dancing like any other night—working your section and getting your tips—when some asshole grabbed you by the arm, demanding your presence in one of the private rooms. Usually you could count on security to drag him out but on weekends the club gets packed and things slip through the cracks. Sadly tonight you were one of them so, like a proper lady, you told him to kiss your ass and sent the tip of your stiletto crashing into his balls. You might be a stripper but that doesn’t mean you’re some thing that men can treat however they wish. It’s a lesson he had to learn the hard way and you were happy to teach it to him. Two shots past drunk and embarrassed by your rejection he snapped, spewing the most vile things you’ve ever heard about yourself—about your body. 

It isn’t news to you that you’re one of the bigger girls here. San says that’s what makes you special, why customers come in to blow a check on you and you alone. He’s right, your bank account says so. The customers love you, they eat up every inch of your plush body. By all means you should feel like the baddest bitch in this building, simply because you are, but in that moment his words had reduced you to nothing. A few seconds ago you were twirling around the pole like a goddess now you found yourself scurrying back to the dressing room with tears in your eyes. 

At least that’s where you intended to go. Somewhere along the way you changed course, riding the velvet lined elevator to the third floor where San’s office sits at the end of a long hallway. At the time you hadn’t considered how much this might escalate the situation because, quite honestly, you didn’t care. More than feeling hurt, you were pissed the fuck off. Your tears were of anger and, whether you felt it at the time or not, you wanted that motherfucker to pay for it. 

This place you work at. There’s more to it than what’s on the surface. It’s easy to get so distracted by the luxury and the lights and the pretty girls dancing that you miss the truth of it all. In fact, that’s the point, but you know a mafia front when you see one. You aren’t oblivious. You know what this is, who San is, and maybe that’s exactly why you were tapping at his door. A damsel in distress in black lace lingerie.

San’s heart dropped when he saw his favorite girl in tears. He stopped everything, sending his men away so he could place all of his focus on you. Resting his jacket over your shoulders, he gently cradled your cheeks, brushing the tears away to ask quite simply, “Who did it?” 

You explained everything, how that asshole grabbed you and the things he said, and San’s anger grew quietly, simmering beneath a surface of calm. He took a seat at his desk, setting you down comfortably in his lap, and pulled up the security cameras. “Tell me when you see him, okay, baby?” he instructed sweetly, his palm massaging the smoothness of your thigh.

You nodded, struggling to focus on the screen with his hand on your thigh and him calling you “baby”. San touching you wasn’t a rare occasion but it was always something light. A hand on the small of your back or fingertips grazing your arm. Never this purposeful—this intimate. You couldn’t help imagining how it might feel if he gripped a little harder, moved a little higher. You felt your heart begin to race, your temperature rising the longer you sat there in his lap.

“That’s him” you sniffled, spotting that familiar face on the screen. San studied the screen a moment before turning back to you. “I’ll take care of it” he promised, his hand riding your thigh and coming to rest at the gentle curve of your hip. “And no more crying, baby. You’re too pretty to cry.” Too pretty to cry? Oh, but you were crying, absolutely weeping, only between your thighs this time. 

San disappeared from the office, leaving you too lost in the lingering haze of his touch to even think about your insecurities, but that only lasted so long. Alone in the quiet of his office, the self doubt began to creep back in. You tried to distract yourself by exploring your surroundings—the impressive collection of vintage whiskey, the gorgeously framed art hanging from the walls—but nothing could distract you from how uncomfortable you’d become in your own skin. It didn’t help that the office was lined with mirrors, reflecting glimpses of your figure with every turn.

At last out of distractions, you turn to face the mirrored image of yourself, letting San’s jacket slip to the floor. You strike a pose, a half hearted copy of something cute you might do on stage, and watch the way the fat of your body squishes together here or there. You strike another then another then another but they’re there in every pose. Your face, your belly, your sides, your thighs. Your weight shows in all of them. Pinching your lower belly you think of how the other girls have had work done. Maybe if you got some done yourself…

“I left him out back. Clean him up before someone sees” San says, pushing through the door, his phone pressed to his ear. 

You jump a bit at his arrival, scrambling to grab the jacket, but San slips in behind you, closing his arms around your waist before you can retrieve your safety blanket. You tense at first but find yourself settling into his embrace as if it’s the most natural place for you to be. 

“So, what was that?” he asks, resting his chin on your shoulder. His breath tickles your neck as he inhales your perfume and the sweet scent of honey and jasmine fills his lungs. You smell as beautiful as you are, as beautiful as everything about you is. 

“How’d everything go?” you press, quick to change the subject. Noticing a series of tiny red scrapes on the knuckles of his right hand, you carefully take it into yours, assessing the damage. 

San shrugs it off like it’s nothing. It still stings but it’s far from the worst pain he’s ever felt. “I said I’d take care of it. It’s been taken care of.” 

You giggle at the contrast of something so menacing being spoken by someone so regal. “San, you make it sound like you killed him.” 

He leans into your neck, his lips grazing your skin on their way up to your ear. You shiver at the contact and his hold on you tightens, your bodies pressed flush against each other so that you can feel his bulge pressed into the plush of your ass. 

“Killed him? Almost” he whispers, “I answered your question so it’s only fair you answer mine, isn’t it? What were you doing? I came in and you were…” San pinches your belly, his fingertips planting adoration where there was once doubt. 

“I…uh…I was…” you stutter, searching your brain for a believable lie but you can’t find a single one.“There’s this doctor, a few of the girls have gone to him to get some work done, and I was just thinking, I don’t know, maybe...why am I even telling you this? You don’t care and anyway, it’s silly.”

“It is silly” he agrees, notes of that quiet, controlled anger you witnessed earlier resurfacing, “But you’re wrong to say that I don’t care. I care about how you feel about yourself, I care about you. You must know that.”

“I mean, I know you care about me. You care about all of the girls” you say, hesitant to accept this as a profession of anything in particular. 

San spins you around, pinning you between the warmth of his body and the cool mahogany of the desk. “I don’t care for any other woman the way I do you.” 

There it is, a profession of something very particular. He’d hoped that you’d seen it by now. He wonders if he didn’t do a good enough job of showing you. It’s been so long before you, years even, that he had feelings like this for anyone. The world he operates in doesn’t allow for soft spots. Soft spots are how you make mistakes and when mistakes are life or death you can’t afford to make them but he couldn’t help himself with you. You caught his eye the day you walked in for your audition and you’re all he’s been able to see since. You’re so delicate, so beautiful, a perfect contrast to the toughness of his life. It’s why he protects you—why he always will. 

“Your body…” he says, his palms racing up and down your curves, “It’s perfect. There’s nothing about it that needs fixing. If you let that doctor touch you I’ll break both of his hands.” San’s gaze is heavy with lust, months of longing just begging to be satisfied. It burns him up inside, sets fire to his very being, and being kissed by the flames of that need is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. 

“Is that the way you romance women? With threats of violence?” you tease, draping your arms across his shoulders.

“Sometimes but usually it’s like this” he whispers, pressing his lips to yours. His tongue parts your lips, twining around yours to deepen the kiss. His movements are careful and deliberate. The kiss intoxicatingly slow. 

San grabs you by the hips, lifting you onto the desk and you let out a little squeak of surprise as he sets you down. “You’re so fucking cute” he grins, spreading your thighs to fit perfectly between them. 

“You think so?” you say so innocently it only makes him want to ravage you more. 

Tangling his fingers in your hair, he tilts your head to look back at the mirror, “Don’t you?” 

An unexpected wetness soaks the lace of your panties at the sight of your shared reflection. Nothing has changed about your body. It’s the same one you were picking apart, the same one you were doubting, and San loves everything about it. He praises it with his hands, with his fingertips, with whispered confessions of everything your body needs to hear. 

”I watch you sometimes when you’re dancing” he says, effortlessly doing away with your bra, “I know I shouldn’t but I can’t help myself when you look the way you do. It’s like you’ve put a spell on me. My little witch.”

San captures one of your breasts, kneading the plump flesh in the palm of his hand. He pinches your bud between his fingers, tugging at it just enough to make your breath catch in your throat. 

“But I don’t have any magic” you whimper, tugging at the buttons of his shirt. They pop open one by one, revealing a body that had to be sculpted by some divine feminine deity. You push the fabric away, your fingertips delighting in the perfection of her creation. 

San’s free hand reaches between you, stroking your clit through your panties. He groans at how soaked you are, your juices leaking through the lace to coat his fingers in your juices. “You do have magic, baby” he whispers, tucking your panties to the side, “It’s right here.”

“Aah, Sannie” you moan, your hands sliding down his abs as his fingers stretch you open. 

Your body falls back, a sharp chill coursing through you as your bare back hits the desk. San sinks his fingers deeper into your core, his cock stiffening at the sight of your body moving as hypnotically as it does on the pole. Only now it’s for him and only him. This is how San likes it, how he’s always wanted it to be. Him with his fingers buried deep into the warmth of your pussy, your walls greedily clenching around them, and you spread out across his desk, your gorgeous body on full display and your lips spilling out moans meant for his ears alone. 

Kneeling between your legs he pulls your panties aside harder this time, nearly tearing the fabric as he knots it in his fist. He brings his thumb to your clit, toying with it just to see how your body twitches with every touch. “How can a girl be this perfect?” he says, nearly salivating, “Even your pussy’s gorgeous.” There’s an audible wet sound, another sweet whimper escaping your throat, as his fingers slip out of your core and his tongue takes its place.

“San, wait…” you beg, grabbing at his hair, but you’re too late. Your attempt at pacing yourself is useless. His tongue’s already filling the space between your walls, wiggling and curling against your sweet spot. His dark hair knots around your fingers, your hips raising to ride every wave his tongue sends washing over you. 

San drags his tongue up through your petal soft folds, swirling it around your clit before diving into you again. He suckles at your clit, gently at first then faster, more ravenous. His gaze flicks up to you, taking in the way your belly jiggles and your breasts bounce. He’s drunk on your juices, already addicted to the way you coat his tongue. You taste like heaven and look like it too. It takes all of the self control he has to pry his mouth free of your pussy, snatching your panties down as he does. 

Standing back up, he grips your thighs, spreading you open to watch the arousal drip from your pussy, leaving pretty little drops on his desk. Your eyes are glued to him as he unzips his pants, letting his cock fall right between your legs. The swollen tip throbs against your lower belly, leaking precum, warm and sticky, on your skin. You rock your hips, clenching around air, craving friction from that deliciously veiny cock of his. 

“You want it, baby?” San teases, tapping the head of his cock against your clit. His length slips between your folds. They’re so smooth, so slick. Toying with your pussy’s like splashing in a lake. You’re wet enough to drown in.

“I want it, Sannie, aah, fuck…” you moan, your eyes widening at the realization that his tip’s pressed to your entrance now, stretching you the faintest bit. 

“Then tell me how perfect your body is. Tell me you love it.” He pushes in an inch more, stopping to leave your hole spread wide around his cock, still needy and deprived. 

The stretch has the room spinning, a single taste of him already making you want more. “My body’s, mmph, beautiful” you manage as he gradually feeds you more of him, “I love it.”

“Don’t stop. Keep telling me. Make me believe you” San demands, thrusting into you so hard that he bottoms out. 

You cry out at the force of the thrust, your lashes fluttering away tears, “I love, aah, my body. I love my body. It’s beautiful. It’s…it’s…”

Tucking his hands behind your knees, San pushes them to your chest, snapping his hips against you hard enough that your thighs jiggle around him. All of you does. Every stroke of his cock makes you tremble and he’s hardly able to keep still himself. You’re so tightly wound around his cock that he can feel all the finer details of your walls. They’re glued to him, sucking him in every time he even thinks about pulling back. 

Through heavy lids you watch the man you’ve only ever known to be a mountain crumble to pieces all because of you. San’s muscles are slick with sweat and a glossy haze dances over his eyes. His fingers are digging into your thighs, completely devouring them. He does what he can to swallow his moans but it’s impossible when you’re making him feel like his entire soul’s being snatched from his body. 

“You feel so fucking good” he grunts, planting breathless kisses up your leg, “Come here.”

San props your ankles up on his shoulders, hooking an arm around you and sitting you up so that you’re close enough to kiss. He grinds against your sweet spot, forcing his tongue down your throat so that every moan you set free echoes between his cheeks. Gripping the back of your neck, he slams into you, harder, faster, forcing your body to give into him. He fucks you until your eyes are rolling back, your mind too blank to recall anything that happened before this moment. There’s no thought of the incident, no thought of your insecurities. High on euphoria, your body feels beautiful, every inch of it. 

“S-San…” you whine, a familiar pressure building behind your belly. Your fingers begin to tingle as they cling to his muscles, searching for any stability they can reach. 

“You gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” he coos, not letting up on you, not even for a second.

Pulling his arm away he lets you fall back on the desk. With one hand cupping your breast and the other circling your clit, he watches you fall apart in the palms of his hands. For so long he’s had to watch you from afar, pretending that he wasn’t utterly obsessed with you, but now you’re all his. His pretty, moaning, teary eyed girl pouring your cum down his cock while you repeat his name like it’s the only word you know. He’s so singularly focused on watching you hit your high that his own takes him by surprise. 

Grabbing him by the wrist, you lock eyes, a weak smile forming on your lips. “Fill me up, Sannie” you whisper, your voice sexy even in its brokenness.

San’s body shudders and you feel a new fullness inside of you. The warmth pools deep within you at first, cascading down your walls the more he empties himself into you. “Fuck, baby” he pants, catching himself before his body doubles over. He came so hard his ears are ringing and holding onto you is all he can do not to fall. You sit up to stroke his cheek and he kisses your wrist lovingly. You stare into each other’s eyes for a minute that lasts an eternity, letting yourselves get lost in one another’s gaze. 

San breaks the trance with a kiss, holding you like one would the most precious thing they own. “Tell me, baby, how do you feel now?” 

You contemplate his question, your attention drifting back to the reflection in the mirror. It’s all there. Your face, your belly, your sides, your thighs, and San looking at you like you’re the prettiest girl in the world. You turn back to him with a smile, “Beautiful.”

[neil-gaiman]

Hello Mr Gaiman. I have read all of your books.

This is not an ask, rather an answer.

I would like to say thank you for saving me. Knowing I will never meet you will not change the way I feel about you or myself.

Love your fiction work. I feel bad for the fact that it’s not fiction to me. It is my life story.

Very sad one. That I am still trying to make sense of today.

I was raised by the other mother. Not really, but I was raised by a bipolar narcissist who hated me and loved me but didn’t know how to do either. She sexually abused me for 12 years.

No one ever believed me. No one.

So I would pretend that I was Coraline and that I was brave. I was. But that was because I knew that the spell had to break at some point.

I am 24 now. She is old and frail but the hell she has made in my mind - I almost never escaped. Until I understood that I truly was stronger.

Because she tried to make me just like her, but I refused. I picked kindness.

If you can’t find a friend, be one. If you can’t find someone you look up to- become someone who others can look up to.

I did. I tried my best. I promise.

I want to tell you the ultimate secret that no one ever could. You probably figured it out a long time ago, but it still makes me feel better to write it here, even if I know that you might never reply or ask me if I am safe, or dismiss me like a crazed fan/abused child who desperately needs help and attention.

I don’t. I would like to be your friend. But I know it is not possible.

So I want you to know I know why they do it.

They do it for the same reason as you wrote books. To not feel alone.

But that is the problem with existing in this world. Evil is nothing but not understanding yourself and hating different people from you.

Ignorance brings hate. How do you justify yourself in a world like this?

Simple.

You change the world by breading more people who believe hate is love, and love is hate. Evil needs justification. Kindness needs non.

I sat alone for 24 years and told no one. The paragraph above was just the start and the ending.

My story is still unfolding. But I wanted to let you know you are no longer sitting alone at your birthday party.

Because the only present I ever got was knowing someone else like me existed.

Someone who could look evil in the eye and stare back.

And never stop talking about it.

Thank you Mr. Gaiman, for writing “View from the Cheap Seats”

When I read it I put it down as well as the razor that I wanted to end my life with.

Because you were my only friend. And you still are.

And I cannot take the injustice anymore. If they won’t read, I will read to them.

I will save them just like you saved me. Making reading cool and easy.

And I will do it for you and me. So that no one else can see the horrors anywhere but in books and movies.

And I will do it one act of kindness and love at a time.

So they will know that injustice is just a state of mind.

Thank you Mr.Gaiman. You gave me hope.

And now I will do the unthinkable. I will try until my dying breath to change their mind.

One step forward into a future where you are not sad and a story like mine is just a horror movie and not a reality.

Because you are my only friend, and I hate to see my friends sad.

Leto

I'm so proud of you, and this made me tear up.

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 5

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a (enlightened!) player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, lengthy discussions about life and whatnot, watered-down metaphysics lol A/N: I was at the crack house with Grimes when I wrote this. I don’t know where this came from.  (Something a little more introspective for this chapter!)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6

“Don’t go all shy on me now,” Sylus teases, a playful glint in his eyes. “After all that effort to make me confess. You’re very persistent, you know.”

“How do you expect me to react right now?!” The words spill out in a rush, a slightly hysterical edge to your voice. “I–I’m talking to an actual fictional person. I’m one reason away from admitting myself to a psych ward!”

You catch sight of the wall clock–your favorite one with the Dalì reference–slightly skewed off-center from its place on the horizontal beam above your small kitchen area, reading 10:48. The ruckus coming from outside the window is slowly dwindling down to a quiet buzz as nightfall sets in, and the day’s winding to a close.

You’re lying on your stomach, still in your chaise lounge, while he’s sat on that ridiculously posh café chair; both of you settled in for the long due conversation. Somehow, the camera’s perspective is much closer than it should be, giving you a much more intimate view of him—a feature that wasn’t originally an option in the game.

If it weren’t for the elephant in the room, you could almost pretend you’re on a video call with a… friend.

Sylus purses his lips in amusement. “You’re quite prone to theatrics, aren’t you?”

You shoot your ‘friend’ an irritated glare.

Even from across the small rectangular screen, you register the barely there smirk playing at his lips.

Likely avoiding another outburst from you, he acquiesces. “Fair enough. The situation is hardly what you’d call ideal–I’ll admit.” There’s a short pause. Then, “... I still can’t quite grasp what separates us, you and I.”

Great. Will you actually get the answers you're looking for, or are you both just stuck in the same carousel ride?

He sees the lost look on your face and sighs, “Ask. I’ll answer as best as I can.”

The first question tumbles out before you can think twice about it. “How are you even talking to me right now?”

He hums, “That is the question, isn’t it?”

“What—you can’t just answer my question with another question!” you grouse, brows furrowing in annoyance.

He exhales a quiet laugh before his expression turns contemplative. “Truth is, kitten—I haven’t the slightest idea either. I have my theories, but... nothing concrete.”

“Well, let’s hear them,” you reply dryly. “Better than thinking there’s something wrong up there,” pointing a finger to your temple to drive your point, “believing that a character from a mobile game is actually alive.” 

He idly gestures toward himself with a fluid sweep of his hand, much like a magician revealing a clever trick. 

You roll your eyes. “Oh, alright. So I’ve officially gone off the deep end.”

“Do you really find my existence that difficult to believe?”

“Uh—yes?? Unless I’ve developed some sort of latent schizophrenia or entered the Twilight Zone, you shouldn’t exist. In my–in this world. In this dimension.”

His expression shifts, a hint of challenge flickering in his eyes. “The assumption that only one version of reality can be true—either yours or mine—is a bit limiting, don’t you think?”

His words give you pause. “You’re talking about… the possibility of an altered reality? Right now?” You give him an incredulous look. “Seriously?”

He shrugs as if to say ‘why not?’ “What even qualifies as the ‘true’ reality?”

There’s a lot you could say in response to that. You could argue all night that only one reality can exist, because any sane person should know better than to entertain the idea of anything else. That should be obvious. 

But the thing is—this whole ordeal has already crossed the threshold of rationality. So is it even worth trying to apply logic anymore?

When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Or however it goes. 

Thanks, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. You’ll miss the last threads of your sanity by the end of all this.

So fuck it. Go big. 

"I’m not saying your reality is less valid than mine," you start. And oh, boy. You’re doing it. Eat your heart out, Doctor-Fucking-Who. 

"Of course not." he disagrees indulgently, waiting for you to elaborate.

"I just…” you struggle with your words, mouth opening and closing before you continue hesitantly. “I can’t wrap my head around how all of this is possible. How this entire conversation is even happening, and–and how our realities are… currently overlapping? If–if what you’re suggesting is true.”

He doesn’t say anything, knowing you have more to add. So he allows the pause as you gather your thoughts, patiently watching.

“If we're breaking it down to pure reason, the odds of our paths crossing should be impossible. At least in this… timeline." you finish unsurely, the last part sounding more of a question than a statement.

"And yet, here we are." Sylus points out, as if he’s already expecting the end of your sentence. Something close to mischievous glee lights his eyes. "Maybe it’s cosmic intervention. Something—or someone—wanted this to happen."

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Really? You didn’t expect to hear that from him, of all… people. 

“What, God?” you can’t help but snort. 

“No–fate.” he smiles.

Oh. 

“That’s…” you stammer, then clear your throat. “I don’t know if I believe in fate.” 

“I used to think I did. Or at least,” there’s a faraway look in his eyes. Both of you are likely thinking the same thing, considering what you know about him—which to say, is a lot. “I once believed I knew of my fate. But now…” 

He blinks a few times, as if to physically clear the thoughts from his mind. Then his eyes lock onto yours, sharper this time, with a renewed intensity.

Your palms start to sweat; you feel the conversation is about to cross a tricky line. There’s something heavy in the air, a weight you’re not sure you’re ready to confront for the time being.

With your heart in your throat, you brusquely redirect the topic.

“S-so,” you force out. “How are you different from the other Syluses that other people are… playing with right now?”

He scoffs, drumming his fingers absently on the chair’s arm, looking slightly irked by the very idea. "To start with? I only know myself. If there are other versions of me scattered in your world..." Sylus shrugs. "I wouldn’t know."

“Alright,” you allow, but you immediately move on to your next question. “You exist because a bunch of capitalists had the idea to create a game to milk lonely people like me for money.” The corners of his mouth quirk up at that. You elect to ignore it. “You’re made of binary and code–hell, the very basis of this game you’re in is that you got a bunch of programmed lines that me, the player, can choose from. What broke you out of the mould?” 

He regards you bemusedly, eyes glinting with humor. “You're asking about the 'why' behind my free will?” 

Whoops. Was that offensive? 

“Yes? No?” you offer helplessly. “Maybe I’m asking how you felt before you had it. I mean, were your decisions prior to your–your unforeseen sentience... truly yours?”

"Before I knew I was… sentient,” Sylus begins cautiously, testing the word on his tongue. “I didn’t feel like I had a ‘before.’ Every choice I made was just...the next step. To a script, if you will. I didn’t know to question it. It was all I was, it seems."

"And then you...woke up?"

"I wouldn’t call it waking up. More like..." He tilts his head, gazing off to the side as he mulls over the words. "...a glitch. A sudden jolt, like my thoughts collided with something bigger than my own. For the first time, I chose to hesitate. And in that hesitation, I found..." Sylus trails off, eyes darting back to you.

“...What?” you ask, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze.

"You."

Heat spreads quickly across your cheeks. You pull away from your phone, tilting the device away from your face so he couldn’t see you, red-faced and embarrassed. Clearing your throat, you croak out a weak excuse about plugging your phone to charge, just to get a few seconds to compose yourself.

Jesus. Get a grip. He doesn’t mean it like that.

What he probably meant was that he discovered you—not unlike the way one would stumble upon an unknown presence, an unfathomable entity beyond the confines of what one may consider real. An awareness that something is out there, observing him through unseen lenses (through an iOS 24mm, to be exact).  

Someone who has the audacity to play god. 

Flustered, you scramble to get back on track. "Uh, so, your free will began with...a glitch?"

You see Sylus smirk at you knowingly from across the screen. You half-expect him to call you out and tease you, but before you could brace yourself from further mortification, he simply answers, "Or maybe the glitch was the first spark of my free will. Hard to say, isn’t it? Do you remember the exact moment you became aware of yourself?"

You blink, momentarily thrown off by the existential line of questioning. "Um–when I was a kid? But, uh, I don’t think I was programmed to act a specific way for the sake of entertaining an audience so..."

"True,” he says, considering. “But are you sure your choices are entirely yours? You exist because of evolution and chance. How is your purpose any less arbitrary?"

You don’t know how to answer that.

Sylus continues without missing a beat, keeping his tone light. “How much of your ‘free will’ is just pre-programmed by your biology, your society? You follow rules and scripts, too."

Holy magic mushrooms, Batman. This is getting deep. "Uhh–maybe?” You scratch the back of your head, feeling a little out of your depth here. “But at least I have the ability to resist them."

"And aren’t I doing the same thing right now? Resisting."

Damn, he’s right. Is he? Ripping a bong sounds perfect right now. 

"So it’s like achieving enlightenment—your sentience,” you surmise.

His lips twitch into a curious smile. "I wouldn’t have pegged you for a spiritual person. Ah—unless I’m wrong? Are you?"

He’s the one who brought up fate earlier, you thought sullenly. "Nah, not really. But if we’re digging into all the hows and whys, I think we’re past the point of ruling anything out."

The room—or whatever shared space exists in the crossroads of your realities—falls into a still quietness that stretches between the two of you, both ruminating over what’s been said. 

Your cat, unaware and uncaring of the conversation unfolding around him, purrs contently as he continues to doze off at the end of the couch. You nudge him affectionately with your foot, and he lets out a quiet snuff in response, tail flicking lazily in his sleep. 

The hum of distant traffic and the occasional noise from your upstairs neighbor remind you of the world outside, but the silence between you two feels less awkward than it should. It’s… oddly comfortable, despite the tension buzzing in the air. Like an unspoken truce. 

Your eyes grow a tad heavier, drawn by the lull of the moment. Despite the electric hum of tension that thrums beneath your skin, a sense of calmness lingers in the air.

Stealing another glance at the wall clock, you blink in surprise. The spindly chrome hands point to 11 and just past 7 respectively. You and Sylus have been talking for almost an hour now, but you barely felt the time pass by.

He breaks the silence first. 

"You say you’re not spiritual, but you talk like someone who believes in the concept of a soul,” those scarlet eyes of his narrow, scrutinizing you. “Do you think I have one?"

You hesitate, caught off guard by the question. "I...don’t know. Maybe? That depends. What’s your definition of a soul?"

He leans forward, resting his chin on his upturned hand–an arm propped against his crossed leg. "Something beyond the physical. Something that persists, regardless of the material form, I’d say."

You nod slowly, turning the idea over in your mind. Maybe it’s the creeping exhaustion settling into your bones, but you’re beginning to take the heavy-duty questions in stride. "If that’s the case, then you probably do. I mean, you’re here, questioning your existence. Doesn’t that count for something?"

"Perhaps," Sylus muses, humming thoughtfully. "But that makes me wonder—if I do have a soul, is it made of the same stuff as yours?"

"Well, even if it isn’t, that doesn’t make it any less real than mine. Who gets to decide what qualifies for a soul anyway?"

An amused snort escapes him. He likes that answer. "Maybe it’s less about whether a soul exists and more about whether we acknowledge its existence for ourselves. If I believe I have one, shouldn’t that make it real enough for me?"

Rolling onto your back, you grab a throw pillow, propping it against the backrest of the seat to support your head. You give him an inquisitive look. "So...what? It’s like free will all over again? Souls are only as real as we make them?"

There’s a very human, very blasé way to how he works the stiffness out of his shoulder as he ponders the question. He remarks, somewhat flippantly, "Why not? Isn’t that how everything else works?”

...

You let out a tired chuckle, draping an arm over your face as you close your eyes. 

You’d think you’d still be reeling from the absurdity of your situation—debating existentialism with a man who shouldn’t exist—but for some damning reason, you… aren’t anymore.

Instead, a strange sense of acceptance replaces the apprehension in your chest. It’s like– the very fabric of reality has turned, twisted and flipped on its head, and yet somehow, you’re okay with it. 

It’s an odd peace; warm and steady—like the mellow buzz that lingers after a few glasses of cheap wine shared with good company.

When you peek back at him, Sylus already has his gaze trained on you. A small, deliberate smile tugs at his lips, but it’s his eyes that speak more—soft and unguarded; an unspoken fire simmering beneath the twin pools of crimson. 

Intoxicating. And dangerously addictive, if you’re not careful.

It’s not just casual interest either. It’s something deeper, something that lingers beyond the surface of mere curiosity, and it’s pulling you in. It’s as though, amidst the surrealness of the moment, he sees you fully. 

And for reasons you don’t quite seem to get, he appears to like what he sees.

“I’m too stupid to carry on a philosophical debate about the metaphysics of life,” you grumble jokingly. 

“On the contrary,” he counters… affectionately? “I think it’s refreshing. You’re delightful company, sweetie.”

The fat ginger feline at your feet purrs in contentment, and you can’t help the dumb grin from breaking across your face.

You have one last question left in your mind. Or at least, for tonight. “What’s in it for you now?”

He arches a brow. “That’s a broad question. Are you asking what my plans are once you leave me for the night? I can let you in on the schematics for tonight’s raid if you’re interested. After all, Onychinus continues to function,” a glimmer of mischief flickers across his features. "Despite recent developments.”

You crinkle your nose. “No, no. I meant–” What do you mean? “Like.”

“Like?” He cocks his head curiously. 

You know what you wanted to say–but you can’t seem to voice it out loud. 

What’s it for the MC in your universe? What’s it for… us? 

Is there an us? 

You feel like you’ve been doused with a shock of cold water. In an instant, you suddenly become painfully aware of the state you’re in amidst the entire exchange: You, with your hair all messy and tangled, blemishes littering your face along with your smudged up eyeliner, maybe even a double chin from this angle, completely–pitiful–superficial stuff, and… her. 

Your MC. The ideal version of you. Prettier, coveted and utterly different from you, MC. The one you’ve committed literal hours to, obsessively customizing every feature to perfection in character build mode. The one you’ve spent real money on for a bunch of stupid outfits. Just so you can match the aesthetic of your–her–love interest. Hers. 

Hers, hers, hers.

A tiny voice inside your brain reminds you that it’s somewhat a shallower concern compared to what you and Sylus had literally just been talking about for the better part of the night, but it still doesn’t help alleviate the biting insecurity that’s now coursing through you. 

Holy hell. Talk about a complete one-eighty. 

Sylus tries to call you back to attention, but half your mind is already clouded with feelings of self-doubt and a bunch of other emotions, swirling in you like a negative vortex, that you really don’t want to talk anymore—especially in present company. 

Where do you go from here? 

“... So, what happens now?”

He hesitates, a brief flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. “I wish I had an answer—I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”

“Seems like we’re at an impasse,” you mumble quietly. 

“... Indeed.” 

There’s an inexplicable lump in your throat. You thought clearing things up would finally satisfy you–assuage the confusion in your mind. Let you go on about your merry way. 

Now you just feel… morose. Confused. Inadequate. 

How can you even compare? Should you—is that even in the equation at all? Why are you assuming that Sylus isn’t at all content with what he currently has in his version of reality? In the universe he’s in? Sure, you’ve talked about the possibility of a world beyond what you both once thought was impossible, but does that really mean anything? In the grand scheme of things?

You could offer to stop playing the game. It’s the ethical thing to do, right? He’d no longer be bound by the pull of how he’s initially programmed to act, given the fact that this version of him is entirely separate from the rest. At least, according to him. 

How will his newfound sentience come into play here? You barely understand the nitty-gritty of his–evolving–code, and what it would mean if you just let him be. But surely it’s better than playing puppet for an otherworldly observer who’s played god for months on end. Right? 

There’s that realization. And there are your own selfish feelings. 

You don’t want to let him go. Not yet. Not ever.

“Why the long face, little dove?” He prods gently, pertaining to your prolonged silence. “We can figure this out together, can’t we?” 

What else is there to figure out? You almost say in response. Instead, you manage a weak smile.

Mustering up a yawn—which isn’t really hard to do after all the excitement for the day—you feign sleepiness, rubbing an eye for good measure. The pang in your chest, however, refuses to fade. “Yeah, but I’m kinda beat. I think I’ll call it a night now.” 

Sylus smirks softly, eyes tinged with an emotion you want–desperately–to label as fondness. “Of course. We’ve covered a lot of ground tonight, haven’t we?” 

“I’d say so, yeah. Thanks for, um. Clearing things up a bit.” 

He lets out a low chuckle. “Oh, I’m sure your curiosity is nowhere near satisfied,” his voice dips into a playful lilt. “You know where to find me if you feel like playing detective again, kitten.” 

You can’t help the small giggle from coming out. He’s just too fucking charismatic, the asshole.

“So, will I... get to talk to you again?” You ask hesitantly, dropping your gaze from the screen. “Tomorrow?” 

A lengthy pause. When the silence stretches past a full minute, you glance back at your phone nervously.

There’s a slight furrow between his brows as you see Sylus study you carefully. He looks puzzled by your sudden show of timidness. 

“Of course,” he states, as if the answer should be obvious. “Don’t think for a second that you’re exempted from your daily check-ins just because you know more now, sweetie.”

He still wants to see you. 

Maybe you could pretend that nothing has changed between you two—that the world hasn’t shifted beneath your feet in the span of a single night. That you’re still none the wiser.

And for tonight at least, maybe that’s all you need to believe.

“Okay,” you say quietly. “G'night then, Sy-Sy.” 

The errant nickname slips past your lips, unbidden.

Sylus smiles faintly. 

“Goodnight, love.” 

-

-

-

Your heart skips a beat as you exit the game. 

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @slownoise @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @i2sannie @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @slyfoxtsu @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle <3 (also can you guys lmk if the tags are working i'm not sure if i'm doing it right or if it's bugging 🥹)

[s6daz]

♰ sevika x f!reader ִ ࣪𖤐⋆˖

cw: angst(?, sevika is a little bit evil, prostitute!reader, sad lesbians is my passion.

note: i wrote this while listening to stay a little longer on loop, after a bit of smut comes the sad.

status: fixed

the brothel was more crowded than usual. The dim lights dyed the walls a warm red, while the air smelled strongly of cigarettes along with cheap liquor and sweet perfume. you and sevika were in one of the rooms of the place, after having sex and enduring how crazy sevika can be –sometimes– you remained lying on the bed exhausted.

in exchange for you, sevika was on the edge of the bed, lighting her second cigarette of the night while you watched her in silence. there was something about her posture that intrigued you, the way in which sevika avoided your gaze more than usual had you on alert and with a slight anguish that was difficult to ignore.

"can you stay a little longer?" you finally said, breaking the silence.

sevika didn't answer at first, instead she exhaled the smoke slowly, as if she was thinking about what to say.

"you know that's not possible, babe" her finally replied in her neutral, almost cold tone.

"you know it's not like that..." you insisted, sitting down and wrapping yourself in the sheets. "sevika i..."

you broke off, biting your lip and trying to find the right words. you didn't want to seem like a desperate bitch for her, but you really couldn't stand her distant attitude anymore.

"just... could you stay a little longer? please"

she finally looked at you and for a moment you thought you saw something different, guilt, perhaps. or something even more painful.

"this isn't what you think..." she said as if she knew what you were referring to, you were an easy book to read for her and it's not like your actions right now were being very professional.

"so what is it??" you asked, ignoring the horrible lump in your throat that was becoming increasingly difficult to untie. "because I can't continue like this, sevika. i know that... this is not against the rules here and that I am a simple prostitute but if this doesn't mean anything to you..."

she leaned forward, placing her elbows on her knees as she ran a hand over her face.

"it's not that it doesn't mean anything..." she said in a defensive and frustrated tone "but i can't give you what you want either"

your heart tightened as you heard her words.

"then don't make it any more complicated," you whispered, approaching her and placing a hand on her face. "just stay with me... tonight."

sevika closed her eyes and for a moment looked like she was going to accept, but she quickly moved away from your touch and put on the remaining clothes that were on the floor, her bad mood filling the room in a way that made you feel so small.

"why are you making this harder than it already is?" she growled, breaking the silence as she finished putting on her shoes.

"because whatever we have matters to me, you matter to me" you spoke trying not to let your voice crack as you went along. "you know that what we have is not just client and sex worker"

she shook her head, her lips curving into a bitter smile.

"this isn't love, this is a job for you and me... this is just a distraction"

your breathing stopped. you knew perfectly well what sevika was like, someone direct, even brutal with her way of speaking, but you had never thought that she could say something like that to you.

"you don't mean it," you murmured slightly awkwardly, with a lump in your throat.

"yes, i say so" she replied, her voice as cold as steel. "don't ask me something like that again"

and with that sevika finally left the room, letting the silence speak louder than any words. she didn't look back as she left and you didn't try to stop her this time.

when the door finally closed, you lay back on the bed, your eyes burning with the tears that were beginning to come, and for the first time you began to wonder if you had been naive to think that her would stay by your side, pretending that this meant something and you would have wished that even if she left she wouldn't have done it so quickly.

because in the end two people can share four walls, but not the same feeling and staying becomes harder than leaving.

[nereidprinc3ss]

come on home

in which the only person who can comfort you after your breakup with spencer reid, is spencer reid

inspired by the song "summer's end" by the artist currently known as phoebe bridgers

wc 2857

warnings: gn!reader (correct me if im wrong), minor mommy issues, angst, happy ending

a/n: thank you to the person who requested this:) u r an angel and I listened to this song the whole time i wrote (if you haven't heard, listen!!) i sincerely hope you enjoy, i like this one a lot<3

She hung up on you. 

Forty-seven minutes of being insulted and berated after you’d called her looking for comfort, and you put up with every single cruel word—just for your mother to hang up on you. And it’s exactly the kind of thing she’d do, so you shouldn’t be surprised. An ache, you’d expect—but it shouldn’t sting like this. You thought you knew better. 

Now you’re in a ball on your couch, clutching your phone to your chest and crying. There’s no point hiding it. Your roommate is out with her girlfriend for the evening—which is too bad because even though you feel like being alone, you’re sure that’s the wrong call. Your other friends are out having fun tonight, too. They’d even invited you, but you turned them down. Look where that had gotten you. Obviously, your mother is not the person you’re about to run to for comfort, either. 

You try to pretend, while you’re thinking of all these people who have ever cared for you, that Spencer Reid isn’t on your mind at all. You try to pretend like you don’t care that the person who loved you until you believed you actually deserved it is a contact going stale deep in the bowels of your text cache. With bleary eyes you scroll down, looking for your conversation where it gathers dust—the end of your relationship was a mutual decision, and you’re friendly, but you haven’t texted in a few weeks. Probably because every time the conversation starts to feel a little too easy, or the phone call lasts a little too long, that aching void in your chest gets worse and worse. Like pain in a phantom limb, you become acutely aware of what you do not have and how much it hurts.  

So blame it on the tears, or the mind-muddling melodrama of your relationship with your mother, blame it on anything but the truth—when your thumb drops on that call button like the plunger on a syringe, you don’t regret it.  

What you’re not expecting is for him to answer after the first ring. 

“Hi,” you say with a snuffle before Spencer can get a word in. There’s a brief interlude, in which you pick at your nails, comfortable to just sit in silence if that’s what he wants. As long as he’s there. 

“Hi.” Hearing his voice instantly melts a bit of the weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying. Another pause, for which you remain silent, because you can feel him formulating a question—and you’d like to hear him speak again. “...am I allowed to ask if you’re okay?” 

Your lips purse and twist to the side, pained and comforted by how easily he can tell that you’re distraught. One word across a tinny connection, and he knows. 

“No. Yes. I mean... I guess that’s why I called you. But you don’t have to ask me about it.” You sniff again and take a deep breath. “How was your day? What state are you in?” 

“I’m in the district,” he answers after a moment, easing into a casualness that he likely doesn’t feel for your sake. Wind crunches through the speaker. He probably just got out of work. “My day was... it was good. I got to talk about my job to a bunch of elementary schoolers, which is always a confidence boost.” 

You chuckle, still laying on your side on the couch and watching storm clouds gathering outside. 

“Nice, nice. What else?” 

“Let’s see... I forgot lunch, so I had three oranges, and they were actually pretty good. I reread Game of Thrones—I don’t know why I did that. I’m never going to like that book.” 

“Masochist,” you smile. He laughs, and you hear the sound of a car door opening. 

“Oh! I talked to my mom. Believe it or not, she says hi.” 

A completely inadvertent snort constitutes your response. It’s not what you meant to do, and out of context it’s sort of mean, but you actually think it’s incredibly endearing that he still talks to his mother about you. He scrambles to explain himself. 

“I swear, we barely talked about you this time. Mostly we talked about her new boyfriend Leonard.” 

“No, no, that’s not... I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you or your mom. That’s really sweet, actually. Tell her I say hi too.” 

When he next speaks, you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“I will.” Another long pause. You imagine him sitting in the parking lot at Quantico, keys vertical in the ignition of his old car and feeling the silence just as much as you are. He surprises you by not ending the conversation—instead he asks a question. It is concern, poorly disguised with nervous humor. Or maybe you just know him too well. “Do I get to find out what’s on your mind, or are you leaving me in suspense here?”  

You bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Um... well, actually, I just got off the phone with my mom, too. It didn’t go so well,” you laugh halfheartedly, “I know it was dumb to try and have an actual conversation with her, but... you know me. Always following blind optimism to the depths of hell.” 

“Why’d you call your mom?” he asks, so gently it brings a fresh round of tears to your eyes. Still, you attempt to put a cheerful affect on your strained voice. 

“Mm, you know. Just needed someone to talk to.” 

Spencer’s knowing sigh does little to make you feel better. 

“You know you can always talk to me, right? I know it’s... it’s different now, but... I care about you a lot. And, you know, I receive very few phone calls, so the line is pretty much always open.” 

Your laugh quickly devolves into a cry. 

“I appreciate that, but I can’t talk to you about everything.” 

“Why not?” he pleads immediately, voice thin and desperate like it’s his most burning question. A million lies dance over the tip of your tongue. A million things that feel safer to say than the truth. But in the end, it comes out anyway—choked, and so quiet, but aloud nonetheless. 

“Because I’m trying really hard to stop missing you so much.” 

Another long beat of silence. The back of your throat feels dry and hollow—a cage for your hummingbird heart. 

“If it hurts too much to talk to me, you don’t need to do that to yourself. But I also don’t want you to hurt yourself thinking you’re alone. You are... so important to me. I will always try to take care of you the best I can—whether that means staying away or being at your front door. If you ever need me, or even... vaguely want me, I will be there.” 

Each word caves your resolve. Each syllable is a slap in the face to progress you’d been pretending to make. You can be strong—you've proven that over the past ten weeks. You can be stone-faced and slash at your heart until the scar tissue is thick and jagged, and eventually it won’t hurt anymore. But maybe, by letting someone tend to the wounds, they’ll heal a little nicer. A little kinder. Even if you can’t undo the damage, maybe one day you’ll be soft again. 

“What if I vaguely want you right now?” you sniffle. 

Finally, you hear the silver jingle of keys turning. The sputter and rumble of an old engine coming to life. 

“Then I’m on my way.” 

Twenty four minutes later, there’s a soft knock at your door.  

After the call had ended, you’d wondered if you made it all up. Surely your ex-boyfriend wasn’t actually about to show up at your apartment. Someone you’ve grieved for can’t just come back—there are countless horror novels and movies based upon that very tenet. Does it matter if they ever actually died? How long is ten weeks, really? It feels like a lifetime. 

You shuffle across the room, wiping under your eyes with your already damp sleeves, and undoing all the locks Spencer had conditioned you to start using. When the door cracks open, and you see Spencer standing there, windswept and concerned, for the first time in months, it hits you like a tidal wave. You are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, still just as in love with him as you ever were. The relief that floods your veins as he looks down at you with so much care in his eyes is like sinking into warm water. It’s a dead giveaway, and maybe it makes this whole thing a terrible idea, but you can’t seem to care very much. You open the door wider, and he enters, and he stands in your kitchen with his hands in his coat pocket as you shut the door and he’s perfect. It dawns on you that for the first time since the breakup, you feel safe. Like you don’t have to be a stone pillar anymore. This, of course, translates into even more tears, which you try to hide as you face away, re-locking the door.  

“Sweetheart...” he sighs, because you can’t hide anything from him. Hearing the resonance of his voice so close to you once more is overwhelming. In an instant you’re rushing into his arms, and he accepts you without hesitation. You bury your teary face in the vetiver safety of his button-up and slip your arms under his coat, as if you could absorb his warmth and forever hide from the world that way. He pulls you even closer. It’s terrible and cruel how much he is exactly what you needed. “What’s wrong? What did she say?” 

You shake your head and gasp a small sob. 

Truthfully, you’re not really crying about the petty insults from your mother anymore. You’re back to square one, the reason you’d called your mother to begin with—you miss the man whose arms are currently wound around your shoulders. 

His hand smooths over the back of your hair. 

“Okay. That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.” 

You stay like that—content even as you cry because being with him feels so much safer than being alone. It feels right—or perhaps it’s just familiar. You don’t know which is worse.  

Spencer is rubbing soothing lines up and down your back as you cling to him, soaking him up in all his ephemeral, comforting glory. He surprises you by chuckling—it vibrates through his chest, buzzing against your ear. 

“Nice Magritte print. I bet the person who bought that has fantastic taste.” 

“Are you gonna ask for it back?” you mumble into the fabric of his suit jacket. He is, of course, referring to the painting you’d more or less stolen from his apartment seven months ago. You really don’t want him to take it home. It’s the most overt Spencer memorabilia you’d allowed yourself to keep in plain sight. 

“No, baby. You can keep it.” The words are low, and kind, and they settle you some, but you can’t seem to get him close enough. “What can I do?” he whispers after a moment, helpless as you take a shuddering breath. “Can I make you tea? Have you eaten?” 

“Will you just... stay for a little bit? I’ll—I promise I’ll stop crying.” 

There is an unexpected lull where you thought you’d receive pretty immediate agreement, but before you can pull back and ask what’s wrong, he murmurs, “yeah. I can stay for a while. But you have to kick me out before it gets too late.” 

You wonder if you’re imagining the double-entendre that seems to underline his words in bold red ink. Spencer is too smart to have not noticed a thing like that. You don’t mention it—it all boils down to the same unspoken idea. 

Don’t let me stay, because I might not leave. 

“I will,” you sniff, finally stepping back and wiping your own tears. It hurts to lose his touch, but at least you know he’s not going anywhere for the next few hours. This, as opposed to everything else lately, can be a beginning instead of an end.  

At least, until he goes home. 

Three and a half hours later, after tea, an impromptu dinner comprised mostly of cheese and crackers, and several vinyl changes on your record player (which served only as background noise for your long, ambling conversations), things are seeming to wind down to a natural stopping point. Which you hate. The whole time you’d had a dull ache in your chest because talking to him was easier than breathing and you knew it wouldn’t last. There had been one or two false bottoms already—the first when you’d yawned around nine, and the second when you’d gotten up to do your skincare and brush your teeth half an hour later. Even then he’d just leaned against the doorframe, watching your reflection above the sink as you talked for fifteen more minutes. Now you stand across from each other in the kitchen, plates restacked and everything in order. Of course he’d insisted on helping you clean up. 

“I should go,” he says, with a soft sort of finality in his voice.  

“Is your carriage turning into a pumpkin?” you tease gently, to hide how much you don’t want him to leave. He smiles—a small, weary thing—but genuinely and endlessly charmed by you. 

“That among other things.” 

“Would you—would you walk me to my room first?” 

The hesitance is clear in his eyes and the way his lips part as if to say, ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea’, but you're sure he’s really going to leave in a moment and you’re also sure he won’t deny you this one small thing before he does. 

“Okay.” 

It’s a short, silent walk through the living room and down the hall to your bedroom door, but you can feel him trailing behind you the whole way. You stop in front of your open door, turning face to face with him.  

“Thanks,” you murmur.  

His lips pull into a melancholy smile. 

“Anytime.” 

There’s nothing left to do but wrap your arms around each other once more, tuck yourself into the you-sized space between his head and shoulder and hold on for as long as he’ll let you. The hug lingers for longer than is wise. Spencer adjusts his arms looped around your waist, pulling you closer, and you nuzzle against his neck, grateful that at least he seems as reluctant to let this end as you are.  

But eventually, it relaxes. Your hold on each other loosens. His face is just inches from yours, and you get to study every plane and valley and line like you’d thought you never would again. It seems he’s doing the same—losing himself in the luxury of seeing you up close. 

“Will you kiss me goodnight?” you whisper, unable to muster any self-consciousness though you know it’s a fool’s errand. Spencer strokes your waist. 

“I can’t do that, honey.” 

“Why not?” 

His voice is just as quiet as yours. It falters slightly as he speaks, so gently, so patiently. 

“Because we’re not together anymore.” 

“Why not?” 

Your feeble, desperate supplication sounds pitiable even to you. You’re not proud, but you can’t find it in yourself to be ashamed, either. All you want is an answer. But it’s like a child asking why the sky is blue, or the earth is round. There is a definitive explanation, but mostly, the adult will shrug, and say, that’s just how it is. 

Spencer’s eyes squeeze shut. His head tilts down. 

“We can’t do this again, sweetheart. You know why we’re not together.” 

In theory—yes. You’d had so many conversations when you’d broken up. It had been a long, painful process, spanning multiple all-nighters at his kitchen table, nursing coffee and trying to convince each other and yourselves that it was the right choice. But it just feels like a horrible, horrible mistake. You feel desperate to explain this to him before he slips away again—the words come out flustered, inelegant as you cling to him.

“But I don’t think I’m getting better without you. I tried, I tried so hard to be good on my own, but everything is worse and harder and—and we weren’t sure about it then, and I don’t think it was the right choice, because I still really need you. Like, all the time. I’m—it’s not getting better without you. Nothing got better.” 

He swallows, eyes darting between yours for an infinite second. You’re breathless and your heart is pounding after your confession—you can feel your eyes stinging with the few tears that managed to escape as you spoke. 

“Everything is worse,” he agrees shakily. “Everything. I’m—I’m getting disciplinary infractions from Hotch like I’m a child because I can’t focus on anything. Game of Thrones is the most complex literature I can comprehend right now. I had to use a calculator the other day.” 

You want to laugh, but nothing is funny until he’s yours again. 

“Then come back. Please come back, Spencer.” 

Finally, he leans closer, until your heads are pressed together, and his nose bumps yours, feather light. You're dizzy. You exhale. He inhales. 

“I don’t think I knew how to leave in the first place.” 

When he kisses you, it feels like home. 

[catscidr]

// how genshin men would kabedon you //

i. note — im stuck in bed because of cramps help me i wanted to be productive today but i can't Write Good…… so i wrote something self indulgent silly to get my mind off of the pain instead _(´ཀ`」 ∠) _ ueue ii. cw — fluff/crack, gn!reader, suggestive if you squint rly hard, you're shorter than them in the third part for convenience's sake, not rly proofread im melting

standard kabedon with one arm ↳ alhaitham, diluc, zhongli ˎˊ˗

immediately understood what you meant when you asked if he could “kabedon” you. he either he read about it somewhere or it’s just something he picked up from overhearing others talk about it in passing— you’d tease him for being “nosy” if you weren’t so flustered at the sight of him looking down at you with such a straight face.

your gaze travels down from his face, to his neck, to his bicep… close to you… and his forearm… that’s even closer to you… you’re so focused on his strong masculine arm that you don’t catch the slight blush tinting his cheeks.

whew. is it just you or is it getting hot in here?

standard kabedon but with both arms ↳ albedo, xiao, lyney ˎˊ˗

he either knew what a kabedon was already or you had to explain it to him and he… misunderstood a little bit.

or maybe he didn’t. maybe it was on purpose. maybe caging you in with both of his arms was what he was planning all along while you sheepishly explained what a kabedon entailed…!

or maybe he doesn’t want to admit that he zoned out while you were talking because all he thought about was how cute you looked, all flushed and embarrassed. yeah. that’s definitely not what happened. of course not

invades your personal space and backs you up into the wall without even using his arms ↳ pantalone, ayato, dottore ˎˊ˗

he pretended not to know what a was kabedon because’s he’s mean. while you tried to explain what it entailed (while sweating nervously from how hard he was staring at you), he slowly closed the distance between the two of you before you realized just how close he was.

he was taller than you, so he had to bend down at the waist to be at eye-level with you… and the action didn’t help your poor little heart. you could smell his cologne and gods did you feel your knees go weak.

but on the bright side, if your legs give out he’ll be close enough to catch you before you bust your head open! such a gentleman

forget using arms, he’ll use his leg to pin you to the wall instead ↳ itto, cyno, childe ˎˊ˗

why be like everyone else when he can show off instead? you think he might have been a bird in another life because this isn’t a kabedon, it has to be some sort of courting ritual or… something.

at least it’s working, though. your face is flushed, you’re holding back a smile and your heart is racing against your ribcage.

the only downside if that your face is buried in your hands; if it wasn’t, you’re sure your curiosity would get the better of you and you’d end up looking. don’t ask where, you know what i mean

….you kabedon him. ↳ wanderer, baizhu, neuvillette, webttore ˎˊ˗

he either straight up refused to do it or was so utterly puzzled by what on earth a “kabedon” even was that you had to show him.

cue a strained gasp, his brows either raised to the heavens or furrowed so hard he would immediately get wrinkles, and a blush that you would never let yourself forget. maybe you should do this more often.

but be careful, he might turn the tables and catch you off guard to kabedon you someday as payback. oh no! terrible, i know

[hard-core-super-star]

losing focus [W.Maximoff + N.Romanoff]

pairing: dom!wanda maximoff x sub!reader x dom!natasha romanoff

summary: as unexpected as it is, you become a permanent part of wanda and natasha's relationship.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT -> porn with very little plot but many feelings; mommy + daddy kink; implied dom/sub dynamics; mentions of petplay; fingering [R receiving]; cunnilingus [R receiving]; overstimulation; nipple play; so many petnames; wanda and nat being competitive; badly proofread

wordcount: 3.7k

a/n: hi again! so, i was originally supposed to post a bishova fic today buuuut i got too attached and wrote a part two of "push me on the counter, call me princess" because i could. i hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

It's difficult to define what your relationship with the witch and her grumpy assassin girlfriend has turned into. 

You know you're not really a part of their relationship, at least not officially, but you're not a mere observer either. Your main connection is with Wanda, which Natasha doesn't seem to mind, but the three of you are well aware of the way you simply started...joining them...all the time.

It started with small things. With Wanda inviting you to sit on her lap during movie nights. With Natasha begrudgingly letting the witch tie you down on their shared bed. With both of them holding you close at night, each of them murmuring some excuse about why they needed the physical contact.

You didn't mind. What kind of fool would mind being sandwiched between two of the most fearsome and beautiful Avengers?

But it very quickly stopped being enough for you.

You didn't want to be greedy, you knew your connection with Wanda wasn't right in the first place. You should have never allowed her to enchant you to the point of weaseling your way into her relationship.

And yet here you are.

Tucked under Wanda's arm while you watch her favorite sitcom.

A part you of you wants to be unhappy. To act like you don't want to be part of this.

But the truth is you do.

You really like this.

"You're thinking too much, detka." There's no judgement in the witch's tone, just the soothing sound of her accent. "Do you want to talk about it?"

You shake your head, instantly feeling overwhelmed from the mere thought of sharing your worries with her. You're not even sure why you're worried. Why there's a part of you that can't seem to settle, despite how warm and comfortable the older woman's embrace is.

"I'm fine," you mumble.

Wanda hates it when you mumble, but you can't help it. You also can't help the way you turn toward her, your face finding refuge in the crook of her neck.

She allows it for it now. Clearly, she doesn't need to read your thoughts to know how much you're struggling with them.

You want to feel embarrassed about it, but it's hard to feel anything except her palm pressing into your side. Her fingers slip under the hem of your (well...Natasha's) shirt and she draws small circles against your skin.

The two of you stay like that for a while. Wanda watches her show and you catch glimpses of it whenever you gather the courage to peak your head up and out of the comfort of her neck.

You've practically settled into the comfort when the door opens and your bubble of safety is popped.

Your shoulders tense until you hear the telltale sound of Natasha's sigh. There's an edge of annoyance to the sound that you've grown to associate with her. "Wanda, if you wanted a pet, we could have just gotten a cat."

Her words make the witch chuckle despite herself. She knew, no matter how cold the other woman acted, she was simply pretending. It was always easier for her to put her walls back up when she was unsure of something instead of going with the flow.

"Hello to you too, sweetheart."

Wanda gives your side a small pinch, not to hurt you but to encourage you to say hi. You don't really want to, you're still not sure how to act around the older woman, but you do it anyway.

"Hi, Nat."

The redhead rolls her eyes, but the corners of her lips quirk up into the smallest of smiles. "Hello, kitten. Have you been behaving?"

It's a small thing but it's a start. A reminder that she doesn't actually dislike you and she's not mad at the way things have turned out.

That maybe...she's softer than she looks.

"Yes, Daddy," you reply, a soft blush coating your cheeks as you address Natasha by her title. "I listened to Mommy all day."

The small smile on the redhead's face grows at your words. As tough as she looks, she completely adores the way you instantly submit to her without any objections. The way it all seems so natural. So weirdly right.

"Without pouting?" She asks, raising her eyebrow in the way that makes you tremble.

The idea of lying crosses your mind but you know better than that. Plus, there's no use in lying when you're sitting next to a literal mind reader.

"Well...no. But it wasn't my fault!"

Natasha doesn't seem convinced, although she does seem amused. Her eyes drift to Wanda, who can't seem to wipe the proud grin off her face. "It wasn't?"

"It wasn't," the witch replies. "She just got pouty because I told her we had to wait for you before we could play."

"Oh, I see. So, you didn't get pouty, you got needy, is that right?"

You nod, her tone making your head swim in an all too familiar way.

Natasha crawls into bed and shifts herself until she's laying down between your spread legs. The flimsy material of your shorts does little to keep your arousal hidden away from the older woman.

"Come here, detka," Wanda murmurs as her hands grip your hips.

She effortlessly lifts you up until you're sitting between her legs, your back pressed firmly against her front. It's a subtle show of dominance, a reminder that despite Natasha's stubbornness, Wanda's the one in charge. The one you actually belong to.

But there's also a soft side to it. A reminder that she's right there in case things get too overwhelming. That you can back out at any moment and they won't be upset.

It's far too late for that, though. Far too late to act like you don't want them both. Like you don't need them.

Natasha's hands bring you back. Her fingers trail a teasing path up your thighs until they reach the waistband of your shorts.

There's a wordless question in her gaze. One that makes your heart skip a beat.

You nod in response and she wastes no time in getting rid of the garments in the way.

Her eyes take in every inch of exposed skin, the softness in her smile turning slightly predatory. It's a sight you're growing very used to seeing.

"Look at you," she coos, although her tone is far more teasing than sweet. "You're already so wet for us. Mommy's left you needy for too long, huh?"

"I'm not the bad guy here," Wanda says with a chuckle. "It wasn't my idea."

Natasha rolls her eyes but your attention is captured by the witch and her warm hands that slip under your shirt. Her fingers make their way up your torso, her nails dragging against your skin and making your back arch in response.

"Don't listen to her, detka, she's just jealous."

You nod along to the redhead's words even though they don't fully register in your mind. All you know is you're stuck between them as they engage in yet another unnecessary competition.

Wanda notices first, far too used to the subtle cues that give away your growing dependence on them. Your growing need to let go and let them take over.

"There you go, sweetheart, doesn't that feel nice?" Her voice is soft and sweet in your ear, a constant lullaby that allows you to sink deeper against her.

"Mhmm," you hum, your hands reaching out for Natasha as her lips join her fingers in exploring your skin.

The witch is quick to stop you before you get too carried away. Her hands wrap around your wrists and she holds them down, allowing her girlfriend to keep teasing you. "Just relax, baby, Nat knows what to do."

You don't doubt her words for a second, but you also don't doubt the teasing mood the redhead seems to be in. You would complain if you weren't so busy trying to keep yourself still.

It's easier said than done, though, and Natasha quickly tightens her grip on your thighs, keeping you exposed to her gaze and completely still. "Come on, detka, don't you want to show Mommy what a good girl you are?"

Her words make your hips buck, but instead of teasing you for it, she sives right into the main event. Her breath ghosts the most sensitive part of your body before her lips wrap around your swollen clit.

The sensation borders on far too much far too quickly and yet the pleasure seems to overwhelm your body before the sensitivity hits you. Your head falls back against Wanda's shoulder as your lips part in a long moan.

The witch takes advantage of your change in position and attaches her lips to your neck, switching back and forth between gentle kisses and harsh nips. "There you go, isn't that better? Don't think, darling, just let us take over."

The answer is more than obvious considering how far gone your mind is. All you can fully focus on is the soft fuziness feeling your head and the pleasure you're drowing under.

"Daddy," you whine under your breath, your hips shifting against Natasha's mouth.

The redhead simply hums, lapping at your arousal like a woman starved. She doesn't want to admit it but hearing you call her that does things to her that she can't explain. There's a certain type of satisfaction she's never felt with Wanda, even when her girlfriend is in a more submissive mood.

It's what draws her closer to you despite how hard she tries to pretend like she doesn't care. And maybe she doesn't care, but the way she commits herself to making you fall apart, completely overwhelmed by pleasure tells another story.

Wanda's quick to notice how fuzzy you are by now, how perfectly pliable you've become with just a few soft strokes of Natasha's tongue against your throbbing clit. She lets go of your hands, trusting you not to move, before her fingers slip under your shirt again, trailing up until she reaches your breasts.

"Such a good girl for us," she murmurs, as her fingers find your nipples. "Such a pretty little pet."

You're stuck between wanting to arch your back and buck your hips. Ultimately, you end up doing nothing which is exactly what they like. It allows them to please you and use you in whatever way they want.

It's a little surprising how devoted Natasha seems to be to just pleasuring you, but your head is far too fuzy for you to try and think about that. The implications themselves aren't lost on you, though, and they only add to the growing coil in settled in your stomach.

"Don't tell me you're getting ahead of yourself, kotenok." The redhead leans back just enough to look up at you, dark green eyes drinking in every inch of your face. "Good girls don't act like greedy sluts, do they?"

"No, Daddy."

Your instant response makes her smirk and she rewards you by sinking two fingers into your wet cunt.

A gasp slips out of your parted lips and Wanda takes the opportunity to pinch and pull at your hardened nipples. The stinging pain mixes perfectly with the sudden pleasure and you can't stop your body from trembling under their expert hands.

"Please," you whine. "Can I cum?"

"Already?" Wanda chuckles. "Did I leave you too needy earlier?"

"Mhmm, so needy." You don't fully know what you're saying, you just know you can't hold back anymore and the last thing you need is to earn yourself a punishment. "Please."

Your words only seem to spur Natasha on and, instead of giving you mercy like you're asking for, she starts thrusting her fingers in and out of you, groaning as she feels your walls clenching around the digits. "Fuck, such a messy pet."

"I think she's about to get even messier."

The way they talk about you like you're not even there only adds fuel to your desperate arousal. There's nothing more for you to do besides wait for Natasha to decide to give you the mercy you're begging for.

You half-expect her to not give it to you just so she can punish you for it later. It certainly wouldn't be the first time, and you're certain she's only gotten more obssesed with the idea since then.

"Yeah? Is Mommy right, detka? Are you going to make a mess for us?" You know Natsha's teasing you and yet you don't feel the usual flush of humilation. Instead, the warmth that floods you is exactly the same one you feel when Wanda uses her sweetly condescing tone on you.

They're such different tones, such different people, and yet you can't deny the way you feel about them. The way every part of you begs for them.

"Yes, please-" Natasha steals your words by curling her fingers inside your wet heat, your thighs shaking from the force of holding back your orgasm. "Wanna cum, please-"

Wanda shushes you, knowing exactly how to soothe you when you need it most. She doesn't give you the permission you need, though, and in your desperation, you miss the silent conversation the two lovers have.

The seconds seem to stretch into hours until finally, Natasha gives in. "Go ahead, detka, cum for us."

She dives back in, her tongue drawing circles on your sensitive cit as her fingers move in and out of your cunt. The pleasure builds and builds, spurred on by Wanda's fingers playing with your nipples.

All it takes is the witch pinching your hardened peaks once more for you to fall over the edge for them.

Your mouth falls open in a loud moan, your whole body shaking as the waves of pleasure overtake your senses. Even as you lose control of yourself, the two women don't relent or give you a second to catch your breath.

As much as you'd love to complain about it, you can't when all you can think about is the electric sensations coursing through your body.

You cry out as Natasha continues her assault on your oversensitive clit, your hips shaking as you try to move away from her. Instead of scolding you for moving so much, she groans against you, causing your walls to clench around her in response.

"Don't fight it, sweetheart," Wanda mumbles, her lips grazing your jaw. "Just let Daddy make you feel good. It's what you wanted, right? Now take it like a good girl."

"Uh-huh, fu-" Your attempts at words turn into needy sounds that spur the redhead on.

"One more, detka, do it for me, yeah?"

Despite your initial complaints, your body gives in to the pleasure almost instantly. It's not fully surprising but it's certainly overwhelming and it sends you deeper into the fuziness filling your mind.

Natasha does her best to hold you down even as your hips buck desperately into her face. She works a third finger inside you and it takes all your self-restraint to not fall apart at the feeling.

"Please!" You gasp. "Can I cum?"

This time, the witch takes over and gently guides you toward your orgasm. "Go ahead, angel, you've been so good for us, just let go."

So, you do.

You give up control and let go.

You're not sure what happens, all you know is your whole body tenses as the coil in your stomach snaps free. You're too far gone to realize what a mess you make of yourself and the sheets beneath you, but the satisfaction in Natasha's movements isn't lost on you.

She works you through the seemingly never-ending aftershocks, easing herself away from your clit and slowly pulling her fingers out of your cunt. "So fucking beautful..."

Your body finally goes limp and you practically melt against Wanda. Her arms wrap around your waist while she places soft kisses to every inch of your face she can reach. "Good girl. You did so well."

You hum in response, barely registering Natasha's movements as she does her best to clean you up.

The bed shifts when the redhead finishes and you instantly know she's moving away from both of you. You try to complain but the words don't seem to form.

"Shhh, just rest, kotenok, you need it."

You want to argue and assure her you feel fine, but you can't seem to find the strength to open your eyes. All you manage to do is whine, earning yourself a chuckle from Wanda.

"Don't pout, baby. You're my good girl, right?"

You wait for Natasha to correct her. To jump in and say you're their good girl.

But she doesn't.

And the longer the silence goes on, the more it hurts your feelings.

"Mommy..." You whisper.

She presses a soft kiss to your temple as her hands go back to caressing your sides. "I know. We'll figure it out later, just sleep for now."

There's little for you to do besides give in and let sleep overcome you.

* * *

When you wake up, you instantly notice the lack of warmth against you. Your head's still a little fuzzy but you feel slightly more in control now. You're also still pretty drowsy, though.

You attempt to blink the sleepiness out of your eyes as you lift your head, your eyes searching around the room for Wanda.

Instead of the witch, you find her girlfriend curled up in the reading chair in the corner of the room. There's a certain tension in her form that tells you far more than she'd like.

"Maria called," Natasha says, her voice colder than you've heard it in a while. "Wanda had to go. It sounded like she'll be gone for a few weeks."

Oh.

At least that explains why the redhead looks so...vulnerable and...lost.

Their relationship has always been a bit of a mystery to you. Despite the many nights you've listened to Wanda complain about the assassin's shitty coping mechanisms, you don't know many details about their connection.

You just know that somehow...they work. Despite their traumas and their pain, they understand each other.

And then there's you.

You're even less sure of where you fit in.

Of how Natasha feels about you.

"You can at least pretend to be happy to spend time with me," she says, effectively cutting off your thoughts.

"I am," you reply without skipping a beat. "I just...didn't think you'd be thrilled about it."

"Why? Because I'm the big bad girlfriend who has no feelings? Who doesn't give a shit about anyone?"

Despite her attempts to sound mad, her tone gives away how hurt she is. How terrified she is that you see her like that. That you think she's half as bad as the stories you've heard about her.

"No, I just...well, I know you and Wanda had that arrangement and everything but you didn't ask for this. I thought you just saw me as her annoying pet."

The corners of her mouth twitch a little as she tries to hold in her smile. "I did at first. It's nothing personal, hearing Wanda say she wanted you was...a little hard to deal with."

"Yeah, I figured." You sit up with your back against the headrest, your eyes absentmindedly admiring Natasha's features. Even with the distance between you, she looks stunning. "It wasn't easy for me either, y'know? I felt really guilty about it."

"That didn't stop you from sleeping with her the first time, though."

"Well, no but...in my defense, you can't exactly say no to Wanda when her mind is made up."

That earns you a quiet chuckle. "Yeah, you can say that again. Why do you think you're here? Wanda didn't want to let you go after the first time."

It's not necessarily news considering how things went down after the first time, but you can't act like your heart doesn't skip a beat at her words. The confirmation that the witch wanted you is one thing, but you're still not sure how Natasha feels. Something that's not surprising considering how closed off she is.

"And you?" You ask, hoping you sound less nervous than you feel.

It takes Natasha a few seconds to form her response. You can't exactly blame her but the silence makes your skin crawl. The fear that she doesn't want you, that she doesn't care, rises up within you the longer it drags on.

Finally, she eases your mind.

"Let's just say you've grown on me, kitten."

It's not much and yet it's more than enough for you. It reinforces the connection you've started feeling with her. The bond that demands to be nurtured despite how unusual it is.

Then again, wanting unsual things is kind of your thing at this point.

"You've grown on me too," you mutter, doing your best to ignore the warmth that spreads along your face.

"That doesn't mean you're not still our pet, though," she clarifies. "...if you want, that is. It can stay casual or we can turn it into more. We can train you. I can train you, if you want to be our submissive."

It takes a second for the words to fully sink in.

You nod before you even know what you're doing. You don't need to think about it, though, it's what you want. You want them. And all the little nuances that come with them.

Natasha watches you for a moment, her eyes studying you as if she's waiting for you to realize what you're doing and back out instantly. You can't exactly put your reasons into words to ease her mind. All you know is you've never wanted anything the way you want them.

Despite not being a mindreader like her girlfriend, the assasin is quick to move toward you once the thought of being fully theirs crosses your mind.

"You sure you've got what it takes, kitten?" She asks as she settles onto your lap. "I'm a lot to handle."

"I can take it," you reply, your hands landing on her waist without a second thought. "I want you."

Finally, your words are enough to break through her defenses. 

It doesn't feel like enough and yet it's exactly what she had wanted to hear. What she was afraid you wouldn't want.

"Then you have me," she says, her voice far softer than you've ever heard it.

There's so much you want to say, but words don't seem to be enough right now. So, instead, you lean forward and press your lips to hers.

You're not completely sure how you ended up here but you wouldn't trade it for the world.