#like this could be on some kind of necklace

[justafewberries]

Rue is the hummingbird to Katniss's mockingjay pin.

"They'd been fashioned by Tam Amber over thirty years ago. I never saw them, but Merrilee's featured a hummingbird and Maysilee's a mockingjay."

- SOTR, Page 54

"Aren't they magnificent? Thirteen has been studying their aerodynamics here for years. Forward and backwards flight, and speeds up to sixty miles per hours. If only I could build you wings like these, Katniss!" "I doubt you could manage them, Beetee," I laugh. "Here one second, gone the next. Can you bring a hummingbird down with an arrow?" he asks. "I've never tried. Not much meat on them," I answer. "No, and you're not one to kill for sport," he says. "I bet they'd be hard to shoot, though." "You could snare them maybe," Gale says.

- Mockingjay, Page 65

When he asks what her greatest strength in the arena will be, she doesn't hesitate. "I'm very hard to catch," she says in a tremulous voice. "And if they can't catch me, they can't kill me. So don't count me out."

- The Hunger Games, Page 126

"Oh no," says Rue, closing my fingers back over the pin, "I like to see it on you. That's how I decided I could trust you. Besides, I have this." She pulls a necklace woven out of some kind of grass from her shirt. On it, hangs a roughly carved wooden star. Or maybe it's a flower. "It's a good luck charm."

- The Hunger Games, Page 212

[elainsgirl]

I genuinely don’t understand how some Gwynriels interpret any criticism of them as people being “threatened” by their ship. Maybe they should consider that it’s less about the ship itself and more about their behaviour. It’s that no one has ever been able to join this fandom without being immediately cornered about whether or not they’ve read "the" bonus chapter, or being subjected to some patronizing lecture about how you’re supposed to read it correctly.

It's about the exhaustion of being bombarded with the same handful of cherry-picked lines, completely removed from context. It's about the glaring double standard in how characters are treated. Azriel gets turned into something unrecognizable to serve a narrative. Both Elain and Lucien, who have been integral since the first book and are central to ongoing plotlines, are dismissed as underdeveloped, while outrage erupts if anyone dares suggest Gwyn, a new side character, might not be the next protagonist. Gwyn’s healing journey, which was so clearly focused on regaining the lively and competitive personality that was repressed by her trauma, is misrepresented as romance. It’s just… bizarre.

Some Gwynriels insist Elriel was never romantic (despite the actual text), while others say it ended definitively in a bonus chapter (despite the ridiculousness of that idea). They moralize lust and rewrite moments depending on who’s involved, and they completely ignore clearly romantic scenes if they involve characters they don't like. It creates this alternate reality version of the story that’s bizarre to witness from the outside. And people tend to want to talk about things that are bizarre.

People don’t keep bringing up Gwynriel because they’re threatened. They do it because Gwynriel has turned into a spectacle. And it is not about shipping preferences. The spectacle of Gwynriel is the insistence that actual canon narratives do not exist, and that sweeping canon-defying extrapolations are confirmations of a complete change in direction of the whole story. And that people should just accept this as true when it is just categorically bizarre.

It's not about being threatened. It's about the exhaustion of having someone down your throat for four years while they demand you respect them. It's about being suffocated to the point that you kind of just have to talk about it. In a "what the hell is going on"? kind of way. I remember mutuals who left already in 2021-22, who had been in the fandom for years, because they felt so suffocated and exhausted by this behaviour. And four years later, I'm still here and that is still going on. The fandom was not sunshine and rainbows before Gwynriels, but it was nothing at all like this.

im sorry - they think we’re “threatened” by their fanon ship? LMFAO. Threatened by what. Despite spending time in the ring with his “mate” who would Az think off every night? Elain Archeron. His mate was in danger, went through something so traumatic- what did Azriel do? Leave her with Mor to carry on with his job. Two years. He didnt visit for two entire years, he didnt check up on her. Ask about her. I could go on but you get the gist - no one is threatened by gwy/riel. There is nothing tying these two together. Az could leave training and thats it. He wouldn’t see Gwyn most of the time. Elucien at least have a bond, gwnriel dont even have that. But ofc they’d twist us critiquing them and their behaviour- not only to us but to their own eluciens as us being “threatened”.

The bonus chapter is the only thing that they think gives them some standing, it doesn’t. The same bonus that isn’t reprinted in the special editions, the bonus that over half of the fandom do not know about - but you know whats rlly embarrassing for them? Not a single part of the “gwynriel” bonus was mentioned in acosf. Not the late night training. Not the singing shadows. Not Az and Gwyn becoming closer. Not the necklace. That is how irrelevant it all was, so damn unimportant that in the 300pgs you had left after solstice - Mass didn’t bother to mention any of it once. But ofc they don’t care cause they cant think outside of “spark!” “Glow!”. They can’t enetertain any other possibility or narrative that doesn’t fit what they set for themselves. God forbid, you challenge their takes. At first they’ll try to debate but once they realise they’ve gone through their 5 repeated points, want to know what happens next?

“elriels are like sooooo mean!” “Elriels are just so so toxic.” “Elriels are bullies!” “Elriels always use canon!” Elriels are this, elriels are that.

oh and no one can say anything about precious Gwyn. Nope, she is perfect. She is exactly what they want her to be. Lucien and Elain are irrelevant, Az is toxic, incel and disgusting but ONLY towards Elain - these issues don’t exist with Gwyn, Elain is too undeveloped for a book but perfect, flawless Gwyn has the right amount of development so she will obviously be next. Lucien? He’s irrelevant too, Gwyn is linked to autumn and thats more important then Luciens messed up family. Gwyn will deal with the troves, the prison and koshei - Lucien and Elain need to sail off on a lake somewhere. Etc etc. Gwyn is currently THE most important person everyone else is just there to remain sitting little ducks until Gwyns fabulous story is over.

Gwynriels guide on how to read the bonus correctly: whilst reading the elriel part, keep on chanting “Azriel is toxic” “Azriel is disgrunting” “elain is boring” “elain is manipulative” etc then whilst you finally get to Gwyns’ part - highlight everything. Az chuckled with Gwyn, aww he has NEVER done that before - highlight it. Now.

THIS. Its the fact gwynriels cherry pick what suits them and what doesn’t. They need to”evidence” from all 3 series just to make sense…and yet their arguments are still so terribly illogical. That was one of my biggest turn offs from Gwynriel actually, them acting as tho throughout acosf, Gwyn was crushing on Az which was not the case at all and is such a disservice to her character.

Gwynriels 🤝 contradicting statements which is why it’s hard to take them seriously. Lmfao, like Elain making Az laugh so joyously means nothing to them and isn’t romantic but Gwyn making Az chuckle and snort - is the beginning of a gwynriel romance. Its hypocritical.

Say it louder anon, literally no one is threatened by a ship where the two characters dont even have any romantic interest towards each other - but gwynriel and gwynriels have become something to witness with how desperate they’ve become to convince everyone including themselves their ship is just as much as a possibility like elriel or even elucien. Its like when a kid in your class gets an answer so wrong you just have to put your pen down and wonder how tf they reached that conclusion.

gwynriels have definitely affected the fandom, im sure some are nice but majority are disrespectful, condescending, stubborn etc. They come into elriel spaces and talk about their ship and how they’re right, they’re constantly mocking elriels - Im sure the fandom wasn’t lovely before but gwynriels have turned it more hostile. I dont blame anyone that left this fandom because of them - it’s exhausting trying to see reason with people who believe a bonus holds more weight then the previous 4 books. That a new character we’ve just met is suddenly the most interesting and important then any of the OG cast - Someone said it before, but gwynriels argue with their own version of canon mixed with opinions and biased interpretations- you just can’t logically argue with that.

And if a gwynriel genuinely listened and understood how little a bonus affects the books - they’d see reason.

[zaine-m]

Timebomb and CaitVi swap AU

Cait's backstory timeeeee

Cait grows up often running away to spend her time in the undercity

She first went down there when her parents said she couldn't be an enforcer

Vander finds this little piltie girl exploring the lanes and immediately brings her to the last drop to make sure she's safe

She tells Vander about the fight between her parents in the way that a more privileged kid who ran away for the first time would, thinking her not being able to be an enforcer is the end of the world

He gives her a place to sleep for the night and promises to let her come by anytime but convinces her to return the next day

Her and Vi talk to entire night, Vi had never seen someone with such nice clothes

Cait for the first time starts to see the problems the undercity faces through Vi

Cait gives Vi her necklace, saying maybe she could sell it

Vi doesn't

They let her continuously go missing during the days as long as she doesn't press being an enforcer more or cause any trouble

They also think she's staying in the higher up, safer parts of Zaun

As soon as Grayson dies in undercity violence they stop letting her go down there

She begs her parents to let her see the bodies being put in the mass grave of the abandoned factory explosion

She sees Milo, Claggor, and Vander

She starts to dig through the bodies to see if Vi is there with them but Cassandra pulls her out and tell her to control herself

Cait becomes distraught as she sees the undercity become worse from afar

She searches through arrest records to see if Vi's name is in there or to try to find any record of it Vi is still out there

She isn't able to do as much investigative work but she can tell that there is some kind of empire making the undercity worse

When she turns 18 she puts her foot down with her parents saying she'll become and enforcer if they like it or not

Cassandra responds by talking with the other councilors and ensuring none of them would hire her

Caitlyn becomes furious at her and runs to the undercity

[liminal-therianthropy]

Do you have tips for a raven therian?

Hello hello! Hmmm lemme see what i can come up with! 1, Look up facts about what kind of raven you are! There are a few different types of ravens, but there should be info about all of them! Look up videos or look in books or websites that talk about them and facts about them! 2, Eat eggs, fruits, and veggies! Even some gummy bugs, rodents, and lizards! In the wild ravens eat eggs, fruits, veggies, bugs, rodents, lizards, garbage, and dead things! If ya dont eat meat/eggs find a subsatute! Even eat gummy fruits if you like those better! !!!DO NOT EAT RAW MEATS, EGGS, OR DEAD THINGS!! THESE CAN MAKE YOU SICK ALSO DONT EAT GARBAGE YOU CAN ALSO GET SICK FROM THAT!!! 3, Draw or have edits of yer theriotype! So edits or drawings of ravens in this case. If you wanna you could even commission or request things like that if you dont wanna do it yerself or if ya cant! 4, Try out doing raven vocals! It would take some practice, but i think it might be doable!! 5, Blanket wings! Get either a black or what ever color you are as a raven {i believe there are pied ravens that have different colors} and put them around yer shoulders! They can simulate wings, especially in shadows! 6, Make or get a mask! I personally haven't seen many bird like masks so that would be cool! Plus it can have you look like a raven! You can either make one yerself or commission if yer able to get someone to make one for you! 7, Have clothes that remind you of ravens!! So like black clothes, necklaces or any jewelry of ravens, raven shirts etc. 8, Collect things that are ravens! So plushies or figures, things like that! Or you can make yer own! 9, Collect shiny things! Ravens in the wild have been observed to collect shiny things like metal and pebbles! Maybe have a small collection of those? NOT SHARP METAL but things that are shiny! ^^ 10, Play bird games! I know there is one on roblox! And you can even be a raven in that game! The game is called feather family if yer intrested in that :D!!

These are all i could think up of on the top of my head! I hope ya like them or they steered you in the right direction! Get creative with it! EDIT CAME UP WITH ANOTHER TIP!!

[demigod-shenanigans]

I did also make Isabella a bunch of little outfits back when I did Olympia and Finley but I made myself anxious despite the fact that you told me taking some creative liberties was fine and so I kind of just never posted them. Which is stupid so here they are

Kind of imagining this as her go-to outfit:

Tank top + flannel tied around her waist, like you mentioned. Also gave her closed shoes since that seemed reasonable for a forge and a little watch. Maybe it’s got some fancy buttons like the one Tyson made Percy that turned into a shield. I could see Leo making something like that for his kid.

Also not entirely sure why I gave her glasses, I just kind of liked the vibes, plus it’s a fun little Jason-parallel I guess?

I think you said she grows up in New Rome so I’m not sure she actually has a CHB necklace but I did give her one just in case

Formal outfit:

Not super fancy or anything since you said she doesn’t dress up a ton despite liking it, but this felt like it fit the color scheme nicely and I just felt like she’d probably like it

Sports outfit:

Using the flannel and the watch again, plus what might be one of Leo’s old camp shirts if you use your imagination a little

Sleepwear:

For some reason my brain read hand-me-downs from her dads and just ran with it LOL. Anyway that’s absolutely one of Jason’s old sweaters of a pair of leggings. It’s huge and cozy and I feel like Isabella especially likes sleeping in it when she feels kind of homesick on quests because she’s had it literally forever and it’s got a New Rome logo stamped on somewhere.

Also, hair down for her sleep outfit for comfort

Party outfit:

This is the one outfit I gave her that actually feels like she’s dressing up. I feel like this dress just sits around in the closet unused for much of the year but she loves getting it out for special events. I love that it’s kind of sunset colored.

Summer outfit:

Honestly, I just liked the vibes of this shirt a lot. Both because it looks like it’s post some sort of monster attack and because it looks like she’s wearing a layer of purple shirt underneath an orange shirt and considering she’s being raised by a Roman and a Greek demigod together that just felt kind of perfect to me

Swimwear:

Fairly practical, probably also more for quest related swimming than for fun day off at the swimming pool (realistically, how many of those do demigods get?). Also fit the color scheme nicely, and I put her hair down again for practical reasons

And finally, winter outfit:

This might be Isabella’s own sweater, but I’m also very amused by the thought that it’s one of Jason’s (maybe an NRU one) that Leo accidentally shrunk by washing it at the wrong temperature, so it’s now Isabella-sized instead of Jason-sized. (Listen. Leo can fix the washing machine when it breaks, but he’s got no idea what is supposed to go in there at which temperatures. Too many different settings and different fabrics to remember. Leo does lots of things around the house, but there’s a reason Jason is the one who usually handles the laundry, LOL)

Sorry if this is kind of a random question but re: the fankids, what color/style of clothing do they prefer to wear? (I’m garbage at art but I have maybe been playing around with the Sims character creator a little bit)

- Finley wears quite oversized, relaxed-fit clothes that are comfortable and don’t hug his figure. He does look AMAZING in a suit, though. He usually wears something black to conceal his curves and layers something lighter-coloured on top. His colour palettes are quite light and summery, but with cooler tones of blues and greens. Idk if this is relevant but he wears some vintage Naomi Solace merch at some point on the quest.

- Olympia is almost always pictured in her CHB t-shirt or her armour or both (as much as she tries to break from the shadow of her parents, she can’t seem to shake it) but her colour palette usually consists of blues, greys, and bronzes. I associate her with deep ocean colours where Percy is more beachy. Her palette is darker to differentiate her from Finley who also wears blues.

- Isabella likes fashion but rarely dresses up. She mostly just wears hand-me-downs from her dads. I picture her in warm tones- reds and oranges and browns- but usually wears quite muted colours. In the forges she wears tank tops and short-sleeves shirts (she doesn’t have her papa’s fireproofiness) but almost always has some sort of flannel tied round her waist. She’s wears quite practical clothes. She’s the only one I haven’t fully figured out the appearance of yet so feel free take some artistic liberties it might inspire me to come up with a design. I know she has dark hair that she wears in messy updos and has dark eyes.

Above is some basic colour palettes I came up with and below are some that I found on Pinterest:

Finley:

Olympia:

Isabella:

[fionarara]

__ ❥ ___ ❥ ___ ❥ ___❥ __ _❥ _____ ❥ __ ❥ _____ ❥_ _❥ _______ ❥ ________ ❥ _ _❥ power bottom mikey ❥_ __ ❥_______________❥ __ ____ ❥___________❥ ____ ______ ❥______❥ ______ __________❥__________

[chibishortdeath]

Went to an arcade in a mall recently and they had a Marble of Souls in there, so I played it and won some cards hehe. Those things are LOUD, like piercingly LOUD. I could hear it screeching bitcrushed vampire killer throughout the whole arcade, partially because of how loud it was and partially because I heard vampire killer and immediately tuned out everything else. Had a really nice conversation with the people at the ticket counter too, one of them was a fan of the games and they were all really nice :). Really interesting experience, I guess now I get to say I’ve fed Konami’s gambling addiction 💀💀💀. I’ve got Simon and Maria in card protectors rn (only had two) and I plan to get more protectors to put cute little stickers on them lol. Might put Simon in a lanyard or my wallet XD. But for now they’re just sitting on a shelf for display :3.

[reticent-fate]

i Need you to understand that i am just a simple little digimon redemption machine

the squeaky lil gazimon that serve etemon on the server continent? get those critters some beef jerky and cat toys

devimon from adventure? that's a friend waiting to happen

i see milleniummon and i go "that's a friend right there, get the lads some fruit salad"

kurata can suffer in digihell but i'll take his gizmon, they're cute

i just think they're neat

-sky

[yuzunagis]

i reached thirty tags oops love you niabear 🧸🤎

TELL ME WHAT YOU ASSOCIATE WITH ME

COLORS, SONGS, AESTHETICS, PEOPLE, ANYTHTING

[odietamox]

if I were a little more human shaped (or if i had been for all my teenage years) id go out at night and id go to clubs hopefully alternative clubs and id have so many stories and id be a while different person but alas

[leyiorr]

i can't stop looking at her t-t-t-t, FACE!

mdni.

satoru gojo is doomed.

why is he doomed, you ask? well, put bluntly, you, his girlfriend of five months, are driving him absolutely crazy.

crazy is an understatement, actually. insane, mad, mental, unhinged, deranged, bonkers - whatever you want to call it. he's holding on by a thread; the thinly woven string known as sanity growing ever weaker as the days roll by and turn into weeks.

of course, he's only blaming you. you hadn't actually done anything wrong.

you're the first relationship satoru's had in his life, and he'd be damned if some inappropriate thoughts ruin his chances with the love of his life. he'd never been happier - dating you gave him the kind of happiness he thought only existed in movies; the kind of giddiness of a child in a candy store.

he was devoted to you in every way, shape and form - you are everything he's dreamed of and more.

more.

that's right, you were more.

recently, you were the devil's temptation personified.

surprisingly, even after twenty-odd years of being one of the most attractive guys around, and having women throw themselves at him like he's some kind of greek deity, satoru is a virgin. i'll repeat that, he is a virgin. a fact that only suguru knows. a fact that he's neglected to tell his girlfriend.

he may have a flirtatious personality and the ability to charm ninety percent of the human race with one of his thousand-kilowatt smiles, but in truth, he had never dated anyone. ever. let alone got his dick in a pussy.

so when he starts wanting to go further, he's not sure how to bring it up without sounding like a horndog.

it all started when you wore a sleek black dress to one of your dates. it clung to your figure, fabric wrapping shamelessly around your every curve and tickling your midthigh at its end. and if that wasn't bad enough, it had a plunging neckline, giving the world - satoru specifically - an eyeful of the assets god gifted you with. your boobs were practically spilling out of your dress, the light catching your cleavage as you held his arm. he could feel himself salivating like some sort of perv. how was he supposed to focus with aphrodite's personal creation hanging off his arm?

his eyes began to drift to the flesh of your chest more than he'd like to admit. all sorts of r-rated scenarios ran through his head and he dared to entertain every. single. one. he could do so much with them, tease them, spit on them, pinch them, suck on them, put his dick between them-

“satoru?”

his gaze snaps back to your face at record speed. you notice how he's chewing his bottom lip, flush creeping onto his cheekbones and the tips of his ears. his hands are clammy; there's suddenly too little oxygen in his room.

“did you listen to anything i said?” your arms fold beneath your bosom and satoru almost implodes.

what do you expect him to do? the necklace around your neck has his initial on it, and it hovers over your tits almost mockingly. if it snapped, the letter would fall right between the valley of your breasts-

“satoru!”

he's choking on his saliva, apologizing profusely as he encourages you to continue your story - though he hasn't heard shit over the blood pumping loudly in his ears.

it's a battle no, a war between his rationality and his desires and he doesn't know which is winning. his rationality wins when he's around you - he just sucks in a breath and thugs it out, no matter how much his dick shouts at him. but in private, he's letting the desires win as his fists himself to the thought of you, your lips, your ass; your boobs.

the first time he sees you in a bikini he has to take a breather before he can get into a game of beach volleyball with you and the group.

(and even then he was struggling. every time you jumped for the ball the only thing he was looking at was your tits.)

he should be neutered. effective immediately.

it drags out for so long that you finally notice, and force him to talk to you about why he's avoiding you, and if you'd done anything wrong. but all you get is:

“baby, i'm so sorry- you're so pretty and i can't help myself. i didn't know how to bring up that i wanted to take our relationship to the next step, you mean the world to me and i'd hate to make you uncomfortable-” he trips and stumbles over his words-

“...is that it?”

and his eyes bug out of his head as he stares at you. weeks, months of agony over this and all you have to say is 'is that it'?

he doesn't even have chance to respond; to process your words before you're popping the top button of your blouse.

yeah, satoru gojo is doomed.

[chastiefoul]

he finds you crying ft. love and deepspace men

ft. zayne, xavier, rafayel, and sylus a/n: I always feel like mc wasn’t given enough time to grief when chapter 4 happened (or maybe they just didn’t show it or i remember it wrong) but to lose the people you’ve considered family like that in front of your eyes would severely mess on anyone’s mental well-being. mc stronger than me fr i would've had a breakdown every night. so i tried to write the comfort that was long overdue. <3

Zayne

He found you hunched over at the couch, knees tucked to your chest. your shoulder shook as he heard the sniffles and although he’s physically perfectly fine, he swore it felt like his heart was breaking in two.

He would gently put his key on the table, making his presence known in the subtlest way possible so you didn’t get startled.

You quickly tried to wipe your eyes and sat normally but suddenly in no time you were carried as he made you sit on his lap, bringing your head close to his neck as he held you tight.

Zayne wasn’t one who’s great at offering consoling words, as he also a firm believer of actions speak louder than words. As he rubbed your back gently he only said, “Let it all out, I’m here.”

So you did just that. You’ve said this once to him as a joke, but truly, anywhere by his side was the time you felt the most safe.

The doctor continued to comfort you in silence, hoping with every beat of his heart that his arms and hands that’s so used in saving people’s lives, could offer at least some kind of solace for your heart that was in disarray.

Xavier

He’d never hated the sight of a bed so much, until he found you crying atop of it.

Xavier would rushes over to you (arguably faster when he encountered strayed wanderers), determined to do anything he could to help you feel better.

As he put a hand over your cheek, wiping the tears that just kept on coming he whispered, “I’m here, what do you need?”

When you couldn’t even manage a reply Xavier would just stay by your side, his and was diligent in rubbing the side of your face; he never felt so useless, knowing the little gesture gave almost to none help.

For someone who finds sleep easy inbetween every hours, that was the most restless he’s ever been. He stayed with you until you calmed down, offering gentle whispers as you felt your awake state slipping away.

The moment you’re asleep Xavier was keen on wiping your face softly off of the remaining tears, and he tucked you in properly. He brought you to his embrace.

Yet unlike any other nights, he couldn’t find any part of him that was able to join you into the dream state.

Rafayel

Rafayel knew he came at a bad time. Seeing the way you spoke so stiffly and the way you zoned out of the conversation every few minutes.

However, he also knew he couldn’t leave you alone right then.

The silence once again was loud, but he didn’t think you realize that, as he followed your stare to the table, to what’s on the top of the table to be exact. A necklace with an apple charm on it.

He approached your side, cupping your face with both of his hands. “Miss bodyguard, you don’t have to be strong all the time, you know? Especially now, since you’re off duty.”

You chuckled quietly, but what followed after was not your usual easy smile but instead it was tears streaming down your face. And it felt like Rafayel could offer anything he had just to make them stop. And if that’s not enough, he swore to give you twice or thrice of what he had, it didn’t matter if he was to be in debt.

He held you tight, the sight of you crying was enough to make tears made their way to his eyes as well. And it pained him, knowing the best he could do in that moment was only to hold you tighter, as he wished that he could mend whatever broken part you had with one of his.

Sylus

He didn’t even flinch when you climbed on his lap, your usual talkativeness was nowhere to be found.

You rested your head on his shoulder and within seconds he knew that your emotions were in chaos, and if you thought you could find comfort in him, then he was more than happy to be there for you.

“Let me stay like here for a while,” you said weakly, voice all tense and anxious.

He brought a palm to your back, “By all means, darling. You didn’t think I was going to turn you away, did you?”

You stayed quiet, trying your best to get your emotions in order but it just seemed impossible. Sylus then sigh at your another attempt to pretend once again that you’re okay. “Cry if you need. Tears were never a sign of weakness, it just proves that you’re human.”

His rigid sentence somehow brought a strange sense of comfort for you, making your tears escape freely.

Sylus’ fingers felt fleeting on your back, like a touch that could slip away anytime. But he made sure none of that will happen as he stroke your hair gently over and over.

Was he worried of you? Absolutely. Yet he believed with all of his entire being that you that has fallen apart that day, would have no time standing back up again on the next day.

If there’s anything he learnt about you during your time with him, is that you’re a stranger to giving up.

[gghostwriter]

One Single Thread of Gold

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 2 Summary: The three times Penelope tries to solve a Spencer Reid riddle and the one time she (and the team) meet the reason behind all the changes Trope: Fluff! Just fluff and team banter! w.c: 4.0k a/n: For some reason, my earlier post on this disappeared dunno why. But this is a very self indulgent fic as reader’s background is basically based on the industry I work in. I had a lot of fun writing the team banter and I hope you enjoy it too! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated 💗

The first clue presented itself on a dull Wednesday night as the team, minus Hotch and Rossi, were leaving the bullpen after a full day of pushing papers. Penelope in all of her sunshine and colorful glory was buzzing about these accessories that she once spotted on a storefront window.

“I saw a pair of earrings and a matching necklace that would look so good with that top you bought the other day, JJ. You know, the blue one with those soft sleeves—they would look great with it. It’s tres boho chic.”

JJ smiled, opening her mouth to reply, but Spencer beat her to it.

“Did you know that boho chic was actually a response to political and social movements?”

“Wait, what?” Emily interjected.

He took her disbelief as a sign to continue on. “Yeah, yeah. There’s an article written about it in Vogue—softness and femininity historically appears in moments of political stress and war. Just like in the 70s with the hippie and anti-war movement that defined their style as a generation.”

They all piled into the elevator and turned to face the boy genius like he grew another head. For all they knew, this could be a clone and a very bad one at that. The Spencer Reid that they knew had absolutely no interest in the realms of fashion.

Penelope was the first to break the silence. “Vogue?”

“Kid, what gives? Just the other time, you didn’t know how many shoes a woman owns and now you’re some kind of expert?” Derek asked with both eyebrows raised.

“Did not knowing activate some kind of button that made you want to read about it?” Emily added on, feeling like she was in some kind of TV prank show.

“What?” Spencer licked his lips, nervous with all the attention on him. He felt like he was about to slip something up that he had been keeping to himself for a while now. A hidden precious gem that was you. “I—I like to read.” A believable excuse except his voice went up an octave, giving him away.

The three women shared a look.

“But you read academic textbooks and classic literature,” JJ stated.

Penelope added on. “Not fashion magazines.”

He shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “I don’t discriminate when it comes to reading. If it’s interesting—” he shifted his weight one side to another, thinking that the ride down on the elevator seemed to be taking slower than usual. “—I’ll read it.”

Penelope narrowed her eyes. She was no profiler but she could smell a lie from a mile away way. That wasn’t the whole truth. Dr. Spencer Reid was hiding something.

“Okay, see you tomorrow!” he squeaked out as he ran out of the elevator once it hit the lobby.

She turned to the three profilers, stunned with the boy genius’ erratic behavior. “Huh, did anybody else get the feeling that Spencer was hiding something?”

“Maybe, but the kid does read a lot. Maybe he just ran out of books.” Morgan shrugged.

The other two profilers tilted their heads and slowly nodded in agreement. It wasn’t far off on something Spencer would do. He did once pick up a pamphlet in the airport to read as mentioned before to her by Derek, granted it was for a case but still, Penelope couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else.

So when she arrived home that very same night, she propped up her laptop and got to digging. Boy Genius was hiding something big and Little Miss Oracle of Quantico can find anything with her tech skills. She’ll get to the bottom of this mystery, once and for all.

———

Spencer was glad to be coming home to your presence. Having spied the lights still on from the outside of the apartment, he took the steps two at a time, excited to see his 2nd favorite person after his mother—you.

“Spence?” You called out, having heard the mahogany front door open. “Is that you, baby?”

“Hey, love. I missed you,” he deposited his satchel to the nearby sofa and ran to give you a hug.

You burrowed yourself into his arms. All the muscles in your body relaxing as you caught a whiff of his cedar wood perfume—the same scent you’ve gifted to him during the early stages of dating. “I missed you too. How was your day?”

“Better now with you,” his words coming out muffled as he refused to detach himself from the embrace. “Actually, I almost slipped up today.”

You extricated from his arms to give him an inquisitive look. The slight scrunch on your nose and raised brows made his heart flutter. How expressive, free, and trusting you were. It reminded him of your first encounter. How you teasingly asked him if he was a serial killer when he offered you a ride home in the pouring rain and how you easily accepted regardless.

“Yeah? Did any of them catch on?” you probed as you pulled him by his belt loops to the direction of the bedroom.

He laughed, finding your aggression cute. “No. At least, I don’t think so.”

“Maybe we should schedule dinner with them sometime,” you coyly suggested as you slowly started to unravel his tie. “I mean, we’ve been together for over a year now and I have moved into your apartment, under the guise of watering your plants while you’re away. Which is a lie, by the way—”

“I have plants!” he protested. His hands divesting you out of his sweater, bringing to view his favorite silk set in deep purple that accentuated your skin and the blush on your cheeks.

“—that I brought over, Spence,” you quipped back. “But don’t worry, I won’t spill how the intelligent FBI agent fooled naive me into moving in with him.”

There was a glint in his eyes that sent shivers down your spine. “Love, I wouldn’t exactly call you naive—” his voice going an octave lower. “—not when you’re looking at me with those tempting eyes of yours.”

Giggling, you leaned in for a kiss, one that he quickly took over. His calloused dominant hand wrapped around the back of your neck, effectively caging you in while his other cradled your cheek—a stark contrast to the other. Kissing Spencer had always felt like a religious experience that you never want to part from.

Reluctantly pulling away, you caught glimpse of his need for you. His hazel eyes now dark as ink, nostrils slightly flared, teeth sinking into his lower lip, and his dominant hand dug into the fleshy nape of your neck. It made you feel desirable, like the goddess that he would call you when he’s on his knees tasting nectar from the source.

The discussion of inviting the team out for dinner was long forgotten. No other words were spoken as you pushed him on the bed—only the cries of his and your name and moans of ‘yes’ echoed well into the night.

***

The second clue was uncovered when Spencer walked into the cold windy bullpen with new black cardigan adorning his lithe body. It was non-descriptive to the untrained eye but for fashion enthusiast Penelope Garcia, she knew what those four white lines on the sleeve meant—luxury label and priced well above their pay grade.

She narrowed her eyes. The Spencer she knew wouldn’t dare spend his salary on anything besides limited first edition books. Something was truly up and she planned to get to the bottom of it as her initial online search turned up nothing.

“Reid, that’s a really nice sweater,” she complimented, throwing in her bait.

He smiled. The thought of who gave it to him warmed his heart. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks Garcia.”

Her sparkly pink kitten heels clacking on the floor as she came closer. “Can I see it?” she innocently asked.

The request threw Spencer off the loop but thought nothing of it as he shrugged and handed it to her—still warm from body temperature.

Her squeals caught the attention of the other profilers filling into the office.

“What is it, baby girl?” Morgan deposited his bag on the table and stationed himself beside her. “It’s Reid’s new sweater. Are you seeing something I’m not seeing?”

Garcia rolled her eyes. This was why females are considered more observant that their sex counterpart. Her chocolate thunder was a profiler but how could he not notice what she was deducing?

“Huh,” Emily surmised. “Based on the fibers, it’s definitely not polyester. Possibly a 100% wool, what do you think, JJ?”

“It says here on the tag—100% virgin wool,” she read out loud. “That makes it very expensive, right Garcia?”

The colorful tech analyst smiled. Her girls could never let her down. “Right you are, girlfriends! But it’s not only that, this—” pointing at the four stripes on the sleeve. “—this is a signature Thom Browne detail. Their prices go up to at least 600 dollars—” they all turned to Reid who seemed clearly agitated. “—now why does our boy wonder have a piece that could buy at most five cute heels?”

With his vast intellect, he couldn’t think of a way to weasel out of this impromptu interrogation. He couldn’t very well say that it was a gift now could he? If he did, that would lead to another hard hitting question ‘from who?’ He raked his hand through his curly hair, taking the same path as yours did just earlier as you gave him a kiss goodbye.

When you gifted him the cardigan from your last New York business trip, he really thought nothing of its material equivalence, besides feeling grateful and loved. It was proof that you paid attention to even the littlest details about him.

“Hey Spence, I got you something,” you looked up at him with sparkling eyes. The first thing you had done when you got home was run into his arms. A simple act that healed his aching heart from missing it’s other half.

You reached into your luggage, enthusiastically pulling out the black clothing wrapped in tissue paper like some magician pulling out a rabbit from a hat. “Here you go!”

“A new sweater!” He exclaimed.

You rocked on your heels, looking bashful as you explained the reasoning behind it. “I noticed you fidgeting when you wore the cardigan JJ gifted you last Christmas, the polyester fibers used on it must have been really itchy so I got you a new one—” your eyes widened at how your explanation could be taken the wrong way. “—not that her gift wasn’t great! No, it was very cute! It’s just—I want you to be comfortable and protected during your cases in cold states. Polyester is a good insulator of heat but wool is still the best.”

He loved how unabashed you rambled about your interests. That was one of the first things he piqued his notice. How you liked to share your knowledge about the fashion industry that you work for but never coming across as stuck up or snobby, you just genuinely wanted to educate anyone who had a wrong perception of the billion dollar commerce. Admittedly, he was one of them but hearing you rave about it’s nitty-gritty details and socio-economic movements changed his mind. It also helped that a beautiful and intelligent woman, such as yourself, was educating him.

He pulled you in for a kiss, stopping all the worries that ran through your head. “I love it. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing at all, baby. I like taking care of you. Just like how you take care of me,” you reasoned. “Plus I got it on sale courtesy of the magazine connections.”

A tap on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie. It was Penelope with an eyebrow raised at the subtle smile that graced his face while he replayed the moment in his head.

“Okay,” Morgan drawled. “What’s got you smiling, Pretty boy?”

“Nothing,” he squeaked out, turning to see Hotch make his way across the office. Spencer hurriedly collected his things and started to move even before their unit chief could call their attention.

“We have a case,” Hotch announced.

The remaining BAU members all looked at each other, silently communicating about Reid’s irregular demeanor, before piling into the conference room for another grueling scene of murder.

“He’s been acting weird,” Garcia rushed out. “Definitely hiding something. What do you think, Em?”

Emily nodded. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“A girl?” JJ guessed.

“Yes, must be a special one for him to keep secret for so long,” Garcia surmised. “Do you think he’ll hate it if I go further digging around to find out who she is?”

“Further?” Emily clarified.

JJ laughed. “Probably, let’s wait for him to volunteer the information. Okay, Garcia?”

She sighed, shoulders drooping, before nodding in agreement.

***

The third clue was quite literally handed to Penelope Garcia on the jet after a case when she accompanied the team.

“Cold Alaska is so not good for my skin,” she grumbled as she rummaged her bottomless bag for her favorite hand cream. “I love going with you all on trips rather than being stuck in my own tech cave but the weather wasn’t it.”

Morgan chuckled. “Aw c’mon baby girl, don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy our time together?”

“You, my sculpted hunk, and the fireplace were the highlight,” Penelope turned to the other female profilers. “My beauties, do any of you have lotion? I think I lost mine.”

Before JJ or Emily could even utter a word, a tube made its way to her lap courtesy of her seat mate, Dr. Spencer Reid.

“Reid, since when do you carry lotion?” Emily inquired.

He shrugged. “Hand cream has it’s benefits besides from moisturizing the skin, it also provides an additional layer of protection. Depending on it’s properties, it can also repair and undo damage.”

The females all shared a look. This was another unexplainable behavior from their resident genius.

“We know that,” JJ stated. “We just thought you didn’t.”

His brows furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, besides from the fact that you’ve never shown interest about skincare before, isn’t it a stereotype for men not to know? Unless—” Emily slyly smiled and nodded at Garcia to continue.

“Unless you have a girlfriend that we don’t know about,” Garcia bounced on her seat.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Spencer’s eyes widened in alarm. He didn’t realize he was walking into a trap before it was too late. “What makes you say that?”

They laughed.

JJ started. “Besides from you suddenly being knowledgeable in fashion—“

“—or having a pricey sweater you’d never buy for yourself—” Emily added on.

“Or, or—“ Garcia reached out to touch his hand. Which made Spencer react with a high pitched call of her name. “—having a shea butter lotion with rough hands!” She waved the tube up in the air. “Plus, this is half empty. So either it’s not working which I doubt since this is a good brand or you keep this in your bag for a special someone to use!”

Derek chuckled. “Baby girl, you could be a profiler at this point.”

“Oh tell me something I don’t know,” she quipped back. “So Reid, want to tell us the truth?”

He sighed, finding no escape. “Yes, yes I have a girlfriend.”

The girls all shrieked with laughter and their own corresponding questions of who is she? How did you meet? How long has this been going on? What does she do for a living? Is she pretty? Oh I bet she is!

“Looks like that cat is out of the bag,” Rossi nonchalantly stated.

Four sets of eyes turned to look at one of the BAU founders. “Rossi, you knew about this and didn’t tell me?” Garcia gasped, a hand to her chest at the thought of betrayal.

He laughed. “I caught them on a dinner date once and our boy wonder over here—“ nodded in Reid’s direction. “—begged me not to out him yet, said he wanted to be the one to tell the team the news but that was like what, six months ago?”

“Six months ago?” Emily repeated.

“Wait, wait. Hotch, don’t tell me you also knew?” Morgan asked.

The unit chief smiled. “She was added to Reid’s emergency contact last February.”

“February? That’s almost a year ago!” JJ sputtered out.

The tech analyst turned to glare at the youngest member of the BAU. “Reid, you better start spilling all the details or so help me, I will stalk all your digital footprint when we land until I find out who she is, where she lives, and what her deepest darkest secret is.”

“What about hearing it all from her, instead?” He rubbed the back of his neck. The secrecy had gone on for so long and there was no time like the present to introduce his chosen family to his chosen partner—hopefully until the end of time. “She wants to treat you all out for dinner tonight.”

All four nodded vigorously as they watched him pull out his phone and send a quick text to which you readily replied and agreed to.

“My man,” Derek sighed. “Can’t believe you got a girlfriend without me being your wingman.”

“Answer me at least this, is she pretty and does she make you happy?” Garcia asked. No matter how nosey she may be, she only wanted the best for Spencer and if the recent lightness and smiles were all caused by his mystery girlfriend, she already approved.

“The prettiest,” Spencer gushed out. “She’s my own personal sunshine.”

The three girls melted into their seats. Their youngest was all grown up waxing prose over his lover.

“She makes you sappy too,” Derek teased.

***

[EXTRA - When the mystery was uncovered]

Spencer had never felt any more nervous that this moment as he, with the rest of the team minus Hotch and Rossi, wait for your arrival. He sat with his back to the restaurant entrance and his cardigan laying on the empty seat beside him as a reservation mark. His eyes had been going back and forth to his idle phone and to the conversation the team was having.

Morgan noted his state of distress and chuckled. “You okay there, lover boy? She’s still coming right, your mystery girlfriend?”

“Yeah, yeah. She said she was on her way 9 minutes and 24 seconds ago and based on the route and traffic, she should have been here 45 seconds earlier. Just worried that something might have happened.”

Penelope leaned in, picking on her bubblegum pink choice of drink as she did. “You know, if you just told me her name I could have tracked every movement by now and you wouldn’t be sitting here worrying.”

“What—no Garcia, I don’t want her tracked plus she didn’t want you to know everything about her even before meeting her,” his voice going up an octave in your defense.

She shrugged. “I’m just saying. I mean we don’t know a single thing about her—”

“We do know she exists and you’ve been together for almost a year now,” Emily interjected.

“Actually, it’s been more than year—one year and 124 days to be exact.”

“Buttercup, all I’m saying is we don’t even know how she looks—” Garcia gasped, having spotted a passerby on the window and what she was wearing. “Oh my gosh, that maroon coat is to die for and that textured leather bag—I wonder if I could track her down and ask where she got it.”

“Oh she’s pretty,” JJ noted.

Derek smirked. “Baby girl, tell me if you plan to ask her ‘cause I wouldn’t mind asking for her number.”

The tech analyst’s eyes further widened as she noted the attractive woman going inside the restaurant.

“You weren’t kidding about that coat, Garcia, it looks really nice,” JJ appraised.

Emily squinted her eyes, taking note of the garment in question. “It looks high quality, probably vintage and—is she going near us?”

“Oh gods, she is! Act natural, act natural!” Penelope chanted as she repeatedly slapped Derek’s arm.

The stranger stopped behind Spencer. “Hey handsome,” your melodic voice was a siren that called to his every being. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Penelope’s jaw dropped as she took in Derek’s flustered reaction.

“Me?” He pointed at himself, getting picked up in such a public setting was new even for him—the ladies man of the BAU.

You laughed. “Well, you too but I was more of talking to this lover of mine—“ you bent down, kissing your boyfriend’s cheek. “Hey, Spence.”

A series of gasps were heard all around the table.

The youngest stood up and turned to give you a soft kiss on the lips. “Hey, Y/N. I was starting to get worried.”

“I missed the train, sorry I forgot to send an update,” you explained as he helped you into your seat.

Promptly seating back down, he angled his body to yours—all attention on you as if you were the only one in the room. And in a way you were, with how molten his doe eyes stared, alternating between yours and your painted lips that begged to be kissed.

He always felt breathless when you were near. It was as if he found his very own Aphrodite to worship here on earth. Spencer was no believer of fates or destiny but he would pray and light a candle if he needed to, just to keep you his. Your intelligent mind complimenting his, your outgoing personality that draws anyone in, and your face that could launch a thousand ships.

Those eyes that could read the deepest crevices of his fiber of being. Those cheeks that begged to be caressed by his calloused hands. Those soft lips that deserved to be kissed and devoured until you, in turn, were as breathless as he was. He suddenly wished you both were anywhere else but here—specifically in the confines of the apartment where he was free to express his love, devotion, and adoration until you scream his name and beg him to stop. His hand, having found it’s way to your thigh, squeezed the flesh three times—communicating his promise to have your hair laid around you like a halo as you lay under him, bare and writhing with need.

The blonde on the other end of the table cleared her throat, cutting through the tension.

“Okay, Spence,” she smiled. “Mind introducing us to your girlfriend?”

He brought your hand to his lips, leaving a series of sweet kisses on your knuckle. “This is Y/N, my girlfriend. Y/N, this is the rest of the team. Morgan—“ he gestured to each one. “Emily, JJ, and Garcia.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you!” You exclaimed. “So sorry we’re only meeting now. We wanted to stay in our little bubble for as long as we could plus this handsome FBI agent—” you nudged Spencer’s shoulder. “—wanted to keep me to himself. But where’s Aaron and Dave?”

Emily whispered under her breath. “Aaron? Dave?”

“They had prior commitments, love. They did send their regards and Rossi wants to invite you to the next gathering at his mansion,” Spencer explained.

“Love?” Penelope squeaked out. This was really starting to feel like Twilight zone for the team members.

You nodded. “I’ll definitely plot it on my calendar. Now, I heard you had some questions for me?”

“How’d you two meet?” JJ asked.

“When was the first date?” Emily inquired.

Penelope brought out a pen and paper. “What’s you social security number?”

Derek snorted at that. “Do you have any other siblings?”

Spencer’s eyebrows raised further and further up with each question while your shoulders shook with laughter.

“She has all the time in the world to get to know each of you,” Spencer laid out. “No need to make it sound like an interrogation.” He was wishing to keep you forever, if you’d let him.

You smiled as you caressed his cheek, having caught on to the veiled meaning behind his words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[tealvenetianmask]

The "old movies" of Blitz's traumatic memories went by really fast, so I slowed it down to .25 and watched it frame by frame to see what I could find. Here are the frames I found interesting.

The necklace. It's confirmed that this is the same one that his mother wore, and he found it in the fire. Maybe it fell off while she tried to escape the flames? We also see how it haunts him when her eyeball turns into it in his hallucination.

Cash throwing a hard fucking smack. Maybe after the fire? It kind of follows narratively, but I couldn't get much from the background. Or maybe it's earlier? Either way, our theories that Cash was physically abusive are confirmed. Fuck him.

Two cute M&M moments. I've felt for a while that when they got together it really messed with Blitz's world. The second one looks familiar. Is it from Exes and Oh's right before he hugs them and acts invasive about Chaz? Either way, his hands are reached out. He feels like a third wheel since they became a couple. So it seems like a lot of his creepy behavior comes down to feeling abandoned by his friends and trying to SOMEHOW be close to them in the only way he knows how to do so safely (being sexual and joking).

This moment with Loona at the end of Seeing Stars. The rage in her face. This was played for laughs mostly (Loona refusing the hug and kicking him in the balls) but maybe it was actually hurtful? Seems like it stuck with him. Seems like he fears that Loona actually resents him (so these two need a talk too eeek).

Barbie. Yepppppp. I can't decide whether this is in Unhappy Campers or from an earlier time.

ALL the Stolas moments. Is it reading into it too much to notice that in all of the moments before Blitz raged in The Full Moon, Stolas is looking at him, and in all of the moments after, he's looking away? Regardless, these are all really upsetting moments for Blitz. And the sheer number of them says something about how fresh and painful the breakup still is for him. HOPING they reunite and make some progress on this next episode. :(

I love the role that Blitz's HANDS play in these glimpses into his traumatic moments. He's never touching anyone, and often reaching or pulling back, or touching an object instead. He has so much love in him, and he's so lonely.

Updates, for anyone who's seeing this from the original post. Thanks to those who pointed these out.

Blitz's hands are burned when Cash smacks him, so it's from after the fire.

The M&M moments are from Murder Family and Truth Seekers.

[autumnrory]

omg omg i don't need to spend more money on myself rn so i'm gonna hold out but i saw an instagram ad for what looked like a really excellent jewelry box and i was worried it would only be on am*zon but i found it elsewhere ofc i wish i would have the different color options but like i'm not buying from them so. hopefully it will stick around bc i'd really prefer to wait till after christmas

[cloudtransprncy]

Dumb/Problem pt. 2

Kim Chaewon x Male Reader ft. Eunbi Pt 2 of Dumb. Tags: cheating, light bratty elements, backshots, reckless decisions, tension, guilty pleasure, hooking up at a party, I like chaewon more im sorry

Being a good boyfriend at a party? Boooring. Letting your girlfriend’s best friend drag you upstairs to fuck? Awh shit here we go again.

Her lips stretch around your cock, wet but controlled. Perfect, but not desperate. No mess, no frantic need to take more than she can handle. Just slow, deliberate motions, the kind that look good in the mirror she angled herself toward before she started.

Fuck, why can't she just let go for once?

It feels good, you admit, but not as good as it could. Not as good as it should.

Eunbi keeps her hands to herself. No stroking, no slick trails of saliva over her fingers. Just her mouth, just the steady rhythm of her tongue gliding against your shaft, the soft press of her lips forming a seal as she bobs down, then up again. It's careful. Too careful.

You want to tell her to stop thinking about how it looks. To stop being so fucking pretty about it. But you don't.

Her room smells like fresh laundry and vanilla lotion. The soft cotton of her bed sheets beneath you feels clean, untouched, like everything she owns. The dim light from her nightstand lamp casts a glow over her skin, making her look softer, younger. Her sweater is slipping off one shoulder, delicate pearl necklace resting against her collarbone—a birthday gift from her parents that she never takes off, even now.

She looks like she belongs in a romance movie, not on her knees with your cock between her lips.

Everything in her room is carefully arranged, intentional. Cream-colored sheets, layered blankets with knit textures, a few decorative pillows placed neatly against the headboard. A woven rug spreads beneath the bed, soft against your feet. No clutter, no mess. A single shelf above her desk holds a couple of books—her worn copy of "Pride and Prejudice" with color-coded sticky notes peeking out, her planner filled with perfectly-lettered assignments and deadlines, a small potted succulent she waters every Sunday, and a framed photo of her and her friends at homecoming—perfectly centered.

Not a single thing out of place. Not even when she's doing this.

She has plushies, but only a few, lined up neatly on a chair in the corner rather than scattered around the bed. The Rilakkuma bear you won her at the fair sits front and center—a trophy of your relationship, displayed like evidence. The walls are warm-toned, decorated with woven macramé and string lights draped just right, giving the room a soft, effortless aesthetic. Everything in here feels curated, thought-out, a space meant to be calm, peaceful. A room that doesn't belong in the same world as you know who.

She looks good like this. Hair neatly tucked behind her ear, cheeks hollowed out in a way that makes her look like some perfectly curated fantasy. The kind of girl you bring home, not sneak around with.

This should be enough. This should be all you want. So why isn't it?

She makes it look effortless, makes it look like something out of a scene meant to be remembered, meant to be admired. But that's the problem. It's pretty—too much so. Like she's thinking about how this looks, not how it feels.

You want to grab her hair, push her down, make her take more—see if she can let go for once. But you already know she won't.

She's kneeling between your legs, jaw working as she takes you in again, but there's a hesitance. A limit. She won't spit. Won't let it get messy. Won't let it drip past her lips or smear across her chin. Won't use her hands, won't pump you in time with her mouth, won't let her own arousal turn this into something real.

It's a performance. A perfect, practiced performance.

She's soft. Gentle. Controlled. Not like her.

Not like Chaewon, who'd already have you up against the wall by now, who'd have spit running down her chin and wouldn't give a single fuck.

You tell yourself it should be enough. That it feels good. That you should just take what she's giving you. But some part of you—some selfish, impatient part—already knows where your mind is going next.

She just wants to be good at it. Not filthy, not desperate—just good. And that's the problem, isn't it?

You're frustrated.

"Come on," you murmur, voice thick, pleading. "Just a little deeper."

Your fingers sink into her hair, gentle but insistent, urging. Not forcing—never forcing—but hoping she'll listen, that she'll feel the way your body aches for more, that she'll give you more.

Eunbi shakes her head. A small, simple movement. No.

Your stomach tightens. "Please?" You swallow hard, trying again, voice quieter this time. "Just for a second."

Jesus, you're practically begging now. Has it really come to this?

She doesn't stop, doesn't even pause—her tongue moves over you, warm and slow, dragging along the underside, circling the tip, keeping her rhythm neat and measured. She kisses the sides, lets her lips glide over your length, keeps her pace controlled. Too controlled.

It's good. She's good. Gorgeous, poised, deliberate—like everything about her. Her dark lashes flutter as she looks up at you, the golden light from her bedside lamp soft against her skin, casting her in something warm, something that makes her feel untouchable. Like she belongs on a canvas, not on her knees.

But it's not enough.

You let out a breath, low, shaky. "Eunbi, please," you whine, shifting, trying not to thrust too much into her mouth, trying to keep still, trying to let her set the pace. "I need more. Please, just—"

"I said no."

Her voice is quiet but firm, steady, like she's not even considering it. Like it's a boundary so deeply ingrained she doesn't even feel the need to explain. No.

She pulls back slightly, looking up at you with those doe eyes that normally make you melt. "I don't like when you push like this," she adds, a hint of disappointment in her tone. "You know that."

Fuck. Now you feel like shit for even asking.

You groan, tilting your head back against her pillows, burning with frustration, trying to fight the desperation curling inside you. She's so beautiful. The way she looks like this, her lips wet, her hair falling in soft waves over her shoulder, the way her touch is careful, precise

—

But it's not dirty. It's not messy. It's not what you need.

What's wrong with you that this perfect girl isn't enough?

She stops before you finish.

Just pulls away, composed, dabbing the corner of her mouth with her thumb before smoothing a hand over her hair, like she's fixing herself in a mirror, like she's resetting.

You let out a breath, half a groan, running a hand over your face, still aching, still tense, still fucking needing—

"Can I at least fuck you?"

It comes out rough, raw, too exposed, but you don't care. You need it. Need her. Need something.

Eunbi exhales, standing up, brushing invisible dust off her sweater, already moving on. Already done.

"I need to study. The AP Bio exam is next week, and I still haven't gone through the last chapter." She gestures to the color-coded study guide on her desk, sticky notes and highlighters arranged by subject. "You know how important this is for my scholarship application."

Like it's obvious. Like it's the only thing that matters now. Like you weren't just in her mouth, half-delirious, seconds away from losing it.

Right. The perfect student. The perfect girlfriend. Never lets anything get in the way of her future—not even you.

You stare, blinking, trying to catch up, trying to process how she does this—how she always does this.

Your head falls back against the bed. A groan rumbles from your throat, frustrated, unsatisfied.

"We haven't fucked in days," you mutter, half a whine, half an accusation.

She glances at you, unimpressed. "Maybe you should be studying too." She pauses, softening slightly. "Your Calc grade isn't exactly where it needs to be for State, is it?"

Low blow. But she's not wrong.

Then she picks up her laptop, flips it open, and just like that, you're forgotten. The light from the screen illuminates her face, highlighting her focused expression—the tiny furrow between her brows that appears when she's concentrating. Even frustrated, you can't help but notice how pretty she looks like this, how dedicated.

Your breath comes slow, heavy. You stare at the ceiling, still pulsing, still hard, still aching with nowhere to put it.

This isn't working. Not today, not anymore.

Then—

Your phone buzzes.

You reach for it, thumb sliding over the screen, hardly thinking, barely hoping.

A message.

From her.

But not under her name. You're not that dumb.

Your stomach tightens, pulse kicking up.

Chaewon.

"You and Eunbi are coming to Yena's party, right?"

You hesitate, fingers hovering over the keyboard before you finally type, "Idk, Eunbi's being lame."

Fuck, that feels disloyal. But it's true, isn't it? You almost laugh at the absurdity—worried about a text when you've had your cock inside her best friend. Your moral compass is seriously fucked.

The reply comes fast.

"Awh, what? She didn't give you what you wanted again?"

You don't answer. You don't need to. Your silence is enough—it always is with Chaewon. She reads you like a book, knows you in ways Eunbi never tries to.

A moment later, another message from her.

"I always give you what you want."

The frustration lingers, simmering under your skin. But now, it's shifting—turning into something else entirely.

You shouldn't answer. You should put the phone down. Focus on Eunbi. Be better.

But your thumb hovers over the keyboard, and you know exactly what you'll type next.

Chaewon is already on her knees. Mouth open, spit trailing from her lips.

This isn't a performance. This isn't careful. This is fucking chaos.

It's messy. So fucking messy. Drool pools at the corners of her mouth, her throat taking your cock fully. She doesn't just take it—she devours it. Not one controlled motion, not a single thought about how it looks—just raw, desperate need.

So different from Eunbi's careful rhythm, her pristine technique. This isn't romance. This is hunger.

The bass from the speakers rattles the walls, the muffled sound of people shouting over music bleeding through the door but distant—because you're upstairs, in Yena's family bathroom, the one she reluctantly said people could use if they absolutely needed to. "Just don't go in any bedrooms," she'd warned everyone at the start. "My parents would kill me."

Downstairs is chaos—bodies pressed together, drinks sloshing, someone shrieking with laughter while Yena yells over the music. An hour in, Chaewon caught your eye from across the room, a slow, knowing smirk curling at her lips. She tilted her head toward the stairs, eyebrow raised in silent question. You didn't hesitate. You followed, slipping up the forbidden staircase when Yena wasn't looking.

Eunbi would never. Not at a party. Not with people around. Not in a place you weren't supposed to be.

And now you're here.

Her hands stroke your cock in time with the bob of her head, tight and slick, not caring where the spit lands. It drips from her fingers, slides down her wrist, pools on the floor beneath her knees. She fucking enjoys this. Loves the way your cock twitches in her grip, loves the way your breathing turns ragged as she ruins you with her mouth.

You watch, mesmerized, as she pulls back to the tip, lets saliva gather on her tongue, then sinks back down in one fluid motion. The contrast of her lipstick—still perfectly applied, dark against her skin—makes the whole thing feel filthier somehow. That perfect makeup, ruined by what she's doing to you.

She moans around you, the vibration sending a shudder up your spine. Her eyes flick up to yours, holding your gaze as she takes you deeper, deeper than anyone should be able to. When she reaches the base, she swallows—her throat constricting around you in waves that make your vision blur.

Where Eunbi keeps her hands to herself, Chaewon uses everything—fingers, palms, nails dragging just hard enough to make you shiver. No limits. No hesitation.

Your jeans and boxers are shoved down to your ankles, forgotten, useless. You're exposed, vulnerable, and fuck—she knows it.

She pulls off you with a wet pop, her lips slick, cheeks flushed. Then, with that wicked little smirk, she grips your cock and slaps it against her lips, her tongue flicking out between each tap. The sound is obscene in the quiet bathroom—wet, needy, filthy.

"She doesn't do this for you, does she?" she murmurs, voice wrecked, lips glossy with a mix of saliva and you.

The way she says "she"—like Eunbi is a concept, not a person. Like she's something to be pitied for not knowing how to make you fall apart.

You can barely think, barely breathe, but she doesn't give you time to recover.

"I missed your cock," she purrs, stroking you slow, teasing. "Forgot how fucking big you are."

Her thumb circles the head, spreading the wetness there, toying with the sensitive spot just beneath it. Your hips jerk involuntarily, and she laughs—a low, satisfied sound.

She leans in, but instead of taking you back into her mouth, she runs her tongue along the underside, tracing the vein from base to tip in one long, slow drag. When she reaches the head, she swirls her tongue around it, then blows cool air against the wetness, making you hiss through clenched teeth.

Eunbi would never talk like this. Would never say the word "cock" like it's candy on her tongue. Would never play with you like a cat with a mouse.

You thread your fingers through her hair, not pushing, just holding on as she continues her assault on your senses. She responds by taking just the tip between her lips, sucking hard, then releasing it with another obscene pop. Again and again, she does this—never giving you the full warmth of her mouth, just teasing, edging, driving you mad.

"You want more?" she asks, letting your cock rest heavily against her cheek, leaving a wet smear across her skin. "Tell me how badly you want it."

Your breath catches. Words fail you. She waits, patient in her cruelty, one eyebrow raised.

"Please," you finally manage, the word raw and desperate.

She rewards you by taking you deep again—so deep you feel the back of her throat, feel her gag slightly before adjusting. But she doesn't pull back. Instead, she stays there, swallowing around you, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes from the effort. The sight alone nearly finishes you—Chaewon, kneeling before you, taking you so deep it hurts, mascara starting to run.

She lowers her mouth again—but not where you expect.

You thud back against the counter as her lips part over your balls, warm, wet, sucking soft before her tongue drags slow and filthy along the skin. You choke on a moan, hands gripping the edge of the sink, barely keeping yourself upright.

You'd never even dream of asking Eunbi for this. The thought of her perfect mouth anywhere but where she decides it should be feels impossible.

The risk? Insane.

Eunbi is downstairs. Completely oblivious, probably sipping whatever drink Yena handed her, scanning the room for you. Probably checking her watch, wondering if you're just talking to someone. Trusting you, even now.

Your moral compass isn't just fucked. It's shattered.

A burst of laughter outside the door—someone else who snuck upstairs. Footsteps. Then—a knock.

You freeze.

Your stomach drops. Chaewon? She just grins. Breathless, messy, still on her knees.

"Occupied," she calls out, voice sweet, almost sing-song.

Where Eunbi would panic, straighten her clothes, check her appearance—Chaewon thrives on the risk.

A pause. The shuffle of footsteps. Then the voices move away, back toward the stairs—likely another couple looking for privacy in the off-limits zone, disappointed to find the bathroom taken.

She presses her hands against your thighs, digging in just enough to ground you, before tilting her head up. The bathroom light catches the deep brown of her hair, the strands sleek and polished where they frame her face.

A weeks ago, the blonde had made her look sharp, dangerous—but this? This soft brown, paired with the glitter dusting her collarbones, the sequined dress clinging to her body, the way she looks up at you with that expression—

She doesn't just turn heads anymore. She kills.

And she's about to kill you, too.

Suddenly, she takes you even deeper.

Your head slams back against the mirror as she forces herself down, throat tightening, swallowing around you until her nose brushes your skin. She stays there for a moment, the heat, the pressure, unbearable—before pulling back just enough to suck in a desperate breath, spit dripping from her chin. Then she does it again. And again. Wrecking you.

Her hands are everywhere now—gripping your thighs, sliding up to your stomach, tracing the line of muscle that disappears beneath her lips. She moans around you, like she's getting off on this too, like having you in her mouth is as good for her as it is for you.

The wet sounds fill the bathroom—obscene, filthy noises that would make anyone flush with embarrassment. But not her. She revels in it, makes it even messier, even louder.

Everything Eunbi wouldn't do. Everything you begged for earlier. Everything you needed.

Your legs nearly give out, knees weak, hands scrambling for something—anything—to hold onto. You fist her hair, not to control, just to survive.

She pulls back just enough to take a breath, your cock still resting on her tongue, before diving back down. She establishes a rhythm now—brutal, relentless, taking you to the edge and keeping you there. Each time she reaches the base, she swallows, throat constricting around you in waves that make your vision blur.

When you're close—so close you can barely stand it—she feels it, knows it from the tension in your thighs, the way your breath hitches. And she pulls back, letting cool air hit wet skin, making you gasp at the sudden change.

"Not yet," she whispers, stroking you with a tight grip that's just shy of enough. "I'm not done playing with you."

Before you can protest, she's sucking at the head again, tongue flicking across the slit, gathering the wetness there. Her free hand slides lower, cupping your balls, rolling them gently between her fingers.

The dual sensation has you seeing stars, biting your lip to keep from crying out. Your hips jerk forward, seeking more, but she controls the pace now, keeping you right at the edge.

Chaewon pulls off with a gasp, dragging the back of her hand across her mouth, a strand of spit snapping between her lips and your cock. Her gaze flicks up to yours, dark, knowing. Smug.

"I want more," she murmurs, voice rough, fingers curling around the waistband of your jeans. She pulls them up for you, tugging your boxers into place, smoothing the fabric down over your still-hard cock.

Not "I need to study." Not "Maybe later." Just raw, honest want.

Then, like nothing happened, she turns to the sink. Washes her hands, pats her lips dry, eyes catching yours in the mirror. That smirk still lingers.

She doesn't ask if you're following her. She knows you are.

With Eunbi, you follow rules. With Chaewon, you just do.

Chaewon grabs your wrist and pulls you toward the door, slipping out of the bathroom like a ghost. The upstairs hallway is empty���everyone else obediently staying downstairs like Yena instructed, the music and voices a distant roar beneath your feet. Up here, it's just the two of you, the dim light causing the hallway to be bathed in shadows.

The forbidden zone. Where you definitely shouldn't be. Where Eunbi would never go.

She finds an empty bedroom—one of the guest rooms, judging by the neutral decor. Pushes the door open. Steps inside.

And you go with her. Even knowing Eunbi is somewhere downstairs, even knowing what this makes you, you follow Chaewon without hesitation.

Because Eunbi gives you what you should want. But Chaewon gives you what you need.

The door clicks shut behind you, sealing the two of you away from the chaos downstairs. Neither of you bother with the light switch. The only illumination comes from the moonlight cutting through the blinds, painting soft silver lines across her skin. It's enough. You see her clearly. She sees you. You both know exactly what you want. The music is a distant thrum beneath your feet, the muffled sounds of voices and laughter nothing more than background noise.

Chaewon doesn't wait. She shoves you back onto the bed, her hands pressed against your chest as she straddles your lap, her weight sinking onto you like she belongs there. Her mouth crashes onto yours, all heat and urgency, a clash of lips and teeth, her breath warm and sharp with the faint taste of alcohol.

She kisses like she does everything—reckless, unrestrained, like she has something to prove. Her tongue flicks against yours, demanding, teasing, making you groan against her lips. Your fingers find her thighs, gripping, kneading the soft skin before sliding up, tracing the curve of muscle until they meet the hem of her dress. You push it higher, inch by inch, the sequined fabric rough against your palms, a contrast to the impossibly smooth skin beneath.

She doesn't stop you. She only presses closer, grinding against you in a slow, deliberate roll of her hips that has your cock straining painfully against your jeans. The heat of her is everywhere, suffocating, intoxicating. You can feel the dampness of her through the layers of fabric, her body already responding, already wanting.

Your bodies remember each other. Like muscle memory. Like addiction.

Your hands drift up, slipping beneath the fabric, palms mapping the dip of her abdomen, the delicate ridge of her ribs, the smooth arch of her waist. She's warm, taut, her body tight beneath your touch, and fuck—you've wanted this, wanted her, for far too long. The softness of her skin contrasts with the firmness of muscle beneath—every inch of her body a testament to perfect discipline, now coming apart under your hands.

"You fucking love my body don’t ya?" she whispers, arching into your touch. "You must love how tight I am."

The kiss breaks, her breath fanning against your lips, both of you panting. You lift a hand to your mouth, never taking your eyes off her as you drag your tongue over two fingers, wetting them slowly, deliberately. The moonlight catches the gleam of saliva on your skin.

Her gaze drops, watching you, pupils dark, mouth slightly parted. She doesn't say anything, but the way she looks at you, the way her hips press down just a little harder, says enough. Her breathing changes—shortened, expectant—a minute shift that only happens when she knows what's coming.

You reach between her legs.

Jesus Christ.

Your fingers find lace, the damp fabric clinging to her, heat radiating through it. You push it aside, and the moment your fingers slide over her, you feel it—slick, dripping, obscene. The wetness coats your fingertips instantly, spreading as you press in, parting her folds. The sensation is electric—soft, swollen flesh giving way beneath your touch, the slickness making everything frictionless, perfect.

A filthy squelch fills the air, louder than it should be, and your stomach tightens. She's so fucking wet, soaking for you, sticky and warm, coating your skin like she's been waiting for this all night. The evidence of her arousal is undeniable—a primal, visceral response that no amount of performance could fake.

A groan rips from your throat before you can stop it. "Fuck."

Chaewon smirks against your jaw, lips dragging over the sensitive skin there, breath hot and teasing. "You hear how wet I am for you? Nobody gets me this fucking soaked."

You push two fingers inside her, easy, effortless. She gasps, her walls clenching tight around you, slick and needy, sucking your fingers deeper. Her hands grip your shoulders, nails biting into your skin as she rocks against you, fucking herself onto your hand, chasing more. You can feel the flutter of her inner muscles, the way they grip and release around your fingers, drawing you in deeper with each pulse.

Each roll of her hips makes it filthier, makes the sound of it wetter, the obscene noise of her arousal filling the dimly lit room. The slick noises of your fingers moving inside her cut through the distant bass from downstairs, somehow more real than anything happening at the party. There's something primal about that sound—wet, hungry, honest.

Her lips ghost over your ear, voice rough, desperate. "Been thinking about your cock stretching me open all fucking night."

Your cock throbs painfully in response, stiff and aching, pressing insistently against the confines of your jeans. She feels it, of course she does. And then—

She reaches down.

She pulls you out, fingers curling around your length, slow and deliberate, stroking just enough to tease but not enough to satisfy. The contrast of her small hand wrapped around you, her grip firm but playful, makes your stomach clench. She watches your face as she does it, reading every twitch of your brows, every sharp inhale. She knows exactly what she's doing to you. The cool air of the room hits your heated skin, making you even more aware of how hard you are, how desperate.

One touch and you're already at her mercy.

Your hand is still between her legs, fingers coated in her slick, but before you can push deeper, she bats it away, shaking her head. She wants control, and you give it to her, because there's no other option. You're completely at her mercy.

She drags the tip of your cock against her folds, rolling her hips just enough to spread her arousal over you, painting you with her wetness. The sensation is maddening, teasing, an unbearable heat that has your fingers tightening on her hips, clutching her like she's the only thing tethering you to the earth. The silken glide of her against you, the warmth, the slickness—it's a cruel preview of what waits just beyond.

The way she uses her own wetness to slick you up. No hesitation. No shame. Just raw fucking need.

She hums, pleased, as she does it again. Slow. Excruciating. The head of your cock catches against her entrance, almost slipping in before she pulls away again, denying you both what you want. The tease is calculated, precise—she knows exactly how to wind you up, how to make you desperate.

You groan, forehead dropping against her shoulder, breathing hard. The teasing is torture.

She giggles, dark and amused. "You always get so needy for me." She grinds against you again, coating your cock with her slick. "Bet she doesn't fuck you like I do."

Then, in one smooth, fluid motion, she sinks down.

Your breath stutters, a guttural moan ripped from your throat as she takes you to the base in one go, her walls gripping you like a vice, hot and suffocating, squeezing you so tight it borders on unbearable. The sudden engulfing heat is a shock to your system—going from the cool air to the burning, tight clutch of her body in an instant.

"Fuck," she gasps, voice breaking. "So big. You stretch me so fucking good."

Your head falls back, eyes locked on where your bodies meet, watching your cock disappear into her slick heat, swallowed by her perfect, tight body. The visual alone nearly makes you come—the contrast of her against you, the way she stretches around your thickness, the gleam of her arousal coating both of you. There's something hypnotic about the junction where your bodies connect, something primal and satisfying about the visual proof of your joining.

Chaewon trembles, her thighs flexing as she adjusts, muscles taut, abs tightening as she takes you fully, stretching around you. Her mouth falls open, breath hitching, a choked moan slipping free. The moonlight catches the sweat beginning to form along her collarbones, making her skin gleam like she's been dusted with silver.

She bites her lip, eyes hazy as she exhales slow, feeling every inch of you inside her. "oh my god," she whispers, nails digging into your chest, anchoring herself against you as she shudders, as she finally lets herself feel it—the fullness, the way you stretch her open.

You barely hold yourself together. She's so tight, so warm, so fucking perfect, gripping you like she was made for this. For a moment, neither of you move. It's too much, too good, too fucking overwhelming. You can feel the subtle pulsing of her inner muscles as they adjust to your size, the minute tremors running through her thighs as she holds herself still.

Then she does.

A slow, torturous roll of her hips. Making sure you feel every inch of her. The movement causes a ripple effect through her body—the subtle flex of her abdominal muscles, the shift in her posture, the way her breath catches when you hit a spot deeper inside her.

The way she works her body. The absolute control she has. Like she's been studying exactly how to make you lose your mind.

Your fingers press bruises into her skin, trying to ground yourself as she starts to move, her control unwavering, her pace teasing. She isn't rushing—this is for her first. The slow drag of your cock inside her, the way her walls flutter each time she lifts herself just a little before sinking back down, inch by inch, stretching around you over and over.

Her nails rake over your neckt, leaving faint red trails in their wake, legs trembling slightly as she builds her rhythm, grinding first, then lifting herself higher, letting herself adjust before coming back down, harder. You can see the concentration on her face, the focus as she finds the angle that works best, the depth that makes her breath stutter.

"Shit! You feel so fucking good inside me," she breathes, voice breaking with each thrust.

Then she lifts all the way up, just enough that only the tip remains inside her. And then she drops.

You groan, your hands flying to her hips, helping, guiding, lifting her before dropping her back down onto your cock, bouncing her, feeding her exactly what she wants. The feeling of her coming down around you again and again is almost too much—each time she sinks onto you, her pussy seems to grip you tighter, wetter, hungrier. The impact of her body meeting yours sends shockwaves through both of you, the wet slap of skin on skin adding to the symphony of sounds filling the room.

She cries out, her head tipping back, letting herself get lost in it. Her thighs flex, her abs tightening each time she slams down, using the strength in her body to fuck herself onto you harder, faster. You feel everything—the tightness, the heat, the sheer hunger behind every movement. The sequins of her dress catch the moonlight as it shifts around her body, like she's wrapped in stars, coming apart in your hands.

This is what sex is supposed to be. Not careful. Not controlled. Just fucking animal.

The rhythm builds. She grinds deep in between, tilting her hips, rolling against you to hit just the right spot, her moans turning into high, desperate whimpers. The sound of her getting closer to the edge makes your cock throb inside her, makes you want to flip her over and take control, but there's something hypnotic about watching her use you like this—the pleasure on her face, the flush spreading across her chest, the sweat making her skin gleam in the half-light.

Her breathing turns ragged, her voice dissolving into gasps, unrestrained, loud enough that if anyone was standing outside the door, they'd know exactly what she was doing to you. And she doesn't care. Each exhale carries a moan, each inhale a gasp as she works herself on your cock, taking exactly what she needs.

"Bet she never rides your cock like this," she pants, voice raw with pleasure.

Downstairs, people are dancing, drinking, talking. Up here, the world's ending. And you're both happy to burn.

You don’t respond, all you can do is grip her harder, guide her movements, lift her higher, bring her down faster, lose yourself in the feel of her. Her pussy is fucking wrapped around around you, slick and hot and perfect, squeezing with each movement like she's trying to milk every last drop from you. The heat between your bodies grows, sweat making your skin slide together, the air in the room thick with the scent of sex.

She moves faster. Filthy. Unapologetic. Fucking you like she owns you. Her movements become less controlled, more desperate—a frantic search for release that has her grinding down harder, taking you deeper, her entire body tensed and trembling as she chases her pleasure.

The bed creaks beneath you, the frame knocking against the wall, the bass from the party downstairs pulsing through the floor, through your bones. The rhythm of the music below seems to sync with her movements, like the whole night is building to this collision. The distant thump of bass is a counterpoint to the wet sounds of your bodies joining, creating a soundtrack to your recklessness.

Every sound outside makes this hotter. The risk, the recklessness—it fuels her, fuels both of you. Knowing that just a floor below, everyone is oblivious. Knowing that at any moment, someone could come looking. Knowing that what you're doing is wrong in all the ways that feel so fucking right.

"I'm the only one who knows how to take this cock," she moans, her movements becoming more erratic, more desperate.

This is what you needed. Her body. Her.

Without warning, she leans forward, her hands pressing against your chest for balance, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. Then she shifts, twisting her body until she's facing away from you, her legs tucking neatly beneath yours, straddling you in reverse cowgirl.

Not just a new position. A fucking display.

Your cock slips free from her dripping cunt, the sudden loss of warmth making you groan. The head catches briefly on her swollen lips before it slaps wetly against your stomach, coated in her juices, gleaming in the dim light. You're drenched in her—your cock, your balls, even your thighs sticky with evidence of how fucking soaked she is for you.

The moonlight catches every bead of sweat on her neck and shoulders, highlighting the dip of her spine, the perfect curve where it meets her ass. Her skin is flushed pink where your fingers gripped too hard, already bruising—marking her as yours.

She reaches down between her legs, fingers slick with her own arousal, and wraps them around the base of your cock. You feel the squelch as she grips you, her fluids making her grip slippery. Her thumb smears through the mess at the base, mixing your pre-cum with her slick in a filthy cocktail.

Even her hands are fucking dripping.

She angles your length against her entrance, rolling her hips, dragging the tip through the wetness that coats her inner thighs. You can see it in the moonlight—her arousal literally dripping from her cunt, trailing down her thighs in glistening rivulets. She's so fucking wet it's obscene, her pussy swollen and red from the pounding, lips puffy and spread.

Then, slowly, she starts to sink down. You watch, mesmerized, as her cunt stretches around you again, the pink flesh yielding, spreading, taking your girth inch by inch. The sight of your cock disappearing into her is hypnotic—the contrast of her tight hole struggling to accommodate you, the way her body swallows you up.

She sinks down, and this time you can see everything. The way her asshole clenches reflexively with each inch she takes. The way her pussy lips stretch thin around your shaft. The way her thighs shake with the effort of controlling her descent. You can even see where you're splitting her open, where she's stretched to her limit around you.

The moment she bottoms out, taking you to the base, your hands fly to her waist. Your cock is buried so deep you swear you can see the faint outline of it pressing against her lower abdomen, distending her slightly from the inside.

You're rearranging her guts and she's fucking loving it.

Your jaw clenches, a low, wrecked groan spilling from your lips as you take in the sight before you. Her ass—round, perfect, jiggling slightly with each small adjustment. The dimples at the base of her spine. The way her pussy grips the base of your cock, her arousal seeping out around it, making the junction of your bodies a sticky, filthy mess.

Her ass bounces against you as she starts to move, the wet slapping sounds echoing in the room. Each time she lifts up, your cock emerges glistening, coated in her cream, only to disappear again as she drops back down. The suction of her body creates obscene noises—squelching, slurping sounds that should be embarrassing but only make you harder.

Your eyes trace lower, to the tight, puckered rim of her ass. It winks with each movement, clenching and relaxing as she works herself on your cock. A thin trickle of her own arousal has traveled up from her pussy, making it glisten invitingly in the dim light.

A rush of heat surges through you. You lift a hand to your mouth, gathering saliva, making sure it's wet enough, filthy enough. A long strand of spit trails from your lips to your thumb as you pull it away.

Then you press it against her ass, rubbing slow, teasing circles around the tight pucker. It's damp from her own juices running down, making your thumb glide easily against the sensitive skin. You feel her whole body jolt at the contact, her pussy clamping down around your cock in response.

She almost screams, her back arching sharply. You push your thumb in deeper, past the tight ring of muscle. The heat inside is scorching, the pressure intense as her body struggles to accommodate the intrusion. Her asshole grips your thumb like a vice, pulsing around it as she adjusts.

Two holes filled. Two ways to own her completely.

"Fuck—" she gasps, voice breaking into a whine. Her rhythm falters as her body processes the dual penetration, the overwhelming fullness of being stretched in two places at once.

You can feel your own cock through the thin membrane separating her passages—feel the rigid hardness of it pressing against your thumb. The knowledge that you're filling both her holes at once, stretching her to her limits, sends a primal surge of satisfaction through you.

She's dripping now—literally dripping. Each time she lifts herself up, a fresh gush of her arousal spills down, coating your balls, soaking into the sheets beneath you. The bed is getting drenched, the spot beneath you growing dark with the evidence of her need.

You take your other hand and trail it up her body, over the sweat-slick plane of her stomach, feeling the muscles jump under your touch. Her nipples are hard enough to cut glass, poking through the thin fabric like pebbles. You pinch one roughly, rolling it between your fingers, feeling her whole body clench in response.

She leans back against you, her spine a perfect arch, her head falling onto your shoulder. You can see the veins in her neck straining as she gasps for air, see the flush spreading across her chest, turning her skin a deep rose. Sweat drips from her hairline, tracing glistening paths down her temples, her neck, between her breasts.

Her nails dig into your thighs, breaking skin, leaving crescent-shaped welts as she uses you for leverage. She starts to bounce harder, faster, her control slipping. Each time she drops down, the impact forces a grunt from her lips, a primal sound torn from deep in her chest.

You can feel it—the way her walls are spasming around your cock, gripping erratically, her body starting to lose rhythm as she approaches the edge. She's soaking wet, her arousal making obscene squelching noises with each thrust. The sounds are pornographic—wet, sloppy, filthy—the soundtrack of two bodies using each other without restraint.

Your thumb presses deeper into her ass, timing the thrusts with the bouncing of her hips. Each time she drops down on your cock, you push in with your thumb, ensuring she feels stuffed from both ends. The double penetration has her babbling, incoherent sounds spilling from her lips as her brain short-circuits from the overload.

Her moans grow higher, more desperate. The pace is frantic now, almost brutal—her ass slapping against your thighs hard enough to sting, to leave both of you marked. The wet sounds grow louder, sloppier, as her body produces more slick, preparing for release.

She's going to flood the fucking bed when she comes.

The pleasure coils tight inside both of you, unbearable pressure building at the base of your spine, in your balls, making them draw up tight against your body. You're fighting it, gritting your teeth, determined to feel her break first.

Your grip tightens, fingers digging into the sweat-slick skin of her waist hard enough to leave bruises, marks that will last for days, reminding her who did this to her.

"Chaewon, I—"

She doesn't let you finish.

Her hands fly back, fingers wrapping tight around your wrists, pinning them down. She slams herself down onto you one final time—forcing you impossibly deep, grinding her ass against your pelvis in tight circles, making sure you feel every ripple, every clench of her inner walls.

A wrecked sound rips from your throat as your control shatters. Your cock pulses violently inside her, the first spurt of cum hitting deep, painting her insides. She feels it—you know she does, from the way her breath catches, from the way her cunt clamps down even tighter, milking you, demanding every last drop.

She gasps, her entire body seizing as her own orgasm hits. Her pussy convulses around your cock in rhythmic pulses, squeezing, releasing, each contraction drawing another jet of cum from you. Her thighs shake uncontrollably, her abs tightening so hard they cramp. Her asshole clenches rhythmically around your thumb, synchronized with the pulsing of her cunt.

She's cumming. Hard.

A gush of wetness floods around your cock, her release spilling out, soaking both of you further. It drips down, adding to the mess between your bodies, the evidence of her pleasure impossible to contain.

"F-fuck—" The word shatters in her throat, dissolving into a high, keening wail as another wave hits her, her body jerking like she's being electrocuted.

She's not just coming. She's fucking breaking.

Your vision blurs, tunnels, focuses only on where your bodies are joined, on the sight of her stuffed full of your cock, taking your load deep inside her. Each pulse of your release triggers another aftershock in her, creating a feedback loop of pleasure that seems endless.

You're emptying yourself into her, filling her with rope after rope of hot cum, more than you thought possible. Your balls ache from the force of it, your entire body trembling with the intensity of release.

Chaewon moans through it, her walls rippling around you, milking out every last drop. She's insatiable, greedy, her body designed to take everything you can give and demand more.

She takes all of it.

The only sounds in the room are ragged breathing, the wet squelch as she shifts slightly on your still-hard cock, and the faint dripping of her arousal onto the soaked sheets below. The air is thick with the musky scent of sex—sweat, cum, her arousal, all mixing into a heady cocktail that makes your head spin.

Finally, she exhales, stretching like a satisfied cat. Her back arches, pressing her ass more firmly against you, causing your still-sensitive cock to shift inside her. The movement squeezes a few final drops from you, adding to the mess already filling her.

She breathes out a satisfied sigh, lips curving into something dark, smug, victorious.

"I'm keeping it inside," she murmurs, voice low, syrupy, ruined. Her internal muscles clench deliberately around you, making sure not a drop escapes.

Her hips shift—a slow, final roll—grinding down, sending another wave of overstimulation tearing through your body. You groan, oversensitive to the point of pain, but unable to pull away. She's got you trapped, her body still locked around yours, refusing to release you until she's ready.

She doesn't care about your discomfort. She loves it. Loves knowing she can push you past your limits.

"For the rest of the party," she purrs, squeezing around you one last time. You can feel your cum inside her, hot and thick, adding to the slickness each time she clenches. "Walking around downstairs with your cum dripping into my panties. Right in front of everyone."

Her ultimate victory. Carrying the proof of what you've done together while looking Eunbi in the eye.

---

The bass pounds through the floor, vibrating up through your feet as you lean against the wall, nodding along to whatever Eunbi is saying. For the past thirty minutes, you've been following her through the party, a dutiful boyfriend with a plastic cup of whatever Yena mixed, pretending you're fully present. Pretending you can't still feel the ghost of Chaewon's body on yours. Pretending there isn't a hollow ache in your stomach every time the crowd shifts and you catch a glimpse of brown hair and sequins across the room.

Eunbi takes a sip of her water—she stopped drinking an hour ago—and checks her watch for the third time in ten minutes. The party has hit that point where the music gets louder to compensate for the thinning crowd, where people are either leaving or getting sloppy. She doesn't belong to either category.

"I think I'm ready to go," she says, leaning in so you can hear her over a particularly aggressive bass drop. "I'm getting tired."

The way she says it—gentle, apologetic—makes the guilt twist deeper. She thinks she's the one inconveniencing you. She has no idea.

"Yeah, of course," you reply, finishing your drink in one long swallow, needing the burn in your throat to ground you. "Let me just grab your coat."

As Eunbi gathers her things, you scan the room, knowing you shouldn't, knowing you can't help it. You find Chaewon by the drinks table, hair slightly mussed despite her efforts to fix it, lips still swollen from your kisses. Your eyes meet across the crowd, and the corner of her mouth lifts in that familiar smirk.

You look away first.

"Ready?" Eunbi asks, coat draped over her arm.

Before you can answer, Chaewon materializes beside you, as if summoned by your weakness.

"Leaving so soon?" She directs the question at Eunbi, her voice innocent, her eyes anything but when they flick to you.

"Yeah, I'm tired," Eunbi says, smiling at her friend. "Great party though."

Chaewon laughs, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "You barely participated! Next time I'll make sure it's more your speed."

She hugs Eunbi, their cheeks pressing together, their perfumes mingling. Over Eunbi's shoulder, Chaewon's eyes lock with yours, dark and knowing. Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip, and you know she's thinking about what you did, what you released inside her—still there, still warm.

"Text me tomorrow?" Eunbi asks her as they pull apart.

"Of course," Chaewon nods, then turns to you. "You take care of her, okay?"

The double meaning hangs in the air between you. Her hand brushes yours as she steps back—a touch so brief Eunbi doesn't notice, but enough to make your pulse spike.

As you lead Eunbi toward the door, you feel Chaewon's eyes following you. You know this isn't over. You know that on Monday, when you see her in class, when you sit across from her at lunch with Eunbi between you, the game will continue.

You know you've made your choice, even if you won't admit it yet.

The truth is painfully simple: Eunbi is smart, perfect, and right.

But Chaewon's still hot as fuck, and that's the problem.