#no one is pure. but will you be kind? will you be a good friend? will you grow? i hope i grow. i hope i always make the choice to grow.

[hoshifighting]

𖧷 crybaby

— synopsis: seungcheol can’t help but be a crybaby every time you break his heart, yet he always comes running back to you, desperate for your attention. even when you leave him cold for days or push him away, he can’t seem to stay away. his friends and family don’t get it—they hate how you treat him.

— WC: 4.6k — WARNINGS: agnst, smut, emotionallly detached!reader, emotionally attached!seungcheol, crying, he kind of pisses his friends and family out because of his whiny ass, explicit language, blowjob, cock riding, clit stimulation, face slapping, choking. — inspired by: cry baby by megan thee stallion — ''his friends and his dad hate me, I broke his lil' heart, he's a crybaby"

seungcheol was such a fucking crybaby. like, how does a man that big, that beefy, built like he could crush a watermelon between his thighs, have the emotional resilience of a damp tissue? 5′10 of pure gym dedication and somehow, here he was, sulking like a kicked puppy in the corner of his own damn birthday party. honestly, you broke his heart so many times you’d lost count, but the man was like a boomerang—always came back. didn’t matter how hard you threw him.

his friends absolutely hated you. well, maybe hate was strong—more like they hated how he acted because of you. jeonghan said you lived rent-free in his head, which you knew was true. but the real kicker was his family. they couldn’t stand hearing your name. apparently, he cried into his whiskey glass over you at his last family dinner. like, straight-up sniffles and shaky voice in front of his dad. the boys’ nights weren’t any better; they’d barely crack open a soju bottle before seungcheol was teary-eyed, rambling about you like you were the love of his life and not the emotional hurricane you were.

but that’s the thing, though. seungcheol was built for family. the whole package—white picket fence, Sunday brunches, PTA meetings. meanwhile, you were emotionally unavailable as fuck. couldn’t even commit to a favorite boba flavor, let alone a relationship. and now, you’d ghosted him for a week. a whole-ass week. no texts, no calls, not even the stupid memes you usually sent him at 3 a.m.

today was his birthday. his fucking birthday.

the party at his place was in full swing—laughter, good food, good drinks, jeonghan and mingyu lowkey roasting him about his “girlfriend” (air quotes and all). his parents were there too, of course. his brother had even flown in. but cheol barely moved from the couch all night. just sat there, one arm slung over the backrest, looking at his phone like a guy waiting for a miracle.

because in his head, if you were his girlfriend—like, properly his—you’d be here. with him. celebrating, holding his hand, maybe sitting in his lap. but instead, he got radio silence.

“bro, seriously, what the fuck is your problem?” jeonghan hissed, leaning over the couch to snatch the beer from cheol’s hand. “your mom’s asking why you look like you’re about to cry into the birthday cake.”

“i’m fine,” cheol muttered, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

“no, you’re not. you’ve checked your phone like a hundred times, and it’s giving ‘sad loser.’ cut it out before mingyu makes a meme out of you.”

but cheol didn’t cut it out. he just stared at the screen, lips pulled into a pout so tragic it could’ve been a fucking Greek play. the hours dragged. one by one, people started leaving, and eventually, it wasn’t even his birthday anymore.

august 9th. 9:54 p.m.

cheol sighed, running a hand through his hair, looking like he was about to combust.

and then, his phone buzzed.

one message.

from: future girlfriend ❤️ - “come over.”

that’s it. two words, no explanation. cheol shot up from the couch so fast he nearly knocked over the coffee table.

jeonghan raised an eyebrow. “where the hell are you going?”

cheol didn’t answer. he was already grabbing his keys, muttering something about how he’d “she texted me.”

he hard his friend groan out in defeat, disappointment, some even surprised that seungcheol would leave his own party like that.

while you were still just chilling at your place, sitting there like nothing had happened, waiting to see if this man who you’d left on read for a week would actually show up.

spoiler alert—he would.

the door wasn’t even locked—like you’d left it wide open for him, knowing he’d come running the second you told him to. seungcheol stepped inside your apartment, and it was so you in a way that made his chest tighten. that familiar scent? god, it was everywhere. in the air, clinging to the couch, the walls, probably gonna soak into his clothes and stay there for days, torturing him. like you’d marked your territory without even trying.

he moved on autopilot, his feet carrying him down the hallway to your bedroom like he didn’t even need directions. the door was cracked open, and he froze for a second when he saw you.

you were standing there, slipping a sheer robe over your shoulders—transparent. and it wasn’t doing a damn thing to hide you. the way the fabric barely skimmed over your hips, nipples peeking through, leading his eyes all the way down to the hem that just teased your thighs… it was insane.

you turned your head slightly, catching him in the doorway like some kind of lost puppy. your expression was unreadable, but he looked at you like you were magic or something—eyes wide, lips slightly parted. pathetic.

you stepped toward him, and before he could even process it, his hands moved to your waist like they belonged there. your arms looped lazily around his neck, and the warmth of your skin had his breath hitching. you glanced over his shoulder at the clock on the wall—10:01 p.m.—then met his gaze, your lips curling.

“happy birthday… birthday boy,” you said, your voice smooth as velvet.

he exhaled shakily, his eyes fluttering shut like the sound of your voice was too much. his brows knit together in that pitiful little frown you’d missed more than you cared to admit.

“why’d you leave me like that?” he muttered, voice cracking slightly. “did… did i do something? i’m sorry, i—”

you didn’t answer, didn’t even flinch, because honestly? you didn’t have a reason. there was no deep, dark explanation, no hidden agenda. you just did.

instead, you pushed him backward toward the bed, your hands firm on his chest. he stumbled slightly but kept talking, his voice climbing higher in pitch.

“please, just—just tell me. what did i do? i can fix it, i swear, just—”

you pushed him harder this time, and he landed on the bed with a bounce. he stared up at you, eyes glassy, lips trembling. “answer me,” he whined, his voice soft and desperate.

“shhh,” you hushed, pressing a finger to his lips.

he whimpered at the touch, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “why—why won’t you just—”

your hand came down on his cheek in a sharp slap. not too hard, but enough to make him moan, his mouth falling open in a perfect little “o.”

“quiet,” you said firmly, watching as his expression shifted. the sting seemed to zap the fight out of him, his mouth closing into a pout as his tears spilled over.

“aww,” you cooed, leaning down to brush your thumb under his eye. “don’t cry, birthday boy. let me give you a gift.”

his gaze flickered immesiately. a gift? he nodded eagerly.

“you gonna be good for me?” you asked, tilting your head.

“y-yeah,” he stammered, his voice so small it made you smile.

your hands moving to his belt. the way he watched you, like you were about to destroy his dignity, was almost comical.

you tugged his pants and underwear down in with a graceful sweep, leaving him bare and exposed. his cock was already rock hard, flushed red and leaking precum that smeared against his stomach.

“look at you,” you teased, wrapping a hand around the base. his breath hitched at the contact, his hips jerking slightly. “crying all over yourself, huh?”

he let out a choked whimper, his hands fisting the sheets beside him. “i—i can’t help it,” he whispered.

“poor baby,” you mocked, your thumb swiping over the tip to collect the sticky wetness. his whole body twitched at the motion, his eyes squeezing shut as more tears slipped down his cheeks.

you leaned down, letting your lips hover just above him. “you’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you? never let you have it before, but tonight… you’re special.”

he nodded frantically, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. “please,” he begged, his voice breaking.

you smiled, finally taking him into your mouth. the heat and wetness made him sob outright, his hands flying to your hair but stopping short—like he was scared to touch you without permission.

“oh—fuck, fuck, fuck,” he babbled, his thighs trembling as you worked him over. your tongue dragged along the veins as your hand played with his balls, and he keened, his head falling back against the pillows.

“so good,” he choked out, tears streaming down his face. “m-missed you.”

you hummed around him, and the vibrations nearly sent him over the edge. his whole body tensed, his hips bucking slightly as he moaned your name.

“gonna be good for me?” you asked, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze.

“y-yes,” he stammered, his eyes glassy and desperate. “so good, i’ll be so good, please—”

“then take it,” you said, and he did.

your tongue swirled around the swollen tip of his cock, drawing a shuddering breath out of him that turned into a whimper when you pulled back slightly, letting a string of spit connect your lips to his flushed skin. his chest heaved, his abs clenching under the weight of your stare.

you fold your tongue up and slid along the underside of his length, like you had all the time in the world. his thighs trembled as you worked your way down, your nails scratching lightly along the sides of his hips, keeping him still. by the time you reached his base, his whole body was taut, his hands fisted so tightly into the sheets you thought he might rip them.

“you’re so sensitive,” you murmured, letting your breath ghost over his skin.

“i can’t—” he choked, cutting himself off with a high-pitched moan when your tongue flicked over the soft skin of his balls.

you smiled against him, pressing a kiss to one of the heavy globes before taking it into your mouth, sucking gently. his hips jerked off the bed, but your hand pressed firmly against his stomach, pinning him down.

“stay still,” you ordered.

“i’m trying—fuck, i’m trying,” he babbled, his voice cracking. his head lolled to the side, his lips parted in a silent cry as you continued to suck and lick at him, your tongue tracing slow, wet circles.

your free hand moved back to his cock, wrapping around the shaft and stroking it slowly, your thumb smearing the precum that was steadily leaking from the tip.

“look at me,” you said, your voice softer this time.

his eyes fluttered open, glassy and red-rimmed, his gaze locking onto yours. the sight of you, lips wrapped around him, your hand working him in tandem, had him letting out a desperate, broken sound that went straight to your core.

“you like this?” you asked, pulling back slightly, your hand still stroking him as you kissed along his inner thigh.

“yes,” he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper. “fuck, yes. feels so good.”

“yeah?” you teased, your lips quirking into a smirk as you nipped at his skin. “you’ve been waiting for this? waiting for me to touch you like this?”

he nodded frantically, “always,” he admitted. “always wanted you like this. please don’t stop.”

you purred, letting your tongue glide back up to his base before taking him into your mouth again, this time deeper, letting him feel the heat of your throat. “fuck—oh my god,” he sobbed, his hands twitching at his sides, like he wanted to touch you but didn’t dare.

“go on,” you encouraged, pulling off just enough to speak. “touch me. you’re being good, aren’t you?”

his hands immediately flew to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he let out another choked moan. “yes,” he breathed, “yes, so good, i’ll be so good for you.”

you hollowed your cheeks, bobbing your head slowly, your hand working in time with your movements. his thighs shook beneath you, his breath hitching every time your tongue pressed against the sensitive vein running along the underside of his cock.

“you’re so fucking pretty like this,” you said, pulling back just enough to let your spit-coated hand continue stroking him. “all flushed and crying for me. does it feel that good?”

“so good!” he gasped, tears spilling over again as he bucked his hips involuntarily.

you hummed in approval, your tongue flicking over the tip before dipping lower again, taking one of his balls into your mouth once more. the way his entire body shook beneath you, his voice breaking into desperate little cries—it was everything.

“you’re mine,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his skin. “aren’t you?”

“yours!” he sobbed, his voice cracking. “all yours...”

you pulled back, your lips slick with spit and precum, watching as seungcheol’s chest heaved like he’d just run a marathon. his head was tilted back against the pillows, mouth slightly open, a trail of drool glistening at the corner of his lips. his cock twitched in your hand, still throbbing and leaking like it couldn’t survive a second without you.

“cheol,” you said, your voice sharp enough to cut through the haze.

he didn’t answer. his eyes were half-lidded, rolling back as another pathetic whimper slipped past his lips.

“yah,” you hissed, your free hand moving down to cup his balls, squeezing them just enough to snap him out of it.

he jerked, his hips twitching as a choked cry tore from his throat. his wide, glassy eyes met yours, full of confusion, like he wasn’t sure whether to apologize or beg for more.

“you listening now?” you asked, your tone playful but firm.

“y-yeah,” he stammered.

you smirked, leaning forward just enough to let your breath fan over his cock. “good. now, tell me—do you want me to make you cum like this?” your hand gave his length a slow, deliberate stroke, watching as his eyes fluttered shut again. “or do you want me to ride you?”

his eyes snapped open at the second option, but he still didn’t answer. his mouth opened and closed like he was trying to speak but couldn’t get the words out, and you swore he looked like a little kid trying to pick between candy flavors.

“cheol,” you said again, your grip on his balls tightening just enough to make him yelp. “i’m not giving you both, so choose. now.”

he whimpered, his lower lip trembling as he looked at you like you were some kind of goddess and he didn’t want to disappoint.

“i—i want…” he trailed off, his voice cracking as his cock twitched in your hand again.

“come on,” you urged. “use your words, birthday boy.”

his cheeks flushed deeper, and he swallowed hard before finally stammering out, “i want you to ride me.”

“do you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as your hand gave him one last teasing stroke.

“mhmm,” he breathed, his voice shaky but certain. “please. want to feel you. need to—need to be close to you.”

you smiled, your chest swelling. “good boy,” you murmured, releasing him completely and watching as he whimpered at the cut-off.

you climbed onto the bed, straddling his hips as his hands immediately flew to your thighs, gripping them like he was scared you’d disappear—again. the way his eyes roamed over your body, taking in every inch of exposed skin through the transparency of the robe, and the big slit that have been created as the robe opened up, made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

you reached between your legs, guiding his cock to your entrance, letting the tip tease your folds just enough to have him squirming beneath you.

“mm..fuck” he groaned, his head falling back against the pillows. “you’re so wet. is that—fuck, is that for me?”

“all for you,” you lied, he knew you were mocking him as you slowly sank down onto him.

the stretch was so good, never fails to make you arch your back, his cock filled you so perfectly had your breath hitching. but the sound he made was way down pathetic. it was half moan, half sob, like he couldn’t believe this was real.

“oh my god,” he choked, his hands flying to your waist as his hips jerked involuntarily. “you’re so—so tight. best birthday gift ever.”

you rolled your hips slowly, letting him feel every inch of your gummy walls, and his grip tightened, you can feel his strong fingers marking your meat.

“you like being used like this?”

“yes!” he gasped, his voice high and broken. “love it. love you.”

you froze for half a second, the words catching you off guard, but you quickly recovered, your lips curling into a smirk. “that so?”

“yeah,” he breathed, his eyes squeezing shut as you started to move again. “fuck, i love you. love everything about you.”

every roll of your hips, pulled more sounds from him than you thought possible—moans, gasps, sobs, all spilling from his lips like a declaration.

your hips moved in a steady rhythm, dragging his cock in and out of you in a way that made your thighs burn, but the way seungcheol looked at you—like you were the fucking universe—made it impossible to stop. you clenched around him, squeezing tightly, and his mouth fell open, a strained whimper spilling out as his fingers dug into your hips as you rocked your pussy back and forth.

you pushed his shirt up higher, your eyes falling on his chest, where his nipples were flushed a deep red against his tan skin. his brows furrowed in confusion when he noticed your gaze.

“what?” he asked, his voice hoarse and breathless.

“you don’t even know, do you?” you teased, your nails trailing up his chest. “how red they get when you’re about to cum?”

“what?” he repeated, his tone higher this time, all embarassed.

“oh, baby,” you cooed, leaning down to brush your lips against his. “you’re so fucking cute.”

his face flushed even deeper, and you felt his cock twitch inside you as your hands wrapped around his neck. his eyes widened immediately, his breath hitching as he stared up at you, his lips parted in surprise.

“you like this?” you asked, your grip tightening just enough to make his pulse race beneath your fingers.

he let out a strangled moan, his hands flying up to your thighs like he didn’t know whether to stop you or hold on tighter. “y-yeah,” he stammered, his voice cracking. “fuck, yeah.”

“then be good for me, cum for me, cheol. now.”

his entire body tensed, his hips jerking up. you clenched around him again, your grip on his neck firm as you ground down harder as the first waves of your orgasm hit you.

you raised your hips just in time, letting his cock slip out of you as he spilled all over his stomach, ropes of cum painting his skin. his head fell back against the pillows, his chest heaving as he let out a broken sob, his hands trembling against your thighs.

you collapsed onto his chest, your hand moving between your legs to circle your clit frantically, your moans muffled against his ear as you chased the last remnants of your own orgasm.

“oh my fucking god...” you panted, your fingers working faster as your hips ground against his thigh.

he turned his head slightly, his eyes hazy as he watched you, his lips parted in awe. “you’re…so beautiful...”

you moaned loudly as your orgasm hit you, your body shaking against his as you buried your face in his neck, your hand slowing to a stop.

as the high ebbed away, your body melted into his, your limbs heavy and your breath evening out. you let your full weight settle on him, and he groaned softly, the sound less of discomfort and more of deep, satisfied contentment. his arms came around you instinctively, holding you close, his hands splayed wide against your back like he never wanted to let go.

you lay there, your cheek pressed to his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear. you tried to ignore how your own heart raced, guilt creeping in as you replayed the last week in your head.

sometimes, you really felt like shit about the way you treated him. seungcheol was too good for you, with that big heart of his—always giving, always forgiving. the problem wasn’t him. it was you.

you hoped he couldn’t feel the way your heart thudded against his chest, the weight of your remorse making it beat faster.

you lifted your head slightly, pressing soft kisses to his cheek, your fingers tangling in his hair as you gently scratched at his scalp. he sighed, leaning into your touch like it was the only thing keeping him tethered.

“cheol,” you murmured, your voice softer than you planned. “can i give you one more gift tonight?”

he didn’t answer right away. his eyes drifted to the ceiling, a small, thoughtful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“only one?” he asked after a moment.

you hummed, matching his teasing tone. “yeah. just one. better make it count, birthday boy.”

he chuckled softly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. instead, his gaze stayed fixed on the ceiling, his fingers tracing absent patterns on your back.

“i don’t think you can give me what i really want...” he said finally.

you tilted your head, your brows furrowing. “what do you mean?”

he hesitated before he turned his head to look at you, his eyes searching yours.

“i want to be here with you... but knowing that you… that you actually like me back.”

he held your gaze, his eyes raw and vulnerable, waiting for a response that you didn’t know how to give.

“cheol, you know that right now i—” you started, your voice cracking.

but he shook his head, his lips curving into a small, sad smile. “it’s okay,” he said quickly, though the way his arms tightened around you betrayed his words. “i didn’t mean to ruin the moment. i just… i had to say it.”

you didn’t know what to say. guilt churned in your stomach, your heart pounding against his chest as his words echoed in your head.

he deserved so much more than you could give, and yet here he was, holding you like you were his whole world.

seungcheol let out a shaky breath, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against the curve of your spine. “but since that won’t happen…” he trailed off, his voice wistful.

your chest tightened, the words striking a nerve you weren’t ready to deal with. you stayed silent, pressing your cheek against his shoulder, hoping he couldn’t see the way your brows knitted together.

“can you…” he hesitated, his fingers twitching against your skin. “can you come to my birthday party tonight? i know it’s late, but it’s probably still going. i’d love to see you there.”

you froze. you knew what he was asking—he wanted you to show up for him, to step into his world, even if it made you uncomfortable.

“cheol,” you said slowly, lifting your head to look at him. his expression was expectant.

“please,” he added, whispering in an almost pityful way. “just for a little while. it’s my birthday.”

you bit your lip, glancing away. the idea of walking into a room full of people who probably hated you wasn’t exactly appealing, but the way he looked at you, made it hard to say no.

“fine,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze.

“really?” he asked, his face lighting up instantly.

“yeah, really,” you said, rolling your eyes.

he sat up, pulling you with him.

you groaned, pushing against his chest. “ugh, fine. let me get ready, then.”

he followed you into the bathroom like a puppy, leaning against the doorway as you washed your face and fixed your hair. his gaze was soft, trailing over you like he was memorizing every detail.

“stop staring,” you said, your tone sharp but lacking any real bite.

“can’t help it,” he replied, his voice warm. “you’re gorgeous.”

you rolled your eyes again, but your cheeks flushed anyway, and you hated how easily he got to you.

“you should get ready too,” you said, pointing at him with a toothbrush in hand.

“i’m fine like this,” he said with a shrug, gesturing to his wrinkled shirt and jeans.

“you’re not showing up to your own party looking like you just got laid,” you shot back, smirking when his ears turned red.

“fine,” he grumbled, shuffling off.

by the time you were both dressed and ready, the nerves in your stomach were in full swing. seungcheol, however, looked ridiculously pleased with himself, his hand finding yours as he led you toward the door.

seungcheol practically vibrated with happiness as he led you up to the front door of his house. he tried so damn hard to play it cool, to keep his steps measured and his grin from stretching too wide. but his chest felt like it might burst at any moment, the thought of walking in with you by his side enough to make him wanna jump like some kind of elf in a fairytale.

this was it. you were here. about to meet his family, his friends. his whole world.

he took a deep breath and opened the door, immediately met with a chorus of voices.

“finally!” jeonghan shouted, throwing his arms up like he’d been waiting for years.

“where the hell have you been?” his brother added exasperatedly.

seungcheol pressed his lips together, holding back a smile as he glanced over his shoulder at you. “i, uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck, glancing down for a second before looking back up, his voice soft but proud. “i needed to bring someone special before the ‘happy birthday.’”

the room fell silent as you stepped out from behind him, your hands clutching the straps of your bag like a lifeline. your small, tentative smile was enough to stop everyone in their tracks.

you shifted awkwardly under the weight of their stares, the sound of the music thumping softly in the background the only thing filling the silence.

and that’s when it hit them.

oh.

this was the reason seungcheol had been acting so out of character, the reason he’d been spiraling for months. you weren’t just some girl he was into. no, you were a fucking vision. gorgeous in a way that made the room seem brighter. mesmerizing without even trying.

now they understood. now it all made sense.

of course he was crazy over you. of course he’d been spiraling. who wouldn’t be?

but the realization also came with a quieter, more awkward truth: this was the girl they’d all cursed out in private. the girl they’d ranted about after every drunken night where seungcheol had cried into his beer or disappeared to avoid them.

they exchanged quick glances. yeah, they got it now, but it didn’t erase the fact that they’d judged you before even meeting you.

a nagging question none of them dared to voice but couldn’t shake.

were you really worth it?

jeonghan, the one who never held his tongue, raised a brow and smirked. “well, shit. now i get it.”

seungcheol’s face flushed a deep red, his hand instinctively finding the small of your back as if to shield you from the inevitable onslaught of teasing.

but instead of cracking a joke, jeonghan just smiled and nodded, his eyes softening. “welcome,” he said, his voice genuine.

the others slowly followed suit, their smiles tentative but warm as they tried to mask their lingering curiosity.

and as seungcheol led you further into the house, his hand never leaving your back, he felt like he’d just won the lottery. because for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t walking into this house feeling defeated or embarrassed.

this time, he was walking in with you.

© 2024 Hoshi Fighting | All Rights Reserved

[ataraxiaspainting]

360-Degree Vision.

Yan Silas x F Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, non-con, oral (male receiving), forced infantilization, Silas calls himself Mommy because he's a weirdo, and "force feeding".

Word Count: 700.

OC and art pictured above belongs to amazingly talented @meo-eiru!! i really love her art, so be sure to check her out!! <333

*~*~*~*

Silas only allows autumn leaves and snow to fall where your feet don’t touch but your eyes can still see.

It’s an odd sort of shape, the barrier he has around his tree. It reminds him of those little sketches you do he puts by his bedside table. He read from a book that human mothers do that whenever their children give them drawings, though you never gave yours to him per se. More likely than not you were waiting for a more special occasion, but he found them in your toy box whilst he was tidying up from another long day of taking care of you. 

What a unique art style you have – he read in the same book that human children’s little doodles can be nearly unrecognizable from what they are supposed to be most of the time, so he doesn’t question how the circles you drew kept going around and around and leading to nowhere.

A snail’s shell, perhaps? 

The spirals seemed too large and too filled… 

He’ll give you points for creativity. 

Positive reinforcement was key with these kinds of things, or so he’s been told – if you ever ask for a pet snail, he’ll get one for you in little to no time at all.

*~*~*~*

“Baby,” Silas’ smile is smaller because of the concern he has for you right now. “You have to finish your dinner. It’s good for you. When you finish we can go see little mushrooms and squirrels, okay? Only for a little bit though,” His right hand is still above your head, squishing you down when your body seems to want to get up too soon. “Mommy doesn’t want you to get sick again…”

Despite Silas sitting down, he was still more than half your height – your knees sink further into the mattress both of you are on.

They are shivering so much but he doesn’t notice.

No, it’s not that he doesn’t care – he’s too busy flaunting his length and chest to you to pay attention to how you actually feel, wanting you to pick your poison once again; seeing this as necessary to your development.

Last time for yesterday’s meals you chose his cock – the day before that you chose his breasts.

The more you suck from him, the more you’re given treats after. Something resembling those colorful markers you used to get at the local dollar store, containers of blueberry yogurt you hope came from his village’s cows or some similar type of animal, a new dress he had sewn himself or had customized and bought from a nearby elf tailor.

“I’ll even bring some paper and those pencils you like drawing with, hm?” Silas continues as he scoots closer to you – he holds your hair so gently now, but whenever he cries tears of pure happiness the grip will tighten quickly. “Maybe you can see a snail up close for those little spirals you like doing.”

…

No matter how much you rebel and kick and scream, the elf wouldn’t move back from you – if anything it gives him more of a reason to come closer, so you can have more of his ‘love’. After only a little bit of time, you learned how to let the frustration out in a way that didn’t have Silas doting over you so suffocatingly – drawing spirals. You were told once by a friend they can be therapeutic in times of stress. You most likely will never see her again but you would want to hug her because it works. 

You hid them amongst the dolls and building blocks you were given in times you were alone – staring at them made you feel less lonely, made you feel like you had more of a choice in how you spent your waking hours.

You didn’t expect Silas to find them. He never checks your toy box because you tidy it up so often.

You don’t know how to explain your drawings in a way Silas will understand. Not that he understands a lot of things that come out of your mouth.

You just nod. Maybe drawing a snail’s body below those spirals can help you too.

“Good girl! Listening so well!” His smile widens and you can see his eyes getting watery already.

[ktownshizzle]

Love & Lullabies | Part 2

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader

Summary: What begins as a simple favor for your best friend Namjoon soon pulls you into the rhythms of Yoongi’s life—afternoons spent caring for his son, late nights filled with candid conversations, and a connection neither of you thought you needed. You’re just fresh out of a long-term relationship with an ex who didn’t want a family with you, so did you really just stumble into a life you’ve always dreamed of? (Thank god Namjoon isn’t the only one who’s clumsy.)

Alternatively: It’s 2025 and BTS is prepping for their comeback. All members seem to have gained muscle weight from their time at camp. But Min Yoongi has gained a different kind of weight—an 8-pound baby and a fuck-load of responsibility. (Thank god you’re there to help him.)

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, idol!au, Acquaintances to Lovers, Reader is Namjoon’s bestie

Warnings: Yoongi is a DILF (!!!) That’s it.

Chapter warnings: First kiss with this Yoongi (have fun with that), one sexist remark from your dummy bestie, baby mama shows up, cliffhanger

Word count: 5.3k

Posting date: November 19, 2024

Notes: This is inspired by an ask/prompt sent by @yoongznme. Icymi, we did a poll and results show y’all wanted to break this into two parts so we shall have a part 3. Enjoy, my lovelies~ 💕🫶🏼

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Masterlist

Ever since that dinner when you inadvertently confessed about your age-old attraction to him and assured him that any residual feelings are buried in a metaphorical time capsule, Yoongi seems to have made it his personal mission to rizz you up on purpose.

Haneul’s been especially rambunctious all day. Mealtime is no exception. Yoongi volunteers to feed him, thinking he can rein in some of the pent-up energy. At some point, Haneul squeezes his pouch of organic muesli and carrot puree with so much enthusiasm that it explodes everywhere, sending bright orange flecks across Yoongi’s face and pristine white tee.

“GAHHH!” Yoongi yelps, staring down at the mess, while Haneul absolutely loses it, tiny belly-shaking laughter filling the room.

“Silly, silly sarang,” you coo, using the pet name you’d started calling Haneul lately. It’s adorable how he beams every time he hears it, flashing you that gummy grin like he knows he’s your favorite troublemaker. You laugh too, as you wipe a splatter of puree from Haneul’s cheek with the muslin cloth you were holding.

“Do I have something on my face, too?” Yoongi leans towards you expectantly with the barest of smirks.

“Uh… yeah.” You say, flipping the cloth to a clean side and wiping off the smudge on his cheeks and his chin, and that pesky little morsel on the side of his lip.

For some reason, you seem to need a blast of oxygen straight to your lungs. Stat.

With a lick of his lips, Yoongi nods his thanks. “Gotta change,” he mumbles, lifting the shirt away from his chest with a grimace and walks towards the hallway to his room.

And you almost regret your decision to look back, almost.

Because, oh wow, he’s taking his shirt off. Yep. Fuckin’ dammit. The shirt is off.

Christ.

His shoulders are broad, muscles flexing as he runs a hand through his hair. The infamous “7” tattoo on his shoulder is taunting you. You are unable to pull your eyes away, already knowing you’re doomed.

Then, before he mercifully disappears into his room, he glances over his shoulder and catches you staring. Shit. Your heart plummets straight to your ass. He smirks, U-turns towards you shirtless and utterly shameless.

Your nerves short-circuit as he reaches out, just barely brushing your thigh to pick up his phone from the mat. His eyes hold yours, a dark glint of mischief in them, “You good?”

“Huh?” The brain fog is crazy. You will yourself to keep your eyes above his chest, but of course you gone did it.

Why are his nipples so cute? And damn is that a happy trail?

He snickers softly, like he knows exactly what’s going through your head. “I’ll be back. Han’s eating the remote by the way.”

And with that, he saunters off, leaving you there, a blushing, flustered mess as you find Haneul gnawing on the remote control.

You pull it quickly from his grasp, muttering under your breath, “Sarang, why are you and your appa being such a menace?”

He babbles happily at you, as if he knows he’s not the only troublemaker with a gummy grin in this house that got you wrapped around their finger.

The next time you’re at the Min’s, Yoongi is clearly in a rush, checking his phone and mumbling to himself as he zips up his jacket. “Just text me if you need anything, okay?” he calls over his shoulder, already half out the door.

“Got it,” you reply, bending to set your shoes on the rack. You glance down, expecting to see your usual house slippers—but something else catches your eye.

It’s a… capybara? Big, fluffy, and incredibly cozy-looking slippers, with soft little ears and embroidered eyes, just waiting for you. They’re exactly your size. They’re yours, right? It’s in your usual spot. Beside it… another pair. Same goofy capybara face, but larger. Did Yoongi get a pair for himself, too?

You slip them on, feeling their warmth, their plushness, and a little shiver of wonder and disbelief spreads through you. Yoongi thought of this—thought of you. The butterflies in your stomach are in a frenzy now, and you can’t help but smile, giddy and a little stunned. 

The door swings open. “I forgot my—” Yoongi stops mid-sentence.

You’re standing there, wiggling your toes inside the ridiculous capybara slippers, and when you look up, you catch the slight flush creeping across his cheeks. There’s something so unmistakably soft about his expression and it makes your heart do a strange little flip.

“Please tell me they’re mine,” you jut your bottom lip out, a hopefulness you can’t quite hide.

Yoongi steps inside just enough to grab his keys from the table, shrugs, “Who else would they be for?”

And just like that, he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

You’re left standing there, the capybara slippers snug around your feet, Yoongi’s words replaying in your mind. Your heart flutters as you stare down at them, wondering if maybe, just maybe, this small, thoughtful gesture means as much to him as it does to you.

Since then, you start noticing the small ways Yoongi shows his care. Each time he heads out, he leaves little comforts behind—an extra pillow for you on the couch, a plate of fruit on the coffee table, a cup of Silver Moon tea he prepared for you.

More and more, you start to extend your day to night that Yoongi almost expects you now to stay for dinner or join him for Haneul’s nighttime rituals.

Haneul’s bedtime stories have become a team effort—one night you’re reading, the next it’s Yoongi, who’s surprisingly great with voice acting and sound effects. (You should have known!) When Haneul finally drifts off, Yoongi always waits a moment, exchanging a small, tired smile with you as if to say, We did it.

And before you know it, that age-old crush that you said was buried in a metaphorical time capsule? Yoongi just dug it right back up.

One evening, as you rock Haneul to sleep in your arms, Yoongi comes in quietly, setting down a couple of takeout boxes and two cans of Coke on the coffee table. The baby’s small breaths are warm against your shoulder, his eyelids fluttering as he settles into sleep. You gently lay him down in his crib, brushing a hand over his soft hair before joining Yoongi on the couch. 

“Hungry?” Yoongi asks, sliding a takeout box in your direction. He’s not looking directly at you, focused instead on peeling back the lid of his own food.

“Starving,” you admit, smiling as you pick up your chopsticks. “Thank you.”

The quiet clinks of chopsticks and soft laughter fill the room as you both dig in. Conversation with Yoongi has started to come easier lately, and tonight, it flows so naturally you barely notice the time passing. 

“So, what got you into teaching?” he asks, glancing over at you between bites. “You seem good at it. Really good, actually. Haneul has so many party tricks now.”

You pause, laughing a little to mask the warmth in your cheeks. “I just love kids. I enjoy their energy, even if it’s chaotic.” You glance down. “I’ve always wanted my own. Just… hasn’t quite worked out that way yet.”

He nods, not pressing you, just letting you continue.

“I was in a long-term relationship, but things ended because he wasn’t looking for that kind of future,” you say quietly. “I really wanted a family, kids, but he didn’t. He didn’t even believe in marriage. So, it ended, and I guess that’s why I left and went back home.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that. Must have been so difficult for you.”

You nod, swallowing down the ache that lingers. “Yeah. I think part of me is still working through it, honestly. I hope you don’t think this is weird. But being here, with Han…” you sigh. “I don’t know, it’s helping. Even if he’s not quite mine.”

He’s quiet for a moment, his gaze shifting to his hands, fingers tracing the rim of his soda can. “It’s not weird. Look, you’ve helped us a lot, too. Having you here has made things feel… lighter. Happier.”

The words send a flutter through you, a feeling that scares you as much as it comforts you. Because this feels too domestic. A taste of that life you’ve always longed for. With Jiyong, for years. But now, it’s only Yoongi’s face you see in your mind’s eye. Yoongi and Haneul. You then realize how badly you want this, but you’re afraid of wanting it–afraid of what it might mean to get attached to someone like Yoongi.

“I appreciate that.” You reply. “How have you been adjusting to life as a single dad?” 

Yoongi glances over at you, his gaze thoughtful. “I didn’t expect that it would be this rewarding,” he says, his voice soft, but it trails off. “But… it’s lonely sometimes.” He pauses, his fingers absentmindedly toying with the edge of his sleeve. “Not just the parenting stuff, but the other parts. Like when Haneul does something for the first time—takes a step, says a new word—and I just… look around.”

He shrugs, his lips twitching into a small, self-conscious smile. “And it hits me that there’s no one there to share it with. No one to laugh with, to say like, ‘Hey, did you see that?’”

He laughs quietly, a little embarrassed. “I don’t know. Maybe that sounds selfish. But it’s the truth.”

You shake your head. “It’s not. I think we all want someone to share our life with. It’s not wrong to want that.”

He looks over at you, his gaze holding yours with a gentle intensity. “I guess… it’s easier to admit that with you here. It’s funny because in some ways, you’ve been that person for me, for us.”

The words hang between you and the silence stretches, buzzing with a feeling you can’t quite name. You’re painfully aware of every detail—the curve of his lips, the way his hand rests on his lap, the tenderness in his eyes. You know there’s something there, simmering, and you wonder if he can feel it too.

Finally, he breaks the silence. “Thanks for being here tonight. Really.”

You smile back, heart racing. “Thank you for trusting me. I know… this isn’t easy for you.”

As you sit there, side by side in your matching capybara slippers, the feeling of wanting more, of something real and lasting, settles into your chest. It’s a feeling you thought you’d put on the backburner, but here, with Yoongi, it’s igniting again.

You find yourself chilling at Namjoon’s apartment, days after that dinner, sprawled across his couch with a plate of instant jjajangmyeon balanced precariously on your lap. Some indie album is playing in the background, and you’re too caught up in your spiraling thoughts to even notice Namjoon observing you between bites.

“I’m screwed,” you say suddenly, poking at your noodles with your chopsticks.

Namjoon doesn’t even look affected. “What now?”

“It’s your fault, you big oaf.”

“K stop being cryptic,” he says, motioning for you to explain. “What did I do this time?”

You drop your chopsticks with an exasperated sigh. “Yoongi.”

“Mhm… What about hyung?”

You hesitate, pressing your lips together before blurting out, “I think… I think I like him… again.”

For a moment, Namjoon just stares at you, his expression unreadable. And then he has the audacity to laugh, nearly choking on his noodles as he leans back against the cushions.

“You’re so predictable,” he says between chuckles, shaking his head. “God I knew this was coming.”

You narrow your eyes at him, offended. “What do you mean you knew this was coming?”

“I mean, come on,” he says, gesturing at you with his chopsticks. “You’ve been spending all this time at his place, basically co-parenting Haneul with him. You’re acting like this is some big revelation when it’s been written all over your face.”

You stare at him. “Wow. Are you done?”

Namjoon smirks, tossing his empty takeout box onto the table before leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Okay, okay. Let’s unpack this,” he says, mock-serious. “You like him again. Fine. Why is that a bad thing?”

“Because, dude, it’s Yoongi. What if he’s not actually feeling it, which won’t be the first time? And! I still don't know why he suddenly has a son.”

“You have to ask him that.” Namjoon sets his drink down, his expression sobering slightly. “But answer this—Are you over Jiyong?”

The mention of your ex makes your stomach twist, but you nod, sighing. “Yeah. I’m over him. I’ve come to terms with it. He wasn’t the one for me.”

“Damn right, he wasn’t,” Namjoon mutters, shaking his head. “That guy was an asshole. I never liked him, you know.”

“I know,” you say, laughing softly. “You made it pretty obvious.”

“Good,” he replies firmly. “Because you deserve better. Way better.”

You glance at him, your heart warming a little. “Thanks, Joon.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he says, leaning back against the couch. “We’re not done talking about hyung.”

You groan again, flopping back against the cushions. “This is so pathetic.”

“No, it’s not,” Namjoon says, his voice softening. “It’s cute. Gross, but cute. And honestly, if hyung’s finally starting to let someone in, I’d rather it be you than some rando.”

You blink, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. “You’re really still shipping us after all these years?”

“Of course,” he says, nudging your knee with his. “You’re good for each other. I’ve known this all along.”

A pause settles as you finish your meal and Namjoon, his drink.

Then, he shakes his head like he’s just realized something. “So this is why Yoongi hyung has been sneaking in some extra work out time in between rehearsals.”

“He’s been walking around his house shirtless. Well, it’s his house, so…” you shrug, pretending you dgaf when really you’ve been thwarting mini heart attacks.

Namjoon’s eyes widen. “No fuckin’ way.”

“Don’t you dare tell him,” you warn, pointing your chopsticks at him.

He smiles wide, teeth blackened by the jajangmyeon sauce. “Only if you say yes to a night out.”

You groan, already mourning the loss of a perfectly good night of doom scrolling, as you toss him a paper towel. “Fine. When?”

You arrive at the bar later than planned. It’s some newly opened speak-easy in Gangnam owned by Joon’s friend. As you push the door that looks like a bookcase from outside, a rush of cool air ruffles the skirt you’re wearing. You definitely took a bit of time selecting your outfit and doing your makeup today, and now you feel really good, great even, even though you initially dreaded going out.

As you scan the room, you spot Namjoon in a large circular booth near the back, surrounded by familiar faces. He spots you first, waving you over with that dimpled grin of his. As you approach, you notice that the atmosphere is already loose and lively, evidenced by the various bottles and half-consumed glasses already on the table. 

Jin is leaning back, looking exasperated, and Hobi is covering his mouth as he laughs, his face flushed from the drinks he’s clearly had more than a few of. And there’s a girl beside him, who you vaguely recognize as the same one from when you watched their rehearsals.

“Look who finally decided to show up!” Namjoon calls out, standing up to envelop you in a hug.

“The star has arrived,” you jest, doing a flower pose on your face. Hobi rises to give you a hug, then Jin follows suit. 

“This is Yunjin,” Hobi introduces the redhead beside him. “My lovely wife.”

Yunjin has the same megawatt smile to match Hobi’s. “Glad to meet you.”

“Good to meet you, too!” you say back as you hug.

“You clean up nice,” your best friend comments as you all settle back inside the booth. “When you’re not acting like a hermit in your condo.”

“I know,” you roll your eyes, surreptitiously scanning the vicinity. “Who else is coming?” you hope you’re not painfully obvious on who you were wishing would be there.

“Just us,” Joon side eyes you, before adding. “Yoongi-hyung just stepped away for a second.”

“Ah.” 

As if on cue, Yoongi steps into view.

And goddamn. Your brain corrupts for a moment, and you swear you hear soft K-drama OST music in the background.

He runs a hand through his hair as he surveys the room as if he has some invisible wind machine following him. He’s wearing a black blazer that fits perfectly over a simple white tank. There’s a flash of silver at his waist from his belt that hugs his light-wash jeans. A small pop of pink on his neck somehow softens the whole look, a cute touch.

He looks so effortlessly good it’s almost obnoxious. The thing is, you’re pretty sure he knows it. That smirk on his face is very telling.

“Hey, you made it,” he says quietly, sliding into the seat next to you as if he belongs there. He grabs the drink by your elbow to take a sip and you get a whiff of his scent—musky, woody, dangerous.

“Yeah,” you squeak, no clue how you will manage to act normally around him now, but a joke seemed appropriate. “Shit. Nobody said my ‘employer’ was gonna be here. Now I have to be on my best behavior.” You say to the others in a whisper.

“DON’T,” Yoongi groans, shaking his head, lower lip bitten in mock irritation.

The rest laugh at your exchange. Hobi slides a shot of whatever to you, and you take it, grateful.

“You missed a big reveal by the way,” Namjoon says. “Apparently, Jin-hyung has officially sworn off women for all eternity.”

Jin rolls his eyes. “Ha-ha. It’s called having a life outside of getting your dick wet, thank you very much. Not everyone needs to be a simp like you.”

“Who is it this time, Joonie?” You ask, taking a tiny sip from the shot glass.

“Soyeon.” Everyone says in chorus. Even Yoongi says it under his breath.

“Oh, god,” you breathe out. “You’re on again?”

Namjoon sighs, “I know, I know. She’s got me in a chokehold.”

Jin raises his drink. “To Namjoon-ah, the biggest simp we know.”

Namjoon shakes his head, laughing in defeat as everyone clinks glasses.

“…and to Seokjin being forever bitchless.” You add under your breath, exchanging giggles with Yunjin.

“Yah!” Jin shouts from his beer glass and you throw him a wink.

“Speaking of simping,” Hobi says, drawing out the word as he looks pointedly at Yoongi. 

“Hoba.” Yoongi warns. You’re curious now.

“The new songwriters Si-hyuk on-boarded from America. They saw you with Haneul. I heard them calling you a DILF.”

Hobi practically falls apart, laughing so hard he clutches his sides. Jin and Namjoon aren’t far behind, their cackling attracting stares from neighboring tables. Even Yoongi can’t fully suppress his grin, though he tries valiantly to play it off. You laugh along, but you feel your face heating up and you don’t know exactly why.

“So you already have an in,” Jin says, reaching over to give Yoongi a hearty slap on the back. “Even you could use a good distraction once in a while.”

“Hajimaaaa,” Yoongi complains, brushing off Jin’s grasp on his shoulder. “Hoba’s just making shit up.”

“I’m not lying!” Hobi raises his right hand up as if he’s swearing an oath. Then he mock-complains, “Nobody ever calls me a DILF.”

Yunjin elbows him on the stomach and Hobi splutters, as they start bickering playfully.

Then Namjoon turns his sights on you. “Hey y/n, you're a girl,” he starts and immediately, you know he is setting you up for something.

“Keen eye,” you deadpan, placing the shot glass on your lips.

“So,” Namjoon says, dimples deepening as he leans in, gestures to Yoongi, “objectively… is he?”

“Is he what?” you grit, but your eyes are screaming ‘Don’t you dare, Kim Namjoon. Don’t you fucking dare, you piece of shit.’

Namjoon raises his eyebrows, looking every bit the trouble-maker. “A DILF?”

Motherfucker.

You nearly choke on your drink, fighting the urge to strangle your best friend as his grin widens, clearly enjoying your discomfort. 

“You’re an asshole, objectively speaking. And I need a real drink if this is how tonight’s gonna go,” you down the entire shot before moving to slide out of the booth to escape before you’re forced to answer.

Yoongi moves out to give you space and decides, “I’ll go with you.” 

As you head toward the bar together, you feel the warmth of Yoongi’s hand on the small of your back. You chance a quick look back at Namjoon, who’s wearing an absolute shit-eating grin, clearly pleased with himself, like this has been his master plan all along—more than ten years in the making.

You decide to go to the bar outside. It’s quieter here and you also need the fresh air.

“Sorry about that…” Yoongi scratches the back of his neck.

“Oh please, no need to apologize for Namjoon’s dumb behavior.” You wave a hand, as if it’s really no big deal. But your insides are still churning.

“So who’s with Haneul tonight?” You ask as you perch on the bar stool.

“My eomma. She’s going to be staying in town for the next two weeks since it’s Han’s birthday.”

“Wow,” you say, excited. “What’s the plan?”

Yoongi shrugs. “Ah, something small. Just family, maybe a couple of friends. Nothing too big. He won’t even remember it.”

You laugh lightly. “Yeah, but you should be celebrating your first year as a dad, too.”

He smiles faintly at that, nodding. “Maybe. But I’m terrible at planning stuff like this. I was gonna keep it simple—a cake, some balloons, that’s it.”

“Well, if you need help, let me know,” you offer casually, trying to keep your tone light even as your stomach flutters at the thought of being part of something so special.

“You sure?”

“100%,” you say, nudging him lightly with your elbow. 

“I don’t want to impose, though. You already do so much.”

“You’re not imposing,” you reply firmly. “I want to help. Besides, I’m already halfway to being Han’s favorite person.”

“Halfway?” he repeats, huffing. “You’ve already taken that spot–100%.”

You grin, feeling your cheeks warm. “What can I say? I’m irresistible to one-year-olds.”

Yoongi’s still for a moment, his gaze lingering on you. There’s something thoughtful in his expression, before mumbling under his breath, “Maybe not just to one-year-olds.”

Eh?

But before you can say anything, he already gestures to call the bartender to take your drink orders.

You’re glad you went out tonight. It’s been a while since you had spent time with a group that made you feel so welcome. Despite the jovial mood you’re in, your social battery is definitely drained. Yoongi notices and asks if you want a ride home since he also needs to go for father duties. You both say your goodbyes and head to his car in the parking lot.

The drive is quiet but not awkward, the soft music filling the space between you during the quick drive to your apartment. When he pulls up in front of your place, you hesitate for a second, debating whether to invite him in. But then you remember the absolute disaster inside—clothes flung everywhere, shoes scattered, your makeup bag abandoned on the kitchen counter in your rush to get ready. Plus, you don’t even have a couch, so…

“Thanks for the ride,” you say, unbuckling your seatbelt. “I’d invite you in, but, uh… my place looks like a crime scene right now.”

He has a confused look on his face, so you explain, “Tried on half my closet before settling on this.”

His gaze sweeps over your outfit, but not in a way that feels invasive. If anything, he looks appreciative. “Worth it,” he says simply, and your heart does a somersault.

There’s a moment, a pause where you should say goodnight. Get out of the car. But something about the way Yoongi’s eyes are still on you makes your pulse quicken, and suddenly, it’s like the air between you feels heavier.

“Stay here,” he says softly, stepping out of the car and walking around to your side. He opens your door, his hand outstretched to help you out, and you take it, letting him guide you onto the sidewalk.

He doesn’t let go of your hand. The short walk up to your apartment feels longer than it should, yet you don’t want it to end.

When you reach your door, you turn to face him, suddenly unsure of what to say. “Well… goodnight, I guess.”

Yoongi hesitates for a moment, hand still lightly grasping yours. “I need to tell you something.”

“Okay…” Your throat felt dry saying that.

“I umm found Haneul a nanny. Youngbae-hyung recommended this agency they used to find theirs and I’ve signed on someone who’s starting soon.”

You’re a little shocked at the news. This is good though because Yoongi really needs a more reliable and constant solution to their caregiving needs. Despite the heavy feeling that has settled in your chest, you try to lighten the mood with a joke that doesn’t quite land, “Why does this feel like a break-up?”

Yoongi shakes his head, lips curved into a small smirk, as he tucks a stray hair behind your ear, “Not even close.” He releases a sigh. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” you nod, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Can I kiss you goodnight?”

The question takes you by surprise, the vulnerability in his voice making your heart ache, but this time, in the best way. You nod, smiling softly. “Yeah. You can.”

He steps closer, his hand brushing lightly against your arm before tilting your chin up gently. The kiss is soft, tentative, like he’s savoring every second. You are, too. It’s just… sweet. Like a first kiss should be. Perfect.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against yours, and you can feel the warmth of his breath against your lips. For a moment, neither of you moves, like you can’t believe what just happened.

Yoongi’s eyes flutter shut as he confesses, “Is it bad that I want to do that again already?”

“No, ‘cause same…” Your hands reach out, grasping the lapels of his jacket, and you pull him back in.

Yoongi responds instantly, his hands sliding to your waist as he presses you gently against the wall, his warmth and weight upon you dangerously addictive. His tongue brushes yours, soft and slick, that spark of contact so electric that you feel yourself melting further into him. Your arms loop around his neck, bringing him closer, and when his lips part against yours, his teeth catch your bottom lip, sucking on it softly before letting it go. The sensation sends a shiver racing down your spine, and you can’t help the quiet moan that escapes you.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, threading through the silky strands before one hand slides down to find the belt loop of his jeans. You tug on it, pulling him impossibly closer, until there’s no space left between your bodies.

Yoongi groans against your mouth as your bodies collide, your chest against his, his leg in between your thighs, fitting into each other like tetris pieces. As your nails scratch the tufts of hair by his nape, a rumble, low and rough, escapes his throat, sending another wave of heat straight to your core. His hands grip your waist tighter, grounding you even as your world shifts.

When you finally pull back, your breaths come fast and uneven. His hair is slightly mussed from your fingers, his lips flushed and slightly parted, and he looks at you with a mix of wonder. You feel kind of proud, taking in his sexy, disheveled appearance.

“I really should’ve tidied up my place,” you murmur, your fingers still loosely hooked in his belt loop.

Yoongi blinks, dazed for a moment, before letting out a soft chuckle. “It’s fine. There will be other times.” His fingers brush against your shoulder as he gently hooks the strap of your top that had slipped down, carefully sliding it back into place.

“Other times, huh?” you tease.

He licks his kiss-bitten lip, smirks and says, “Good night.”

“Good night,” you reply as you watch him retreat down the hall.

“I’ll text you,” he calls over his shoulder before disappearing into the elevator, leaving you standing at your doorway, your lips still tingling and your heart on your sleeve.

You close the door, leaning back against it with a sigh.

That same night, you resolve to go to IKEA to finally buy a damn couch and a bedframe. You know, just in case. For those other times.

Yoongi: haneul says he misses you You: Oh, rly? He talks full sentences now? Yoongi: yes? You: I miss him, too. Yoongi: good. see u tomorrow? You: I’m so there, no question Yoongi: good night

Yoongi’s apartment is alive with energy, the living room transformed into a whimsical—but slightly chaotic—mix of cats and capybaras. It’s a theme that feels both playful and oddly fitting, a nod to Haneul’s love for capybaras (which you take full credit for) and Yoongi being a literal cat daddy. Yours, hopefully, but the thing is… it’s been awkward. At least for you.

You spent the morning hanging streamers, tying balloons, and carefully setting up the decorations while Yoongi grumbled about the sheer number of things to assemble.

At some point, Yoongi takes your hand and introduces you to his mom. Just your name—no label, no context, no indication of what you are to him beyond someone who is here, present, and involved. It had been a brief, polite exchange, but you couldn’t help the twinge of awkwardness that followed, even if Yoongi’s hand stayed clasped with yours and he may have dropped a chaste kiss on top of your head before he had to go say hi to other guests. 

Your relationship—or lack thereof—still feels undefined. You haven’t had the talk with Yoongi since that kiss after the night out. You’re in this off, lukewarm state, caught somewhere between the heat of semi-flirty late-night texts and the cold hard truth that he’s been too busy to really sit down and talk. With their comeback just weeks away, his rehearsals have been relentless, and you’ve told yourself not to take it personally. You know how this goes.

But still. Seeing him now, watching him laugh softly at something Namjoon said while adjusting Haneul’s tiny party hat, a knot twists in your stomach. You just don’t know how to properly operate in this space that’s in flux.

You shake the thoughts away, willing yourself to shelf the conversation for later. It’s Haneul’s day, you remind yourself. Whatever questions you have about you and Yoongi can wait.

“Noona, these cupcakes are so good!” Jungkook calls out, holding up one with a cat face on it.

“Thank you, Kook! Can’t take credit for them though. I just got them from a pastry shop near my place.”

“Still, you’ve got good taste,” he says, licking the frosting that makes up the cat’s tail.

Suddenly, the doorbell rings. Yoongi, closest to the door, moves to answer it. You don’t think much of it until you hear Yoongi’s voice croak. “What are you doing here?”

Curiosity piqued, you glance toward the doorway, and that’s when you see her.

Tall, gorgeous, and impossible to miss. Lee Sung Kyung steps inside, her polished, effortless elegance making her stand out. She barely spares a glance at anyone else, her focus entirely on Yoongi.

Your stomach drops. You have a bad feeling about this.

Namjoon is at your side in an instant, his voice low. “Hey… I think we need to talk.”

“What?” you ask, forcing a smile as you pick up a napkin, pretending to tidy the already-organized table. But your eyes are glued to the scene by the entrance, at Yoongi’s clenched jaw, and Sung Kyung’s outstretched arm.

You feel a little miffed that Namjoon takes you by the elbow, voice insistent as he says, “NOW.”

"Joon," You ask, mustering all your courage, even though you are terrified of the answer. "Who is she?"

"She's Lee Sung Kyung."

Your ears are ringing and you grit your teeth as you respond, "I fucking know her name." You repeat the question, slower, a little angrier. "Who. is. she."

Namjoon hesitates, his jaw tightening before he answers. “She’s Haneul’s mom.”

Part Three >

A/N: dun dun DUN. 🙉 I need y'all in the comments! <3 How are you feeling??? Feedback is super appreciated and helps keep my motivation high ✨

I am so excited to share part 3.

Hope you all are sattt 🪑

Thank you for reading, you lovely, beautiful human! 💜

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[seongwars]

𝔞𝔰𝔥 | 𝔡𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰

Pairing: pyromaniac!Jeong Yunho x slasher!Reader AU: non-idol Summary: When Dr. Kim Hongjoong arrives at the manor with his assistant, Jeong Yunho, an unsettling urge stirs within you—to extinguish his vibrant spark. But little did you know that even the brightest lights have a way of casting the darkest shadows—OR, you and Yunho commit crimes all in the name of love. Word Count: 6.6K Warnings: MDNI SMUT (18+), dark themes, swearing, blood, m*rder, violence, this is purely fictional and the characters are unhinged, I don't condone this behavior, sorry San

Fic Masterlist

a/n: dropping my poor attempt at gothic horror and running away

“Love?” you sang, skipping toward your paramour, your voice lilting in a way that would have sounded sweet if not for the blood splattered across your cheeks and the wicked gleam in your eye. The crimson stained your dress as you twirled the blade in hand, its tip dripping in time with your steps.

“How did I do?”

“You’ve really outdone yourself this time,” Yunho sighed, almost wistfully, his tone warm despite the dark intent behind his words. He reached out, his thumb tracing a path down your blood-streaked cheek.

You grinned, throwing yourself into his arms as he caught you effortlessly, pulling you into a kiss so deep that the world around you blurred. Smoke clung to him like a second skin, mingling with the sharp, metallic tang of blood that lingered in the air.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes flickered to the bloodied corpse swaying gently from the chandelier—your latest masterpiece. Yunho’s gaze lingered, his expression unreadable, save for the slight curl of his lips. Approval, tinged with something far darker.

“Wasted potential,” you pouted, toying with the lapel of Yunho’s jacket. “I really wanted to keep him.”

His jaw tensed, and you caught the way his eyes darkened, the playful warmth in them giving way to something far more dangerous. Yunho’s hands tightened on your hips, his grip firm enough to send a spark of heat through your body. The small, possessive squeeze was a reminder of the simmering jealousy lurking beneath his otherwise laid-back demeanor.

“There’s no more room in your collection, darling,” he murmured, his voice dangerously low as he locked eyes with you. He leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. 

“You know I don’t like it when other men look at you.”

Something about his possessiveness sent a thrill through you. Most people would cower under such intensity, but you? You reveled in it. Your pulse quickened, your breaths coming shallow and fast, giddy with excitement. 

The first time you met Yunho, he was supposed to die like all the others. 

Aurora Manor had been in the Kang family for generations. The sprawling manor, with its towering spires and labyrinthine gardens, served as both your home and your hunting ground. Most guests, enchanted by the manor’s old-world charm and your family’s disarming smiles, never suspected the danger lurking within. 

Yunho had arrived as the assistant to your brother’s college friend, Dr. Kim Hongjoong, who was staying at the manor for a weeklong visit, and like any good hunter, you set your sights on him almost immediately. 

Yunho’s kind personality and genuine warmth made him your forbidden fruit, all the more tempting with every effortless gesture. He seamlessly fit into the household, endearing himself to everyone with his intoxicating laughter echoing through the halls. There was something about him—too vibrant, too tempting, like a fire burning too brightly. 

It made you want to extinguish that spark, to dim the light in his eyes just to see what he looked like in the dark–perfect, still, and beautiful, another piece in your collection.

But you were wrong. So, wrong. 

“Oh hush, Mimi,” you said, tilting your head in mock sympathy. “No one can hear you out here—not even San.” The mention of his name sent another wave of sobs through her, and you smirked, savoring every broken sound.

Her voice cracked under the strain, her cries fraught with desperation as she dangled helplessly from the barn rafter.

“But soon,” you continued, more to yourself now, “with you out of the way, I’ll finally have the chance to add him to my collection. Perhaps Father can even arrange for me to marry him.” 

Mimi’s screams turned to pitiful whimpers as her strength waned, and you took a step closer, the wooden floor creaking under your weight. 

“You know,” you began, your voice carrying an eerie sweetness, “I’d almost feel bad for you if you weren’t so utterly insufferable.” You twirled a silver blade between your fingers, watching how the dim light caught on its edge. 

“Parading around high society as if you’re anything more than a lowborn whore,” you added, your tone sharpening. “Throwing yourself at him like the desperate little thing you are, sullying him… but now”—you leaned in slightly, your voice dropping to a whisper—“here we are.”

You leaned in, your face inches from hers, and grinned. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll make sure San remembers you fondly. Maybe I’ll tell him you ran away, too ashamed to show your face after I caught you alone with–”

“Y/N?”

The barn door creaked open suddenly, and you froze, your blood turning to ice. Slowly, you turned to see Yunho standing in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted against the moonlight. The horror in his eyes was unmistakable.

If Yunho ran, if he told anyone—

No. You wouldn’t let that happen.

“Oh, Yunho,” you said, your tone light and sweet, though your heart was thumping in your chest. “You weren’t supposed to see this.”

Without a second thought, you drew your knife across Mimi’s throat. A wet gurgle escaped her lips, and blood spurting from the gash, painting the wooden floor and splattering across your dress. You didn’t flinch, your eyes never leaving Yunho’s as her body went limp, swaying slightly from the rafter.

You stepped forward, but Yunho matched you with a step back, his dark eyes unreadable before he turned and fled into the night. He was fast—far faster than you had anticipated. His long strides carried him through the maze of shadows, but you were relentless, the knife in your hand catching the moonlight as you darted after him.

You surged forward, your knife aiming for his chest. But he sidestepped, his hand shooting out to catch your wrist mid-swing, knocking the knife from your grasp. The weapon clattered to the ground, but you didn’t falter. You fought back, striking at him with every ounce of strength you had. He caught your arm, spun you around, and pinned it above your head as he pressed you against a tree.

But with a sharp twist, you broke free, shoving him back and diving for the knife. Your fingers brushed the handle just as his hand closed around your ankle, dragging you away. You kicked out, forcing him to release you, and scrambled to your feet, the knife now firmly in your grasp. 

The blade’s edge hovered above his skin, the pressure faint enough to make your intentions clear. Yunho’s back pressed firmly against the rough bark, his breath steady despite the danger glinting in your eyes. You dragged the blade downward, savoring the way his muscles tensed beneath the cold steel.

“Killing you would be such a waste,” you murmured, tilting your head as if savoring the thought. You dragged the tip slowly, deliberately, savoring the subtle resistance as it caught on the fabric without piercing his skin.

“You’d make such a beautiful addition,” you continued, “I wouldn’t mind another pretty face.”

Yunho didn’t flinch. Instead, his smirk grew, his gaze dipping to your lips before dragging back up to meet your eyes. 

“You talk like I’m prey,” he said, his voice low and disturbingly calm.

His hand shot out, gripping your wrist tightly, stopping the knife mid-drag, his grip unyielding as he leaned in. 

“But you’re not the only predator here.”

The blade slipped from your hand, falling to the ground with a muffled thud. You barely had a second to react before he reversed your positions, pinning you against the tree. His lips crashed against yours with a force that stole your breath, his hand flying to your throat and loosening its grip just enough to let you gasp against him.

The kiss was anything but gentle; it was raw, demanding, and unapologetically consuming, as though he wanted to claim you in a way words never could. You responded with equal fervor, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw a low growl from him. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his lips red and slightly swollen, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Let me show you.”

You searched his face, trying to gauge his seriousness. The dark, glittering look in his eyes—filled with an almost reverent fascination—sent a shiver down your spine.

⊹

“Fire has always spoken to me,” Yunho murmured, his voice low and smooth, as he grabbed your hand and led you back to the barn. 

“It’s wild, uncontrollable…but if you know how to handle it, it becomes art.” 

Yunho reached into his pocket and retrieved a small metal lighter, its polished silver surface glinting faintly in the light. 

“Do you see it?” He tilted the lighter slightly, letting the flame stretch upward. “It’s alive. It breathes, it moves, and when it’s fed… it transforms.”

You couldn’t tear your eyes away, captivated by the intensity in his voice and the mesmerizing way he handled the flame. A slow smile tugged at your lips as you stared into the flickering light, an exhilarating, dark thrill coursing through you, making your fingers twitch.

Your gaze shifted to Mimi’s lifeless body, her form dangling lifelessly in the position you’d left her. Her vacant eyes stared into nothingness, her form swaying faintly with the whispers of wind slipping through the cracks in the barn walls. You took a step closer, unable to resist admiring your work. The silence was deafening, yet perversely satisfying—a chilling reminder of the finality of it all.

Behind you, Yunho moved with quiet precision, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you firmly against him. His free hand pressed the lighter into your palm, his fingers lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch.

“See for yourself,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. 

With a flick of your thumb, the lighter sparked to life, its small flame casting a faint glow. You lowered it to the edge of her clothes. The instant the fire touched the fabric, it flared with a hungry hiss, consuming it greedily as tendrils of smoke spiraled into the air.

As the flames climbed higher, their flickering light reflecting in your eyes, you leaned back against Yunho. A laugh rose from deep within you—soft and subdued at first, then breaking free, loud and unrestrained.

Smoke clung to your clothes and hair as you and Yunho darted through the garden, the night air doing little to temper the heat still pulsing in your veins.

The faint glow of the fire lit your path back to the manor, its flickering light casting eerie shadows on the statues and hedges as you weaved through them. Breathless but still riding the high, you slipped inside the manor, creeping up the grand staircase to your room.

Yunho surged toward you, mouth latching onto your lips as he tore at your bodice, desperate to devour that chaos that was you. He pressed a kiss to the swell of your breasts, the tip of his tongue tracing over the soft skin before latching on to a nipple. Your hands fumbled to unbutton his trousers, desperate to get him undressed. You couldn't help the cry that escaped your throat when you felt his hand slip under your skirts and between your legs.

“Do you know how quickly a fire spreads when there’s gasoline in the air?” he asked, lips ghosting against the sensitive mound. His long fingers traced lazy circles around your slit, his ministrations, deliberate and teasing, as if drawing more of those precious sounds from you was his sole purpose.

You shook your head, stumbling back on to the mattress, your mind scrambling to respond, but you couldn't. Not when everything about him—his eyes, voice, and intensity—was pulling you deeper into the fire.

“It only takes a spark,” he purred, pressing against your lips. 

Yunho’s fingers brushed gently against the strands of your hair that clung to your face, tucking them behind your ear. He sat back on his heels, working his cock out of his trousers, fisting it without breaking eye contact with you. 

“One tiny spark, and everything you thought you controlled goes up in flames.”

He lined his leaky cockhead against you, teasing your sopping cunt with the tip. You whimpered, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer. His hands slid down to your ass, squeezing and kneading as he pulled out, then moved back in halfway. 

“W-What happens when the fire gets out of control?” you gasped, your breath hitching with the adrenaline coursing through your veins, your face flushed with intensity. 

Yunho bottomed out with a low groan, his body tense as he stilled inside you. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense, the primal focus in them unwavering as he watched your face twist in pleasure. The way your lips parted, your eyes fluttering and rolling back, and the way your tits bounced—he drank it all in, captivated.

“You let it burn,” his lips latched on to your jawline, peppering kisses down to your neck, pushing your leg up higher so he could angle himself deeper. 

“Because once it consumes everything,” his voice faltered, at the way your pussy twitched around him, “there’s no escape.” 

Yunho’s pace became erratic, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. You squealed when his cock slid against your walls, and you couldn’t think of anything other than how you wanted him to fuck you stupid. You wanted to surrender to him, to be completely devoured by someone who could match you, challenge you, and make you feel alive in ways you never imagined. 

“Fuck fuck, take me, Yunho, please,” you babbled, ready to submit to him.

The way he stuffed you full, the sound of his hips pounding against your ass, accompanied by the sloppy squelches of your pussy drenching him with your juices, or the way he tugged at your hair, making sure you couldn’t get away stirred a heat in your lower belly, growing unbearable. 

You could smell his musk, sweat, and something else—something primal invade your senses, and you shivered. You were getting lightheaded and you swore you could hear your own heartbeat, and for a moment, you forgot to breathe as your orgasm tore through you.   

It was a smoldering ache that spread like wildfire. You clung to him, every sensation heightened—the warmth of his body beneath your touch, and the rise and fall of his chest against yours.

Yunho felt the knot in his stomach tighten, lifting you off his cock and slamming you back down through the aftershocks. You knew he was teetering on the edge of his own high, and you wiggled, clenching down hard to milking him. You felt it. The way his hips stuttered, filling you completely to the brim with thick velvety ropes of cum. 

"Want you, o-only you," he stammered, struggling to catch his bread. His lips crashed into yours, the kiss a desperate collision of tongues and teeth, an unspoken promise of the darkness that bound you together. 

“Let me be yours.”

"Darling," you called out, your voice carrying a playful lilt as you meticulously polished a set of knives laid out before you. 

Yunho, seated comfortably by the hearth with a book in hand, tilted his head slightly in your direction but didn’t yet look up. His sharp features softened under the golden glow of the firelight, but there was a glint of suspicion in his eyes.

“Yes?” he replied, dragging out the word in that familiar tone that was both indulgent and wary—a tone reserved just for you when he suspected you were up to something.

You stepped closer, draping your arms lazily over his broad shoulders, your fingers lightly tracing patterns on his chest. His lips quirked into a small smile despite himself, though his gaze flicked briefly to the blades on the table.

“It seems we’ll be going to our next victim, rather than him coming to us.”

"The Choi’s," Yunho muttered, his jaw tightening, the muscle twitching ever so slightly as he processed your words.

“Isn’t it perfect?” you continued, a note of excitement in your voice. “A grand estate, a lavish event, and San, all under one roof. It’s almost as if the stars aligned just for us.”

A shadow flickered across Yunho’s expression, his eyes narrowing briefly. In a swift, almost instinctive motion, his hands found your waist, gripping firmly as he yanked you against him.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he murmured, his voice low and edged with a growl that sent a thrill down your spine.

Tilting your head, you offered him a coy smile, feigning innocence. “San’s hardly a threat to you.” Your fingers reached up, tracing a delicate path along the line of his jaw, the touch soft, meant to soothe.

“You know you're the only one I have eyes for.”

His lips twitched into a smirk, though the possessive gleam in his eyes didn’t fade. “Good,” he murmured, leaning down to brush a kiss against the corner of your lips. 

“Because if he tries anything, it won’t be you who takes care of him.”

The carriage rattled along the cobblestone, every jolt and bump pressing you further into the cramped confines of the plush interior.

“Who thought this was a good idea?” you grumbled, wedged between Yeosang’s broad shoulders on one side and Hongjoong’s sharp elbows on the other. Across from you, Yunho sat with an amused smile tugging at his lips, clearly entertained by the unfolding drama.

“Might I remind you,” Yeosang began, his tone clipped and precise, “that as an unwed woman, you are still subject to scrutiny amongst the rest of society.”

You shot him a look. “Oh, forgive me, dear brother. I didn’t realize your lectures came free with the cramped seating arrangement.”

Hongjoong snorted, trying—and failing—to stifle his laughter. “Yeosang does have a point, though. You wouldn’t want whispers of impropriety, would you?”

“Whispers of impropriety are practically a given,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. 

“And if they get too loud, I could always… take care of the problem.” You punctuated the statement with a wicked smirk, earning raised brows from both men beside you.

“Take care of the problem?” Hongjoong echoed, feigning shock as he pressed a hand to his chest. “You mean every single person in attendance at the ball?”

“I wouldn’t need to dispose of everyone,” you replied smoothly, leaning back in your seat despite the lack of room.

“Just the ones who I particularly dislike. Though I would spare your fiance, brother, she’s quite lovely.” 

Yeosang’s betrothed was indeed lovely, but in the way a porcelain doll might be—delicate, beautiful, and utterly unaware of the shadows looming just beyond her perfect little world.

The Choi estate finally loomed into view, its grand spires and glowing windows promising a night of intrigue and chaos. For now, you were content to let the banter fade as you prepared for the night ahead.

“You all survived,” Hongjoong declared as the carriage came to a halt. He threw the door open with a flourish, stepping out dramatically. “You’re welcome.”

You navigated the crowd of guests with purpose, the fabric of your gown swishing against the polished marble floor as you scanned the room, intent on finding San.

Convincing your father to agree to the engagement hadn’t been easy. You’d begged and pleaded, painting San as the perfect addition to the collection—handsome, charming, well-connected, and clever enough to keep you interested.

Your father remained unmoved, but you persisted, highlighting the political advantages of the match. Eventually, he relented—not because of your arguments, but because of your relentless determination that promised you’d stop at nothing to make San yours.

“There you are,” you said, slipping seamlessly into the role of the devoted fiancée. Without waiting for an invitation, you placed your hand lightly on San’s arm, your touch both possessive and calculated.

From the shadows, Yunho’s eyes burned with a dark intensity as he watched the exchange. His jaw clenched as San’s hand brushed yours—a gesture that seemed casual to spectators but carried intent he didn’t like.

“Walk with me,” you whispered, the command so lightly delivered it felt like an invitation. You didn’t wait for San’s answer, turning toward the garden doors with a confidence that ensured he’d follow.

The night air greeted you as you stepped onto the terrace, the chatter of the ballroom fading behind you. You barely glanced back as San fell into step beside you, his movements measured and unhurried.

“Not a fan of the crowd?” he asked, his tone conversational.

“Am I not allowed to have any privacy with my betrothed?” you replied, leading him down a path lined with hedges. 

San followed, his footsteps measured and unhurried. “Privacy?” he repeated, a soft chuckle escaping him. “That’s a rare luxury in our world. You know that everyone is waiting for the next scandal.”

“Indeed,” you sighed, your tone tinged with weariness, the perfect prelude to what came next.

You took a small step closer, your movement subtle yet designed to chip away at his composure. Your gaze locked onto his, steady and inviting, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. His eyes flickered to your lips before returning to meet yours, his composure faltering for a heartbeat. 

“That’s why,” you murmured, your voice soft, intimate, as though the words were meant for him alone, “this is the perfect opportunity for us to… escape.”

His brows lifted slightly, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Escape?” 

You leaned in just enough to let your breath ghost against his skin, your next words dripping with suggestion.

“Away from the eyes that watch our every move. Doesn’t the idea tempt you, even just a little?” you whispered, your fingers lightly brushing his sleeve. 

Yunho watched as you wove your trap with precision, the threads of your web wrapping tighter around your victim. He fought to suppress his darker instincts: to tear San away from you, to smother him in flames, and put an end to the amusement. 

Yet he remained still, rooted in the shadows like a predator lying in wait. He knew better than to interfere. The success of your hunt depended on San’s willingness to step into your web, unaware of the danger closing in from every side. 

⊹

“Mmph, San just like that,” you moaned, voice breathy and as he slammed up into you. You could feel every inch of him as you rode him, the tip of his cock sliding against your walls and pressing into your soft, slick flesh.

Your thighs were trembling as you rose up and rolled back down onto his length, your own slickness dripping from your core, down your legs and over his thighs. 

“Fuck, you little minx,” he chuckled, reaching out to swat your ass. “Your idea of an escape wasn’t such a bad idea.”

San was panting now, his chest heaving with each ragged breath, muscles coiled tight beneath his skin. You leaned in closer, your fingers curling around his jaw, tilting his face upward into a kiss. Your lips brushed his, but your eyes stayed open, a faint smirk dancing on your lips as you watched Yunho out of the corner of your eye.

Yunho's brow twitched ever so slightly. His gaze remained steady, but the subtle tightening of his jaw hinted at the jealousy simmering beneath the surface. He could have ended this easily, efficiently, moments ago. One swift move, and San would’ve been neutralized, sparing him the theatrics unfolding before him. 

San’s hands slid down to the fat of your ass, his grip firm and possessive, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. He was consumed by the heat of your touch and the illusion of control.

“I can practically feel your jealousy from here,” you purred, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. 

San stiffened at your words, his head snapping around to follow your gaze. His eyes widened as they locked onto Yunho, who stepped out from the shadows, the glint of a syringe catching the dim light.

“What the—” San began, his voice tinged with confusion and anger.

“I’m sorry about this, darling,” you whispered, your tone laced with a teasing sweetness. “You’re far too sweet for someone like me.”

In one fluid motion, Yunho struck, the needle slipping into San’s neck with clinical precision. The sharp hiss of the syringe was barely audible, but the effect was immediate. His body jerked, muscles tensing for a brief moment before the sedative began to take hold. 

“Sannie?” you cooed mockingly, your voice lilting as you gazed up at him. 

A low groan escaped San’s lips, his eyelids fluttering weakly as the haze of unconsciousness began to lift. His head lolled to the side before snapping upright, a sharp intake of breath signaling the return of his senses.

Above him, the elaborate chandelier swayed, its gilded arms and crystal droplets gleaming eerily in the dim light. Thick ropes cut into his wrists, binding him to the curved metal and leaving him strung up like a puppet.

As a figure emerged beneath the chandelier, the haze in his vision couldn't obscure your unmistakable presence. Despite the pain and confusion, he recognized you instantly.

“Y/N!” he barked, his tinged with anger.

“Me?” you replied with a mock innocence, pointing to yourself with the knife in hand.

“Why are you doing this? Put me down!”

You tilted your head, your expression hovering somewhere between amusement and indifference. The faintest smile tugged at your lips as you took a step closer, inspecting the blade in your hand as if it were far more interesting than his presence.

“Well, I wanted to keep you for myself,” you began, your voice light and casual, as though discussing the weather. Slowly, you circled around San, your footsteps muffled by the exquisite rug. 

“But, you see, keeping someone requires a certain...process.”

San’s eyes followed your every move, his body tensing with every word. “Process?” he repeated, his voice a low growl. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

You stopped in front of him, leaning slightly closer as if sharing a secret. 

“It’s something of a family tradition” you began, fiddling with the blade in hand. “We’ve been curators for generations. Artists, really, in preserving beauty. Faces, bodies... souls. It’s an art passed down from my ancestors.”

“You…kill people and turn them into...into trophies?” San’s breathing grew heavier, his heart racing as he struggled to process your words.

“And you were going to do that to…me?” 

“Of course,” you replied, as if the answer were obvious. “You would’ve been my crown jewel.”

“You’re insane!” San hissed. 

“People keep saying that,” you mused, “but I think they just don’t understand that it’s about preservation—ensuring the things we treasure don’t fade away with time.”

Your eyes roamed over his face with a detached sort of admiration, as if he were a sculpture in a gallery rather than a living, breathing man. Slowly, you closed the distance between you, craning your neck upward to meet his scowl. 

“It’s a shame,” you murmured, your voice softening into something disturbingly tender, “to waste a face and body sculpted by God himself.”

San’s form was a masterpiece, from the way his chest heaved beneath the ropes binding him to the ridges of his abdomen catching the flickering candlelight like carved stone. His arms strained against the restraints, biceps taut, and the sheen of sweat on his body accentuated every curve and line, turning him into a living, breathing statue.

The faint screech of steel against flesh made him flinch, his head jerking away sharply as he tried to put even the smallest distance between you. 

“It starts with the skin,” you said, the blade’s edge gliding slowly up his abdomen, its cool metal a sharp contrast to the heat of his body. “Carefully removed, tenderly treated with salts and oils to keep it soft, supple… perfect. No flaws, no mistakes.”

The blade lingered against his chest, resting just above the frantic beat of his heart. Your fingers tightened around the hilt, tilting it slightly as you admire the quiver of his muscles beneath the steel. "Then the muscle—preserved layer by layer, until what’s left is the very essence of you. It’s… devotion.”

“I’m not some thing,” he spat, his voice trembling with anger.

“No,” you agreed, stepping back just enough to grant him the illusion of space.

“You’re not a thing, San. You’re divine. I had to have you. Something as perfect as you deserves to be worshiped...forever.”

His chest rose and fell with sharp, uneven breaths, his eyes flickering with desperation as he tried to process your words. But before he could respond, you turned your attention elsewhere, mischief creeping into your expression.

“But alas,” you said, your voice laced with mock sorrow, “I only have eyes for one man now. And since he said no...”

You stepped closer, your movements unhurried, like a predator savoring the moment before the kill. Your smile widened ever so slightly as you tilted your head toward San, “...you can’t be a part of my collection.”

With a sharp flick of your wrist, the knife moved, finding its mark in an instant, slicing clean through the fragile barrier of flesh at the base of his throat.

A strangled gasp escaped him as his body jerked violently against the ropes that bound him. His wide eyes met yours, filled with disbelief, a desperate plea lingering just behind the surface. But you weren’t done.

Another thrust. And another.

The blade sank into his gut, each motion deliberate and unhurried, as if you were painting a masterpiece with every strike. Blood gushed from the fresh wounds, pooling beneath him, staining the floor at your feet. His body convulsed, his muscles straining against the bonds in a futile attempt to escape the inevitable.

You stepped back, watching the light drain from his eyes. There was a strange beauty in the way his features softened, his defiance melting into something quieter, almost serene.

“Love?” you sang, skipping toward your paramour, your voice lilting in a way that would have sounded sweet if not for the blood splattered across your cheeks and the wicked gleam in your eye. The crimson stained your dress as you twirled the blade in hand, its tip dripping in time with your steps.

“How did I do?”

“Did you enjoy pouring accelerant around the manor?” you asked, your voice teasing as you glanced at Yunho. 

He huffed, slipping his hand into San’s fur coat. His fingers rummaged through the pockets, seeking anything worth pilfering, until they brushed against a cigar case.

"I would have enjoyed it a lot more if he didn't have his hands all over you," Yunho muttered with displeasure. He bit down on the cigar, his gaze never leaving yours. The flicker of his lighter caught the curve of his pout, the cigar’s tip flaring bright before he exhaled a slow, lazy plume of smoke.

“I’m sorry my love, it was part of the plan,” you said softly. 

Rising onto your tiptoes, your hands rested lightly against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms. You leaned in, brushing a tender kiss to his lips. His mouth softened against yours, the lingering tension dissolving with his quiet sigh, leaving the cigar forgotten in his hand.

“Let me make it up to you?” you whispered against his lips.

His gaze bore into yours for a moment, intense and unyielding before a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Without a word, Yunho turned and sauntered toward the chaise, easing himself against the cushions. With his arm draped along the backrest, he commanded you with hooded eyes, tracking your movement as you approached.

Trembling with excitement, you let your bloodied dress slip from your shoulders, pooling at your feet. You sunk to your knees before him as your hands smoothed up his thighs, working to undo his trousers. The fabric gave away and Yunho lifted his hips as you pulled them down, his hand immediately fisting in your hair, dragging you up. 

"Open,” he commanded with a tone that could only send a shiver down your spine. 

Your lips parted, and he leaned in, capturing you in a rough, consuming kiss. The taste of tobacco lingered on his tongue, its rich, smoky heat clouding your senses and making your head spin. As the kiss deepened, he exhaled slowly, sending a plume of smoke into your mouth.

When he finally pulled back, your lips tingled from the loss of contact, the ghost of his touch still lingering. Yunho crushed the cigar against the ashtray before beckoning you forward with his fingers.

You stuck your tongue out, allowing his thick shaft to slide past your lips. Yunho groaned as you wrapped your hands around the base of his cock, your tongue flattening along his length and tucking his tip along the underside. Your tongue swirled around the tip before as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper with each pass.

He threw his head back, his thrusts growing rougher as he bucked into your mouth, tears forming in the corner of your eyes from how thick your lover’s cock was. 

“That’s it, you’ll take it all won’t you love?” he encouraged. 

You nodded as best you could, moaning wantonly as he proceeded to fuck your face, moving faster and harder. Wetness dripped between your thighs, the taste of his arousal driving your own need to be fucked as you slid a hand down, fingers pressing between your legs.

Yunho hissed from the vibration of your moan and momentarily released his grip on your hair. His fingers pressed into your cheeks, squishing them gently but firmly, tilting your head to ensure your gaze stayed locked with his. You looked up at him, panting, cheeks flushed and swollen lips parted–his little angel. He yanked you toward him, his mouth crushing against yours as his tongue forced its way past your lips, savoring his own taste. 

“Mmph, Yunho please,” you gasped between kisses, “I need it,” you begged, squeezing your thighs together to relieve the ache you felt between them. 

“I thought you were going to make it up to me, but I guess I can’t help it when you look like a fucking angel.” 

His grip on your arm was firm, as he hauled you upward with almost no effort. He guided you on to his lap, his angry cockhead teasing your folds as you straddled his hips. You bit back a whimper, grinding against his dick, giving you the relief you so desperately needed. 

“What do you need? Use your words, darling.”

“Need to be fucked, need you in me,” you whined, reaching between your to line his cock against your cunt but he stopped, grabbing a hold of your wrist. 

“You want me to fuck you right after you had another man in you?”

“You know there is no one else. Please, please just fuck me, please! I'm begging you, I'm yours, only yours. Only ever yours. Always!”

Yunho hoisted you up by the hips and sheathed himself inside of you, his tip kissing against your most sensitive spot. You reveled in the way the curve of his dick caressed your walls, writhing yourself against him, desperate to fuck yourself up and down his length. 

“Hands behind your back.” 

You obeyed, bringing your hands behind your back as his hand wrapped firmly around your wrists, holding them in place, a reminder of who was in control. 

“Yes, sir,” you stuttered, rolling your hips against him. Yunho sucked his teeth, admiring the way you were so compliant for him, how you desperately wanted to please him–a sharp contrast from the calculated killer you had been moments before. 

Squelching sounds filled the room as you slid along his length before slamming back down, the sound spurring you on as he entered you again and again, each thrust harder than the last. You felt like you could cum at any moment as the pleasure was overwhelming but you didn’t want him to know how close you were. 

“I know you’re close, angel,” he taunted against your nipple, gazing up at you with hooded eyes. “Let go for mmph–”

You leaned forward, stuffing Yunho’s mouth with one of your tits, revenge for forcing you to keep your hands behind your back. He groaned, tongue lapping against your nipple as your arousal seeped from your core down, pooling around in a milky white ring around the base of his cock. 

Yunho was growing impatient with you and slid his hand up, his fingers curling around your throat with a slight squeeze that had you spiraling into a haze of delirium. That was all it took for your cunt to spasm as your release finally came. 

"That's my angel," he cooed, relaxing the grip on your wrists and letting his hand slide behind your back. He cupped the back of your head, pulling you toward him, his dark gaze still holding you captive. Despite the haziness, you fought to meet his stare, feeling every ounce of your control slip further away.

You couldn’t help but notice the flush on his cheeks, the way his bangs clung to his forehead, and the tension in the muscles of his arms and torso.

He looked breathtaking like this.

You could tell he was close, breathing heavily and moaning against your skin before a deep shudder rolled through him. You watched with delight as his eyes fluttered shut, his head tipping back in pleasure as he stuffed you full with his seed. 

"Can I still keep the fur coat?" you asked, glancing up at Yunho with wide, pleading eyes. 

“No.”

⊹

“I think I might retire from hunting. Burning is much more efficient. Fun, even.”

“Fun?” he echoed, arching a brow as his dark eyes fixed on you. For a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you, his gaze studying your face like you were the only thing worth noticing amidst the chaos.

You held Yunho’s hand, your fingers intertwined with his, swinging idly as the two of you strolled away from the estate. Taking one last drag, he tossed the cigar, letting it tumble to the ground before igniting the trail of gasoline. A sudden rush of flames raced toward the manor, hungrily consuming the line of accelerant until it disappeared into the heart of the ballroom.

The pungent smell of smoke filled the air as you and Yunho made your way down the winding path from the Choi estate. Screams pierced the night as flames erupted within, and guests fled the grounds in a chaotic swarm, their tailored suits and gowns streaked with soot and ash as they stumbled across the manicured lawns.

You could feel the faint tremble of excitement in Yunho’s grip, the subtle way his thumb traced small circles against your knuckles.

“I mean, look at this,” you gestured at the inferno behind you as another section of the manor’s roof caved in. “There’s no need to clean up, no loose ends, and it’s efficient.”

Yunho’s eyes flicked back to the blaze, and for a moment, you caught a glimpse of something almost reverent in his expression. The heat, the destruction—it spoke to something deep within him, a hunger he tried to keep buried but could never fully ignore. He inhaled deeply, the scent of smoke filling his lungs, and his lips curved into a slow, almost dreamy smile.

“There’s instant satisfaction in destruction. I won’t have to feel bad about letting potential dolls go to waste,” you sighed, your tone carrying a faint edge. You were still a bit bitter about having to dispose of San. A pity, really.

But the things you do for love.

Yunho laughter rumbled through his chest as he pulled you closer.  “Looks like I’ve created a monster,” he mused, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

Behind you, the inferno raged on, the deep groans of the collapsing manor blending with the desperate cries of those escaping. But you both kept moving, the blaze fading into the distance as the night swallowed you whole.

[gibsongirlsundaymorning]

noise complaints (pt 1? maybe)

A/N: I don’t even like do this but you sick sick fucks wouldn’t write the pure filth I loosely requested so here we are!

Summary: You and Rio go out to a party with your old classmates on a night when Agatha is stuck on patrol. The two of you are having fun when something interrupts the celebration…

Warnings: use of “Y/N”, general party stuff idk, voyeurism, being hit on by V*sion, part two would be rough sesbian lex and that is alluded to 🎉

Pairing: Dom!Older!Cop!Agatha x Younger!Sub!Reader x Younger!Brat!Rio

NSFW below MDNI 🔥🔥🔥

This had been the plan for weeks now, ever since you and Rio received a text invite from your mutual college friend inviting you to a small reunion “get-together”.

The description of the event was misleading, as the two of you knew from your college friendship with the girl named Alice, and it took quite a bit of persuasion from the two of you to convince your girlfriend, Agatha, to let you go to what was sure to be a rager.

Since you and Rio had met in high school and were in a sort of FWB relationship for a year in college before meeting Agatha (who turned out to be the missing piece you needed to form a real relationship) she had a tendency to get jealous- Especially when the two of you hung out with your other friends from the years before you knew the older woman.

What she didn’t know was that you two were obsessed with her from the moment you all met at your forensics mixer where she was giving a presentation on her work with the police force in the town you and Rio grew up in, and that you still worshipped her after all this time.

She eventually caved, giving you and Rio the go ahead to attend the party when she realized she would be stuck with patrol duty on that night anyway. So now, you and the younger of your girlfriends stood back-to-front in front of the full length mirror in your bedroom, admiring one another.

Rio’s arms snake around your waist, her lips ghosting the shell of your ear as she whispers, “You look so.. so good, Y/N. I’m not sure Agatha will let us out the door with you looking like this.” She smirks as she slips that last part in and ducks down to kiss down the side of your neck to your shoulder, where she eventually rests her chin. A faint red paints your face as you meet her eyes in the mirror and admire her own outfit.

She wears your favorite black jeans that were perfectly tight around her hips and ass, but flowed out to a baggy straight cut towards the bottom and a loose, barely-buttoned, sheer black button-up shirt. It was a simple look, but one that drove you crazy when she wore it, especially now with her hair down, air-dried and wavy.

In front of her, you wore and equally simple and captivating tight black dress with Agatha’s black leather jacket and matching high-heeled boots. You look back to meet Rio in a short but passionate kiss, pulling away only when you felt your older girlfriend’s presence, watching from the door frame where she leant with her chin tilted and arms crossed across her chest.

“So I can’t leave the two of you alone for three minutes before you forget your rules with each other… How am I supposed to trust you two sluts without me at this party for hours?” Agatha speaks through her teeth before taking quick strides towards you two. She sits on the edge of the bed just a foot away from where you stand now, jaw dropped and still pressed against Rio.

“Go ahead, keep going. Let me know what kind of show you plan to put on for those classmates of yours.” It has to be a trap. If you don’t press yourself back against your girlfriend, you’d be disobeying her, but if you do, you’d be confirming her accusations in some sick way.

Instead, Rio speaks up. “We don’t want to put on a show for anyone but you, Agatha, swear. You’re the only one who can see us like this.”

You can see the wheels turning in Agatha’s mind as she stares at Rio for a second longer before standing back up. She grabs the back of your neck and pulls you into a bruising kiss while her free hand finds Rio’s ass. The latter whines at the combination of the sight of her girlfriends kissing so close to her and the possessive grip Agatha assumes on her curves.

Agatha pulls away from you while dragging your bottom lip away with her teeth, just enough to draw the smallest drops of blood to taste through the night and remember her by. “You wanna speak up, doll?”

Rio’s eyes are clouded with lust as her pointer and middle fingers fiddle with her bottom lip as she shakes her head. A firm grip wraps around her wrist and pulls the fingers away, only to be quickly replaced with those of your older girlfriend. “Open.” The single-worded command barely gets a second to hang in the air before Rio invites the pair of digits into her mouth, yearning for the way Agatha always slightly tipped her head back and tightened her jaw as she took in the overwhelming act of submission from the (eight months) older of her two young girlfriends.

Once she’s decided it’s enough, she slides her fingers out and walks away from the two of you. Once she reaches the door frame, she speaks. “Alright. You two can still go. But if I find out that just one of those whores looks at you guys with any kind of intentions or ideas… You’ll wish you never asked to leave this room. Especially dressed like that.” Both you and Rio know better than to question how she would find out about something like that.

“Have a good shift, hon, text us if you need us to bring anything home.” Is all you manage to squeak out before she slips out of the doorway with a horrifying silence.

You and Rio finish getting ready in a shared silence, only speaking again when you get in the car and play your car-eoke playlist, and even then you’re just screaming to what’s essentially a Soulja Boy highlight reel.

Your previous confrontation with Agatha had been long forgotten once you and Rio grabbed a beer each and joined Alice in the family room, littered with an equal mix of creepy has-been men who peaked when you knew them in highschool and the girls whose company you’d actually enjoyed between the long nights you spent with Rio, both slumped over your textbooks since Rio always seemed to “displace” hers.

You were so caught up in a conversation about the shoddy collection of local bookshops with Alice that you hadn’t noticed Rio signaling you to look towards the pair of boys stumbling towards you two. You were deep in such a tipsy passionate rant about the only quality vintage bookstore in Westview that you didn’t even notice the boys until one of them grabbed your shoulder, the other mirroring his brother’s actions on your girlfriend, spinning you and Rio so that you were facing them.

Overcome with disgust, you brush the slightly taller of the two’s hand off of your shoulder, then shoving the other’s off of Rio’s and grabbing her wrist.

“Woah, calm down! You ladies are even feistier than I remember from senior year.” Now you remembered their names. Vision and a boy you only knew by his lame ass basketball nickname, Wonderman. The pair’s cockiness had always made you despise them, though it was clear they didn’t catch that vibe from the way they insisted on teasing and talking to you every science class that you had together. Obviously they hadn’t learned that, even now.

“Did your mom raise you with like, any manners at all? Don’t fucking touch her. Don’t touch ME.” Rio spat, turning to lead you away and into the kitchen by your grip on her wrist when Vision caught your other wrist.

“Yo, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Vision, and you can call my brother here W,” the one gripping your wrist says, followed by the other saying, “We couldn’t help but notice you ladies from across the room… And judging by your fits, you two were seeking some attention from some guys like us.” You seriously couldn’t believe anything they were saying was real, it seemed to be straight out of a Chat-GPT generated high school movie script.

Neither you nor Rio had a chance to respond before the room was flooded with red and blue lights from through the windows, disrupting the energy and silencing everyone- that was until Alice scrambled on top of her coffee table and yelled, “Noise complaint! Cops! Get the fuck out!”

You and Rio, along with everyone else, were quick to file out. Unfortunately for the two of you, the entire men’s basketball team seemed to be in attendance and pushed you further into the house during your attempted escape, meaning you were the last two out.

However, you seemed to finally be in the clear as you found footing on the beer-soiled grass… and so did the sweaty boys from before. They grasped your shoulders once more, saying they were “So glad we could find you ladies and make sure you’re safe” since you “Need a few strong men to help you out of such a scary situation.” Just then, a booming, staticky voice is emitted and echos all around the four of you.

“Boys, take your hands off of those ladies or so help me God, I will throw you in the back of this car and you won’t see anything but the brick walls of a county cell for weeks.” The voice called out, sending chills through all four of your spines. The boys because they weren’t nearly as brave as they liked to present themselves as, and you and Rio because you knew who was behind the speaker system. Agatha.

The boys split, and you and Rio are frozen as Agatha slowly approaches, hands in her pockets, her uniform clinging to her deliciously.

Once she’s close enough to feel the fear radiating off of her girlfriends, she speaks so lowly you can hear the rasp in her throat.

“So let me get this right, girls. I, against my better judgement, let you whores go to this party because you begged me so, so prettily for weeks, even after that little stunt I walked in on a few hours ago. I’m out patrolling for all of an hour when I go to investigate a noise complaint and see you allowing two sleezebags to touch what’s mine? Are you out of your fucking minds?”

You’re now trembling with fear at the intensity of her voice, horrified of what’s coming for you. Rio is buzzing with excitement at the vast amount of possibilities for the night ahead of you all. Agatha, well-tuned to each of your tells, reads this perfectly.

Should I do a part two or am I the only person that wants any of this LMK lol bye

[tomboy014]

But if Batman won't adopt Danny... who will?

Starfire, and she is all over her new little brother!

Shortly after establishing the Teen Titans, Robin (Dick) introduces “Phantom” to the group, because seriously, he’s not introducing him as “Danny.”  Kinda defeats the purpose of a secret identity when you use your name in your superhero moniker.  And shows Phantom his room.

Robin’s actual goal is to get Phantom to join the Titans, but even taking short cuts through the Ghost Zone, Jump City is still a good ways away from Amity Park, and he has parents, so… It’s still a nice gesture and all, and Phantom will come visit, but no.

Still, he’s never met other teens who are heroes in their own right like he is, so he’s excited to meet Robin’s new team.  The other Titans think it’s a little weird for this not-member to have his own room in the Tower, but the place is huge, and Robin trusts him, so it’s fine.  It’s a bit awkward at first as they’re all still getting used to each other, but Phantom quickly makes friends with all of them.

But it’s his friendship with Starfire that grows first and fastest.  As soon as he finds out she’s an alien from another planet, he latches on and must know everything.  Starfire more than welcomes the attention. While she knows the Titans care for her, they’re not always… receptive to the traditions and customs of her culture. Phantom, on the other hand, is enraptured as she tells him about her culture, her holidays, the planets she’s been to, everything.

So she asks if he’d be interested in learning Tamaranean? Yes! 100%! Absolutely! Phantom picks up the language quickly and returns the favor by helping Starfire with her English. While the ability to absorb language through lips is handy, it’s by no means perfect, and Phantom helps her with things like contractions, slang, idioms, etc.

It also helps that after a couple sparring sessions with each other, Phantom and Starfire realize just how durable their partner is.  For Starfire, the people and things on Earth can be so delicate. And for Phantom, if he doesn’t watch himself and hurts a human too badly, it’s just more justification to call him an “evil ghost” that should be ripped apart molecule by molecule. Both are thrilled to finally be able to fight all out again without worrying about the consequences if they lose. And Starfire also uses it to teach Phantom some Tamaranean martial arts for aerial combat so maybe he’ll stop crashing into so many walls.

But what really changes the relationship is the Body Swap incident (not to be confused with the Freaky Friday incident). Similar to what happened with the Puppet King in Switched, Phantom and Starfire switch bodies while fighting an enemy.  Unlike what happened in Switched, Phantom and Starfire and two teen powerhouses with green energy powers triggered by emotions. And the emotional triggers they use are in the same ballpark. Starfire’s “unbridled joy of flight” to fly is very similar to how Phantom revels in the pure freedom of flight he feels. Both get angry when they use blasts. It’s very much a “if you believe in it, you can do it” kind of power set. Starfire can’t really figure out Phantom’s more ghostly abilities like invisibility or intangibility, but they very quickly adapt to each other’s shared powers on the fly during battle.  But there’s one power Starfire wants to use against the hordes of minions that Phantom won’t share the trigger for: the Ghostly Wail.  He tries to tell her it’s not a good move, that it’ll use up too much power, it should only be used as a last resort, it’ll cause too much collateral damage, etc., but Starfire wants to know, and eventually he tells her.

“T-terror… and desperation.”

Starfire rushes to give Phantom the biggest hug ever because those are such horrible feelings, and she doesn’t want to imagine what conditions must have led to him developing such a power because no one should have to feel such feelings. He is right; and that is not a power she needs to use to win this battle.  The minions are defeated, the villain is forced into a temporary retreat, and the Teen Titans return to the Tower to regroup and plan.

However, Starfire doesn’t know how to power through and hold onto Phantom’s ghostly form, and as soon as the adrenaline from the fight wears off, rings of white light spread out of her middle, and Phantom turns back into Danny in the middle of the living room.

But more importantly, everyone needs to get out of the way RIGHT NOW because while Phantom can ignore his biological needs for days, Danny can’t, and Starfire has never had to pee this badly ever in her whole life and everyone needs to MOVE, PLEASE! as she rushes into the nearest bathroom.

Phantom/Danny is now panicking, because even as an alien, he’s pretty sure she’s bound to notice that some bits of male anatomy that should be there are… missing.  He’s begging her, through the door in Tamaranean, not to tell anyone about his secret.  He’s not ready to come out yet, and he’s honestly pretty scared he’s about to lose her friendship, too.  Starfire doesn’t really care. So long as you’re a strong warrior, Tamaraneans don’t care what’s going on in someone’s pants, and she’s just relieved she didn’t have to figure out different plumbing while in his body.  Starfire opens the door.  While she knows that the people of Earth are not always as understanding, Danny need not fear her.  She will not tell anyone he's trans until he is ready to tell them himself and supports him and goes in for a hug.

Except you haven’t washed your hands; gross!  They both laugh it off, but when Starfire goes to wash her hands, the water freezes.  The cold energy in Danny’s core is building, and Starfire doesn’t know how to let it out.  They need to switch back to their own bodies soon, or Danny’s body, and Starfire, might not survive.  A little more training so Starfire can turn back into Phantom, and the Titans are ready for the final act, take down the final villain and Starfire and Phantom are back in their own bodies. 

But after that, Phantom is no longer Starfire’s friend.  Danny is her little brother, and she tells him her name is Koriand’r, or Kor’i for short.

<<Prev

[in-uthenera-we-wait]

It's been a few days since I completed the Veilguard and I am going feral about the dynamics between Mythal, Solas and Lavellan...

It's just a bittersweet kind of pain when I think of them and I want to get my thoughts out before I am overwhelmed by them. Also, this post took way longer than expected to write!

Detailed deep-dive under the cut (to avoid spoilers)

Colour-coded because my brain is weird like that!

Also this is a loooooong post... you have been warned!

On Mythal:

It is clear right from the start (of when we discover the memories of the Dread Wolf) that Mythal is an integral part of who Solas was... Or should I say, who Fen'Harel was/is.

Solas, as a spirit had no desire to take a body and took one for the love of Mythal.

And when I say love, I do not see it as something purely romantic... It goes above and beyond that and not always in the right way.

She sought to mould him into someone she could use. She saw it as Benevolence (the attribute that her spirit is supposed to represent), but I think her purpose had been corrupted even then, even before Solas gets his body at her behest.

The reason I believe it's so is because, true Benevolence doesn't discriminate and denotes a desire to do good for others. Compassion is that desire enacted.

Mythal's benevolence was conditional. Her benevolence came at the cost of suffering for the Titans. So, there was a sliver of selfishness to her purpose. This isn't necessarily bad but this means that she is no longer truly what her Spirit was supposed to depict, not completely. And this sliver of selfishness is what permeates the entire relationship she has with Solas.

We, as the player, have only ever seen Mythal either through the very rosy lens of the Elvhen who worshipped her very much like the way Solas does, or through Flemeth. The latter is no longer the Mythal that Solas knew. She is a fragment of the original who has gained the wisdom and experience of millennia through the hosts she inhabited.

The truest depiction of what Mythal must really have been like is the fragment we encounter in the Crossroads. She honestly, isn't as likeable as Flemeth/Morrigan was/is.

She is openly haughty, expecting her petitioners to convince her of the dangers to the world outside, and sounds almost bitter that her most ardent devotee hasn't visited her once since she was killed and the remnant of her essence was extracted from the dagger to reside in the Crossroads. She faults Solas to an extent for her fate, and clearly doesn't hold him as beholden as he does her.

So, it felt weird to me that she would be so willing to release him from her service, even more so if you had to fight her for the fragment (as I had to).

The only way I can see her being moved to help convince Solas (especially if we fought her in her dragon form) is that she was observing the world outside the crossroads when she is in Rook's possession, the way Rook interacted with Solas, and even more so the way the Inquisitor speaks of her friend/vhenan.

On Solas:

Solas... the man, the myth, the legend! Where do I even begin to unravel the mess that he is!

Originally, a spirit of Wisdom, tied to Mythal in a way that has him put through the thumbscrews of War and Strife, so much so that I see his transformation into Pride as something like a callus that forms over skin that has been rubbed a few times too many.

His love for Mythal was the start of his doom, and right there, his purpose was changed from Wisdom. Because, wisdom would have remained a Spirit.

Now, the nature of that love is up for debate. Again, I don't see it as something that is purely romantic. Though, I think the way he feels for her is different from the way Mythal feels about him. There is more devotion on his side. He says that he will follow wherever she goes and takes on a physical form for her.

And then, slowly, one step after another, he strays away from the path of wisdom - crafting the Lyrium dagger, making the Titans tranquil, allowing the other Evanuris to claim godhood, letting Mythal persuade him to each of these steps, his regrets have her face.

Remember the following dialog he has with the Inquisitor after they drink from the Well of Sorrows? When he asks them how they will ensure the Inquisition doesn't fail, and when the following dialogue ensues...

Let me present you with evidence on how much he was hurt by that.

INQUISITOR: I trust my friends.

SOLAS: I know that mistake well enough to carve the angles of her face from memory.

We had already posited that the 'her' in the dialogue above was about Mythal. But back then, we had assumed it was because of the trust Mythal had in the evanuris that caused her death. What if it wasn't so? What if he was speaking of the trust HE had in HER?! He trusted Mythal to stand by him as he had stood by her. And she had failed him.

It could be that this is after her death, but something tells me this was before. Because Felassan's response to Mythal not joining them would be different if it was because she was dead.

So, we've established just how hung up he is about Mythal, because he has this vision of hers that might not even be true. He views her through the lens of adoration and worship that ends up putting her on a pedestal rather than view her as the flawed person she is. He could never be truly free unless he sets aside these feelings he has for her.

I also found it interesting that he has refused to visit the fragment of Mythal that was stuck to the dagger when she was killed. That fragment is the truest version of his friend as she was when she died. He refuses to acknowlege Flemeth and even Morrigan as Mythal.

Even in the end, it is this fragment of Mythal that he knows and remembers that releases him from her service. Because he wouldn't accept it from anyone else!

And with that established, let's move to the final part of this triptych.

The Inquisitor is a tricky one to analyse because they can be so many different things depending on the player. But for this essay, I will be focussing on Lavellan who romanced Solas and sought to change his heart.

On the Inquisitor:

She is everything that Solas believes is wrong with the veiled world his actions resulted in. A shadow of his people, tranquils with no connection to the Fade (especially true if Lavellan is not a mage). He also begins to believe that the anchor is what makes her who she is. That has to be the case, because any other explanation would make his future plans questionable!

But then, she walks into his life, curious and bright, kind and caring, asking him questions with an open heart! The first thing she does is assure him she would protect him from prosecution. She changes everything!

He tries to justify his feelings for her by assuming that the anchor has changed her. But nope! She shoots that down as well. She is truly herself, with or without the anchor. A rare and marvelous spirit.

Lavellan sees him for who he truly yearns to be seen as. Wisdom. She seeks to understand him and asks nothing in return. She is ready to help him whenever he asks for it, and even when he doesn't. She tells him he does not need to mourn alone, when his spirit friend passes!

His one true fear: Dying Alone... and she allays it by promising to be with him, no questions asked.

He almost decides to give it all up and stay with her... as just Solas. To be with the one true person who truly saw him beyond the cool and collected mask he wears. But he doesn't... In another world perhaps but not this one.

And so, he leaves her in the end, because his regrets are too much to be set aside so easily. He also sees bringing down the veil as an act of self-sacrifice, now more necessary than ever because this would mean She would live on happily in a world where his mistakes don't exist anymore. Also, he doesn't want her to see what he would become.

But she perseveres. Every time he pulls away, she reaches out. The parallels between the Solas/Mythal and Lavellan/Solas relationship is just *Chef's kiss*!

She represents Hope for me. And I'd say, she is true to her purpose that way. Even when things don't go the way she wishes it did, she still hopes. Her Hope springs eternal. And that is what saves her, Solas and the entirety of Thedas!

So, towards the end, her Hope burns bright against his Regret. But he is unable to see it until he sets his own regrets aside. And for that to happen, he needed Mythal to release him.

Mythal was his past. But Lavellan is his eternal future. It was up to him to move from one to the other.

Once he was free from that bondage, he could look towards Hope.

Only then could he truly see it... that she had seen him as he truly was, and she loved him... that she loves him still.

In the end, her love did endure, and how!

'Var lath vir Suledin' indeed!

[phookbook]

a quick FAQ!

hi! world's worst ask replier here to answer the most common questions all in one. i'm sorry it's another long block of text, i didn't want to spam everyone with individual posts. hopefully you can just skim it and easily see the question you're looking for

i definitely left out some, so please do feel free to ask again if i didn't answer yours, as well as anything else you might be wondering about

Q: Do you accept desserts? A: yes! the main focus is on regular food but we will also have a few desserts, just know the chances of those making it in might be lower depending on how many we get

Q: I have a recipe but it's got a lot of meat, can I still submit it? A: YES!! sorry i think me mentioning how we want vegan options made people think they can't submit any meat at all, but you can! by all accounts dnp very much do eat meat, they just seem to try to limit it. the ideal option is having non-meat alternatives for meat dishes, but if yours doesn't really work for that don't worry about it, submit it anyway, it could still make it in you never know

Q: How do you know the recipes people submit are actually good? A: it's a bit tricky because i can't actually try them all, nor do i think it would be fair to judge them purely based on my own preferences. what even is good? good to whom? it's all very subjective. the most important thing is that it's a serious recipe and not just a terrifying concoction someone came up with high as fuck at 3 in the morning, and at least those are fairly easy to distinguish

Q: Are you just one person deciding what makes it in? A: no one actually asked this but, adding onto the last answer, this seems like as good a place as any to clarify that i'm not just like picking my personal favourites and calling it a day. i will be asking around for opinions and i've got some friends helping out, as well as my mother who knows a looot about cooking and and recipes. i promise this isn't just the most unemployed person you follow on a power trip, just in case anyone was worried

Q: I can't provide my own photos of my dish(es), can I just find some online? A: eh, maybe. ideally we want a photo of the exact recipe, plus it's a lot more personal if it's our own pictures! you don't have to take it yourself though, we can most likely find someone else to do it, with the added bonus of they get to try out your recipe. worst comes to worst however, since this book isn't being sold or anything we can use pictures from online as a last resort, i just think it's cuter not to. but don't worry about any of this when submitting recipes, we'll get to it

Q: Will the book be available online or is it just for Dan and Phil? A: the whole thing will be uploaded as a pdf for everyone to download and do whatever they want with

Q: Do you need help with- A: maybe! probably! i'm not sure! genuinely huge thank you to everyone who's reached out to offer assistance, i appreciate the help a lot and i'm very happy people are so excited to get involved. i'm so sorry i haven't responded to most of you, the main issues are literally just that i'm a bit of a control freak and also don't know exactly what the plan is yet. i would just hate to tell anyone they can help with something specific and then suddenly decide to go in another direction, you know? also i'm a bit shy, believe it or not, lol. i don't like telling people no or criticising someone's work, which combined with the aforementioned control freak bit makes things a bit awkward. we will see how it goes though, i might reach out to some of you later if i have something specific i know i need help with, at which point you're free to either help or tell me to fuck off for leaving you hanging for a month that's also fair. really though, again, thank you, so many of you are very helpful and kind and i appreciate you <3

[slaaverin]

In my world 2 guys who are just friends don´t act like they do. And def not when these guys are straight. And don´t get me wrong, i live in a very progressive country! Not like SK when it´s abt LGTBQ.

Okay I'm not gonna be toooooo annoyed at this anon (or you whose inbox I'm currently in) because I used to think like that. BUT!

That's just untrue. I'm from a progressive and inclusive country, and the spaces I'm in are all very lgbtqia+ positive, and I thought Jikook were very different too. Despite seeing other friend groups online (not from kpop and based in the US) where affection, expressions of love and flirting were very normal - most of the friends in the group are pan/bi but in longterm hetero relationships - I thought Jikook had that something extra.

Until I got closer to a new group of friends irl, most of whom are in happy hetero relationships, and the men (we're all 26+) treated each other with such casual love and affection that it made me reconsider things. I don't know if any of them are bi or pan, and it's not really relevant. Especially because members of the lgbtqia+ community present vastly differently even in the same social group.

What I am trying to say is not that jimin and jungkook are definitely straight. Imho, all members of BTS have made me wonder about them in that sense. It's not something I ponder for long times - as it's not my place - but I can understand why other armies might.

I'm also not denying them the possibility of having or having once been in a romantic relationship.

I just want to caution you and the anon a little because yes, while Jikook definitely are incredibly close, their expressions of love can very well be platonic. It's very heteronormative to interpret everything they do as gay just because it doesn't fit with your view of male friendships. It's not that I (or others who leave room for the truth) don't see or understand your pov, and want to avoid falling into the trap of viewing queerness as "just good friends". It's just about considering that we simply don't know Jikook.

We as fans only see a very (very) limited chunk of BTS, and only what they want us to see. Our perception will be coloured by our opinions, backgrounds and biases (not the kpop kind) and thus no piece of content or interpretation is objective.

Jimin and Jungkook are imo at least best friends. Everything beyond that is pure speculation, and we should treat it as that. I know us Jikooker want to be the sane and smart shippers in the fandom, a counterweight to the very loud and a bit...unhinged ones, but that includes (imho) understanding our own fallacies and knowing that for all the theories about Rosebowl, GCF , Letter and Who there is the possibility of it being just two incredibly close friends that love each other, protect each other and fight for each other.

Jikook = real love. That's a fact. If it's the rainbow color kind or something else, will most likely remain a question of perspective.

As a little P.S.: Please do not read this as an attack or me trying to force my views onto you. One of the great things about tumblr imho - and sth I liked about the Jikook space especially last year - is the way we can properly exchange opinions and discuss them in depth.

Opinion.

There's no definite answer.

But in my point of view the scale is more going towards romance.

But of course we might be biased and wrong.

I personally don't see the appeal of staying unbiased. We can't help feeling what we feel I guess.

But feel free to all express on this, it's interesting to have several point of views!

Thanks for sharing your thoughts 💜

[yeonmuse]

hello, can i request hyunjae smut #15 & #24 delinquent x good girl/boy reader please? i love your writing btw :))

PAIRING Delinquent Hyunjae x goodgirl

WORD COUNT | 1.6k

GENRE pure smut 18+

MORE | todays req lowkey ruined me, this man is my bias wrecker so i was losing my shit while writing this but here yall go beloveds

There was no one on the campus that the girls admired more than Lee Hyunjae, of course there were many attractive guys other than him that attended the school, but many of them were either weird, taken or more of the friends with benefits type. Hyunjae on the other hand, the girls loved because he never gave the attention that they so desperately craved and most of them loved a chase, well most except for you. You and him were completely opposites, everyone loved you because you were sweet, smart, charming and you remained friendly to everyone including those that weren’t exactly deserving of it.

Hyunjae on the other hand was the polar opposite, he ignored everyone, rarely showed up for classes, but when he did he was always the center of some kind of mess. Just like today, today was meant to be a good day for you, you were meant to give this big presentation in class, but unfortunate enough for you, hyunjae had other plans, spirit week, a week that was usually meant for fun had been turned into something different entirely all because of Lee Hyunjae and his friends. For the last 3 years at the University, Hyunjae and his entire group of nuances had been treating spirit week as their own personal prank week, and this year you were the butt of the joke.

Hate was a strong word for Hyunjae, in all honesty he didn’t hate nor dislike you he just felt like you were uptight, like the little sweetheart good girl shit you pull was all an act. Of course on the outside you looked nice and sweet but he was more than sure if he tried hard enough there was more than he could pull out of you.

“Alright, yn the floor is yours.” The professor steps from the podium freeing up the space for you to take. The moment you step behind it the door came bursting open and in ran Lee hyunjae with water guns and water balloons in a pouch on his chest, only they weren't filled with water.

“Mr Lee, what's the meaning of this?” Before anyone knew it you were ambushed in front of the entire lecture hall, your clothes fully soaked with pink dye and pink slime.

“You look good in pink yn.” Hyunjae chuckles and runs off, the professor trailing behind him as you stood there completely dumbfounded and absolutely soaked from head to toe. By the time Hyunjae had been caught and dragged back into the classroom the professor had already dismissed everyone except for you, you had been waiting for an apology and an explanation.

“Since you had so much fun making the mess, yn here will make sure you have just as much fun cleaning it.” Your professor reprimands Hyunjae before walking off to change his clothes that were also covered in dye.

You sat silently with your back resting against the teacher's desk and a towel wrapped around yourself, you weren’t going to speak first, you would wait until he decided to say something to you, but he didn’t. By the looks of it he was heading straight towards the door to take his leave before you ran in front of him and stopped him.

“Where are you going you’re supposed to be cleaning.”

“You have to do it yourself.” He says trying to walk past you until you step in his way again.

“Professor told you to do it, not me, and besides you're the one that did this.” You respond by showing him your shirt that was now completely ruined.

“You’re annoying, you know that.” He responds inching closer and closer to you until your back hit the door

“I'm annoyed?”

“You are, too nice, too naive, a cute little teacher's pet.”

“I study and work hard, hyunjae, the teachers call on me because of my work.”

“Bullshit, they call on you because you do everything they ask, and you're their favorite little good girl, a teacher's pet.”

“That’s not true.”

“Honestly, i wouldbt be surprised if you're sleeping with one of them, if this little good girl act of yours is all a facade.” He leans in closer, eyes locked on your lips.

“Is that sweetheart? You fuck your way to the top?”

“I would never- i wouldn't-“ his words flustered you, that’s not what everyone thought of you right? That you just slept your way to the top? That it was all an act.

“Use your words sweetheart, aren't you usually very articulate?” He cages you in with his arm, his other hand brushing against your lip

“I didn’t sleep around, I did the work.”

“Did you now?” By now everything had been going in one ear and out the other for Hyunjae, he could tell he was making you nervous, and if he couldn’t get you to cut your little act by getting you mad, then maybe he just needed to try different tactics.

“Pretty girl did all the work by herself like a good girl, always a good girl.” By now your heart was beating out of your chest, you weren't sure how to react.

“Since we didn’t get to hear your presentation today, how about we find a different way to put that pretty mouth of yours to good use yeah?”

“Hyunjae-“

“What is it sweetheart? We shouldn't? Someone might hear? It's inappropriate? Do you really care though hm?” Before you knew it his hand had snaked beneath your dress and his middle finger glided across the fabric of your underwear making you flinch.

“From the feeling of things it doesn’t seem like you want me to stop, that’s cute, it only took a few words to get your pretty little thoughts wandering.”

“If you can be a good girl for them you can be one for me too right sweetheart?” You nod in response, not having the voice to speak up to him.

“That's not an answer love.”

“Yes- I can.” You respond softly, your voice catching in your throat mid response making you turn away from him out of embarrassment.

“On the floor, pretty.” He slips his jacket off and places it on the ground for you to kneel. A small gesture but it made your heart flutter nonetheless. You were quick to oblige with earned an amused grin from hyunjae.

“What would everyone else say it they knew their campus sweetheart was eager to get on her knees for the very person that ruined her presentation in front of the entire lecture hall.

As he had you kneeling down before him he found the sight before him absolutely glorious.

“Fuck you’re so pretty, i need to ruin you.” As one of his hands gripped your hair into a makeshift ponytail the other worked at his pants. Your eyes on the other hand were fixated on him, you knew this was wrong on so many levels and your heart beat like crazy in your chest at the thought of possibly getting caught. As hyunjaes eyes gazed into your own that were staring directly into his he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Open.” With the force of his grip he forces your head back watching as you open your mouth and your tongue falls from your mouth. He hadn't done a single thing but you already had him folding. He slaps it against your tongue before shoving his entire cock into your mouth, ignoring your gags and chokes. A moan spills past his lips as he fills your plump lips wrap around him and your throat closes up around him as you try to breathe.

“Fuck- breathe through your nose sweetheart, you can take me baby.” Tears burned the corners of your eyes as he pushed your head, forcing himself further before he began to thrust it into your throat. That was when the tears came, the burning of him repeatedly fucking into your throat, the way he tugged at your hair. Hyunjae absolutely loved it, he loved ruining you, watching the way your thighs pressed together abd the tears ran down your face.

As your tongue grazed against him a groan spilled from his lips and it made your body quiver. The sound of you taking him, along with the way your nails dug into his thighs and the way your throat squeezed around him was driving him insane. For you on the other hand the tears blurred your vision and your throat burned from the repetitive abuse it had been taking. Hyunjae heard a whine spill past your lips and he gently combed the hair from your face.

“Shhh, shh its okay sweetheart just a little more for me baby just hold out a little longer.” His words made you completely melt, by now you were a complete mess on the outside and inside, why were you listening to him so well? Hyunjaes breath caught in his throat as you stared up at him all teary eyed.

“My god you’re so beautiful holy shit.” As he continued to fuck into your throat his fingers brush against your swollen lips and the moan you let out was enough to push him over the edge. You were completely shocked when he shot his entire load down your throat, his hips stuttering as he completely emptied himself into your throat.

As he pulled out, his fingers brushed across your lips as you took a moment to catch your breath. He wipes the tears from your face while he also tries to regain his composure.

“Pretty little cry baby, i'll give you another reason to cry before we leave this lecture room, ill engrave myself into you until you drop that little good girl act completely.”

[huntinglove]

Somebody who really cares - F/O x Reader

F/O characteristics: Kind, patient, well spoken and comforting

Scenario: Reader is upset and insecure about what people have made them believe about themselves, F/O helps them feel as treasured as they deserve to feel 💙

“...Dear? Are you there?”

A concerned voice hummed alongside quick paced, but ever so gentle, knocks on your door. The sudden wave of sound snapping your mind off it's cruel monologue as mumbles escaped your lips.

“Y-Yes! Come.. Come on in.”

The startle melting away to resume your pensive demeanor told your F/O everything they needed to know. As the door slowly opened, they gave you a warm and awkward smile, sitting by your side but giving you enough space to avoid feeling suffocated.

“You've been here for... Hours. Is everything alright?”

“...I don't know.”

“I see... Well, you can always talk to me.”

Your eyes skipped across the room, glancing at your surroundings, your body and then to your F/O, momentarily avoiding their eyes before your lungs filled with air, letting out a pained sigh as your gaze met theirs.

“I just... Don't know what you, what anyone, sees in... Something like me.”

As your beloved tilted their head and raised a brow, they gently placed one of their hands on your shoulder.

“Well, if I were to list out everything I love about the beautiful person that you are, we'd be here for decades!”

You let out a halfhearted chuckle, your mind full of doubt as your body unknowingly leaned closer to your partner.

“...What's made you feel this way? I can prove that none of the awful things your brain is telling you are true.”

“Just... People. I don't feel like I'm as kind as I could be, as good looking as I could be... As talented... As important.”

A frown formed on your F/O's face as they gently placed their fingers on your cheek, tilting your head so you would look into their eyes.

“And do any of those people, let alone what they think of you, matter?”

“Some of them... I thought they were my friends.”

With a quick pause, your F/O skimmed over the which words to use, quickly kissing your forehead before articulating their thoughts.

“Well I'll tell you what, it's always better to have declared enemies than fake friends. If someone is willing to make you feel so badly about yourself they're not actually your friend.”

You stayed silent, processing what they had said with quiet bittersweetness as you remembered all the good, and bad, moments you had with your "friends". Your F/O continued as they gave you a reassuring smile.

“If someone can't see you for the amazing, breathtaking, being you are... I doubt they'd have the foundation to do what friends do. To be with you through thick and thin, to really care about you.”

As you shook your head and sighed, their tone became more serious, but remaining gentle.

“You don't have to be kind to people who are cruel to you. You don't have to try and convince people that you're worth something, because you already are. You're worth everything."

Their words caused tears to bead at the corners of your eyes, pooling and overflowing until they raced down your cheeks.

“People will always find something to disapprove of. Your looks, your hobbies... They'll find anything to degrade so they go through their miserable lives more easily.”

Your F/O's thumbs gently rubbed away your tears as they pressed their forehead to yours, eyes closed as they continued.

“You know... I don't think death is something to be feared, what we should really be afraid of is wasting time worrying about people who aren't worth it. Throwing away the only life we have because of people who aren't worth it. So please..."

They placed a quick kiss to your lips before looking at you with pure and genuinely love in their gaze, that kind smile that made you feel at home instantly warming up your heart.

“Let's live for everything that makes us happy, that makes us... Us!”

Through sniffles, you giggled before wrapping your arms tightly around your partner, thanking them quietly as they rubbed your back carefully.

“There we go... It's okay. You're perfect, I promise.”

As their arms coiled around you as well, you felt yourself being pulled up to your feet, your F/O helping you stay balanced as you adjusted to standing up again.

“C'mon, I found a movie I think you'll like! We can also get some of those snacks you like, just a cozy stay-at-home theater date, what'd you say?”

“That's everything I could ever want right now.”

And before you could realize, all that tension and worry had phased away, replaced with all the safety and love your partner could offer.

[giantkillerjack]

Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".

[plain-text version of this post can be found under the cut]

Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"

And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".

Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.

At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.

So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!

Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!

Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!

Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.

Plain-text version:

Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".

Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"

And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".

Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.

At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.

So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!

P.S. Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!

Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!

Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.

[highfunctioningfleshrule63]

when did you start watching wrestling

1 yr ago. i wouldnt be considered the top guy fanwise i play with the content as my brain allows. hopefully this message wasnt a threat. i do like rpf stuff bc it allows for easy periods in my art where i will have a designated muse. wrestling was also good cause prior to making this acc many people irl and online on different accounts knew me as the guy who "drew enough bara that you should just draw gay porn". i like doing studies. my brains kind of turned off to a lot of the aspects and individuals that used to light it up by way of shitty wiring or whatever. i wouldnt say i know a lot but i know enough. and i know a lot only about 3 or so guys who i would neurotically siphon through the internet for weird outskirts content or information about. and i like cataloguing when certain guys get injuries so i can cross reference my surgical textbooks about the procedures they did, since its that nice celeb sports medicine fancy hospital shit. long meaningless answer, the short one would just be to say i started watching wrestling because i saw jon moxley gifs on a bdsm gore fetish blog on here and now i am where i am currently with this blog.

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

unrequited love in the "i don't want to fuck up our friendship" sense can actually be really sad if you do it right

[hylianane]

hey OPLA if you want to pick another random supporting woman to give sudden romantic tension with Nami, like you did with Kaya, I’m just saying that Tashigi is right there. and that it would mean a lot to my heart

[gloriousmonsters]

read camp dama.scus. enjoyed some stuff, really wish i didn't have the experience so often reading a book that's Good and Progressive and about Queer Affirmation etc of feeling like i'm side-eying the author like 'and you know that delineating the people that oppose you as pure evil that therefore deserves torture or death or being eliminated from society entirely is bad, right? you know that, right??'