#one doesn’t make sense without the other

[prettyboykatsuki]

do you see anyone other than me? (baby please) | rafayel (lnds)

✮ tags ; rafayel x fem+ afab!reader, established relationships, dom!reader, sub!rafayel, gentle femdom, oral (m!recieving + some f!recieving), anal (m!recieving), praise kink (so much), dirty talk (SO much),pegging / topping, top!reader, bottom!rafayel dry orgasms 18+

✮ wc ; 6.9k (come on man)

✮ a/n ; reader and mc do not share a personality in this. reader is intentionally meant to have like... a more serious personality. so they are mc but not at the same time if that makes sense sdkjskj.

also i know this guy but only a little bit. i was planning on binging the main story after caleb got released but got ?? caught up writing this?? this has happened twice im so scared

✮ synopsis ; making sure rafayel actually forgives you is at the top of your priorities.

When you come home  from the office, take your shoes off, and turn the corner into the living room—you know without looking that Rafayel is in a mood.  

Not a good one.  

It’s something in the air, a lingering tension that makes all movement stiff as you attempt to navigate through the unease. You find Rafayel on the couch. Soft, deep lavender waves tussled like he’s been tossing and turning - pressed into the side of the couch. All curled up small.  

Somehow, you just know what sort of attitude you’ll be met with. You know your lover well enough to know that he’ll be moody but you’ve less confidence in regards to what that mood may be.  

Taking a deep breath, you step into the wide expanse of Rafayel’s living room and studio. His head turns, bangs falling in his face as you slide your work bag off from your shoulder to set aside. Your keys, noisy as you set them down, even gently—trying to leave the air undisturbed. He’s looking at you from over his shoulder but realizes he can’t completely see you that way. Instead of standing to his feet to come greet you, he drops his head back on the arm of the couch to stare at you upside down in a tense silence.  

You give him a look. His mood is sour. Maybe more than you thought. He smiles first, then frowns unhappily before turning his attention back to what he was doing. You hear small scratching noises—he’s sketching. You wonder how long he’s been sitting there doing that, since he usually just prefers to paint without thinking too hard.  

After that, he doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t greet you, either.  

“I’m home.” You say evenly. You think about being placating from the jump, but without knowing his exact reason - you worry you’ll only worsen the state of affairs.  

Rafayel hums. “Welcome home.”  

Your brain wracks through every possibility on what could be the source of this level of moodiness. Sometimes, his moody behavior is for kicks but it’s not this time. If it was, he’d lay it on thickly. Act theatrically towards you, get in your face about it. 

But he’s tense, forceful—every scratch of his pencil is too harsh like it’s rife with irritation. You tread carefully.  

“Can I sit with you?”  

“Why are you asking? Don’t you live here too? Just because I bought the couches with my money doesn’t mean—“  

“Rafayel.” You say, interrupting him. He scowls at you. “Can I?”  

As if more bothered by you being level, he huffs. It’s followed with a business smile over his shoulder. “Sure. Do whatever you want.”  

You choose to sit on the empty end of the couch where Rafayel does his sketching - fitting yourself in the gap of his space near his feet. You slide yourself in then gently lift his legs into your lap. Rafayel gives you a look when you do this, clearly debating on whether or not he should reject your act of goodwill. Ultimately he stays. 

Notably, while his pencil is still scratching on paper - you think by this point he’s not really sketching anything at all.  

“I got off of work late,” You explain. You rest your hands on his calf gently. “There was an incident near the station but it was a false alarm so I ended up being cleared.”  

“Oh? Is that so?”  

Warm, you think. You nod.  

“There’s been a lot of Metaflux increases in the residential districts close to our headquarters. It’s odd.” You explain. Rafayel is quiet, looking at his nails disinterested. You go on, not taking offense. “Strange as it is, there’s been no active threats. Still, given the location, it needs a lot of man power to be investigated.”  

Rafayel sits quietly, unreadable. You continue on. “So it’s been busy. I think we’ve cleared the level of threat, so another team will probably take over soon.”  

“Hm.” Rafayel says, a petulant edge to his voice. Warmer. “So that’s why you’ve been so late this week. I guess it’s good that nothing happened. It must’ve been difficult, so difficult if you could barely spend time with your one and only lover. But I guess it’s fine, it’s not like there’s anything you can do in that circumstances. Well, you could’ve done a lot but if it didn’t occur to you there’s nothing to be said, then again—why would it—“  

Hot. “Rafayel.”  

“What.” 

“I’m sorry for being late,” You say.  

A beat. His frown deepens.  

“And?”  

You pause before answering, smiling apologetically. “For not keeping in contact with you more.”  

Some of the life returns to him. You’ve deduced the source of his bad mood, which means the only thing left is to alleviate it. You don’t like seeing him upset. He’s quick to forgive you, always optimistic and trying to keep your relationship lighthearted.  

But there is an underlying desire in him that makes you more conscious about any minor infringements. Despite himself, Rafayel is more concerned about you liking him than he’ll ever let on in  his life. Even when he’s upset, he’ll forgive you - but the feelings linger until they explode. When he gets like that, it’s much harder to comfort him.  

It’ll fester if you don’t apologize properly. You know him well enough to know that and you love him well enough to not want to see when disaster strikes.  

(Plus, there’s something about the way he’s still pouting. He’s trying to relax, but it’s there. It’s cute to you. It makes you want to kiss it better.) 

“I’m sorry,” You offer. You reach for the hand resting in his lap and he lets you take it, though it’s limp. You press a kiss to the back of it, eyes full of affection. “I’m not used to having someone wait for me,”  

Rafayel makes another face at you, unreadable. “Not just anyone.”  

You laugh lightly. “That’s true.”  

Squeezing his hand tighter, you kiss it one more time. “Can I make it up to you…?” 

“I don’t know. Can you?”  

“I’d like to,” You offer, another kiss - just higher on back of his hand. Closer towards his wrist. “Whatever you wanted.”  

“Whatever I want is a tempting offer, Miss Bodyguard. What a talent for bargaining you have, indeed. Maybe you should try bidding a one of my auctions, just to see.” 

“I’d bid too high off the bat. I’d go bankrupt,” You tease back, a sweet lilt to your voice that makes Rafayel’s eyes shimmer, fond of your wit. “Would you be willing to keep me if I gave it all up that way, I wonder?”  

“Since it was for me, I could consider being merciful.”  

You give him sincere but small smile and Rafayel seems to warm up seeing it. He can be coy, even playful about his affection but there’s something about him today that feels more shy then it does anything else. 

“If I can ask for whatever I want,” Rafayel starts. “Maybe we could start with paying back your dues. After all you owe me your full undivided attention after your week of neglect.” 

“That’s easy.” You say, charming. Rafayel makes a face at you that makes you want to laugh. “I wanted to give you that anyway. Is that all?”  

“Are you telling me to be more demanding? You think that’s a wise choice?”  

“If it makes you happy, I’ll play the fool.”  

It’s corny, deliberately not something you’d say to anyone else or at any other time. Something that Rafayel might say to you in a different circumstance, so in a way you’ve simply beat him to the punch. He goes through several feelings, each passing over his expression. Amusement to disbelief to embarrassment even he can’t cover up too easily. 

Great risk comes with great reward. Yours is a smiling Rafayel, boyish and amused. Color returned to him, a playful air of mischief about him.  

“Well if you’re that desperate to make it up to me, then I guess I could try to forgive you. Gosh, you must be so desperate if you’re willing to act this way. You’ve totally fallen for me, haven’t you?”  

Yes, you think. Too much of that at once and he’ll get shy again. You’ll have plenty of coaxing to do later so you keep the thought to yourself. You smile at him instead. “So, you’ve anymore demands for me, my liege?”  

Rafayel hums before breaking out into a grin. “Hmm. For now, just one.” He offers you his hand. “Take me upstairs.”  

__  

Rafayel has a way about him, with you and only you, that makes you especially weak to his advances.  

Whatever those advances are, however taxing on you they may be—there’s so rarely a time where you can tell him no. He likes having that much influence over you, no matter what his particular mood is. If he’s feeling the desire to keep you under his thumb or be at your mercy. Whats central to him in each instance is that he has the full breadth of your attention, your desire, and most importantly—your lacking will to resist.  

You like it all because you like Rafayel. Like how it feels trying to hold onto him as  he slips between your fingers.  

If someone asked you what you like most, though - it’d be this.  

Not quite at your mercy but expectant of your devotion. Crystalline eyes and long, straight lashes blinking up at you with unwitting demand, crowding around you mercilessly. A gaze that weakens you, disarms you, demands your propriety.  

“What are you thinking about?”  

His words come out more annoyed than he wants them to. Your eyes come back into focus to Rafayel on top of you, in your lap as you lean against the headboard. His weight settled like he’s something that fits there perfectly and he does. Your hand reaches for his lower back, eyes tracing down the damp skin. Button shirt opened just loose enough to catch glimpse of his collarbones, with only boxers underneath. Your hands run down his sides, smooth down his bare thighs - mesmerized by cream colored skin that begs for blemishes. 

His expression bewitches you even when your mind had prepared you for it. You smile almost lazily, drawing him just a little closer to you until your noses touch. “Of you.”  

He scoffs at you. “Is that so? Not that you have no reason to think about your perfect, darling lover—it’s just that it seems like he’s the last thing on your mind these days, so you know,-“ 

You kiss him. It’s only partially to shut him up. It’s mostly because him talking makes you look at the shape of his mouth, the curve of his lips—the way he’s pouting at you. It’s almost too much. You part after a minute, careful not to deepen the kiss.  

He has something to say after the fact, dazed - hands on your shoulders trying to give himself the room to speak before you kiss him again.  

But you don’t relent. You kiss him harder, a hand around the back of his neck - slipping your tongue against his lips in the way you like. He doesn’t concede. You’re not really expecting him to. He kisses back even harder like he’s trying to prove a point - teeth digging into your lower lip. A little too sharp for human, but perfect for him.  

You pull away breathless. A hand still on the nape of his neck, sliding around enough to feel his pulse under your thumb. Thump, thump, thump—rabbit quick. You smile at him suggestively, proving him displeased.  

“Don’t interrupt me. Trying to kiss me when I’m airing out my complaints is unprofessional and rude, I’ll have you know.” 

“I’m sorry,” Your lips brush his jawbone. “It’s hard to think about talking when you’re half-naked on top of me.”  

“You can be so vulgar. It’s shocking. You’re usually all serious and about work and then sometimes you look like a dog waiting to be told it can have the treat on it’s nose,” Rafayel says airily. Fake haughty, voice colored with coyness. You look up at him. “Does it really count as making it up to me if all you’re doing is lusting after me?”  

You don’t deny him at face value. “You set the standard. You tell me. Do you feel like I’m still making it up to you or should I work  a little harder?”  

There’s something between you. A spark of electricity that fizzles and pops, tension deepening. Rafayel likes playing tug of war with you. Even though he’s expecting to be pampered - there’s nothing easy about letting him. But it works when you keep yourself even. Eager. Having your desire and lust for him out in the open gives him the power again and he likes that, even when it’s mostly pretend.  

“Work harder. You have to earn your paycheck Miss Bodyguard.” He says. You laugh a little, sitting up a little straighter.  

“Yes boss,” You reply. You lean forward, pulling his weight down as your hands slide underneath the loose, flowy button up. Your hands find his waist, holding his sides before gliding them up on the planes of his back. He’s got lean muscle, a swimmers build that feels tight to the touch.  

You kiss him on the lips again, tongue sweeping against his lower lip. Rafayel playfully rejects it when you do. You pull away one hand to cup the back of his neck and force the kiss deeper, tongue pressing the closed seam of his lips until he yield and lets you. He melts at the gesture rather  unwittingly, the softest little whimper sounding as you feel your tongues touch. It’s a wet, hot kiss. Mouth sticky with spit and saliva.  

“I’m working hard so you shouldn’t be too hard on me,” You say playfully. Rafayel rolls his hips, makes a noise for you as he huffs. “I want to make you feel good.”  

“You’re—“  

You interrupt him again. Not with a kiss on his mouth this time, but a chaste one to the very corner of of it - trailing down the soft curve of his jawline. You make the pressure on his neck featherlight. Thin skin prone to being sensitive, he melts at the soft touch. Cranes his neck up subconsciously to give you access to it. In the spirit of pampering him, you bite at the skin with a genuine hunger. Marking each bruise with a kiss first, you sink your teeth into him without remorse. Incisors scraping the delicate area before you suck hard, broken capillaries throbbing underneath your tongue when you lick them after the fact. 

 Deep, deep shades of red and purple bloom all over the column of his throat. It doesn’t feel like enough to you still.  

“My neck hurts from all your biting.” His voice comes out in wet pants, betraying the sentiment. You laugh warmly at his attempt to diverge.  

“Does it? Should I be gentler, then?” You offer. After you feel like you’ve marked his neck enough, you press another feather-light kiss right where his adams apple sits. Another on his clavicle. When it gets to his collarbone - you don’t do anything more than brush your lips.  

Rafayel whines. It’s a throaty sound that makes your whole body break out into a shiver. Such a pleasant sound on the ears that your mind pictures instantly what other sounds he might make if you just had your way with him. It uncovers a selfish part of you. You could flip him over on your bed and take him if you wanted. Fuck him until he sings as punishment maybe for being tempting like a siren drawing a lone sailor into deep waters.  

You keep the thoughts to yourself, and keep your composure. You ask again instead. “Come on. Tell me. Do you want me to touch you more gently?”  

He fusses in your lap. You grin. “What’s the point in being gentle now if you’re being so rough to begin with? The change would be just weird, you know.”  

“I guess it would,” You let yourself lick the same places you just kissed. You bite then hard enough to leave a mark and Rafayel arches himself into it. “It’s better like this then, right? If I leave marks all over you, then maybe you’ll feel less lonely when I get busy again.”  

“I should get to leave them on you too. Your memory isn’t as sharp as it used to be. A physical reminder might do you some good, yes.”  

His voice is trembling, despite himself. You pull away to look up at him, and catch sight of a fragility you sometimes forget he’s capable of. Brows drawn into a furrow, lips pulled into a pout. Like a wound reopened inside of him that he’s so desperate to cauterize but can’t. You want to kiss the lines between his brows and get on your knees for it. A proof of your affection.  

“I’m sorry for being careless,” You say, sincere. Rafayel looks ready to quiet you, concerned about the mood but you proceed anyhow. You lift his shirt up and hold it to his mouth, and he bites without your instruction. Bare chest exposed to him, you flit your gaze to his face. “I can’t do anything but try to beg your forgiveness. Still,”  

You kiss his sternum, your hands on his waist. You fingers trail down his sides, hands sliding back up to chest. His nipples are hard, damp skin cool to the touch. Your warm him with your fingers, rolling over the sensitive tips. Rafayel makes a muffled noise, his cock twitching responsively.  

“All I ever really think about is you,” You say. Rafayel gives you a long, unreadable look as you toy with his chest. “I’m not the type to half-ass things so my thoughts always revolve around you. Finishing work to come home to you. If you’ve eaten or if you locked yourself in the studio to paint all day. If we should go somewhere together on my day off.”  

You lean forward and stick your tongue out, taking his nipples into your mouth. You roll the other one with your hand to increase the pleasure - content as you watch his face begin to flush. He watches you so closely, the tips of his ears burning a bright red. You suck hard, wetting them with saliva before you take them gently between your teeth and tugging.  

“I’m not good at balancing work with play. I’m also not very friendly so you’re the only person I’ve ever spent so much time dating” You hum, nuzzling his skin. “I’m sure down the line it’ll be harder. But, if it helps, it’s true that my heads always filled with you.”  

Your hands grip his waist, pushing his hips forward slightly as you suck and bite his chest again. A line of saliva connects you both as you pull away - teethmark indentations in their place.  

“I want to make you feel good,” You maneuver Rafayel until he’s underneath you. His expression reads as overwhelmed but the faint blush blooming all over his skin and the hazy look in his eyes makes you confident he’s feeling more than just uncertainty. More like restlessness. A desire to be touched as he lays on his back with you looming over him. “And to touch you everywhere.”  

You lean into him, trailing kisses down the his chest. You can feel his pulse quicken again as you touch him, spreading his legs as you put your thumb inside the waistband of his boxers.  

Like this, he looks especially enchanting. The sleeves of his shirt pulled over his palms, button-up bunched up underneath his chin, and tight gray boxer briefs snug around his hips. Your bedroom, dimly lit, casting shadow on the sinewy muscle. His chest heaves with anticipation, stomach tense as your lips trace a path down from chest to navel. Excitement wracks through his body.  

You put a hand on his stomach and look up at him. “I want to leave my mark on all of it. I want your body to remember I felt this deep inside of you and shiver. You’ll be able to think of me half as much as I think of you.”  

Rafayel heaves, eyes glossed over. “Shit, you’re so unfair. It’s like you have two personalities or something. Are you tricking me? Is it actually you in there?”  

You smile a little, pleased by his reply.  

You follow your instinct, sliding his boxers off and tossing them somewhere. Rafayel is hard. So hard it looks like it hurts. The tip of his cock is ruddy, wet with pre-cum and swollen. His dick is long. Stands up with a straight curve. You breathe on it, making Rafayel flinch with anticipation. Your eyes flicker up to his face, terrible pout betraying his feigned moodiness..  

“Don’t tease me,” He voices. Arousal strikes through you like hot iron at the whine of his voice. Almost pitiful.  

“Not today,” You promise. 

You making yourself comfortable between Rafayel’s legs, sticking your tongue out to taste him. He smells like soap and skin, but the scent is still so arousing. Your head is heavy with it, senses suffocating, hands stabilizing themselves by grabbing hold of his thighs. Rafayel looks near overwhelmed from even the slightest touch. It’s uncharacteristic for him to be so quiet. Almost meek. He must be aching for you more than he lets on.  

You let his cock rest against your face, nuzzling it with your cheek. His cock responds sweetly to the lewd act. He lets out a sigh about, subtly trying to shimmy away from the touch. Unable to win against your grip, he sinks back into the bed and takes a long breath.  

“Keep your eyes on me,”   

In the business of spoiling him, you leave your teasing to a minimum. You gather spit in your mouth and spit it onto his cock with force - relishing the his breath hitches. How his eyes widen just slightly. You stroke his shaft with a tight grip, bringing your head down suck lightly below the shaft of his cock. His head falls back again, mouth open in a silent plea.  

Rafayel keens for you when you work him with the warm, wet cavern of your mouth. You use your hands to fondle him while you shift your attention to his length. Your lips placing hot kisses up until they stop at the slit - tongue dipping into and tasting precum. Salty and warm. You wet your lips again and brush them against his cock - watching the way his expression shifts at the sensation, lightly sucking as you build yourself up having him in your mouth.  

He pitches his hips with desperation that spurs you to give him more pleasure. You open wide to take his cock into your mouth. The weight of it feels good. Arousal clouds your mind as you hollows your cheeks and stick your tongue out over your lip. He’s throbbing so hard it makes you lightheaded.  

A minute passes as you just hold him in your mouth, getting your jaw used to the sensation before you put in work in making him feel good. Like steel over your velvet, you use your tongue to lap at the sensitive skin while spitting and drooling. You’re making a mess. The room echoes with the filthy noise of you swallowing and choking on Rafayel’s cock.  

“Oh, fuck.” 

Your eyes flicker up to Rafayel, trying not to crack a smile at the state of disarray he’s in. His expression is so twisted from pleasure. All of his features reflective of it. His blush seems to creep down even further the longer you go. Your body gradually heats up, core throbbing as you take him down. Take him slowly into the narrow canal of your throat, eyes watering.  

You ease yourself down the very base - nose pressed against his navel, tongue over your lip. Rafayel’s fingers curl into the sheets underneath you trying not to buck his hips.  

“Get off of me, I’ll cum.” He says, almost panicked. “Your throat feels so good. Y-your mouth is so hot and it’s making me feel so good, can’t—I can’t. You gotta get off or—”  

His words of protest fall on deaf ears as you spread his legs even further. Wanting to make him feel better, you part them. 

 You’re greeted by pretty pink hole - already wet for you. A stream of spit follows as you pull off him. 

 Rafayel heaves in relief.  

“You got yourself ready,” You say, less than ask. Rafayel rolls his eyes.  

“So what if I did?” 

“I wanted to do it for you.” You reply, pretending to sulk. “Told you I wanted to spoil you.”  

He blushes further. “Don’t you have any sensibility? You’re doing more than enough. Being excessive, even.”  

“I don’t believe in being excessive when it comes to you,” You hum. Sitting up, you reach over the bedside table for a bottle of lube. You pour it in excess on your two fingers before coming back down between his legs. The bed creaks under your weight.  

Lube drips from your two fingers onto Rafayel’s hole, thick as you push the excess with two fingers. Both go in so smoothly it makes you smirk. He’s soft inside. It’s so easy for you to put both fingers inside of him, even easier to find his prostate - swollen from arousal. He must’ve fucked himself open like this on three fingers given how easily yours follow.  

“It’s so wet inside. You must’ve really wanted me to fuck you.”  

“So what if I—aah—did?”  

“Well, I wanted to take you apart nice and slow.” You say, slowly rubbing your fingers against his prostate, pleased by the little oh noises he makes when you. Cum spills from the tip immediately. He’s so sensitive. You divulge your plans to him as you stretch him. “First with my mouth once or twice.  I was going to save fucking you for the end  but—“ You push your fingers deeper. To the knuckle. His eyes shoot wide open before his voice breaks into a moan. “Since I’m making it up to you you, I was wondering if I should just cut the chase and make you cum on my cock over and over and over. Maybe you’d prefer that.”  

Rafayel’s eyes go wide. You feel a sense of accomplishment knowing without him telling you. He clears his throat, strangely sheepish.  

“It’s not like the other stuff feels bad or anything—“  

You make eye contact with him, sitting up on your knees. Your other hand cups the back of his neck as you press a third finger inside - fucking it in slowly. Rafayel moans unabashedly as you do. His skin is feverish as you press your forehead to his, noses brushing. The wet sound of you stretching him open makes you dizzy, shared breaths between you filling worsening your appetite for him.   

“It’s not what you want though, is it? Not today anyway.” You say, leaning close enough to kiss. You don’t follow through, your voice low on a whisper. “Tell me how you were picturing me fucking you in the shower. I’ll give you whatever you want today,”  

Rafayel seems to let go of the last threads of fight in him as you approach like this. You’re in the thick of your wanting for him. Your body and your mind hunger to make it feel so good it looks like carnage to everyone else. To be pleasured so ruthlessly he can barely move 

He’s rarely too shy but right now he’s in the depths of his desires. He moans sweetly like this. It’s not a sound you can coax out of him easily. It sounds so perfect still. Mouth fallen open, his hands finding purchase in the back of your shirt.  

“Want you to fuck me deeply,” He pants, like it’s straining to even thinking about it. “N-not too fast, but not too slow either. Want you, hngh,” Shivering, he tries to speak coherently as your eyes meet - lips barely touching but almost. “To p-praise me and—“  

You grin. “You want to pampered while I fuck this pretty little hole, right?”  

You push your fingers in harder. He whimpers. It’s loud and broken and makes grip on you tighter. He just nods. “Please. Fuck, please - need it now. In me, please.”  

It’s exactly the words you’re interested in hearing. You kiss him on the lips deeply. He sinks completely into the touch, malleable under your fingertips.  

“Shh, I know.” You hum, soothingly. Rafayel whines from the loss of contact as you pull your hand away.“You earned it. Just a little more.” 

You stand up again on your knee, stripping yourself of the remaining garments left on your body from the work day. You unhook your bra and take it off along with your tank top in one go, tossing it somewhere on the floor. 

Next come your slacks, tight from the way you’ve tucked silicone cock up against your stomach to be ready to fuck. You put it on earlier while he bathed - tucking it in your pants to keep it out of the way. Seeing you unzip your work slacks and have a heavy silicone cock fall from them evokes a reaction in Rafayel that endears you endlessly. A bitten lip while a shiver wracks through him. 

Deciding your pants will get in the way, you make quick work of wriggling out of them completely before returning between Rafayel’s legs. You spit in your hand and stroke yourself with it, wetting your cock before letting it rest against Rafayel’s own. 

“How do you want it?” You ask.  

“Like this,” He says, unmoving. He seems certain on that end but he’s hesitating. “But I want you to…” 

He looks away. You try not to grin but fail.  

“You were being so bold a second ago,”  

He rolls his eyes. “Well a second ago someone was trying to rearrange my insides so I didn’t have to think very hard,”  

“So, should I do it again, then? I think we’ll get better results that way.”  

“You’re so noisy. I don’t pay you for this,” He pauses. “I want you to hug me while we… like be close to me.” 

You pause before smiling gently. You’re so charmed by the innocence of it. It’s so unlike him. Being away from you must’ve bothered him more than he cared to admit. Softening, instantly - you lean forward and press your lips to his forehead.  

“Sure. Anything else?”  

“Ugh. Not for now. But it’s annoying. I should be running you into the ground by now but here you are,” 

“Making good on my promise?,” You finish. Rafayel doesn’t refute you. You kiss his shoulder blade. “Anything you want today. I’m yours.”  

“Say it again,”  

“All yours.”  

He wraps his arms around your neck and pulls you down. “…Hurry up and fuck me then.”  

Complying with his wishes, you sit back on your knees as you line your cock up with Rafayel’s entrance and push. He gasps as you slide the fat head of your cock in, a wicked smile on your face as you watch his hole stretch out and around you. Three fingers is more than enough prep. It makes filling him so easy.  

Still, the stretch - the feeling of being full is nothing like just fingers. You watch as Rafayel’s body adjusts to  it. Inch by inch, you rock your hips forward gently until he’s swallowed your cock up half-way. He’s trembling as you lean forward. Waiting for you to bottom out before he pulls you forward for as much skin to skin as he can have. Your chest squishes against him.  

When his hips roll for you to go deeper, you take it as a sign. With all of your strength, you hold onto his waist bury yourself inside of him in another single thrust. His nails dig into your shoulder, his voice next to your ear as you. Tightening his grip, he cries out at the sudden movement 

You can feel him shake underneath you, cock clenching hard while you hold him.  

“Fuuck,”  He goes stone stiff underneath you before starting to tremor more violently. “Fuck, oh fuck.”  

Realization dawns on you a few seconds later. “Did—did you cum just from putting it in?”  

He opens his eyes and frowns at you.  

“Shut up. I didn’t get to cum earlier.”  

You laugh. “You’ll kill me being this cute. I don’t know what to do.”  

“I could give you an idea if you’re going to just sit there,”  

His impatience amuses you.  

“Sorry. I’ve got you. Cum as much as you want.”  

You anchor yourself, pulling out slowly and internally groaning at the resistance as you do. How his hole grips onto you so tight it feels nearly hard to move despite know how stretched he is. A phantom sensation fills your waist as you feel his stomach shift as you thrust.  

Heeding earlier requests, you use your hips to set a pace to fuck Rafayel the way he wants. The ins and outs of his body come naturally to you now. Finding the right pace, the right motion, the right angle - all come easier to you than you even remember. On muscle memory, you hike Rafayel’s legs up and begin to fuck him deep. Not too fast, not too slow - but consistent in grinding against that sweet spot. Deliberately thrusting your hips up, you try to direct all the remaining focus into fucking him as good as you can.  

You know you’ve hit the right places when his grip on you gets tighter. His legs locked around your back, Rafayel is a mess underneath you even when you’ve barely begun. Like he can’t stop cumming, his body helplessly wound as your hips clap his ass.  

The moans that come out of him, broken and sweet. More angelic then pornographic but lewd enough to make you dizzy with the urge to pin him up and fuck him harder. Groaning when you fuck him just right. You can feel his cock against your stomach with how close your bodies are as you grind - twitching. Pre-cum leaking in long spurts and wetting your skin. 

You coo at him feeling it start to be easier to fuck him.  

“It’s just like a pussy, huh? You take me so good inside of you. It feels like you were made for it,” You press kisses wherever your lips can find the skin. On his face, his mouth, on his shoulders. You can barely make sense of your own filth, your mind moving on it’s own as your body chases its own arousal. Your clit is grinding against the base of your strap-on so well like this, you could easily chase the high and find your own orgasm with seconds. You’re too busy paying attention to make well on it. “I like when you act cute like this. Usually you’d put up a fight about it but you’re asking without fuss. It’s precious seeing you fall apart on my cock.”  

He moans your name like an incantation, another dribble of cum spilling. He can’t stop cumming. Just shuddering beneath you, his face in your shoulder and panting like he can’t find the words.  

“All mine, yeah? Everything, all of you. It’s all mine to tend to, so you can be as selfish as you want.” You hum, encouraged by the whimpering repetition of please in his voice. He’s being so pliant, so good. You can’t help yourself. “Take when you need. Cum when it feels good for you. I want you to feel good. Want to make you feel so good you can’t stand it. Think you can do that? Come on,”  

Rafayel moans brokenly into your neck. “I’m g-gonna cum so hard, fuck—feels like I can’t stop, please don’t stop, fuck me,” 

“Shh it’s okay. I wont stop until you tell me.” You tuck yourself against his neck, kissing it before biting his ear lobe. He gasps. “Don’t think about anything other than cumming for me.”  

“Fuck,” His nails dig into your biceps, coiling you around as you get close. “Fuck me. P-please—I’m cumming, I’m cu -“  

Rafayels whole body stiffens under the weight of your body. You fuck him steady, pinning him down as he cums. His cock pushes hard against your stomach, twitching helplessly as his cum spills in streams. His back curls up, gripping onto you tightly as he moans loud and unabashed, euphoria splintering through his muscles. You fuck him through it until he rides out his high - his body loosening up as soon as it passes.  

The sound of cum unsticking from your skin as you part from Rafayel makes you grin. You pull back out of slowly and get on your knees. You use your hand to wipe the cum off of your stomach and smear it against Rafayel’s hole.  

“You made a mess,” You say brightly. Rafayel pants, looking up at you. Before you can ask, his voice trembles. He weakly reaches for your hand.   

“Let me make you finish,” He says, abrupt. You blink at him owlishly. “Please.”  

“Isn’t this about you?”  

He frowns, looking at you seriously.  

“It is. And I’m telling you I want you sit on my face and cum on it. Please.”  

You give him a look before breaking out into a laugh. You stand onto your knees and undo the buckles of your harness - shimmying out of them. “I can’t refuse you if you ask like that but I don’t think it’ll be long.”  

“It’ll just be once for now,”  

“For now?”  

He nods matter-of-factly. “You still owe me after the crimes of neglect you’ve committed against me.”  

“Right.”  

“And I’ve decided I want to exercise my rights to eat pussy until sunrise.”  

“I see,” You say bemused. “And this is… revenge I take it? And not perhaps, an act of goodwill towards me.”  

“I have no reason to show you good will, do I?”  

You break out into more laughter. 

“Right. We’ll be even after today then, at least.”  

“Hurry,” Rafayel says again, after settling it. Same puppy dog look in his eyes as before, back in instant. You can’t help but be charmed by how quickly he reverts back into desiring your attention.  

Rafayel lays down as you take your strap-on off and crawl over towards him. Deciding you’re not done with him for the day - you stand on your knees just over his chest and spread your pussy apart for him to see. He’s not expecting it, evidenced by the way his eyes go wide at the sight. 

“Even without cumming, making you feel good turned me on this much. Is that what you were hoping to know?”  

Rafayel goes flush again. “I never said that.”  

“So difficult,” You hum. “Come on. Can I sit?”  

Rafayel barely masks his enthusiasm as he nods. You crawl over him further before carefully setting yourself above his face. You try to avoid letting the full weight rest on him, but Rafayels hands are on you in an instant. With the same desperate grip he had while you were fucking him, he pulls your thighs down until your pussy is in his mouth - tongue out and lapping up wetness instantly. You shiver at the desperate movement of his tongue. 

It gets your body hot all over again. Your fingers thread through the purple strands of hair for anchor as you push yourself against his willing mouth like you’re fucking his face. Your own desires hadn’t crossed your mind until now, but now that you’re aware of it - that familiar restless lust returns to you tenfold You shiver as the familiar flames of arousal stoke back up inside of you.  

Your gut honeyed, sticky lust making your limbs feel thick. You use your other hand to tweak your nipples as you rock your hips back and forth. Rafayel lies underneath you obediently, eagerly - his hands helping you move at the pace you want without complaint. He always manages to surprise you. His willingness to give to you making you feel weak in the knees.  

Already so worked up, it takes you hardly any time to reach your climax. You feel it in your waist, body going slack as the knot inside of your stomach uncoils. You let out a short cry, hands tightening in Rafayel’s hair as you cum all over his face - swearing as you do. You feel Rafayel moan against you, reverberating through you as you ride out your high and finish.  

You pull away from his sated, pulling back to see him wiping his chin before licking his fingers. The look in his eyes sends an amused sort of arousal through you.  

“You look like you’re going to eat me.” You say. Rafayel nods.  

“I mean… I’m certainly trying.”  

You laugh tiredly, swiping your thumb against his cheek with a smile.  

“After we clean up and have dinner,” You say. “I have some mandatory time off so I won’t be called in.”  

“I won’t let you sleep,” He says, clingy again - face pressed against your thigh. You grin. His many moods make you so weak to him. 

You bend down to kiss his forehead.  

“I wasn’t planning on it.”  

✮ a/n ; rafayel fans . let me know if this was okay im lacking confidence but i had writing him. i want to keep like a spoiled housecat maybe.

[disneyprincemuke]

the grudge * fem!driver

it takes the whole village to make them realise that racing should not be coming between the friendship they spent years building

pairings: alex albon x fem!driver, george russell x fem!driver, logan sargeant x fem!driver, lewis hamilton x fem!driver, nico rosberg x fem!driver

warnings: -

notes: hi there.

(series masterlist) | (📂 the sophomore year)

(prev)

the past couple of days have been empty. eerily lonely at times when she wakes up just to drag her feet downstairs of her parent’s home to get a meal by herself and make her way back up after. prior to their predicament, she had planned so many activities to do with logan over their week off.

she turns over when she wakes up, just like every other morning and picks up her phone. hoping, wishing, desperately waiting for a specific text message to dawn her. there are several other notifications but they just don’t seem to matter.

when will logan text, when will he apologise— more importantly, when can they be best friends again?

she misses him.

she’s wondered over the past few days since they fell out mid-race, how other people get through something like this. it’s never been a problem, not for them, because they made a promise.

sure, they were young, but it was easy to think that they would never let their careers get the better of them.

she remembers speaking in hushed whispers, as if it was a crime, promising one another that they would always be best friends no matter what. they would never let what happened to others happen to them.

she hasn’t spoken to oscar much either. she tries to lie to herself and say that he’s probably busy spending time with lily and his family, but a smaller part of her assumes that he’s pulling away because of logan. oscar tries to convince her and say that isn’t the case, but she’s slowly starting to believe her lie.

she lays awake for some time wondering if logan missed her the same, or if reaching out had ever crossed his mind. she can’t be the only one feeling this way, right?

her finger hovers over his caller id, going back and forth the decision of dropping him a call. but she is still insistent that she is not wrong. he clearly clipped her car, so why should she? everyone could see that but him.

it hurts, but it hurts more than when she would get into days-long arguments with oscar.

she hasn’t had her own share of a heartbreak, but somehow hurts in the way that some of her friends would describe it to her. it’s more than the pain you feel when you’re falling out with a best friend.

instead, she locks her phone and gets out of bed to start whatever is left of her day.

is this really how it’s going to be? losing his best friend over one crash out of the many others they’ve had since they met?

he stares at the ceiling with stubby resting his paws on his stomach, pondering if he truly is doing the right thing by holding out.

but every time he thinks of finally apologising, he remembers every other time that he had to put aside his pride just to keep her around. not that it truly ever mattered — their friendship always comes above all else — he just finds it incredibly unfair.

how about this once, she is the one who puts her pride aside to keep their friendship? does it really have to always be him?

then he starts to wonder if he is the only one who thinks of their friendship this way. maybe he’s the only one holding onto something that’s dwindled over the years; she has new friends anyway.

logan misses her. the apartment simply isn’t the same without him waking up to his door opened slightly after she borrowed one of his hoodies to wear for a walk, or the shrill baby voice she likes to use when talking to their pets, or the whining and pouting she gives him when she doesn’t want to go out by herself but refuses to ask him if he wants to come with her.

sometimes he misses her more than a best friend should. though, that’s not really the point.

it makes sense now to him how friends fall apart when they’re in the same sport. but even with just one example, there’s also another pair of best friends who seem closer than they were before.

now he is conflicted. none of it makes sense at all.

but only time can tell if he is doing the right thing. or, if she would even realise that their friendship should be greater than whatever the hell the situation is right now.

“you’re telling me that you and rocky have not spoken for an entire week?”

logan shrugs, “yeah, i guess.”

alex’s gaze follows logan as he walks across the room to take a seat, an eyebrow raising in confusion at his nonchalance. “and you don’t plan to?”

“not unless she reaches out first.”

logan lifts his gaze from his hands and meets alex’s eyes. alex doesn’t even know how to go about the situation anymore – it seems like he’s said everything he could say to logan to try and amend their friendship. yet, there’s still nothing he says that could convince him otherwise.

it would be a shame to see a friendship fall apart over a crash during a race.

not everyone can have what they have and maintain it for as long as they have. of course, he knows, he’s best friends with george.

a week into their 2-week break and she is holding out longer than he’s expected. he’s very apologetic for the fact that her car had spun and hit the wall, but it’s just unfair that he was expected to be the one apologising for the crash itself.

the crash was caused by 2 people, not just him. he’s sure there’s something there that she could have done better to avoid the accident.

“i’m heading out to grab lunch with george after this,” alex grins, “would you like to come with us?”

“sure.”

she swings her hand up to stop the man from opening his mouth to speak to her, the door in her other hand. “don’t tell me you’re here for what i think you’re here for.”

“i’m not?” george grins with hesitation, dropping the pint of ice cream he’d gotten to soften her up for the conversation he wants to have. “come on, you need to speak to logan.”

she sighs and rests her hands on her hips. “i know sebastian sent you.”

he presses his lips together. “no, he didn’t.”

“it’s because i’m ignoring his text messages,” she scowls. yet she still takes a step back and opens the door wider and gestures for him to come inside. “i’m not stupid.”

george walks in, handing her the pint of chocolate ice cream he’d picked up. “it’s not your favourite brand, but it’s still chocolate ice cream,” he mutters. he turns as she closes the front door and huffs. “you need to speak to logan before all of this gets out of hand too fast and you regret it.”

“does he regret sending me into the wall?” she raises an eyebrow. when george continues to stare at her, blinking blankly, she nods and turns on her heel to walk into the kitchen. “you know this wasn’t my fault — you saw the footage, george! that’s so unfair!”

he sighs. he’s never been in this situation with alex, but he can only imagine how his world would around if they were. sure, it’s hard to get past something like this, especially at the stage of their career, but he just isn’t sure how to help either.

yes, logan had been the one to close in on her on the track, but why couldn’t they just recognise they were both wrong one way or another?

“okay, fine. whatever,” george says exasperatedly. “actually, i’m here to ask if you wanted to get lunch with alex and i later.”

she raises an eyebrow with a small smile. “sure!”

“sorry,” george laughs airily, putting his phone face down on the table. he moves into the booth alongside the younger girl. “alex is running a little late.”

“that’s alright,” she mutters, reaching out for the menu. she opens the menu before it dawns on her.

she lowers her menu and turns stiffly to george who is reaching for his menu and takes his seat. “what?”

“why are you sitting next to me?” she raises an eyebrow and throws her head back slightly.

george puts a hand to his chest. “do you hate me?”

she shakes her head. “no! it’s not like that,” she scowls, “you always sit next to alex when we get lunch.”

he tilts his head and narrows his eyes as he pretends to think. “do i?” he scrunches his nose. “i don’t always sit next to him.”

but he knows that she poses an incredible point. he, however, hadn’t expected her to be so observant, as opposed to her typical carefree and non-analytical nature. perhaps this entire fallout has changed her slightly, especially without logan always next to her.

she hums without another word, confusion still written on her face, before she looks at her menu again.

she’s been to this restaurant numerous times since moving to london. it’s actually her favourite. a classic between her and logan, always making it out of their way to get food here when they’re back in town.

she doesn’t actually need the menu — she orders the same damn thing every time, swearing to herself that she will try something new her next visit. which she is something she abides by most times, always ordering a new side dish or by forcing logan to get something she wants but is too scared to try.

“i thought you would have memorised that menu front and back considering how much you come here,” george jokes, his eyes darting from his menu to the entrance of the restaurant.

he shakes his leg in anticipation, aimlessly flipping through the pages yet he still has not retained one dish in his head. it’s never going to work.

in the back of his head, he hears alex’s voice telling him again and again that it would.

“funny. that’s the same thing logan says whenever we eat here.”

truthfully, george hadn’t even brought logan up in the time they’ve been together. he’s pleasantly surprised that she was the first to address him again after their initial conversation at her parents’ front door.

“does he?” george grins slightly.

“yeah,” she lifts her head, lips pursed together as she stares into the distance, “i always make him order something new that i could try because i’m too scared it won’t be to my liking.”

he’s surprised. he didn’t think logan could come up in such a peaceful topic at this time of day. he thought that she would keep it hostile even when speaking of him.

“that’s very thoughtful."

she grins. “yes, i guess he is a very thoughtful guy.”

george sits up and adjusts the sleeves of his sweatshirt. he clears his throat. “speaking of logan-”

“no.”

“what?” he cried incredulously with a hand in the air. “you brought him up first!”

“no.”

“fine.”

oh, they’re not going to eat at her favourite restaurant, are they? logan furrows his eyebrows as he’s led forward by alex and he increasingly gets more nervous as they get closer.

spending this much time away from her has made her miss her so much. he’s almost afraid that it might really be the end of their friendship at all.

he’s never eaten here without her. he acts annoyed all the time when she forces him to try a new dish every visit while she has the luxury of sticking to her comfort food, but truthfully, he finds himself searching for her voice in the silence.

can he really have a meal without her at her favourite restaurant? surely not. yet he follows alex inside without another word. he nervously looks around, finding remnants of all the meals he’s had with her here.

he sees george in the far corner of the restaurant, lifting his arm to wave at logan with a small grin. alex abruptly stops walking that makes logan halt before he can run into his back.

the expression on alex’s face is something logan has only seen a couple of times on the older guy. the thai sucks in a deep breath and holds his hands up in the air, “don’t be mad.”

logan raises an eyebrow. “why would i be mad?” he tilts his head as he tries to come up with a reason that assumption would come up. “it’s just a restaurant, i can eat here without rocky.”

“yeah,” alex nods with his lips pressed together. “that’s the thing.”

just then, a shrill and disgusted ‘what’ throws the relaxing aura of the restaurant off.

he knows that voice anywhere. he swears he is haunted by that scream in his sleep when he’s done something he shouldn’t have and is trying to keep a secret.

a head pops out of the plants in the divider. she turns her head and finds logan, standing in the middle of the restaurant just as shell-shocked.

so to hell with their argument, right? he should just apologise and get it done and over with then he can get his best friend back. and all will be right in the world.

logan swears that her gaze softened when she saw him standing there. he has to reason out with himself not to run over and pull her into the tightest hug he’s ever trapped her in. a lot has happened in the past week, and every time he thinks of reaching out, he hesitates.

in hindsight, why does he hesitate? this is literally his best friend in the whole world.

and she swears she will jump over this damned divider to get to logan. should she punch him or jump into his arms for a hug? this might be the longest she hasn’t seen the boy and the feeling of familiarity washes over her in relief.

“logan,” she says his name in a soft and airy sigh. the corners of her lips curl into a small smile as her shoulders drop from their tense position. “hi.”

“hi.”

his heart starts beating faster when she pushes past george to get out of the booth. alex jogs to where george stands, cozying up next to his best friend as they watch the scene unfold. they’ve never tried to parent-trap anyone into reconciliation before. this is a first and if they succeed, they would never shut up about it.

she walks over to him, smile still intact with her back straight. she stops right in front of him and her hands clasped in front of her.

her smile grows and she takes another breath. she can’t seem to find the right words to say to him now that he’s finally in front of her. “hi.”

logan grins, “it’s nice to finally see you again. i missed you.”

“i missed you too.” she presses her lips together and glances down at her feet momentarily. she raises her gaze again.

when george had finally told her logan was joining them for lunch, a million things ran through her mind. half of her thoughts wanted to start fighting all over again but the latter just wanted to sit down in silence and make up for all of the time they’d lost.

“did we really get ambushed by alex and george?” she snorts softly, looking over her shoulder where they stand with one another, staring intensely at them.

logan grins with a small nod. “i’m surprised they pulled it off, really.”

silence looms over them once again — the implications of the crash threatens another fight. logan’s heart starts beating faster as he remembers again why exactly he’s very persistent on getting an apology. just an apology, that’s all he’s asking for.

there is simply so much more to it than just the younger girl putting her pride aside over the crash. sure, whatever, he can come out and admit that it was ultimately because of a mistake from him on the track. what he can’t accept is the girl's unwillingness to initiate reconciliation.

does she truly care so little for him to be a part of his life?

“let’s go and get lunch,” she says, beckoning him forward to where alex and george are. she takes a couple of steps away. “i was really sad at the thought of eating here without you.”

“is that all you have to say?” logan raises an eyebrow. he stays planted where he stands. she whirls around in confusion. “we haven’t talked the longest in our lives and you’re just going to invite me to the table and act like we didn’t just have a fight?”

she presses his lips together and clenches her jaw. “if anything, you’re the one ignoring it — you caused the crash, remember?”

logan scoffs. how shallow. “oh, get over the crash already! you seriously don’t even see why this entire thing is an issue? are you seriously so stupid?”

“we were so close,” george mutters in a soft sigh. “why are they stupid?”

“i wish i knew.” alex purses his lips together before he steps away from the table. he clasps his hands together and steps in between the two, just as she took a step forward to answer logan. he holds his arms out to her to keep her distance from logan. “okay, i see it’s still too soon.”

“it wouldn’t be too soon if she could just realise how insensitive she’s being!” logan scoffs softly, pointing an accusatory finger at the girl. he’s fully aware of the eyes watching them in the restaurant. “i know racing is everything to you, but i swear if you keep acting like this, you’re going to lose every single person you love.”

she scoffs, taking a step back. her eyes start to glisten, making logan start to feel bad. “of course, it’s everything to me, i dedicated my entire life to get where i am.”

“yeah, so much so that you’re willing to burn bridges to stay where you are.” logan turns on his heel. “i will have lunch at home instead, alex. thanks for inviting me out.”

“if you missed her and she missed you, what’s the problem?” oscar turns the seat around to face logan. “good on alex and george for trying to get you guys back together while i was gone. i really thought all this would blow over by now.”

logan shrugs. he turns his phone over and over on his stomach, swaying back and forth. “you don’t understand. she’s changed.”

“you keep saying that, mate,” oscar sighs tiredly. he throws himself back into his seat. “i still don’t know what you mean.”

logan feels a little silly. saying it out loud suddenly feels so superficial and overtly sensitive. “it’s stupid.”

“well, if you’re letting this fight drag out this long, there has to be a reason behind it.” oscar smiles slightly and nods at him, truly curious as to why all of this has blown so out of proportion. “what is it?”

“when we crashed, we both got out of the car,” logan starts slowly, nitpicking his choice of words for the fear of sounding a little too unreasonable, “she never asked me if i was okay. it was a pretty nasty crash for both of us.”

that’s it, really. that’s his only problem with it — she had never asked, not once, if he was okay. she’d just started getting angry, which was understandable, but it never really hit him why he was feeling so sad until he started getting examined for his injuries a while later. he’s personally curious if she was feeling better, but she still hadn’t asked him yet.

which kind of sucks because he’s starting to feel like he cares more for her than she does for him.

“oh, i see.” oscar sits up. “okay, i totally get it. i’ll speak with her.”

logan shakes his head, “you don’t have to. if she doesn’t realise it on her own, what does it really say about her, you know?”

“i know, but i’ll try talking to her first.”

so oscar doesn’t exactly talk to her himself. truth is he can’t bring himself to be the one to speak with her about logan; he just knows he can’t pick a side. whatever she says, he’ll be trying to defend both sides and they’ll never get anywhere with it.

so, he asked if sebastian would speak with her. even then, sebastian hadn’t dared to speak with her about this. he would be able to have conversations with her about anything except this.

he just knows what she would throw back in his face so he already knew immediately that he shouldn’t be the one to.

so he went to the next best pairing who could potentially fix it.

the young girl gapes up at the duo towering over her as she sinks into the couch. she’s suddenly felt so small, a contrast to her initial bratty attitude from being interrupted from her lunch.

“what are you guys doing here?” she blinks. “why are you even together here?”

“what do you mean?” nico tilts his head. “don’t you like me? i thought you liked me? you said you like my presence.”

she furrows her eyebrows. none of this makes sense unless there’s something she’s failed to connect. “i do, but like… why are you here in front of me?”

“we just wanna talk,” lewis grins, folding his arms over his chest. “we need to talk to you.”

her confusion slowly contorts into something of suspicion. a scowl carves her lips as her eyes narrow into a glare. “seb sent you, didn’t he? this is about logan?”

“i told you she’s smarter than to fall for the excuse that we’re here just to spend time with her,” nico points out, turning to lewis. “she’s a degree holder, of course, she will see right through us.”

“and i said it doesn’t matter if she does. we just need to get the message across,” lewis rambles at nico before he turns to the girl. “i’ll keep it simple.”

she looks up, uninterested, sinking back into the couch with her arms folded over her chest. “okay. try and change my mind.”

“is logan your best friend or not?”

she presses her lips together. “yes, he is. or at least he used to be.”

“do you love him or not?”

she doesn’t answer. what does he mean by that? is there an agenda to this that she hadn’t anticipated for? is she really that obvious?

“what does that mean?” nico whispers. “you hate him or what?”

lewis rolls his eyes. “as a best friend. i don’t care if you’re in love with him, rocky. that’s not what we’re here for.”

she looks away momentarily. “yes, i love him as a best friend. what the hell does that have to do with anything? i’m sure he loves me too yet he doesn’t want to apologise.”

“is this racing thing seriously so much more important than keeping your best friend in your life, though?” nico smiles. hopefully, that gets through to her.

she scowls, “i don’t know — you tell me.”

“rocky.”

“it’s a genuine question, lewis.”

“this isn’t about us.”

“it can be if you want.”

“stop diverting!” nico yelps. “listen, okay, if you don’t fix this, you’ll need to live with yourself losing your best friend over one crash! not just for the time being, rocky, forever! for the rest of your life! can you really live with that?”

“maybe.”

“take me seriously!” nico stomps a foot on the ground. “he’s not going to leave the grid. can you really live coming into the paddocks on weekends all by yourself? no logan to carry your bags, no logan to giggle with when you want to, no logan to have meals with, no logan to come home to in your shared apartment with your pets. really?”

she sucks in a deep and shaky breath. she can’t. she really can’t see living the rest of her life out without logan around to annoy and cry to.

the past couple of days holding out from speaking to logan has been so difficult but can’t really get herself to admit to it. she can’t see herself winning any more races in the season and not leaving to celebrate with him, or flying back after race weekends to relax in their apartment with a bottle of wine.

lewis huffs. “you maybe need to be the one to swallow your pride if you don’t want to lose this friendship.”

“and i heard from the grapevine that you still haven’t ask logan if he’s okay.” nico looks away and innocently tries looking around the room to avoid her gaze. “his crash was pretty bad, you know. he had a concussion too.”

“did he?” she asks, her tone a little more gentle and her voice softer. “is he okay now?”

lewis shrugs. “go and ask him yourself.”

she stands up and brushes her pants. “you’re right. get out of my way, i’m going to apologise to my best friend.”

she pushes past both of the older men and grabs her car keys from the table by the door. she halts right before she makes it out of the room and turns. “thank you. i really appreciate this. i can’t imagine what it took you guys to get together just to put some sense into my head.”

she steps out. “maybe when logan and i make up, i could take some sense into you!”

logan expected it to come in the form of a short phone call, maybe a long text message. not for her to show back up at their apartment with takeout in her hands and a small grin.

“what?”

“can i come in?” she grins hopefully, peeking into the apartment. “i brought us takeout from our favourite place.”

logan steps aside and opens the door wider. “why are you asking me for permission? this is your apartment.”

“i know,” she sighs as she steps in to take off her shoes.

logan closes the door behind her and he puts his hands into his pockets. it’s still very nice to see her and he’s genuinely missed her more than ever.

distance makes the heart grow fonder or something like that.

he waits for her to start up a conversation. when they stand in silence, him staring at her back as she slowly takes off her jacket, he attempts to walk past her. he was watching a movie with stubby after all.

“how are you feeling?” she suddenly asks, stopping logan right behind her in the very cramp entryway into their apartment. she stands up straighter and turns around, attempting to make a step back when she realises their proximity. “i heard you got a concussion too.”

he can’t help but smile slightly. so that’s what she’s here for.

finally.

“i’m feeling alright. just whiplash and muscle pain, nothing new,” he admits softly. “what about you?”

she grins. “i’m feeling okay,” she mutters. “i’m sorry i didn’t ask if you were okay. you must have felt like i didn’t care about you at all.”

“you didn’t get your podium because of me. i’m sorry too,” logan puts a hand on her shoulder and shakes her slightly, “it was in the heat of the moment. sucks that it took you this long to realise though.”

“are we best friends again? i got us food.” she raises the bag of takeout with a giggle and a feeling of warmth in her chest. “we didn’t get to eat the other day, after all.”

“of course, you’re my best friend, you idiot.” logan throws an arm over her shoulders as they walk into the apartment. he ruffles her hair from the top of her head and smacks it gently. “let’s not fight about something like that ever again.”

“well, don’t crash into me again when i’m fighting for a podium.”

“seriously?”

“okay, i’m sorry. i’ll make that joke again in 3 weeks maybe.”

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @vellicora @ironmaiden1313 @elliegrey2803 @33-81 @darleneslane @nikfigueiredo @happy-nico @namgification @localwhoore @c-losur3 @notawc @sadg3 @kazuha-pista-badam @mellowarcadefun @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @woozarts @meadhbhcavanagh @2bormaybenot @a-disturbing-self-reflection @mclarengf @xoscar03 @nomie-11 @green-thots @tinyhrry @iwilleatyourgod @inejismywife @love4lando @louvrepool

[muletia]

So. I just read the whole ‘optimus gets minified’ and I have to ask...

May I request one for Pedraking?🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇

— 🩷

𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐥. 𝟐 ༘⋆✿

predaking, ratchet, smokescreen ↳ all are obsessed with you btw

word count: 1300

you used the word “request” and I am currently not accepting them, but!! I love this concept and couldn’t resist adding two other characters…

Oh, no, he absolutely hates it

Predaking has no idea how this even happened. He went into recharge curled protectively around you, shielding you from the world and sharing his warmth, only to wake up small, confused, and utterly incapable of performing the one task his entire existence revolves around: protecting you

So how is he supposed to stay calm? How is he supposed to keep his cool when he’s defenseless? His strength, height, and power — all his greatest assets — have been stripped away. Without them, he can’t be a worthy mate for you. He wouldn’t dare even call himself that anymore. You don’t need a plushie; you need a strong partner, ready to push away any intruder and eliminate anyone who so much as approaches your love nest. In this form, he can’t offer you any of that. He can’t fulfill a single promise he made to you, which leaves him caught between fury and a crushing sense of inadequacy

But why aren’t you panicking? You look surprised, sure, but not terrified, even though you should be! You’re currently defenseless! What if someone decides to steal you away from him? And why are you cooing like he’s a sparkling and reaching out toward him? Oh, you want to pet him...

He won’t make it easy. Startled by your actions, he’ll jump away from you, insisting he doesn’t need your affection right now and that you should hold off until you figure out a solution to this mess.

But he has to stay by your side. He has to protect you, even in this form. He has to be braver, fiercer, compensating for his lost size with sheer determination. No, he won’t leave you for even a second. He’ll protect you with his entire body if necessary

So he returns to you and tries to block the entrance to your love nest, though at his current size, it’s far from impressive. Standing with his back to you, hawk-eyed and focused on the doorway, he doesn’t notice your hand snaking toward his helm. When it rests there and starts stroking, he freezes

Predaking will still try to resist. He’ll growl and brush off your affections, but with every stroke of your hand, his defiance melts away. Boldness gives way to an overwhelming need to be close to you, and soon there’s nothing left of it as he wags his tail, eagerly demanding more pets

It’ll take a long time before he remembers that he’s supposed to protect you 24/7, fully content to bask in your attention and curl up on your lap. Even your constant comments about how sweet and adorable he is stop bothering him surprisingly fast

Still, he will never accept being miniature. Being spoiled by you is undeniably delightful, but Predaking needs absolute certainty that he can defend you from hostile bots. He’ll keep searching for a way to undo this, but until then, you can enjoy your giant, adorable lap dog <3

If Predaking hates his situation, Ratchet downright loathes it

You’ve never heard so much grumpy complaining as during the size-change incident

How can humans live like this? It’s uncomfortable, impractical, weak. You can’t reach anything, the world feels so enormous. Anyone could step on you (payback for his own words, I guess), and you’re so fragile and delicate

And then there’s your behavior toward him. He doesn’t want to be treated like a sparkling. He doesn’t want your cooing and constant repetition of how adorable he is and how much you want to smother his entire faceplate with kisses (although, deep down in his spark, that’s the one thing he truly craves, as betrayed by a subtle blue blush)

He doesn’t know when you got it into your head that he needs your constant care. He can handle himself and intends to work tirelessly until he finds a way to undo this farce. Sure, he’s five times smaller, but that doesn’t mean he’s lost all his competence. He doesn’t need a nanny — especially one who keeps interrupting his work with comments about how adorable he is

But Ratchet is also a hypocrite because, truthfully, he does need you. The sudden shift in perspective is terrifying. Giants become behemoths; they loom over him, threatening to crush him. It’s easy to feel microscopic and overwhelmed, not hard to spiral into panic and uncertainty as wild thoughts conjure up visions of being stepped on. In those moments, Ratchet needs you by his side. He needs to grab onto the hem of your shirt, to feel that you’re there, that everything is okay. You won’t leave him or let anything harm him

Of course, once the fear subsides and Ratchet feels comfortable again, he reverts to his independent and grumpy self, but he’ll stop trying to push you away. He’ll appreciate your presence, even if he never really wanted you to leave him in the first place

The constant work will exhaust him quickly, especially in such a small and frail form, and then he’ll instinctively seek you out. He’ll choose the perfect moment when no one else is in the base, find you on the couch, and climb onto you, ignoring all your questions and comments. He’s tired, doesn’t know how to fix this, and needs you. Let him at least have a few kliks of napping in arms that surround him with safety

You can even kiss his forehead. After all, it’s only fair to repay all the kisses you’ve received from him, so he can feel for himself just how wonderful they are <3

Oh, and imagine a mini jealous Ratchet. He doesn’t like that you’re spending so much time talking to some young bot when you were supposed to be helping him, so he feels the need to take action and drag you away. But he’s so tiny and not at all intimidating that his “rival” can’t take him seriously... especially when he tugs at your clothes like a grumpy sparkling

Oh, so now he can be with you 24/7? Fantastic!

This entire situation is incredibly convenient for him. Sure, at first, he was a bit terrified and downcast that he couldn’t be the perfect partner for you, but he quickly discovered countless benefits to being minified

First and foremost, he gets to accompany you everywhere. He doesn’t leave your side, becoming your shadow. Even at his normal height, he tried to spend every free moment with you, but as a mini version, he’s with you always

Bathroom breaks? Smokescreen follows you, clutching onto the hem of your shirt (you’ll need to explain to him that just because he can fit in there with you doesn’t mean he should)

Feeling like stretching your legs after sitting too long and showering him with affection? He toddles after you, mimicking your every move

Taking a stroll around the base? Definitely not alone.

He’ll drain your energy before evening comes. Since he’s shrunk down to the size of a sparkling, why not act like one to get what he wants?

Need a break from his constant presence and his unique talent for never shutting up? Well, you’re going to have a huge problem because simply interrupting a cuddling session already spells trouble. Trying to untangle yourself from his limbs while avoiding sharp edges of his armor, Smokescreen sprawls across your torso, pinning you to the couch. And even when small, he’s shockingly heavy, effectively trapping you in place. Now you can continue your cuddling and smooching session

He won’t feel a shred of shame or hesitation in using his charm, either. He knows perfectly well that you find him adorable, so he’ll use his big, puppy-like optics to manipulate you to his advantage — for example, to get another round of being carried in your arms

But the most affectionately unbearable he gets is when you need to leave the base. You can’t leave him alone! What if someone steps on him? Or he gets lost in the hangar? You have to stay by his side (forever) at least until Ratchet can fix him. Smokescreen has no qualms about clinging to your leg if it means keeping you near. And no force will pry him off until you say you’ll stay the night <3

[emsdevs]

saw you wanted luke hughes reqs, so ‼️

him coming back to your apartment after a game and just yapping to you because he needs to be close to feel better about how it went, but will never explicitly tell you that it helps him. you're just doing miscellaneous tasks, and he eventually starts whining about it, wanting to ay down and get head scratches/cuddles from you

(if this makes no sense, pretend i was never here 😭)

a/n: so so so sorry for the wait nonnie! i hope you still like it! i did in fact get carried away and wrote 1.6k words of mostly dialogue. is this a crack fic? possibly idk. anyway this was very much a lot of fun and my beautiful wonderful wife kirby helped inspire me

masterlist

Not-So-Silent Treatment

The Devils had an early game today, and although it was a Saturday, you had to this morning and couldn’t make it. That leads you to where you are now, finally home and in comfy clothes, cleaning as a way to pass the time until Luke gets home. Before you know it, you hear someone turn down the music you previously had blasting, whipping around to see who the intruder was after not hearing the door. When you turn, you’re met with your boyfriend, Luke, leaning against the doorway with a smirk on his face. He watched as you jumped, slapping your hand over your heart, hoping to somehow calm it down.

“You gotta turn the music down when you’re home alone, babe. What if I was a serial killer?” the smirk he’s still wearing tells you he’s not serious.

“Doesn’t mean you have to give me a heart attack,” you roll your eyes, walking over to give him a quick kiss. “How was the game, Lukey?”

“Oh my god. I have so much to tell you.”

“Yay! I’m gonna finish up the cleaning while you talk, okay?” you give him one last kiss before returning to your task of doing the dishes. In the background, you could hear Luke beginning his story of a crazy penalty that happened halfway through the first period. His favorite thing to do was talk. You weren’t sure why he likes to talk so much or how he always has so much to say, but it’s become sort of comforting to you. Instead of having some random song or podcast playing while you did something, you could have your boyfriend telling you everything about nothing. You suppose it’s so comforting because you enjoy hearing his voice, and it’s a nice reminder of the fact that he’s with you, even if you’re just talking on the phone while he’s on a roadie. Either way, no one will ever hear you complaining about your boyfriend’s talking habits.

Luke, on the other hand, knows exactly why he loves to talk so much. He enjoys talking in general, but when he talks to you, it’s just as comforting for him as it is for you. It’s a way for him to decompress after a long day, lay everything out, and get it off his chest. Then, he never has to think about it again. His favorite part of his day is talking to you, so he’s going to soak it up every chance he gets. Also, Luke is aware that he’s a clingy boyfriend. He’s not scared to admit that. Talking your ear off is just another way for him to feel close to you. It especially helps when he’s gone on roadies and can’t see you face-to-face. 

By the time you finish cleaning your apartment, Luke is on story number five. This one happened an hour or two before the game while the boys were messing around in the hallways, something about Luke almost getting taken out by a soccer ball while he was doing his pre-game run. You’re almost finished folding your last load of laundry when Luke starts whining behind you. 

“Baby, when are you gonna be done? You’ve been cleaning for hours,” he drags out half the words in the sentence.

“Luke, you’ve only been here one hour? Just let me finish this then I’ll come sit with you, okay?”

“Whatever,” there’s no real bite to his tone, and you know he’s just being dramatic. You finish up the last bit of your cleaning about twenty minutes later, not without some more whining on Luke’s end. Soon, you’re lying down on the couch, watching as Luke makes himself comfortable on top of you. He grunts a little bit when you don’t move, and you know that’s his way of asking you to run your fingers through his hair.

He lets out a big sigh before starting again, “So anyway…” You aren’t sure exactly how long you lay there with him, listening to him talk while you played with his hair. Soon, though, the sun has set, and you’re attempting to hold back yawns. “So Curtis decided to- oh? Are you sleepy, baby? We can go to bed.”

“Yeah, let's go to bed, hun,” the two of you make your way to your bedroom, immediately lying down and getting comfortable. Luke talked the whole way there. As you’re getting comfortable, you catch a glimpse of the time on your alarm clock. “Luke, baby, it’s after midnight… can you maybe finish your story in the morning?”

“Yeah… yeah, babe, don’t worry about it. Just don’t be mad when I forget important details,” he mumbles the last sentence before letting go of you and rolling over so that his back is facing you.

“Luke. Don’t pout. I’m just sleepy, okay?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not pouting,” you can feel him rolling his eyes even though you can’t see his face. “I’m just saying. You know I don’t remember stuff well after I’ve slept on it. All those important details will probably be gone from my mind. Oh well.” You sigh, deciding to let him pout in favor of getting some sleep. A few minutes later, he speaks up again, “Ya know, I thought you liked hearing me talk.” After getting no response, he tries again, “Dad always told me I’d never find a wife if I didn’t learn how to shut up sometimes. I guess he was right,” he let out a big sigh in between the two sentences. It goes on for you don’t even know how long after that.

“Jack and Quinn used to never let me talk. I’m starting to think you’re just like them.”

“I thought I was dating my best friend. Turns out you actually hate me.”

“There was a really funny part too. I guess you don’t want me to do my favorite thing. Make you laugh. I love your laugh, but you obviously don’t care.”

“I guess I just love you more than you love me. I would do anything for you, baby, even ruin my sleep schedule. Unlike some people.”

“I would never name names but some people like to tell me they love to hear me talk but they really only mean they like it when it’s convenient for them.”

That’s when the fake waterworks set in. Luke is a horrible fake cryer, but that doesn’t stop him. He’s slapping his hand over his mouth, shaking his shoulders, letting out the most unbelievable “boo hoo” you’ve ever heard. When he sees it’s not working, he changes his tactic again.

“Aren’t you gonna apologize? You made me cry!”

“It’s 2:00 AM, and you made me cry. Are you happy with yourself? This is the kind of relationship you want? The kind of relationship where I have to cry myself to sleep?”

“I bet if we got into an argument right now, you wouldn’t even let me plead my case. Because then I would be talking, and apparently, you don’t like that anymore.”

At this point, you know you’re not sleeping any time soon, so you let yourself answer, “Luke, you’ve been talking for the past six hours.”

He’s quick with his reply, “See! I just can’t do anything right.”

“Ya know, you always call me your baby, but is this what you would do to a baby? Let them cry themselves to sleep?”

“Yeah, Luke, it’s called self-soothing. It’s actually a really common soothing method these days.”

“Torture method, more like. Poor kids. Is this what you’re gonna do to our kids? Tell them to shut up because you aren’t in the mood for them to express their thoughts and feelings?”

“Luke, we’re both freshly twenty-one, and we aren’t having kids any time soon?”

“Oh so now you don’t see a future with me? I guess I should return the ring in my sock drawer then, huh?”

“You have a ring?” you nearly shout, shocked at his revelation.

“Nah, I just wanted you to feel bad.” You quiet down after that, relieved that you won’t have to turn him down because you’re not ready, not that he isn’t the one you want to marry. He very much is, just not right this second. The exhaustion is setting in, so you don’t say much for a while. Apparently, that makes Luke really nervous. “I’m so sorry, baby. You know I was just playing, right? I’ll buy you a ring one day. I’ll do all the research. I’ll even stalk your Pinterest if I have to. I’ll buy you the perfect ring. Then I’ll give you the perfect wedding. Then we can have the perfect kids… Do you hate me now?” You can hear how sad he is, knowing he’s probably tired, and it’s probably heightening his emotions and dramatics.

“I don’t hate you, Lukey. I could never. I’m just sleepy, baby. I need to sleep, and I think you do too. Besides, I don’t wanna get married right now anyway.”

“Oh, so you don’t wanna marry me?” it was his turn to almost shout, his dramatic side getting the better of him in his sleepy state.

Eventually, you manage to wrangle him into laying his head on your chest so you can softly drag your fingers through his curls just the way he likes. Soon, it gets him asleep, just like you knew it would. Finally, you’re able to get some much-needed sleep as well. The next morning you hear it from Luke. He won’t shut up about how he has to finish his story but can’t remember half of it because you made him sleep. He loves to get on your nerves, but you wouldn’t trade a single moment with your favorite drama queen.

taglist: @heartsforjh @alex-wotton @devilinpradaheels @juxmi @macklin-celebrini-71 @puckmedude @one-sweet-gubler

join the taglist

[phoenixrisingastro]

Common Serial Killer Placements: When the Stars Turn Dark 🌑🔪

Astrology reflects the full spectrum of human nature—the light and the shadow. While most charts speak to love, growth, and potential, some reveal darker paths, paths carved out by pain, obsession, and destruction. What makes someone cross the line? Let’s delve into the sinister placements that show up in the charts of some of the world’s most infamous figures.

Pluto in Harsh Aspects: The Lord of Death and Obsession ☠️

Pluto doesn’t just rule transformation—it’s the underworld. Hard aspects between Pluto and personal planets like the Moon, Mercury, or Venus create an internal war between desire and destruction. These people are often consumed by power struggles, deep obsessions, and the need to control. If left unchecked, their hunger for dominance can become all-consuming, leading to dark, dangerous extremes.

Mars Square or Opposite Pluto: Violence in the Veins 💥

Mars is your drive, your raw physical energy—and when it clashes with Pluto, it can explode in terrifying ways. This aspect fuels intense rage, suppressed anger, and a desire to dominate through force. It's the kind of energy that burns bridges and scorches anything in its path, leaving devastation behind. In the charts of serial killers, this aspect screams of unchecked aggression, often masked beneath a calm exterior.

Moon Square Neptune: The Illusion of Innocence 🌫️

Moon-Neptune aspects blur the lines between reality and fantasy. Squares here can indicate someone who lives in a world of their own making—often one that’s steeped in delusion. These individuals may appear charming, even sweet, but their inner emotional world is chaotic and ungrounded. They are masters of deception, wearing masks so convincing that even they start to believe the lies.

Venus in Scorpio or the 8th House: A Love That Consumes 🩸

Venus governs love and attraction, but in Scorpio or the 8th house, it takes on a darker, more possessive tone. These placements crave intimacy that borders on obsession, a connection so deep it becomes destructive. In some cases, the desire to merge fully with another can manifest as control, manipulation, or even violence.

Saturn in the 12th House: Isolation and Hidden Guilt 🪐

The 12th house is the house of secrets, and when Saturn resides here, it creates an individual burdened by inner demons. There’s a sense of isolation, guilt, and repression that festers over time. In extreme cases, this placement can lead to a cold detachment from emotion, making it easier to rationalize the unspeakable.

Chiron in the 4th House: Wounds That Never Heal ⚰️

Chiron represents deep, often unbearable pain, and in the 4th house of home and childhood, it speaks to early wounds that shape the psyche. For some, these wounds become motivators for growth and healing. For others, they rot, turning into resentment and rage that eventually erupt. Many infamous figures with this placement experienced trauma at home that warped their sense of self and humanity.

Moon-Pluto Aspects: Emotional Turmoil on Steroids 🌋

When the Moon (emotions) and Pluto (power) clash, the result is volcanic. These individuals feel everything too much and often struggle with intense emotional reactions that spiral out of control. In some charts, this aspect shows someone deeply aware of their pain but unable to escape it—leading to destructive behaviors toward themselves and others.

South Node in the 8th House: Karma and the Dark Side of Desire 🔗

The South Node represents past life patterns, and in the 8th house, it hints at unresolved karmic themes of power, control, and taboo subjects. These individuals may feel inexplicably drawn to the shadow side of life—whether that’s through fascination with death, crime, or forbidden pleasures. Without conscious effort, they can get trapped in destructive cycles.

Final Thoughts: The Stars Are Not an Excuse, But They Are a Blueprint

It’s important to remember that astrology doesn’t make anyone do anything. These placements don’t create monsters—but they do show where the potential for darkness lies. In the end, it’s about choice. Do you embrace the shadow and channel it into growth, or let it consume you?

[mylovesstuffs]

Entry #02

24.01.2025 - 02:52

The fact that so many people here feel self-conscious and insecure about their smiles breaks my heart. It’s disheartening, to say the least. I know I’m here trying to comfort you all, but reading your responses makes me feel a little lighter though I know it’s cruel of me to admit. I usually don’t like to be vulnerable, not online and definitely not in public, but for your sake, and because I understand how it feels, I’ll share why I feel that way.

It’s because I’m insecure too.

To the point where COVID was a relief for me because wearing masks in public became normalized. From 2020 to 2025, I’ve been wearing a mask every single day and I'm not exaggerating.

To the point where my friends unmask me once every two months (because I don't unmask every time they want) just so they don’t forget what I look like.

To the point where I only have 12 unmasked photos of myself as a teenager.

To the point where I’ve become known as “the mask girl.”

To the point where people shame me for wearing a mask indoors and outdoors.

To the point where I’m often targeted or pressured by others to unmask myself.

To the point where my juniors have never even seen my face.

But what really hit me is realizing so many of you feel insecure about your smiles. I thought I was alone in this. For me, it’s my smile too. It’s something I’ve struggled with for as long as I can remember. It surprises me because, to me, I’ve never seen a bad smile in my entire life. Not one. Truly. People even make fun of me for finding everyone attractive and beautiful, but I do! Everyone is unique in their own way. I genuinely think everyone is unique and beautiful. What you see in the mirror isn’t what others see. People see you differently than you see yourself, they see beauty where you might not. Yet here I am, telling you this, even though I can’t seem to believe it about myself or apply it in my life. I hate my smile. I hate it to the point that I avoid it entirely. And it hurts even more because my own father has been the one to point it out. My family knows how sensitive I am about it, and they go out of their way to avoid making me feel worse. But my father doesn’t realize this. He’s told me outright several times not to smile or laugh with my teeth showing (as if I could laugh any other way).

It broke me. To know that everyone around me understood that except him. To him, it’s not a big deal. To him, he's oblivious. Though I know he has a bit of a narcissistic personality but it's not that bad. Laughing and smiling are involuntary, natural expressions of joy or amusement—things that happen without much thought. So to tell me not to smile or laugh feels deeply unfair, even cruel, when you think about it. I’ve been made to feel self-conscious about even being happy. But at the same time, I know he isn’t intentionally trying to hurt me. He’s just oblivious to how deeply his words affect me. And that’s the tricky part, isn’t it? People often don’t realize how their comments especially about something as personal as physical appearance can linger. The logical side of me knows he doesn’t mean harm. But the emotional side of me can’t help but feel the weight of those words. It’s a reminder that even the people closest to us, the ones we expect to understand us best, can sometimes miss the mark entirely.

So yeah, I guess that’s why I felt a strange sense of comfort knowing that others feel this way too. It’s not something we can always control, but maybe it’s something we can learn to embrace. And from the bottom of my heart, I know that if SEVENTEEN ever knew about this, they’d be the first to hug us. As their fans, their friends, or someone even closer to them, they’d want us to know how special we are. How beautiful we are. They’d remind us that our smiles—the ones we hate—are the ones that light up their world. Insecurities often feel like a big deal to us, even if others might think they're trivial or wonder why we're bothered by them. But the truth is, insecurities are deeply personal and sensitive, and because of that, we should really be kind and understanding toward one another.

You’re not alone. And you are so, so much more beautiful than you think.

OT13 reacting to their s/o who loves smiles but feels insecure about showing their teeth

Request: Halooo I am the same anon that req wisdom tooth drabble!!! So can I req for svt ot13 s/o that love smile but never showed their teeth cause they're insecure with it?? I do have an open bite and I do be jealous w ppl that can smile with their normal teeth 🥲🥲 Also can I be ur ⭐️ anon??

A/N: This is dedicated to all kinds of smiles—big, small, toothy, closed, crooked, or perfectly aligned. It’s easy to compare ourselves to others, especially when society has such rigid standards for something as personal as a smile. But the truth is, the world isn’t looking for perfect smiles; it’s looking for your smile—the one that lights up the people around you, the one that reflects your joy, and the one that makes you you. Whether you’re someone who shows off their teeth confidently or someone who keeps their smiles shy, you are absolutely radiant just the way you are. I hope this reaction brings you warmth, and maybe even a little courage to embrace your smile, because SEVENTEEN and I think it’s the best one there is. Thank you for reading, and remember: your smile is a gift, not just to you but to everyone lucky enough to see it! 💛

I definitely encourage you to read everyone's part, especially Minghao's.

Seungcheol: Cheol would notice right away how you always smile with your lips closed. He’d encourage you without pushing too hard, so you’d catch him saying things like, “I love it when you smile—it’s my favorite thing about you.” And when you explain why you’re self-conscious, his protective mode kicks in. In his mind, you’re perfect exactly as you are. He’d make a habit of kissing your forehead after every smile, as if to say, Thank you for sharing this with me. Warm, comforting, and always your biggest cheerleader.

Jeonghan: Jeonghan is a tease—but in the sweetest way possible. He’d catch you hiding your teeth and tease you playfully about how even your shy smile could start a fan club. But deep down, he’d be the FIRST to remind you that nobody’s smile is ‘wrong’. He’d even come up with ridiculous scenarios like, “If anyone says anything about your teeth, I’ll report them to Smile Security.” Sure, it’s dramatic, but somehow it’s comforting. With him, you’d slowly start to see your smile through his eyes: bright, genuine, and absolutely worth showing off.

Joshua: Shua’s the ‘patient and reassuring’ type. He’d never rush you into anything but would always make it known how much he loves your smile—whether or not it shows your teeth. He’d probably sit with you one evening and casually mention how he used to be insecure about something too, just to remind you that everyone has their struggles. The way he’d look at you every time you smiled? Pure love and admiration. Slowly but surely, you’d start feeling like, Maybe my smile isn’t so bad after all.

Jun: Junhui wouldn’t even let you finish explaining your insecurity before he’d start showering you with compliments. He’d be so sweet and genuine about it too, like, “What? But your smile is so pretty! Have you seen yourself?” He’d probably find little ways to make you smile more, through goofy antics or heartfelt gestures. The best part? He’d never let you feel like you had to change—he loves your smile, whether it’s teeth-showing or not. And his genuine enthusiasm? It’s impossible not to feel a little brighter around him.

Hoshi: Hoshi would make it his personal mission to see your biggest, toothiest smile. He’s dramatic like that. He'd do the silliest things to make you laugh, like impersonating the other members or dancing in the weirdest ways (mind you he's performance team leader TT). When you finally let out a full smile, he’d stop mid-act and just stare. “Wow. That’s the one. That’s the smile that could light up a stadium.” And you’d know he’s not exaggerating (even though he’s Hoshi and exaggerates everything). It’s just how he loves—with his whole heart. I'm feeling soft :(

Wonwoo: He’d notice your insecurities but wouldn’t bring them up directly. Instead, would focus on making you comfortable and appreciated. He’d probably start complimenting you in subtle ways, like, “Your smile is really nice,” or “You look happiest when you smile.” Over time, his steady reassurance would make you feel less self-conscious. And when you finally smile without holding back, he’d just give you that soft, proud look, as if to say, See? I knew it was beautiful.

Woozi: Woozi would be a mix of logical and sweet about it. He’d listen to your reasons and then quietly debunk every single one of them, like, “Who said teeth have to be perfect to make a smile beautiful? That’s nonsense.” He’d focus more on how your smile makes him feel—happy, loved, and lucky to know you. And if you ever caught him sneaking a photo of you smiling? Just know it’s because he wants to remember how happy you looked in that moment.

Dokyeom: Oh boy, Seokmin would be all over this. He lives for smiles, especially yours. He’d probably start a whole campaign to make you feel better about it, complete with compliments, funny jokes, and random bursts of Look at that gorgeous smile! energy. You’d have no choice but to smile around him because he’s just that infectious. And when you finally let out a toothy grin, he’d gasp like, “I KNEW IT! YOU HAVE THE BEST SMILE IN THE WORLD!” Dramatic? Yes. Effective? Absolutely.

Mingyu: Kim Mingyu, the man he is, would be the type to go above and beyond to make you feel good about your smile. He’d start by complimenting you constantly and taking candid photos where you look natural and happy. Then, he’d show them to you like, “Look at this—your smile could cure my bad days.” He’d probably even bring it up to the members like, “Isn’t her smile the best thing ever?” And when you roll your eyes at him, he’d just grin and say, “See? Even your eyeroll smile is perfect.” AHHGHTCGTCGCFFCCT

Minghao: Hao would be supportive and no-nonsense. He’d listen to your insecurities, acknowledge your feelings, and then remind you that nobody’s perfect. “Imperfections make us human,” he’d say, and it would somehow hit deeper than you expected. He’d probably encourage you to focus on how your smile feels rather than how it looks, and over time, his grounded perspective would help you see your smile in a whole new light. With him (with others too), you’d start to appreciate the beauty in being uniquely you.

Seungkwan: Seungkwan would be the loudest advocate for your smile. “Are you kidding me!” He’d probably start hyping you up every time you smiled, to the point where it becomes impossible not to feel confident about it. And if anyone dared to say something negative about your teeth? Oh, he’d drag them to filth, no hesitation I'm telling you. With Seungkwan in your corner, you’d never have to doubt your smile again.

Vernon: He would be ridiculously sweet. He’d casually drop comments like, “Your smile’s cool,” and then act like it’s no big deal—when really, he’s melting inside every time he sees it. He’d never pressure you to show your teeth but would secretly be over the moon whenever you did. And the way he’d look at you in those moments? Pure adoration. Honestly, he’d make you feel like the coolest person in the world, open bite or not.

Dino: Chan would be all about boosting your confidence. He’d give you a pep talk about how unique smiles are the best smiles and how yours is his favorite thing about you. He’d hype you up so much that you’d almost feel like a celebrity. And when you finally smiled without holding back, he’d act like it’s the greatest thing he’s ever seen. “That’s it! That’s the smile that could rules my heart!” That’s just how much he cares.

[mikanotes]

heavenly way to,

hyunju x gn!reader

genre: angst comfort, established relationship. » warnings: death, blood, mentions of injuries, murder, firearms, canon divergence. » note: yes i’m back to writing for the series that basically started this blog. hello! i love her.

synopsis: Is sacrifice for your lover a gift to be grateful for, or a burden worth being cursed for? The thought grows heavy on your mind the longer you spend in the games.

“Why?”

Hyunju’s voice has never sounded so broken. She’s too astounded to even think of not letting her guard down, simply weak and vulnerable as she stares up at you. The shake in that one word, the sickening concern in her eyes— It almost makes you regret what just happened.

Almost.

“Because I care about you more than—”

“Nevermind…” she scoffs, eyes widening. She presses her lips together but it doesn’t stop the tremble of a sob waiting to escape her throat. Her gaze averts to a wall in the dormitory, silently putting a stop to whatever you were going to say.

You decide to give her space.

The bathrooms are empty, leaving you silence and space for thinking. You look at your reflection in the mirror, the blood on your face and neck. You did not kill anyone. You assured your safety. You did not kill someone. They were a problem. The thought repeats steadily in your mind as you turn on the faucet, letting water flow into your palms.

It’s as if you can see the overflowing blood on your hands, still. That player you fought to throw out of that room, the sight of the bullet shooting through their head once the door finally locked, the weight of their grip of the other the side of the handle loosening until a thud confirmed the end of a life. But they were in the spot she needed. You could not risk it. What if she had died? It was only right.

The blood washes off. The thought remains. You aren’t sure how long you spend staring at the mirror, barely even really looking at your reflection. You just know you’re asked to return to the dormitory, and that you go to bed, then the lights turn off.

You think Hyunju hates you.

You thought she would come to hate you here over trying to protect her, maybe. Now you realize, now that the blood is there, that she could simply hate you for taking away someone’s life— Even if indirectly. It makes sense to hate a now-murderer.

Yes.

Then, if she hates you, you’ll be able to sacrifice yourself for her sake if need be without wondering how well she’ll take the loss—

“Don’t just disappear.” A familiar soft voice speaks behind you. Hyunju’s arms circle around your waist and her head presses gently into your nape. She’s so warm. You almost forget your train of thoughts.

Once it comes back to you, your expression pulls into confusion. “Sorry,” you whisper, “I didn’t think you would mind.”

“Were you trying to give me space?”

“Yeah.”

She sighs, but hugs you tighter. “Because I was angry? Angry that you got yourself in so much unnecessary danger for my sake? Try making some sense.”

Your body relaxes into her hold before you even realize it, and soon, you’re turning over to look at her. She just seems a bit sad. Your hand slowly moves to her face and cradles her cheek, caressing the skin with care. “I pushed someone straight to their death and you’re telling me you were mad because I was in danger?”

She doesn’t respond, simply pursing her lips. A silent yeah. Exactly that.

“In danger? Me?”

“One second off and they could’ve switched you out of the room. And then I would have been alone with someone who practically killed you. And that would have been it. No more you at all,” she explains, and her voice begins shaking, “No more— I wouldn’t see your face anymore, wouldn’t have you with me, wouldn’t have the knowledge you’re there for me when life fucks me over— Think about it, come on.”

She’s trying so hard not to cry and stay quiet you wonder how much it must hurt. So you were wrong. It isn’t at all that person’s death that made her look at you this way. It’s somehow even worse.

You turn fully to return her embrace, hugging her firmly and kissing her forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t risk dying for me.”

“I’m sorry.”

She hides her face in your neck. “I love you.”

She says it with every single fiber of her being. After all, her touch, her tears, her words before this— They’re all marks of love. You feel her hand brushing over your arm, an injury you earned yourself during that game. She traces it gently and you think you could never promise her not to die for her.

“I love you too.”

[cupcakeslushie]

actually the last ask you answered for kendratello AU got me wondering, how do the boys navigate it if they actually get mad/upset at Donnie about something post-recovery? like obviously in the aftermath they're all going to be as patient with him as they can be, but I'm talking down the line when Donnie has had a lot of healing time. Donnie can definitely be a little shit from time to time, and even unintentionally, four siblings living in the same space are gonna get on each other's nerves.

Are they nervous about getting mad and triggering Donnie again? Do they ever seem like they're being overly patient to the point of condescending in Donnie's POV? (do my questions even make sense lol)

I think far, far, far down the road, Donnie would be the first one to kind of hit a breakthrough and wish to move on. Because for sure, Donnie hates feeling like he’s being condescended to, and once he kinda gets more of himself back, that returns as well.

But when the others are still too worried about upsetting him, Donnie might try to up the obnoxious behavior, to test them. I think the first one to lose control of their tone would probably be Mikey. Leo and Raph are way too paranoid, and used to controlling themselves/holding themselves back—be it, Raph with his anger issues, or Leo with his masks and humor. Meanwhile, Mikey is emotionally empathetic. So if Donnie is trying to be a little shit, Mikey would match him, without even realizing until too late. It would be just a little bit of good natured bullying from Mikey, but it’d still freeze everyone in their tracks. But Donnie would take a deep breath, smile, laugh, and try his best to play up his theatrics like he used to. It’s an awkward stage, for sure. Sometimes Donnie pushes harder than he’s comfortable, and doesn’t realize until one of the brother’s tries to playfully tease back, and he panics. Even just simple snarking can trigger Donnie pretty badly. And sometimes, it feels like he’s is forcing himself to play a character that he only recognizes from vague memories. It’s an act that the family tries to convince Donnie isn’t necessary to force. But Donnie wants that old familiarity, even if he regrets pushing more than he’s ready for. It’s a slow growth of just learning new boundaries and pushing a safe amount from everyone.

But it’s a phase that needs to happen! It’s growing pains to a healthier normal.

[parker-artio]

The Batfamily in who I think is the most flexible to least flexible (w/ my reasons)

Richard (Dick) Grayson- I feel like this one just makes sense, no extra information needed. He’s the last Flying Grayson, he’s cannonly super fucking flexible, not much information needed.

Cassandra Cain- Once again feel like it’s a given. She’s a baller dancer, and she moves so agile on her feet it’s practically obvious she’s flexible and easy to move

Damian Wayne- Oddly enough I think this boy is like a wet noodle when he wants to be, he is flexible. But you’d never know unless you see his ass play limbo or some shit.

Timothy Drake- He gives flexible. He probably tried to practice Dick’s moves in his room alone when he was a kid and stalked Batman and Robin. He would definitely be more flexible than Damian if Damian didn’t have his young age. Tim could easily surpass Damian in terms of flexibility if he wanted, but he just chooses not to stretch everyday (bad idea)

Stephanie Brown- She’s like Tim- does NOT stretch enough. But she could rival Tim in terms of flexibility if she actually wanted to, she can probably do flips and splits better than Tim, but when it comes to back flexibility he’d win by a landslide

Duke Thomas- He’s got a bigger build, like a quarterback who’s only a freshman kind of build. He’s good at flips, dodging, and jumping, but I don’t think he does any kind of stretches that would improve his flexibility, just the kind of ones that would make sure it’s still working.

Jason Todd- Bro is built like a double fridge with a top AND bottom freezer. He’s massive. He’s got muscles that can rival his siblings HEADS. Hes tall, he’s beefy, and he’s a marksman. He’s flexible enough to do flips and cartwheels, but he cannot do anything that involves twisting his body up.

Bruce Wayne- He used to be just like Tim flexibility wise, but then he stated to adopt kids.

Barbara Gordon- This is in no way a jab at her, I fucking love her. Before the wheelchair she’d be placed between Damian and Tim. But now she’s got her shoulder and upper back- that’s it. Which is as flexible as she can get them, but it’s also half of her body. I love her so much though, she’s badass and without her everyone would crumble. So it doesn’t matter if she’s flexible or not.

Alfred Pennyworth- He’s old.

If we want to add Kate, i firmly believe she’d be placed Steph and Duke. She’s flexible, but also just enough to do all of the stuff she needs.

(I know there’s so many other members I could add but ppl only seem to care for these guys- but I might make a more thorough and longer one, with more family members, like Harper, Selina, Helena [depending on what universe], Claire, Luke, David, Cullen, ect.)

[gauntletgirlie]

So, I have a confession to make. Long post to follow, sorry.

Anyone who follows my blog knows I post the thirstiest bullshit, alright, and I love it but…

… there’s a part of me that doesn’t agree with the sexualisation sometimes. I’ve often wondered if my brain just works in different ways to other people’s, maybe I have some aroace in me yearning to come forth? But there are a lot of ships that sprung up from TROP where I have nothing against them at all, I firmly stand on ship and let ship, but what they were founded on I did not interpret as sexy or romantic.

For example, Adar is shipped with all and sundry and it’s brilliant and peak comedy at times, fuelled by Sam Hazeldine’s fantastic chemistry with his co-stars. But there are certain scenes where I get why they were interpreted that way, but I also think a lot can be missed by jumping to sex/romance.

One instance is Adar telling Elrond he has the beauty of his forebear Melian. In modern society, a man calling another man beautiful probably is flirting, since men (generalisation) struggle to compliment each other apparently without feeling the need to caveat “no homo”. But in the context of Tolkien’s world and even medieval norms, that wasn’t the case. If anything, Adar is showing off his knowledge and also baiting Elrond by asking if he’s as wise as Melian.

Also take the scene where Adar chokes Elrond to get Nenya from around his neck. Often interpreted as kinky (which is valid). Sometimes choking is just violence though. Adar needed to get Nenya and overpower Elrond. He’s in the middle of a literal battle. Maybe I’ve watched too much true crime and seen the effects of countless domestic abuse cases, but choking can just be violent and violently intended. Probably a boring and obvious take, but that’s how I perceived it when I watched.

Does Adar look sexy as hell doing it? I think so but others might not. Could you also see it as Adar flirting with Elrond and ship them together? Of course! Why the hell not! I just sometimes miss the non-romantic aspects of analysis and discussion.

Same with Maidar. I totally get where that ship comes from, it makes sense, it has a lot going for it. I also personally adhere to the notion there was no sex or romance between them. I think there was alluring, I think there was admiration, I think there was a codependency, I don’t think it was sexual or romantic. To me, having your best friend and/or most trusted, loyal follower stab you in the back would hurt more than a lover. I might be falling back on my own thoughts on how I’d feel and I would personally be more devastated at being betrayed by my closest friend than my husband. I’ve lost friends and I’ve lost loves, the friends hurt more.

Adariel is another one. Again, I think there are strong grounds for that ship and I love so much of the art for it, but a lot of what is interpreted as romantic for me was just tactical manipulation, coupled with genuine admiration on Adar’s part and the fact that Galadriel is beautiful so most people would be attracted to her if we’re being totally honest. Adar used her to get what he wanted. His methods might have included flirtation or creating tension in closeness, but for me, they were all about tactics to defeat Sauron. Galadriel and Nenya were a way for him to do that so he did want he needed to facilitate that.

I’m not even going to touch on Haladriel or Saurondriel because this post is already hella long and my anxiety is already sky high so I’m chickening out.

Sorry this is such a weird random word vomit, it was nerve wracking to write and post, but I just needed space to let this part of me out. I know it’s so contradictory to how I’ve presented myself on here so far, but I felt like if I’m allowed to let the thirst flow, I should be allowed to let this version of me out as well.

I’m literally this:

Guess which one gets fed more? 😂

Fear not, folks, I will resume my thirsty bullshit forthwith.

[shorthaltsjester]

endlessly thinking thoughts about cr characters, morality, and selfishness (likely place for me to be, given that my day job includes endlessly researching ethics and meaning of life) but in light of bell’s hells most recent illustration of their insularity and individualism, I’ve been really like. Trying to unpack why I find it particularly egregious in this party when obviously mighty nein were notoriously self-interested, especially at the beginning, and when vox machina had quite a few moments where their horses were far higher than they had any reason to be. And again, I really want to make it clear her that I don’t hold self-interest or selfishness to be some abhorrent and unforgivable thing, in fact I think its incredibly normal especially given the context of main characters in a story told through game mechanics that flourish on the interest of the individuals making the choices. I’ve written before about how one of the throughlines that I’ve seen in laura’s pcs (since I’m someone who particularly enjoys looking at the moral outlooks characters develop) is a common thread of morality that’s highly dependent on their own interests. And like, this is a positive throughline to me! Without getting into my own views on morality, it is particularly compelling to me for characters with isolated upbringing (which applies to vex, jester, and imogen, each in different ways) to develop a moral code informed by that isolation, and in vex we see her moral code is ‘anything goes if it protects those I hold dear’, in jester we see a moral code that doesn’t care about morality as much as it cares about the chance to care and be cared for, and in imogen we see a moral code developed in response to her very unique experience of hearing the darkest parts of people and judging them on those (which to be clear, i am not judging her for that fact, I think it makes extreme sense for someone who hears the thoughts the people have to be horrified by those things, but it does mean her moral system is almost completely backwards, where intention holds more weight than action, which perhaps makes sense of the popularity of defending all of her ideas and choices and the Right Ones by certain parts of the fandom that insist leftism is hidden in the dnd real play). And that’s all to say that, out of the cr parties we’ve seen, I don’t think any single member of bell’s hells is uniquely more or less selfish or more or less of an asshole than previous characters. And in fact, I tend to be quite fond of selfish characters, I have a well documented history of cherishing them well beyond the cr fandom. But the point is that my calling something or someone self-interested is not a value judgement in this context, it's a descriptive claim about the traits a character exhibited.

Imogen, who has insisted time and time again re: the values of the accord that she would not be swayed by the temptation of predathos because she recognizes the importance of this fight, only to turn around and pretty immediately open herself up to predathos to fulfil the most threatening part of ludinus’ plan is self-interested. I cannot conceive of any other way to describe her choices. And her being self-interested doesn’t mean she can’t also be altruistic at times, but I will be clear that I don’t think her risking killing herself as she attempts to bring down the god-eater that she released is particularly selfless. In my best faith interpretation I’d say she’s pretty middle of the road in that choice. But I bring all this up because a comparison I’ve been seeing is that bell’s hells aren’t as mean as the mighty nein or even vox machina in certain moments and that it doesn’t make sense for the fandom to view bell’s hells as likely to be villains when the same wasn’t true of the previous two campaigns, and I think I have to pretty emphatically disagree, and not because I don’t think there aren’t moments in both campaigns that feature extremely high levels of assholery and villainry from pcs – I mean, some of my favourite cr characters are percy and jester, both of whom i’d say are ‘good guys’ due to the pure luck of the found familys they fell in with and both of whom often suggested plans that were. Not okay. To say the least. But ignoring the difference between suggesting fucked up plans and walking your god-eater infused bestie back towards the troops sent to support you in keeping that entity contained, the other big difference I’ve noticed in my own introspection on how I react to bh vs mn and vm, as well as which things i cherish about previous campaigns that were really missing from c3 to what I think is the story and the character’s detriment (staying away from the shape of the narrative, just because others have made posts that put words together better about that than I can) is that while members of vm and mn remained self-interest to the end of their campaigns and have reasserted those habits in appearances since, the parties as entities working in exandria had both, to echo ashton’s apt suggestion to ludinus, grown up.

Like one moment I think of is beau and fjord’s convo in the nein hells episode, because beau is being her asshole self and fjord is being his ‘I care about My People and I’ll think about the rest later’ self (i say affectionately but certain parts of the fandom I recognize would view derogatorily) – clearly they’re not the kindest people as they discuss bell’s hells, but two notable things are (a) they still treat the hells with the respect and use their means to help them prepare for the battle coming, even when they hear the horrifying thought that the hells aren’t certain they’ll choose to save the gods, all the nein request is that they choose the kind option (b) they say none of their doubts to the hells themselves – likely because they have the empathy to realizes that its a high stress situation that won’t be made better by a reminding the hells how small and likely ineffectual in the universe they are – and their comments about cannon fodder are ones made in jest to each other. Even taking that in the worst faith interpretation, the jokes that beau and fjord make in a private conversation has absolutely zero influence on bh. This is quite different than bells hells, after like. as clearly betraying the accord they promised to assist (even if their intentions are ‘good’) as is possible, belittling the religious armies sent to support their endeavor to keep predathos sealed as they all feel the weight of an irrevocable change occurring in exandria, one bells hells has first account knowledge now that it IS incredibly willing to eat mortals, and laudna and ashton, the members of bells hells most often cited by certain fandom spaces as characters who have gone through so much and it only made them kind and strong, look into the faces of people facing literally existential threat and laugh and mock them. That is, mighty nein as individuals is comprised of some of the, perhaps, most asshole pcs, but The Mighty Nein as a party is committed to treating others the best they can, to leaving things better than they found them (a quote that I think is particularly exemplary of the dynamics of self-interest at play in the mighty nein, since it originated as a blatant illustration of molly’s notion of self-importance but developed to become a kind of commandment that the nein became committed to fulfilling). The opposite is true of bell’s hells, where orym and dorian at least both seem to have motivation beyond themselves, imogen’s changes but has shown she is capable of letting go of her ‘intention reigns’ requisitely individualistic perspective, and chetney plays up his selfishness but has shown himself to care quite a bit for people beyond their party but bell’s hells as an entity is uh, pretty self-interested.

To clarify some of my thoughts here in the spirit of the wicked renaissance happening rn, I’ve always felt that for good was an incredibly apt song for the mighty nein, because it really nails that feeling that perhaps they didn’t change each other as individuals to become better people on the grand scale, maybe they’ve just changed each other permanently, but they (and I would agree with this) view each other as having changed each other for the better (e.g., I don’t know if I could say whether jester is a morally better Individual at the end of the campaign, but I can say with certainty that she fulfils and makes moral choices in her work as a member of the mighty nein). And I don’t know if this can be said about bell’s hells – I think they have certainly influenced each other and changed how alone many of those characters felt, and that is not a slight on the story, it can be a great centre for a story to focus on how a relinquishment of the feeling that one is alone in the world can change them. But for the most part, that hasn’t been bh’s story, their story instead has been about validating their refusal to become anything beyond what they insist was out of their control. And not to get to annoying philosophy student about it but bell’s hells are maybe some of the most explicit examples of sartrian bad faith I’ve seen in fiction in a hot minute, because their insistence that they treat their wounds as incurable and entirely out of their hands has led to them limiting their own potential because many of them ignore their responsibility as people to make choices in their own lives. In contrast, at the end of the campaign, mighty nein are still assholes as we all like to refer to them as, but in the context of an apocalypse, I think I’d prefer the assholes like fjord – who is certainly being truthful when he says he doesn’t care about what harm comes to 200 people when jester is at risk but who also, as they traverse into aeor, is insistent that their group won’t be running away from whatever apocalyptic threat awaits them, even if that means dying in the fight – than I would an asshole like ashton – who promises to fight for the little guys but who then turns around and acts upon a philosophy that says the strongest will survive. When you look at the mighty nein, it is incredibly easy to see the fingerprints of change they’ve left upon one another, and even to see the boundaries they place on one another’s asocial behaviours through their presence in one another’s lives (more recently the group chastising jester’s fond words about ludinus is a good example, but others are yasha’s pressuring caleb and essek to move on from their wizard talks as they collect paper in aeor instead of venturing further toward the battle they have to fight, or fjord and jester’s frustrated conversation in the ukotoa reunion about how fjord made a stupid decision and he doesn’t regret but he feels dejected and jester checking him on the fact that they still need to figure out a solution). It takes some extrapolation to see how bells hells have changed each other in more than aesthetic ways, if they have at all. Because the catalyst for change is pressure to do so, and aside from moments where it was truly change or be left behind, bh doesn’t challenge each other unless forced to by morri’s trials or delilah’s interruption and on the very odd occasion an interesting game of rollies-spin-the-bottle. 

And it’s interesting because the asshole behaviour of the mighty nein, like bell’s hells, stems from being left on the outskirts of society and the mistreatment that comes with that, so seemingly the change from being alone to being with others is one that actually insists upon being challenged to grow and change. I mean, just looking at the starting points of the characters, there’s an intriguing amount of stark similarities between their pasts; jester and fearne were both people loved dearly by the family they grew up with but who were loved within the confines of a gilded cage, ashton and beau both have an glaring self awareness that their anger at the world has a very particular source (their parents) but use that as justification rather than a means of self reflection, yasha and orym are trying to navigate a world in the wake of an incomprehensible loss and a sense of duty, fjord and imogen are both seeking out knowledge of their own powers and unknowingly retreading the paths of their missing and presumed dead parental figures. The idea that bell’s hells are uniquely mistreated by society in the history of cr player characters is, politely, laughable. Absolutely they’re mistreated, and I think it could be fair to say these characters are more defined by their isolation than others but I think that has more to do with the lack of downtime rp than it has to do with the context of their suffering.

What I have loved about the mighty nein is that in their realization that the bonds they forge with each other are undermining the truths most of them had taken to be true – that they were alone and without a place in the world – they are also forced to realize that no longer being alone and isolated comes with the weight of social responsibility. And this was born out of a willingness the mighty nein had to call each other out and that the players had to allow their characters to be wrong and get called on it. Because that’s the friction of living with other people on the small party scale and the large world scale – in the mighty nein’s ability to survive as a people who cared for each other even when they didn’t agree or when they made decisions that they couldn’t understand, they were constantly developing their ability to care for the very same world that left them alone. Because in campaign two, the world as a whole had the role that the gods have in campaign 3 – why should a party of nobodies, treated like shit by the world and the people in it go through the effort of saving it?

And the mighty nein answered, in their own imperfection and assholery, that nothing is ever just one thing – one of the things I cherish most about campaign 2 is its commitment to ambiguity, allowing the complexity of the world to go unsolved because there is no solution to the fact that life is immense and sometimes incoherent. I don’t think its a coincidence that I’ve seen some of the people lamenting the idiocy of fandom members like me who think that it actually isnt a leftist win to destroy the world in the hopes of spontaneous justice arising in c3 are the same people who criticised c2’s conclusion with the cerberus assembly for not being leftist (a word which for them means . the aesthetic image of a rebellion sparked and not the unending commitment to doing what you practically can to make life more just for those around you – whether they’re particularly kind to you or not) enough. The conclusion of c2 emphasizes that the choice to make the world a better place isn’t something that can be achieved in one single sweeping action that will wipe the boards clean – there is no murder of all the members of the cerberus assembly that would’ve solved the problems that caused the assembly’s power. There is no forcing of the god’s out of exandria that will deal with the actual issue undergirding both bh and their blorbo-moralized fans' criticism of the gods, which is that mortals are cursed with the burden of free will, and being mistreated by other mortals means constantly having to try and make sense of the fact that someone chose to do something cruel to you (and, sometimes, that you made a choice that allowed that cruelty to occur) – a burden made much heavier when the person who hurt you is your cult-indoctrinated mother, or your cult leader father, or the person in the mirror. The mighty nein take up this fight, and the complexities of their individual identities begin to heal in the light of a commitment in their relationship as friends and as a team to improve the world, even on the small scale. Bell’s hells remain gridlocked and stagnant and unwilling to change in an unspoken turf war of self-interest because they’ve insisted (influenced in part by the context of the campaign 3 narrative but, as others have aptly pointed out, that narrative was much more influenced by bh’s lack of curiosity regarding anything except their own minds) upon finding a solution to a problem they’ve decided is earth-shatteringly (quite literally, to the people of ruidus) unjust based on, aside from encounters where fellow mortals were the primary oppressors, their own testimony of the god’s not listening to them and the obvious villain’s parallel testimony. Something I’ve really been chewing on lately is caduceus words to fjord about his role as a paladin of the wildmother – that maybe it just means that someday, someone will pray for a miracle, and there fjord’ll be and the weight that has given that fjord’s bond to ukotoa came from his desperation not to die and his willingness to accept whatever help would be offered, that fjord could now be the person that reaches out to someone in need, and that the hand he offers won’t come with a curse.  And I think that’s really the poignant difference between bh and mn for me, that for bh, their experiences of injustice, though did make them personally bitter, did not make them morally misanthropic.

Comparatively, Bell’s Hells chose to ensure that, because the gods never answered their prayers, they shouldn’t be permitted to answer anyone else’s. Is this an understandable position? Sure, for the walls of a preschool, not really for a group of characters that I will ever be in any way inclined to view as something close to heroes. While it’s true that there are parts of life that are beyond our control – somethings happen to us that we have no say in, and they cause injuries both physical and mental that we are left to heal without any rhyme or reason, it is still our responsibility to heal them. And if you choose not to, well, then you’ve chosen not to, and are responsible for the consequences and judgements that choice might amount to.

Anyway, sorry this is all over the place but TLDR: calling bell’s hells as a party self-interested is actually just descriptively correct – they can save members of the party made up of their close friends and still be self-interested – and while the individual members of bell’s hells actually aren’t all that uniquely self-interested in the history of cr pcs, the party is uniquely self-interested in how they’ve chosen to navigate the world an their responsibility to the people in it.

[mistercrowbar]

Funny to see how asexual characters often end up with hypersexualized characters or those who sexualize others. Out of all the characters to romance, Aldiirn chose the ones whose life revolves primarily around sex/seduction (Astarion or Mizora). Maybe it's a way to experience sexuality vicariously? What do you think?

@satanicspinosaurus has said a lot to me how safe spaces for asexuals and people who have experienced SA tend to overlap and that’s where Aldiirn and Astarion end up. Like their relationship takes off in Act 2 once sex is officially off the table and they can just enjoy being together and having fun other ways without that pressure looming.

Aldiirn has plenty of other reasons to like Astarion though. He’s got a wicked sense of humour, his theatrics are entertaining, and his impulsiveness keeps Aldiirn on his toes and handily breaks any analysis paralysis. There’s also that Astarion doesn’t hesitate to complain and is pretty clear on what he wants and doesn’t want, which makes him easier for Aldiirn to be around. Whereas with like, Gale, Aldiirn thinks they’re just building a friendship and is blindsided when Gale has interpreted it as so much more.

[sammyluvr]

✶ ruined (not really) — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, grumpy!reader, fluff, academic rivals!au, stanford!sam, mentions of school stress and arguments, unedited, 1.4K words. requested ! for my 900 followers event [ closed ] .

prompt : a hidden away bookshop + “i can’t get you out of my head.”

your safe haven has been ruined, just like many other things, by one sam winchester. this bookstore is supposed to be yours, hidden away from all of the stressful, irking things you deal with on campus. ‘stressful, irking things’ is code for rigorous classwork, academic pressure, the stairs up to one of your tuesday thursday classes, and sam winchester.

ever since your second semester at stanford when you discovered this tiny, hole in the wall bookshop that is practically impossible to find, it’s been a refuge of sorts. of course, there are other customers, mostly regulars like yourself, but you tend to visit during the quietest hours by the nature of your class and work schedule. 

but today, when you round the corner of the bookshelf in the far corner to settle in your usual seat—which is indeed the only table in the whole store—you’re greeted with a sight that you can only classify as horrific. your relentless, stubborn, awfully intelligent, and maddeningly beautiful academic rival is perched in your spot. his imposing frame isn’t so hulking as he hunches over a book, settled happily in the corner-most chair that you’ve deemed as literally perfect because it’s under a window, gives a view of the rest of the shop, and is gloriously comfortable without making you slump or fall asleep as you read and write.

you only barely hold back an indignant noise of protest from escaping your lips as you stop dead in your tracks. a scowl settles on your features. you have an essay due tonight, and you swear that this seat is the only place you’ll be able to finish it successfully. sure, this isn’t the first time that you’ve come to the shop and found it’s only seat taken. but those were innocent strangers. because it’s sam this time, it’s completely his fault and he’s anything but innocent. by being here, he’s personally and intentionally sabotaging you and your essay.

before you can think of a scathing comment to interrupt his deep concentration, he picks up on the presence of another person and looks up, eyes widening when he registers that it’s you. you take two steps towards him so that you can lean against the back of the second, empty chair on the closer side of the table.

“you’re in my spot,” you say, and it would’ve sounded a bit lame if you hadn’t said it with such confidence, like it was a matter of fact rather than petty annoyance. he sighs and sets his pen down on the notebook in which he’d been jotting down quotes from his book.

“this is a public space. it’s not your spot,” he says, voice even more matter of fact than yours because it really is a fact. you know this, of course, but don’t care. you give a frustrated huff of breath, just as he expected you to.

by now, you know when to leave an argument alone with him. you don’t think of it as him winning, just you having the sense not to say something stupid. and, these days, the two of you have been a bit more amicable with each other. it takes a lot of energy that neither of you have to argue about everything, so you leave it for the important things like class discussions, essays, and exams. “how long are you going to be here?” you ask tersely. just because you don’t argue doesn’t mean that you’re particularly nice to each other. just not mean. he’s a nice guy, and you know it, however annoying that is. you suppose he probably knows that you’re a kind person too.

he shrugs, though, and it makes you annoyed all over again. “not sure. a while, probably. i’m working on the essay for critical theory.” you want to grind your teeth and curse.

you don’t hold back a little, “dammit,” from slipping out under your breath. your frustration builds, and it’s probably more because of your stress over this essay than anything else, but it’s much easier to blame it on him. “can’t you work on it somewhere else?” you know that’s a stupid and unfair thing to ask, but your attachment to the chair he sits in is thick and unmoving.

“no,” he frowns, “i sat here first. you can find somewhere else. there’s hundreds of places to sit on campus.” you hate that he has the sensible upper ground in this whole conversation, and there’s no way in hell that you’re going to explain to him that sometimes, it seems this is the only place in the world that you can concentrate. you don’t move an inch. he rolls his eyes. “there’s two seats, you know.”

“that seat’s better,” you grumble in complaint, but you’re already pulling the chair out and swinging your bag off your shoulder. both of you hide it well, but there could be a battle of who’s more surprised; you, because sam has offered to let you sit with him, or sam, because you’ve actually accepted said offer. both of you are asking yourselves why.

why did he offer? and why did you accept without a moment’s hesitation? sam can answer the first one; because he likes you very much and it bothers him to no end. he can’t get you out of his head, but there’s no way he can tell you that. you can answer the second one; because you like him very much, and it’s quite insufferable. you can’t get him out of your head, but you’ll never admit it.

“too bad,” he grumbles back, looking back down at his book but secretly pleased to have you sitting with him by choice. you’re adorable when you’re grumpy.

part of this place’s merit towards your ability to concentrate is it’s lack of other human beings outside of the worker, who is out of sight due to bookshelves, and therefore, out of mind. but outside of your horrible crush on him, you accepted his invitation because you’ve found that working on assignments around him is around isn’t half bad. yes, you’re self proclaimed rivals, and yes, you’re always trying to be better than the other, but he has an easy presence and fake begrudging willingness to help you if there’s ever anything you don’t understand. you know it’s fake because yours is too. he doesn’t even pretend to be cocky anymore if you ask for his help, so you don’t either.

hours pass, and he splits his snack with you because you’d forgotten yours. he’s a gentleman, unfortunately, because that makes thing confusing.

eventually though, the ease of being with him passes and is replaced by the urge to constantly look at him and think about the way that his eye color has changed since the late afternoon turned to twilight.

after you loose your concentration for what feels like the hundredth time, sam looks up at you with a question in those pretty eyes. he can feel it every time you get restless. he goes through a few iterations of what to say. what’s wrong? will get him a huge scowl. do you want to take a break? you’ll certainly say no to. so he decides on, “let’s go grab some dinner. i’m starving. there’s a lebanese place a block away that’s really good.”

he thought the offer of food would work as an excuse to get you to take a break that you clearly need. he even framed it so that it would seem like he’s the one who needs a break. plus, he wasn’t lying about being hungry. but you look unconvinced and almost pained by his kindness. so his voice turns gentle, because he’s actually quite endeared with you, and hates the idea of you being truly upset or frustrated by anything.

“c’mon,” he murmurs, “a break will help us concentrate better when we get back.”

you look even more bothered now. why is he seemingly taking care of you? “i can’t get you out of my head,” you frown and cross your arms, like it’s a very concerning thing. to you, it is. it can be very unhelpful.

his face morphs into an expression of shock for a moment before he regains composure. the way you say it makes things very hard to interpret; you're critical and calculating, like you’re trying to work your way through a complicated theoretical concept. but the words themselves are an echo of exactly how he feels. you think about him. so much so, that it’s making it hard for you to concentrate.

his spine straightens. “me too,” he says, keeping a soft tone. maybe he can coax you into speaking softly too. and maybe he can hold your hand on the way to and from a late evening dinner.

[farfromstrange]

Happy Birthday!! I’m sorry your birthday leaves you with mixed feelings, but I hope this celebration helps direct them towards the happy side of things💖 Can I please request a bouquet of tulips regarding Matt and the stray animals of Hells Kitchen? Cats, dogs, even possums and raccoons? Heck, how does the devil of Hell’s Kitchen feel about pigeons?

Aww, thank you so much, lovely 🥹🤍 And thank you for your request(s)!!

These headcanons were actually so much fun to think about.

Here’s your bouquet of tulips!

Matt Murdock and The Strays of Hell’s Kitchen (Headcanons)

Event Masterlist | Matt Murdock Masterlist

I feel like Matt is the kind of person who doesn’t usually pay much attention to the animals around him because most of the time, they’re much quieter than the people of New York City, so when he encounters one he won’t let them throw him off his game. However, our Devil of Hell’s Kitchen definitely has his favorites and least favorites.

The stray cat that keeps appearing on his fire escape? He doesn’t want to admit it, but he kind of enjoys the company. He’s fascinated by how easily this tiny ball of fur started trusting him once he started feeding it some tuna. Cats usually don’t find him off-putting when he’s in the suit, and he likes that. He likes petting them, too because cats purr at a frequency that perhaps is soothing to his senses. And if he finds one that’s hurt? You best believe he will take it home, clean it (although that’s a fight he often loses), and patch it up. And he’d drop those who are really bad off at a shelter to make sure they get taken care of.

Matt Murdock and cats (especially orange ones) have a lot in common, so I think they’re the kind of animals he enjoys being around, even though they annoy the shit out of him. He’s just incredibly touched-starved, and having a stray cat dote on him just makes him feel a different kind of way. He certainly wouldn’t mind if the same stray cat came back to him on the regular. He’d adopt that fur-ball without even realizing, and suddenly he’s a cat owner who gets cuddles every night. Using his tie to play with it before he can buy toys? You bet! Finding a vet to nurse the poor thing back to health? Matt Murdock to the rescue. Would it be easy with his sensory issues? No. But he turns into a cat person nonetheless. It’s better than being alone, anyway.

I also think he doesn’t mind dogs. They’re active, they’re fun to play with, and they’re very empathetic. Sometimes a little too empathetic for his taste. He may have shut down Foggy’s and Karen’s idea for him to get a guide dog, but that’s because he is insistent on shouldering everything on his own and accepting help—even if it’s from a dog trained to support someone with his disability—doesn’t sit right with him. It’s an issue. Anyway, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like dogs! You best believe he’ll make sure the stray dogs of Hell’s Kitchen end up at an animal shelter. If you remember Season 2 where Matt searches for Frank and finds the dog instead, he is good with them. They listen to him. They respect him, and he respects dogs. I can see him bringing home a stray eventually, just because he knows what it’s like to be alone and Matt hates the fact that others have to suffer the same fate. He’d have to make sure the dog gets along with the cat though.

Possums? It’s a complicated relationship. I headcanon one bit him once while he was, once again, lying half-dead in a dumpster and the poor thing got spooked by this grown ass man trying to climb back out, so it bit him. He had to explain to Claire that no, he was not bitten by his opponent, it was actually a possum, and she laughed at him. He’s not their biggest fan, but he also doesn’t despise them. I feel like Matt would be open to reconciliation though. Like, they’re just trynna survive on the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. He can’t really blame them for that.

Same goes for raccoons. His sense of smell is so sensitive he can smell every last item of garbage they’ve had their noses in, but they’ve never hurt him. He doesn’t necessarily pay attention to them when they cross his path, but he definitely wouldn’t want to stay close to a raccoon for an extended period of time.

I don’t know why, but I feel like Matt’s the kind of guy who feeds the pigeons outside the courthouse. He’d take the breakfast Foggy got him and share it with them, even though it’s technically not allowed. And Foggy would definitely need to call out, “Matt, stop feeding the pigeons!” Before security has to intervene. That may change though if one ever decides to poop on him. New suit? Ruined. He’d never feed them again.

Bonus: I like to think he despises spiders, mostly because he can hear them crawling over walls and stuff, and that’s just a sensory nightmare. If you’ve ever had one crawl on you, you know that feels fucking terrifying, and I imagine Matt would feel the same way. Unless they’re a daddy long legs chilling in the corner, eating all the flies (which he also despises), he will exterminate them. God can forgive him for that one.

[seulszn]

#RedFlags

Warnings: cussing

Tags: @grosspube @vienwood @valalice @halle5s @soniiyi @baylegend6. And to the people I couldn't tag I'm sorry.

The cozy, inviting scent of vanilla candles welcomes you as you step into Lena and Julie’s shared house. Their place radiates a sense of comfort, a safe haven you didn’t realize you needed after the chaotic events of the day. You’re grateful to have friends with their own space, a reprieve from being cooped up at your parents’ house day in and day out.

You settle onto the couch, grabbing the remote to turn on the TV. Julie is already sprawled across most of the cushions, her green hair barely visible under a fuzzy purple blanket she’s cocooned herself in. Her legs stretch out, leaving you with just enough room to sit.

Lena disappears into the kitchen, rummaging for snacks, while you glance over at Julie. “Thanks for letting me crash here,” you say, your voice soft but sincere.

“Duh,” Julie replies without missing a beat, chucking a pillow at you with just enough force to make you flinch. “This is kind of your home too, you know. I mean, you helped us find this place.”

You glance at her, half-smiling. "I guess I did, huh?" You sink deeper into the couch, adjusting your position to settle in for what will hopefully be a relaxing night.

Lena returns with a bowl of chips, a plate of cookies, and a bottle of soda, setting everything down in front of you both. "I swear," she says with a grin, flopping into the armchair beside you, "this place wouldn't be the same without you." There's a sincerity in her voice that makes the whole room feel warmer, like the simple act of being together was enough to make everything right.

Julie, ever the affectionate one, pulls Lena into her arms, her green hair falling over her face as she smiles at her girlfriend. They share a moment, their eyes locking in a way that only the two of them can understand. It's a look full of comfort and love, and for a moment, you're reminded of how much they mean to each other.

Lena turns to you, popping open her soda with a flick of her wrist. "So, Julie texts me saying you bumped into Vi during gym class. What’s this about?" she asks, her eyes narrowing slightly with curiosity.

You glance at Julie, who grins at you like she knows something you don’t. She leans back, crossing her arms, clearly enjoying the moment.

"I leave to grab my water bottle, come back, and Vi’s over there cornering Y/N like a damn police officer," Julie says with a teasing smirk, her tone a mix of concern and amusement.

You can feel your cheeks heat up as both Lena and Julie turn their attention to you. The weight of their gazes is almost too much, and you awkwardly shift in your seat, trying to gather your thoughts.

"Cornering, huh?" Lena raises an eyebrow, her lips curling into a playful but knowing smile. "Sounds intense."

"Yeah," you say, trying to brush it off. "She just started talking to me. It wasn’t... anything crazy." But the truth is, you felt cornered. Vi’s presence had been suffocating, and you still couldn’t shake the way her eyes had roamed over you.

Julie snorts. "I’m not buying that for a second. Vi doesn’t just ‘talk.’ She makes her intentions pretty damn clear."You glance at Julie, giving her a look that says, really? but she just shrugs, her smirk never fading. "What do you mean by intentions?" Her voice drops, more serious now. "Vi’s not someone you want to mess with, Y/N."

"I know," you mumble, shifting in your seat again, your nerves growing. "It’s just... she was kind of in my space, you know?"

Lena groans, leaning onto Julie with a dramatic sigh. She mumbles something under her breath before speaking louder. "Y/N, why do you have to be the trouble magnet?"

You wince at her words, not meaning to cause any chaos, but it feels like that's all you ever end up attracting lately. Julie snickers beside you, giving Lena an amused look.

"I swear, it’s like the universe just loves throwing these people at you," Julie teases, poking you lightly in the side. "I mean, Caitlyn and Vi? Really?"

Lena rolls her eyes, sitting up straighter. "You need to start wearing some kind of repellent," she jokes, though her tone is tinged with concern. "Something that screams ‘stay away’ to people like them."

You laugh nervously, though it’s half-hearted. "If only it were that easy."

Julie raises an eyebrow, leaning forward like she’s piecing together a puzzle. "But wait... Caitlyn talked to you in biochem, and now Vi’s cornering you in the gym? That’s not a coincidence, Y/N. They’re up to something."

The implication makes your stomach twist. You try to wave it off, though you’re not even convincing yourself. "It’s probably nothing. Maybe they’re just..." You trail off, not really knowing how to finish that sentence.

"Obsessed," Lena interjects flatly, crossing her arms. "They’re obsessed. Caitlyn and Vi don’t go after anyone without a reason. They’ve got their sights set on you, Y/N, and it’s not gonna stop until they get whatever they want."

You glance at Lena, silently pleading for her to say it’s a joke, to tell you that you’re overthinking everything. Instead, she leans forward, her expression firm and unwavering. Julie nods beside her, her usual playfulness replaced with an unusual seriousness.

"She’s not wrong," Julie says, her tone low and steady. "Caitlyn and Vi don’t just play around. When they decide they want someone, they don’t back off. Trust me, I’ve seen it happen before."

You lean back, the weight of their words sinking in like a heavy blanket. "But... I haven’t done anything. I barely know them," you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lena tilts her head, her expression almost pitying but still sharp. "You think that matters?" she says, her voice laced with blunt honesty. "You’re a girl they haven’t fucked yet that’s enough to get them intrigued by you.” Her words hit like a punch to the gut, leaving you speechless. Julie flinches, giving Lena a pointed look. "Geez, Lena, maybe soften the blow a little?"

"I’m just being honest " Lena responds, crossing her arms. "They’ve got this... thing. It’s a game to them chasing someone who doesn’t fall at their feet right away. And you? You’re like a neon sign flashing challenge"

You rub your temples, overwhelmed. "That’s ridiculous," you mumble. "I’ve literally done nothing to encourage this.” Julie sighs, her tone softer now. "You don’t have to, Y/N. They see what they want, and they go after it. And the fact that you’re quiet and reserved? That’s probably making them even more interested. You’re different."

you groan, the sound sharp and full of frustration, cutting through the tense atmosphere in the room. "Can you stop using that shitty-ass word?" you snap, your voice louder than you intended. You hate it. That word. Different. It’s been thrown at you so much lately it’s starting to feel like a curse. "I don’t think I’m different. I’m just me. I didn’t ask for any of this!”

Lena arches an eyebrow at your reaction but stays silent, her sharp eyes fixed on you as if she’s dissecting your every word. She leans further into Julie, her body relaxed but her expression serious, waiting for you to finish venting. Meanwhile, Julie looks at you with her usual softness, though there’s an undertone of worry behind her green eyes.

"Y/N," Julie says, her voice dipping into a calm, measured tone as though she’s trying to coax a wild animal. "We’re not trying to make you feel bad, okay? It’s not your fault. It’s just... you don’t play their games like everyone else. That’s why they’re so fixated on you."

You feel your chest tighten at her words. "I didn’t ask for any of this," you say, your voice wavering as frustration claws at your insides. "I don’t want to stand out. I just want to be... normal. I just want to live my life without constantly feeling like I’m some target for... for this."You wave your hands in the air, gesturing vaguely, struggling to articulate the mess of emotions building up inside of you.

The weight of everything.

The lingering stares, the cryptic messages, the suffocating attention from people like Caitlyn and Vi is pressing down on you, threatening to crush you.Lena shifts in Julie’s arms, sitting up straighter. Her expression hardens as she interjects, "Life doesn’t work like that, Y/N. Whether you want it or not, you’ve got their attention now, and it’s not going away just because you wish it would."

Her bluntness stings, but it’s not surprising. Lena’s always been the one to cut straight to the point. No sugar-coating, no hand-holding. "Yeah, but why me?" you say, your voice cracking slightly. "What makes me so damn special? There are hundreds of other people at that school. Why are they wasting their time on me?"

Julie, ever the wildcard, leans back with a smirk. "Maybe it’s because they’ve already fucked, like, half the school," she quips, her tone light and teasing.

The room goes dead silent. Both you and Lena turn to stare at her, disbelief written all over your faces. Julie’s smirk falters, and she quickly holds up her hands in surrender, muttering, "Okay, bad timing. Sorry."

Lena pinches the bridge of her nose, exhaling sharply. "Jesus, Julie."

You can’t help the dry laugh that escapes your lips, even if it feels slightly forced. "Really helpful," you mutter, shaking your head. Despite the tension, Julie’s attempt to lighten the mood eases some of the pressure in your chest.

"Look," Lena says, cutting back in with her no-nonsense tone. "What Julie meant is that Caitlyn and Vi get bored easily. They’ve been with half the school because it’s easy for them. But you? You’re not easy. You’re not throwing yourself at them, and that pisses them off." Julie nods along quickly, clearly eager to redeem herself.

"Yeah, exactly. You’re, like, this shiny new toy they can’t figure out how to play with yet," Julie says with a shrug, but the second the words leave her mouth, she winces. "Okay, that sounded bad, but you know what I mean," she adds quickly, glancing at you with an apologetic grimace.

You sigh heavily, sinking deeper into the couch as the weight of the conversation presses down on you. "So what?" you say, your voice cracking with frustration. "Am I supposed to put on some fake facade to keep them intrigued and then throw myself at them like I’m some world-class whore?"

The words come out harsher than you intend, but you’re too stressed to care. Your fingers automatically move to pick at your nails, an anxious habit you’ve had for years. Lost in your thoughts, you don’t even notice Julie and Lena exchanging concerned glances.

"Nobody is telling you to do that," Lena says firmly, her voice cutting through your spiraling thoughts. Before you can pick at your nails any further, she reaches over, gently taking your hands in hers to stop you. Her grip is firm but comforting, grounding you in a way that catches you off guard.

"Y/N, stop," she says softly, her tone gentler now. "You don’t have to be anyone but yourself.” Julie leans closer, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, and honestly, they’re probably obsessed because you’re not flaunting yourself at them. That’s what’s driving them crazy because they’re not in control, and they hate that."

You glance between the two of them, their words sinking in slowly. "But what if they don’t stop?" you ask quietly, the vulnerability in your voice surprising even yourself.

Lena’s expression hardens slightly, her protective side kicking in. "Then we’ll make them stop," she says without hesitation. "You’re not dealing with this alone."

Julie grins, nudging your shoulder playfully. "Yeah, we’re your unofficial bodyguards now. Vi and Caitlyn won’t know what hit them."

Despite the heaviness of the conversation, a small smile tugs at your lips. Their unwavering support doesn’t erase the anxiety gnawing at you, but it helps. At least for now.

"Thanks, guys," you mumble, squeezing Lena’s hand briefly before pulling back.

"Anytime," Julie says brightly, tossing a chip into her mouth. "Now, can we stop talking about them and focus on something less depressing? Like a movie or pizza or literally anything else?"

Lena chuckles, reaching for the remote. "Agreed. Let’s do something that doesn’t involve school drama for once."

As they start flipping through the movie options, you settle back into the couch, grateful for the reprieve. But in the back of your mind, Caitlyn and Vi still linger like shadows, their presence impossible to ignore entirely.

—

As the night wears on, filled with laughter and the comforting sounds of a movie playing in the background, the cozy energy in the house begins to wind down. Eventually, the three of you are yawning more than talking, the warmth of the evening settling over you like a heavy blanket.

Lena stretches with a groan, running a hand through her hair before grabbing a soft blanket from the back of the couch. She walks over and places it in your arms with an easy smile. "Alright, time to call it a night," she says, motioning for you to follow her.

She leads you to the guest room, the room that’s practically become yours over the countless nights you’ve spent here. The familiar space feels like a second home, with its neatly made bed, soft lighting, and the faint scent of lavender from the diffuser on the dresser. It’s simple but comforting, filled with little touches that make it clear you’re always welcome here.

"Here you go," Lena says, leaning against the doorframe as you step inside. "Sleep well. You know the drill if you need anything, just yell."

"Thanks," you say softly, clutching the blanket to your chest. Lena gives you a small nod before heading back down the hall, her footsteps fading as her voice carries faintly, saying something to Julie. The warmth of the moment lingers as you glance around the room. The silence envelops you now, a stark contrast to the laughter and noise from earlier. It’s calming, even if the quiet feels just a little too heavy.

But as you settle onto the bed, adjusting the blanket around you, the muffled sounds of voices drift in from down the hall. Julie and Lena are talking or rather, yelling. Their tones rise and fall, sharp but not overly harsh. You recall Lena mentioning earlier that she needed to talk to Julie about something, and now it seems that conversation is happening.

Curiosity prickles at you as the noise carries on. For a moment, you’re tempted to slip out of bed and quietly edge closer to the door, hoping to catch bits of their exchange. But the thought feels invasive, like crossing a line that shouldn’t be crossed. You shake your head, dismissing the idea, and force yourself to settle back against the pillow. It’s probably nothing serious, you tell yourself maybe just something about Julie’s failed trigonometry test.

Still, the muffled voices pull at you, keeping you from fully relaxing. The soft glow of your phone screen catches your eye, and you pick it up, hoping to distract yourself. You scroll idly, trying to ignore the tension in the air, but your mind keeps wandering back to the distant argument and whatever it could mean.

You scroll through your Instagram feed, casually liking and commenting on your friends’ posts. It's a quiet, mindless routine that helps you unwind. But then something catches your eye—a notification. Someone’s been liking your posts.

You pause, frowning slightly. It’s strange. You don’t follow many people from school—just Julie and Lena. The rest of your followers are online friends, mutuals, and a few celebrities.

You swallow hard, brushing the thought aside and going back to your feed. *It’s not a big deal. Just keep scrolling,* you tell yourself.

But before you can fully relax, another notification pops up. This time, it’s not just likes, it’s a message.

*“@caitsworld sent you a message.”*

Moments later:

*“@vi.unfiltered sent you a message.”*

Your heart skips a beat as the notifications sit there, glaring at you from the top of your screen. For a second, you don’t even move, your thumb hovering over the screen.

Deciding not to open the messages just yet, you swipe down to check your notifications instead. Your stomach drops when you see it.

Caitlyn Kiramman and Vi. They’ve found your account. Not only that, but they’re liking your posts you’ve shared weeks, even months ago.

Your eyes widen, your heart hammering in your chest. How did they even find you? And why now?

Your thoughts race as you stare at the notifications, the pit in your stomach growing heavier with each passing second. Caitlyn and Vi the Caitlyn and Vi were combing through your profile like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

One by one, more likes roll in, filling your screen. Nine posts. That’s all you had on your page, and they’d liked every single one. Every photo, every memory, now tainted with their sudden attention.

It felt suffocating, invasive, like they were picking apart a piece of your life you had tried so hard to keep private. And yet, you couldn’t look away from the barrage of notifications lighting up your phone.

Then, something new catches your eye. Caitlyn had left a comment. The bold text of her username sat under one of your photos, mocking your attempt to ignore it. You hesitantly click to see what she said.

“Didn’t know Julie was such a cute friend,” Caitlyn wrote.

It was under a picture of you, Julie, and Lena at a festival last summer. Her words carried a familiar charm, but they felt calculated, as if she wanted you to know she was watching. You swallow hard, glancing back at the post. Caitlyn knew Julie and Lena. She’d interacted with them before. The comment wasn’t random, it was deliberate, targeted.

You decide to ignore the comment, shutting off your phone and placing it facedown on the nightstand. Whatever Caitlyn and Vi were trying to do, it could wait until tomorrow. Right now, you just wanted to sleep.

As you shift under the covers, trying to get comfortable, the sharp slam of a door echoes through the quiet house. You freeze for a moment, remembering the argument Lena and Julie were having.

Your first instinct was to get up and check on Julie. She’s always the one to take these things to heart, even if she tries to act tough. But you hesitate, knowing how they both get when they’re upset. They need space to cool off, and the last thing you want is to get caught in the middle of it.

You sink back into the bed with a sigh, pulling the blanket up to your chin. You’d check on them in the morning when things had hopefully calmed down. For now, you focus on blocking out the muffled voices and letting the exhaustion of the day pull you into sleep.

——

Walking into your biochemistry class with your headphones in, you glance up and spot Caitlyn sitting in her seat, her eyes glued to her phone with a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She hasn’t noticed you yet, and for a split second, you’re tempted to turn around and walk out before she sees you.

But after a moment of hesitation, you push forward and walk to the seat by the window, just inches away from Caitlyn. As soon as you approach, she looks up and grins. “Hello, pretty,” she says with a playful smirk, scooting her chair slightly to give you space to settle in.

You don’t respond to her greeting, instead focusing on getting your notes and supplies out of your bag, keeping your eyes fixed on the task at hand.

Once you settle into your seat, you open your notebook, take off your headphones, and start doodling absentmindedly, waiting for the professor to walk in. The room fills with the usual low hum of students settling in, but Caitlyn doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to break the silence. Instead, she just stares at you, her eyes fixed on your face as if trying to figure out what to say next. You feel her gaze but keep your focus on your doodles, pretending not to notice.

She doesn’t speak, continuing to study you quietly. Her intense stare doesn’t waver, not even when the professor walks in.

“Welcome back to class, students. I hope you learned something useful yesterday,” he says, setting his bag down on the desk. He writes his name on the board, followed by a few important points for the day’s lesson, but you can still feel Caitlyn’s gaze lingering on you from the corner of your eye.

She leans in slightly, her chin resting on her hand as she glances at your notebook. “So,” Caitlyn murmurs, her voice soft enough that the professor doesn’t notice. “Did you enjoy my little... Instagram surprise?” Your pen freezes mid-word. You glance at her, trying to gauge if she’s joking, but her smirk tells you everything.

Your pen freezes mid-word. You glance at her, trying to gauge if she’s joking, but her smirk tells you everything it wasn’t a coincidence. Caitlyn leans in closer, her elbow propped on the desk, looking thoroughly entertained by your reaction.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t notice,” she continues, her voice low and teasing, her eyes flicking toward your notebook before returning to your face. “I mean, Vi and I don’t usually go through that much effort for someone. You should feel special.”

You press your lips into a thin line, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a response. Instead, you go back to doodling, pretending to be unbothered, though your grip on the pen tightens.

Caitlyn doesn’t stop. “You didn’t even comment back,” she says with a dramatic sigh, as if truly offended. “I thought maybe you’d appreciate the attention. Isn’t that what people post for, anyway?”

The professor clears his throat, scanning the room for the source of the talking. When his eyes land on Caitlyn leaning toward you, a smirk spreads across his face. “Ms. Kiramman, talking in my class?” he says pointedly. Caitlyn turns to him with an exaggerated roll of her eyes, clearly unbothered.

But Jayce isn’t done. “I wonder what your mother would say about you being disruptive in my class,” he adds, his tone sharper now.

Caitlyn’s eyes narrow slightly, her posture straightening. The room grows tense as a few students glance over, sensing the brewing confrontation. “I wonder what she would say about you...” Caitlyn pauses, her lips curling into a sly smile, “...if she knew you spent more time nitpicking your students than teaching the actual material Jayce.” Her voice is calm but biting, and the class collectively holds its breath.

The professor’s smirk falters for a split second at Caitlyn’s casual use of his first name. A wave of whispers ripples through the class, and a few students stifle laughs, eagerly watching the tension unfold.

Jayce straightens, gripping his marker a little too tightly. “Ms. Kiramman,” he says, his tone clipped. “I don’t recall giving you permission to address me so informally.”

Caitlyn leans back in her chair, arms crossed, exuding unbothered confidence. “Oh, my apologies... Professor Talis,” she replies with a mock sweetness that only sharpens the edge in her tone. “I’m just trying to meet the same level of professionalism you bring to the classroom.”

The room is silent now, the kind of silence that feels heavy and electric. Even you can’t help but glance at her in disbelief. Caitlyn’s audacity seems boundless, and while part of you wants to roll your eyes, another part can’t deny how effortlessly she commands attention.

Jayce takes a deep breath, visibly attempting to maintain his composure. “Perhaps if you put as much effort into your studies as you do into your... commentary, you’d actually excel in this course,” he retorts before turning back to the board, clearly signaling the end of the exchange.

Caitlyn doesn’t seem fazed, her lips curling into a faint smirk as she leans back in her chair. Her eyes, however, drift right back to you. You feel the weight of her gaze before she even speaks.

“You can ignore me all you want, Y/N,” she whispers, her tone dropping into something softer, more persuasive. “But we both know this isn’t over.”

Your stomach twists. You keep your eyes fixed on your notebook, pretending to focus on the professor’s notes, but the words blur together. Caitlyn’s presence feels suffocating, her voice still lingering in your ears. You silently curse yourself for not just skipping class altogether.

The lecture drags on, the professor’s words a distant hum in the background as your thoughts race. Every so often, you catch Caitlyn shifting in her seat, her pen tapping against the desk in a rhythm that feels deliberately designed to remind you she’s still there, still waiting.

When class finally ends, you’re the first to pack up, eager to escape the suffocating tension. You sling your bag over your shoulder and make a beeline for the door, but Caitlyn’s voice stops you just as you step into the hallway.

“Y/N, wait up!” she calls, her tone casual but laced with that same infuriating confidence.

You stop reluctantly, turning just enough to see her strolling toward you, her usual smirk firmly in place.

“What do you want, Caitlyn?” you ask, your voice sharper than you intended.

She raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by your reaction. “Just wanted to check in,” she says smoothly. “You seemed... distracted today.”

“I wonder why,” you mutter under your breath, turning to walk away, but Caitlyn matches your pace effortlessly.

“Come on, pretty,” she says, her voice dropping into something almost playful. “No need to be so defensive. I was just trying to make things interesting.”

“Interesting isn’t the word I’d use,” you shoot back, keeping your eyes forward.

“Then what word would you use?” she asks, her tone lighter now, teasing.

You don’t answer, refusing to give her the satisfaction. But Caitlyn doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, your silence only fuels her.

“See you around, Y/N,” she says finally, her voice carrying that same confidence as always. And just like that, she’s gone, leaving you standing in the hallway with a mix of frustration and something else you can’t quite name.

—-

You walk over to Julie’s locker, spotting her staring at her phone, absorbed in whatever’s on the screen. You hesitate for a moment, unsure whether to bring up the argument she and Lena had last night. You don’t want to interfere or make things worse. But before you can decide, Julie looks up, catching your gaze. Her face softens, and she forces a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

She walks over to you and gives you a hug before interlocking her hands with yours. You smile at your best friend before breaking the silence “You’re not gonna tell me what happened?” you finally ask, breaking the silence. Your voice is soft but edged with curiosity.

Julie glances at you, her lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s nothing, Y/N. Don’t worry about it.”

You stop walking, forcing her to pause and turn back toward you. “Julie, come on. I’m not stupid. I heard you two arguing last night, and it didn’t sound like ‘nothing.’ What’s going on?”

Julie sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly as she pulls her hand out of yours and runs it through her hair. She glances around, almost like she’s avoiding eye contact, clearly wrestling with whether she’s ready to open up. “It’s just... a lot, I guess,” she starts, her voice softer than usual. You nod, silently encouraging her to continue. You’re here to listen.

“I love her,” Julie says quietly, her words weighed down with emotion. “I really do. But it feels like I’m the only one trying to make this work.” She shakes her head, frustration lacing her voice. “We live together, Y/N, and anytime we argue, I have to be the one to step up, apologize first, even when I’m not the one in the wrong. I shouldn’t have to do that every time we disagree about something, you know?”

You give her a small nod of understanding. This isn’t the first time Julie’s expressed her frustrations with Lena, but you can tell this time feels different. There’s something heavier in her words.

Julie pauses for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip. "I know I’m... insufferable to be around sometimes. But I do try. I try to change…for myself, for her. Every single day. Because I do see a future with her." Her voice falters, and you can see the deep-rooted frustration written all over her face. She’s holding back, trying so hard not to directly criticize Lena, but it’s clear this is all weighing on her.

You step closer, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Julie, you're not insufferable. You’re doing the best you can, and that’s all anyone can ask for."

Julie doesn’t immediately respond, but the quiet look she gives you speaks volumes. You know she feels torn between the love she has for Lena and the frustration of trying to make it work alone. And as much as Julie tries to protect Lena, she can’t hide the exhaustion in her eyes.

Julie takes a deep breath, her eyes dropping to the ground as she searches for the right words. "I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining or ungrateful. She has her own issues, too. She’s not perfect. But... when we’re together, it feels like she’s always pulling away. Like she has her own life, her own priorities, and I’m just... not a part of it sometimes. She says she wants space, but honestly, it feels more like she’s just trying to get away from me."

Her voice wavers slightly, and you can see the hurt in her eyes. "I’m trying to understand, Y/N. I really am. But sometimes, I wonder if she even wants this relationship as much as I do."

You feel a twist in your stomach, knowing how much this is weighing on your friend. You gently ask, "Have you tried contacting her? Reaching out?"

Julie shakes her head, glancing down at her phone in frustration. "I’ve been texting her nonstop since yesterday. Back to back. But she’s been leaving me on read every time. Now I don’t know what to do."

her lips pressed together as if holding back the weight of everything she's been carrying. "I just wish we could communicate better. But when we talk, it feels like we’re speaking two different languages. She needs her space, but I need her to be present. And lately, it’s felt like we’re just... drifting apart."

A silence falls between you both, and you can’t help but feel for her. Watching Julie go through this isn't easy, but you know she needs to hear this. "Have you told her how you’re feeling? About needing more communication and time together?"

Julie looks up at you, her eyes tired but thoughtful. “I’ve tried. But it doesn’t always come out the way I want. When I talk to her, it feels like I’m being needy or demanding. Like I’m suffocating her when all I want is to be with her. And then I wonder if I’m the problem.”

"You're not the problem," you assure her gently, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Relationships have their ups and downs, and communication is key. But it has to go both ways. She needs to understand where you’re coming from too."

Julie nods slowly, taking in your words. "I know, but sometimes it feels like we’re just... stuck. Like we’re not moving forward." She exhales heavily, a mixture of frustration and resignation in her tone.

"I just want us to be okay, Y/N. I want to feel like we’re on the same team again."

You squeeze her hand tighter, offering her all the support you can. "I know you do. And you deserve that, Julie. You both do. I think it’s just going to take some time and effort from both of you. But I believe you’ll figure it out. You’re strong, and you know what you want."

She smiles faintly, the weight on her shoulders slightly lighter. "Thanks, Y/N. I’m glad you’re here. I really am."

"Always," you reply softly, pulling her into a quick hug. You know that things won’t change overnight, but you also know that whatever happens, you’ll be by her side through it all.

—-

Julie gives you a small smile before walking off to her next class, thanking you for your advice. You return the smile, watching her go before turning to enter the library.

The usual silence of the library wraps around you as you walk toward the back, where your favorite spot awaits. It’s tucked away, hidden behind a few tall bookshelves, far from the hustle and bustle of the main area. Not many people venture back here unless they’re really looking for solitude, and that’s exactly why you love it.

You settle into your spot, setting your things down on the table with a quiet breath. The calm of the secluded space fills you, and you’re grateful for the moment of peace. With your books open and notes in front of you, you try to focus on the material.

But as you read, your mind drifts, and Caitlyn and Vi start to occupy your thoughts. You can’t help but think about how persistent they are, how desperate they seem to get to know you. It’s almost endearing in a way, but then again, you know them well enough to understand they do this with every girl they want to get with.

You pause, wondering if you could be different. Maybe you could somehow befriend them, keep things casual and not get caught up in whatever relationship they might want.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? They don’t just want a friendship. Whatever they set their sights on, they get, and it’s hard to imagine anything else.

The confusion still lingers. Why are they putting so much energy into getting your attention, only to act like you don’t exist the very next day? It doesn’t make sense. The whole situation feels like a mess, and you’re left wondering where it could all go or if you even want it to.

The soft hum of the library fades into the background as you try to refocus, but that nagging feeling of being watched doesn’t go away. You glance up briefly, scanning the room. At first, everything seems normal: students hunched over textbooks, a librarian quietly organizing a cart of books. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you spot two familiar figures strolling through the library doors.

Caitlyn and Vi.

Your stomach drops. It’s not that they haven’t been everywhere you’ve turned lately, but this feels different, almost deliberate.

Caitlyn spots you first. Her sharp gaze catches yours, and a smug smile spreads across her face. She nudges Vi, who glances your way. Her expression isn’t one of amusement it’s more intrigued, like she’s sizing you up. Together, they start making their way through the aisles, their footsteps casual, like this is just another random stop.

But you know better. You can feel the weight of their attention on you, and you’re left wondering if this is just another game they’re playing, or if they actually want something more.

You try to bury yourself in your notebook, pretending not to notice them. Maybe if you ignore them long enough, they’ll lose interest and leave.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Caitlyn’s voice cuts through the quiet like a knife.

You look up reluctantly to find her leaning against the edge of your table, her usual confident smirk firmly in place. Vi stands beside her, arms crossed, her piercing gaze locked on you.

“I didn’t know you were the library type,” Caitlyn continues, tilting her head slightly. “Always so studious, huh?”

“Or hiding,” Vi adds, her voice low and teasing.

“I’m not hiding,” you snap before you can stop yourself. The last thing you want to do is engage, but they have a way of pulling words out of you.

“Relax, we’re just here to say hi,” Caitlyn says, her tone dripping with amusement. She reaches out, tapping your notebook with her finger. “Working on something important?”

“Class notes,” you reply shortly, keeping your answers brief.

“Class notes?” Vi echoes, her brow arching. “Sounds thrilling.”

Caitlyn chuckles, pulling out the chair across from you and sitting down without so much as an invitation. “You don’t mind if we join you, do you? It’s such a cozy little spot you’ve got here.”

Your pulse quickens, but you force yourself to stay calm. “Actually, I was just about to leave.”

Caitlyn’s smirk deepens. “Oh, don’t go on our account. We’re harmless.”

Vi finally takes a seat as well, leaning back in her chair like she owns the place. “Besides,” she says, her voice smooth and deliberate, “you’ve been on our minds lately. Haven’t you noticed?”

Your stomach twists as you remember the Instagram notifications from last night. They know exactly what they’re doing.

“What do you want?” you ask, your voice steady despite the unease creeping up your spine.

“Who says we want anything?” Caitlyn replies, feigning innocence.

“But since you’re asking...” Vi leans forward, her eyes locking with yours. “Maybe we just want to get to know you better.”

Their words hang in the air, heavy with implication. Every instinct screams at you to leave, but something keeps you rooted to the spot. Caitlyn’s smirk, Vi’s intense stare it’s like they’re daring you to make the first move.

Their words hang in the air, thick with unspoken meaning. Every part of you screams to leave, but something keeps you frozen in place. Caitlyn’s smirk, Vi’s intense gaze it’s as if they’re daring you to make the first move, to fall into their game.

You gather your things quickly, heart pounding in your chest as you try to create distance between yourself and their electric presence. You’ve had enough of their games. The last thing you want is to be pulled back into whatever twisted power play they’re weaving.

“I’ve got to go,” you mutter, grabbing your backpack, but before you can make your escape, Caitlyn’s arms slip around your waist, pulling you back toward her. Her chin rests lightly on your shoulder, and you can feel her breath against your skin, warm and steady.

“Where do you think you’re going, Y/N? Hmm?” Caitlyn’s voice is teasing, but there’s a definite edge to it, like a warning that settles heavily in your chest.

“Let me guess,” Caitlyn continues, her voice dropping lower, controlled yet laced with amusement. “You’re going to leave, pretend like nothing’s happening, and we’ll just fade into the background, right?” Her chuckle is soft but sharp. “You think that’s how this works?”

Vi steps closer, resting her arms on the table with a deliberate motion. Her eyes track you, unwavering and intense. When she speaks, her tone is unyielding, the words slow and deliberate. “You can leave, Y/N. But it’s not going to change anything. We’re still going to be here. And we’re not going to let you walk away like it’s nothing.”

You freeze, your body tensing as the weight of their words settles over you. It feels like you’re caught in a web, each strand tightening with every second. Caitlyn’s arms are still around your waist, and Vi’s gaze never leaves you, unwavering and calculating.

You freeze, the weight of their words settling over you like a heavy, suffocating blanket. Each second feels like the strands of a web tightening, pulling you deeper into their grasp. Caitlyn’s arms are still wrapped around your waist, possessive and firm, while Vi’s gaze is locked on you, intense and predatory.

“Please... let me go,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly as you try to steady it. You attempt to pull away from Caitlyn’s grip, but she just tightens her hold, keeping you in place, her touch searing through the fabric of your clothes.

“I don’t want to play this game anymore,” you beg, your words catching in your throat. “Please... just leave me alone.”

Caitlyn’s breath is warm against your ear as she chuckles softly, the sound both teasing and dangerous. “Game?” she murmurs, her voice rich with amusement and something darker, more insistent. “We’re not playing games, Y/N. We’re simply trying to get to know you better. You’ve been avoiding us long enough.”

Vi steps closer, her movements slow and deliberate, her eyes flicking over your face as if searching for the truth behind your mask. “We’re not trying to make things complicated,” she says, her voice smooth and coaxing, though there’s an underlying edge to it that makes you doubt her sincerity. “But you’re making it hard for us to just let this be... easy.”

Your pulse quickens as the air between you all thickens with tension, the weight of their presence smothering you. You’re caught between the desire to escape and the unsettling feeling that there’s nowhere to run. Caitlyn’s touch sends a shiver down your spine, her grip on you almost possessive, like she’s marking her territory, and Vi’s eyes intense, unwavering make your skin prickle with heat.

You struggle to breathe, the proximity of them suffocating you, the room feeling smaller with every rapid heartbeat. The air is thick, and the weight of their presence presses in on you, making it feel like you’re trapped in a cage. You’re on the verge of breaking down, the fear and frustration bubbling to the surface. All you want is to escape, but Caitlyn’s grip doesn’t loosen; if anything, it tightens, holding you in place. Even if you could break free from her hold, you know Vi would just step in, blocking your way with her calculated intensity.

“Please, I’ll do anything. Just let me go,” you beg, the words slipping from your lips like a desperate plea for mercy. Your voice cracks as tears begin to sting your eyes, threatening to spill over.

You look at Vi, your eyes wide, shaking your head as your breath comes out in uneven gasps. “I don’t want any part of this. Please, just let me go,” you plead, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and frustration. Every part of you screams to break free, but the tension in the air weighs you down, making it feel impossible to escape.

Caitlyn’s fingers continue their slow, deliberate circles on your waist, each touch igniting a sense of helplessness that makes your skin crawl. “You keep saying that, but you're still here,” she murmurs against your ear, her lips brushing lightly against your skin. “We’re not making you stay, Y/N. You choose to stay, every time.”

Vi watches you, her eyes cold and calculating. She tilts her head slightly, studying your face as if she’s savoring your reaction. “It doesn’t have to be like this,” she says, the words dripping with something darker than just coaxing. “You can walk away. But you’re still here. What does that tell you?”

Your heart pounds in your chest, a mix of adrenaline and unease coursing through your veins as you struggle to catch your breath. “I don’t want this,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, eyes flicking nervously between them. Yet, the air around you feels charged, their presence heavy and impossible to ignore, like a force pulling you under.

“Then why haven’t you walked away?” Caitlyn’s voice drips with quiet challenge, her words laced with a teasing edge that sends a shiver down your spine. She releases her hold on you, her gaze never wavering, and with a firm but unhurried push, she guides you down into the chair. Before you can process, they close the space around you, their proximity overwhelming, leaving you breathless and cornered.

Caitlyn’s fingers trace along your jawline, her smile deceptively soft as she leans closer, her breath warm against your skin. “We just want to be your friends,” she repeats, her tone sweet but layered with something far more sinister. Her eyes bore into yours, as if daring you to contradict her.

Your chest tightens, your pulse hammering against your ribs. You hate this, everything about it feels wrong but your body refuses to move, locked in place by their unrelenting presence. The air around you feels heavy, suffocating, and no matter how much you want to get away, it’s as if the weight of them keeps you tethered.

“What do you want from me?” you manage to choke out, your voice trembling despite your attempt to sound firm.

Caitlyn tilts her head, her lips curling into a smirk. “Oh, it’s not what we want from you,” she murmurs, her fingers gently pressing your chin up so you can’t look away. “It’s what we want with you.”

Vi steps closer, her presence looming over you like a storm. Her hands grip the back of your chair, boxing you in even further. “The question, Y/N,” she says, her voice low and rough, “is what you really want. You can keep pretending, keep fighting it, but we can see it in your eyes.” Her gaze is unwavering, and it feels like she’s stripping you bare with just a look.

Caitlyn’s lips brush the edge of your ear as she whispers, “So, tell us. Are you going to keep lying to yourself, or are you ready to stop running?”

Ⓒ︎ seulszn

[literatooru]

𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬

pairing: f!reader x gojo satoru

most people, if asked to describe satoru gojo, would not choose to say rational; and time and time again, he seems to prove them right.

there he is, waiting for his coffee order, when he notices a guy that looks terribly fixated on a certain spot in space, somewhere around the far corner near the door. when he follows the guy’s line of vision, he finds… well, you. is it him or do you look a little bored?

no, no; he’s right. your eyes seem exceptionally blasé when you scout the perimeter of the place, your arms crossed across your chest and the barest hint of a pout on your lips.

his, on the other hand, curve upward with mischief. with his index finger stretching to push his dark glasses further up the bridge of his nose, he takes his order when his name is called, then makes his way toward the guy.

“she’s pretty, huh?” he queries, taking a deliberate sip of his beverage.

gojo doesn’t bother to even look at him. it’s obvious, he supposes, that he’s talking to the guy, from his words, and the fact that he just jabbed his elbow against his ribs.

the guy is seemingly startled at first (and with good reason), but he relaxes when he senses the white haired man holds no ill intent toward him.

“yeah,” he breathes out. “gorgeous. stunning, actually.”

at that, satoru’s eyebrows shoot up, and he gives an appreciative hum. he gives a friendly whack to the man’s chest and nods at you.

“why don’t you ask her out then?”

the guy beside satoru nods slowly as he ponders the suggestion, brows pinching in determination as the feeling grows. gojo takes another sip of his drink to conceal his smile, although it doesn’t really matter; the man’s too focused on you to even spare him a glance.

“i think i will.”

“what if she’s with someone though,” gojo adds with an exaggerated sigh, his shoulders sagging as he rests his elbow on the man’s shoulder.

his companion frowns.

“i don’t think that matters,” he mutters. it takes everything in gojo not to cackle out loud; he had him pegged him exactly right, it seems. 

“she’s definitely with someone.”

“i mean, he’s probably some prick, right? and i’m right here. she can’t possibly say no to me. and if she does, well... i have my ways.”

“ask for her number then. go,” gojo says with the brightest grin ever as he gives a small, encouraging shove to his back. “go, buddy. i’ll be rooting for you.”

the guy nods again.

“thanks, man.”

and with that, he’s off. and gojo chuckles against his cup.

the guy appears to be terribly eager—he makes a beeline for you as if he’s desperate to breath the same air as you. which, to be frank, every single person in here is doing.

and all gojo does is watch the train-wreck unfold from afar.

he purses his lips to fight a smile once more, intently observing as you scowl at the guy. you shake your head. the guy moves closer. you look like you’re about to strike him right in the face.

“y/n?” the barista calls.

“oh, here,” gojo says as he perks up, reaching for the drink that’s just been placed on the counter. “thanks, have a good day,” he adds with a winning grin.

gojo takes one final sip to empty his cup before tossing it in the trash without looking (needless to say, it goes in), and starts to make his way over to you, just in time to hear what the guy is saying.

“…and i know you want me too. come on, baby girl, we’d be perfect for each other.”

“i already said no,” you reply through gritted teeth. “now get off my face if you don’t want me to—” 

“all right,” gojo says under his breath before slapping a hand on the man’s shoulder to grip it. gojo, once again, doesn’t bother looking at him. “here you go, baby girl,” he says, offering you your drink.

exactly two bewildered faces turn to look at him, except yours gradually turns into something that holds a pretty intense murderous intent. he almost shudders.

“and you are?” the guy snaps before he examines him again, and gojo sees the exact moment the realization dawns on him as he realizes he talked to him not even five minutes ago.

“i’m her boyfriend,” he says, adding a cheeky smile for effect as he moves to stand behind you and clutches your shoulders to pull you closer to him. “didn’t i mention that?” the man simply shakes his head. “oops! my bad.”

it’s all you can do not to murder him on the spot.

“excuse us,” you mutter before grabbing a fistful of gojo’s shirt before dragging him out the door. once outside and a fair distance away, you turn around to jab a finger against his chest. “what’s your problem!”

“i know you can hold your own!” he offers as an excuse. to be fair, it is true. “you know, girl power.” he pumps a fist in the air.

“what sort of idiot sends someone else after their girlfriend?”

gojo merely snorts.

“what am i, insecure?” he retorts. you huff, a scowl effectively taking over your face when he takes your drink from your hand. “you’re going to break it if you keep squeezing it like that,” he mumbles before taking a large gulp of your drink.

“oh, give it back, you prick.” you snatch the cup back and take an angry sip.

gojo finally allows himself to laugh.

“he said you might be dating one.” at the blank look you shoot him, just in case, he adds, “a prick.”

“i am,” you grumble.

“that was miko’s ex, by the way,” he says. 

you blink slowly, allowing your gaze to drop down to the cup in your hand as you reflect on his words, simple as they might be. 

to your knowledge, miko’s ex had been an actual prick. you would know, of course, because although you never once saw the guy, it had to be you the one to hold her and comfort her for entire days until she was able to heal, bit by bit. you wordlessly hand your cup back to gojo, because this time you might actually break it.

“so you sent him after me?” you look him in the eye and see your own scowl reflected on his sunglasses.

satoru shrugs.

“someone ought to put him in his place.” the corner of his mouth quirks up. “believe me, you could do much worse to him than i ever could.”

his free hand steals around your waist to pull you closer, and you allow him to. your voice is muffled against the fabric of his shirt the next time you speak.

“how do you know?”

“i’m a man,” he says, like that explains everything. “i know.”

the thing he doesn’t add, however, is that he knows much too perfectly how much it stings to be rejected by you. if he were anyone else, he wouldn’t have dared showed his face in at least a decade.

and despite what other people say, you know that satoru gojo is much more rational than they would think, in his own bizarre way. sure, sometimes he acts like an idiot (actually, he does that with every single breath he takes), and he’s impulsive and a little bit crazy. the one thing people can’t usually see though, is that he cares.