#sometimes it helps just to talk to someone and know youre not alone

[mikkies]

「 SOME PEOPLE LIVE THE LIFE THEY WERE GIVEN, SOME PEOPLE JUST GET BY. 」

Chance x GN! Reader

warnings: hints of Itrapped.

notes: My Chance is inspired by @/telamonisms' Chance's dog motifs.

Chance is extremely loyal—once he grows attached, it’s near impossible for him to let go, no matter how much it hurts. 

He masks his emotions behind charm and bravado, often acting overconfident or cocky to avoid showing real vulnerability. 

They always try to impress you, whether it's flipping his coin with flair or dramatically posing when drawing his flintlock. 

They bring you small tokens—spare shades, shiny coins, or even oddly sentimental junk—because he wants to share the things he finds special. 

He clings a little too tightly when you show them kindness, as if he’s scared you’ll vanish if he blinks. 

He gets nervous if you talk about leaving, even temporarily—he plays it off, but their grip on your hand will tighten. 

He has nightmares often but won’t talk about them; instead, they'll quietly curl closer to you at night, hoping you don’t notice his trembling. 

He’s surprisingly soft-spoken when you’re alone together—their voice loses the cocky edge and becomes unsure, almost shy. 

He sometimes calls you by the wrong name when he's tired or emotionally overwhelmed—it’s always followed by a long silence and a broken apology. 

They don't believe they deserves love, so your affection hits him hard—he’s stunned by every kind gesture. 

Despite his trauma, he tries hard to protect you from his darker thoughts, even if it means distancing themselves at times. 

He would rather die than let someone hurt you—they already gambled everything once and refuses to lose again. 

When he lets himself love, it’s raw and unconditional—like a stray dog finally finding someone worth following home.

Chance never asks for help, but the second you offer—even just a “Need me to carry that?”—they go quiet. Not because he’s offended, but because no one’s ever offered. 

He has a weird attachment to old, broken objects. Once, they gave you a busted pocketwatch with no hands and said, 

“Thought you might like it. Looks like it’s stuck on the moment I met you.” 

He flinches if you catch them off guard, especially from behind. He’ll laugh it off, but you can see how tense he gets. 

He’s bad at eye contact when talking about anything serious. You’ll catch them glancing at you through his shades instead—never directly, like he’s scared you’ll see through him. 

When you compliment then, he always deflects—unless you’re gentle and specific. Then he gets quiet and fidgety, sometimes even holding his breath. 

If you get hurt, even slightly, he panics. He’s not loud about it, but they becomes hyper-alert and overprotective, refusing to leave your side until you’re okay. 

He remembers every little thing you say. He pretends to forget, but then they bring up that one time you said you liked a specific flower and suddenly you’re holding one, half-dried and wrapped in twine. 

He likes hearing your heartbeat when you’re close. It grounds them. Sometimes he’ll rest his head against your chest and close their eyes like it’s the only safe place left. 

He doesn’t know how to ask for affection, but he gives so many chances for you to give it: leaning into you slightly, standing too close, brushing your hand when you walk. 

When they're overwhelmed, he disappears—not because he doesn’t trust you, but because he doesn’t want you to see him fall apart. 

You found him once, curled up alone, still holding that coin like a lifeline. You didn’t say anything. You just sat beside them. 

He doesn't knock—they lingers. Outside your door, outside your window, in the hallway. Not because he’s trying to spy, but because they don't know if they're welcome. Even after everything, he waits for your voice.

“C’mere, Chance.”

Only then does he step inside.

He handles being teased like it’s a foreign language. If you flirt too directly, they fumble—tries to turn it around with a joke, but his ears go pink and he stares at the floor. He’s not used to being wanted, not without strings.

They talk to you through metaphors. He won’t say “I’m scared,” but he’ll say,

“Sometimes the house of cards shakes, y’know? And I ain’t sure if I should run or let it fall.”

You always understand what he means.

They can’t stand goodbyes. Even small ones—when you leave for errands or step away. He doesn’t say it out loud, but he gets clingy right before, almost manic in the way he kisses you or asks if you’re coming back.

They hoard your words like treasures. Any compliment you give them—even offhanded—gets memorized and quietly repeated when he thinks no one can hear.

“Good shot today.”

“I like your laugh.”

You’ll hear him murmur those in his sleep sometimes.

He doesn’t cry easily, but when he does, it breaks him. It only happens when he feels safe with you. They hate that you see it—but afterward, he always holds you tighter, like letting it out freed something in him.

He tries to downplay his panic. But his tells are obvious: pacing in tight circles, flipping his coin too fast, rubbing the same spot on his wrist. He doesn’t say he’s spiraling, but if you take his hand and squeeze it, they'll stop. Every time.

He gets jealous quietly. He won’t confront anyone, but he’ll suddenly get quieter. Won’t touch you as much. Picks at their nails. It’s not possessive—it’s fear.

Fear that you’ll leave him like everyone else has.

They thinks you’re their lucky charm. You’re the only thing that makes his coin land heads more than tails. Even when he doesn’t say it, he believes it with everything he has. If something goes right, he looks at you like you caused it.

He has days where he thinks he’s too broken for you. You’ll find him sitting far from home, staring into nothing. They won’t come back until you find them and quietly offer your hand. He always takes it.

He makes up dumb games to make you smile.

“Bet I can shoot the can before you blink.”

“Loser has to carry the other back to the cabin.”

You always let them win. They always know—but the grin he wears afterward is worth it.

He writes you letters and hides them. Never gives them to you—just folds them up and tucks them between pages of old books or under his mattress. They’re messy, emotional, full of things he can’t say out loud. One day, you’ll find one. And you’ll cry, too.

[cosmosluckycharms]

Bug like angel

Worth it

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

It had been a week or two since Peni had come over.

Since then, Damian had slowly been entering your life more and more.

He would sometimes barge into your room and join in on whatever you were doing.

One time, he barged into your room while you were teaching Peni how to play the electric guitar.

He didn't even ask to join in. He just sat on your chair and lurked.

You didn't mind Damian joining you; it was nice having someone around a lot.

Sometimes it could get overwhelming, though.

Sure, living with Miguel taught you how to live with others, but Damian would sometimes just...linger.

It also didn't help how you liked being alone sometimes, so it got annoying sometimes.

Especially right now, while you were grocery shopping. With Jason.

He had called you earlier, practically forcing you to hang out with him.

Despite your annoyance, you reluctantly agreed.

Regardless of your hesitance, you kind of missed him. even though you'd rather die than tell him.

You guys haven't hung out in around 7 years.

You couldn't blame him, though. His death took a toll on everyone, and he no longer lived in the manor.

While going through awkward small talk, which mostly consisted of you both complaining about Bruce, you heard a voice go off through the intercom:

"Ms. Y/N Wayne, please make your way to the front; we have something you lost."

You looked at Jason, who looked almost as puzzled as you.

"Did you lose anything?"

"Not that I remember... I've got both my phone and my wallet in my pockets, and that's all I brought with me. Plus, it's strange; they used Wayne instead of O'Hara."

"I'll never get used to your last name changing. Why did you change it anyway?"

"I have my reasons."

"fair enough"

Once you got closer to the front, you saw two very familiar figures.

Peni and Damian.

You mentally facepalmed and decided to lecture them later.

You could see by the look on Peni's face that she was annoyed with Damian.

Damian, on the other hand, looked indifferent and slightly proud.

Seeing Damian made it easy to connect the dots; he was in denial of your last name being changed.

You sighed and apologized to the lady at the front for them.

As soon as you made your way out of the store, bags in Jason's hands (because he refused to let his "baby sister" do any work despite you literally being super-human), you started your lecture.

"How did you two get here? I didn't even bring you with me!"

Immediately after saying that, both Peni and Damian started defending themselves and talking over each other.You started rubbing your temple, which made them shut up.

"Peni, you go first."

"Why does she get to go first?!"

"Because I said so."

Peni spoke up. "There was an anomaly here. Everyone was trying to contact you, but you weren't responding."

Right. You left your watch in your room by accident.

Peni continued, "I couldn't find where you were because we couldn't track you—"

"Track?!" Both Damian and Jason interjected in unison.

"Life360," Peni continued, "I ended up doing it on my own."

You grimaced, feeling slightly guilty that Peni had to deal with everything on her own.

"Peni, I'm sorry about you having to deal with all of that."

"It's fine; I needed to get away from home for a bit. If I were you, I'd be more concerned about the lecture you're going to get from Jess and Miguel."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "But seriously, how about I get you some ice cream later, my treat?"

"You know I can't refuse ice cream."

You giggled and ruffled her hair. You looked at Damian, who now looked very jealous, and gestured for him to talk.

"TT. I shouldn't have to explain myself."

Peni sighed and explained, "He was lurking, like always."

"I was not!" Damian argued.

You groaned in annoyance and just continued making your way to your car, everyone following behind you, and Damian and Peni still arguing.

After putting everything in the trunk, Damian and Peni begin arguing again.

"I call shotgun!" they both called out, trying to tug on the car handle despite it being locked.

"Get out of my way, you useless piece of filth!" Damian yelled.

"Y/N, tell Damian it's my turn to sit at the front!"

"No, it's my turn!"

"I'm the tallest!" Peni argued

Damian huffed, "I'm the oldest!"

"by, like, a month!"

"I'm still older!"

"I'm the favorite!"

"No, I am!"

"Y/N-! Tell him I'm the favorite!"

"No, I am!"

"Tell us who your favorite is!" they both exclaimed.

"If I told you guys, you'd end up hurting each other." You spoke up.

"Tell us now!"

"Yeah, or I'll get S//der to scare you in your sleep again!"

"Again?" Jason raised a brow.

You chuckled, "You guys are like 5 apples tall; you don't scare me."

They continued arguing, and you started pinching your nose in annoyance.

"Listen, if you guys can't agree on anything, you'll both sit in the back, and Jason will sit in the front."

"That's not fair!" Damian stomped his feet.

"Life isn't fair." You cringed at how you sounded like Bruce.

As everyone settled down and you finally took a breath, Jason spoke up.

"You know, they kind of sound like us when we were younger."

"Really?"

"Yeah," he chuckled, "do you remember that one time you broke my hardcover book and we got into a fight?"

"Not really."

"You snuck into my room out of boredom and snooped around. You found a book you thought was 'cute' because the cover was your favorite color. We got into a huge screaming match."

"I don't remember that."

"I swear, Alfred scolded me so hard. He put us both in—" He got cut off by Damian's yell.

You pulled over into a Walmart parking lot.

"What?!" You looked at them.

"Parker just bit me! This is preposterous!"

"He started it! He pulled out his stupid katana!"

"Damian, you know we aren't supposed to have katanas in the car," you stressed.

"Snitch." He gave a nasty look to Peni.

"Alright, I'm getting the shirt out." You got out of the car and started grabbing something from the trunk.

"No!" they groaned. You grabbed a get along shirt and threw it at both of them.

"I am not putting this on."

You glared at him, making him somehow shiver.

"I'm not putting it on either!"

"Do you want me to tell Noir you bit Damian on the arm?"

They put it on begrudgingly, making Jason laugh loudly at how defeated Damian was. You could have sworn you saw a tear fall from his eye.

After forcing them to put on the shirt (and taking away Damian's katana), both of them accepted defeat.

Peni was on her phone, and Damian was looking out the window.

The car was finally silent, with Peni and Damian slowly getting sleepy in the back.

Jason spoke up. "That's what Alfred did with us back when we were younger."

"Deadass?"

"Mhm. I probably have a picture somewhere."

By the time you got back to the manor, Damian and Peni were fast asleep.The shirt worked.

You chuckled and reached to pick them up; Jason stopped you.

"Wait," he pulled out both of your phones. "Take a picture first."

After taking some pictures (and sending one to Noir), you took the shirt off and handed Damian to Jason.

You picked up Peni and took her to your room.

You placed her on your bed, careful not to wake her up.

You looked around for your wristband to take Peni home.

Once you made the portal, you carefully picked up Peni, making sure not to wake her.

You hopped through the portal and carefully made it through her window, and tucked her into bed.

You got back to your room and finally got to relax.

...that was until Jason walked in through the door.

"Can we talk?" he asked. He looked a bit nervous.

You sat up. "What's up?"

"I miss how close we used to be."

"That sucks."

After around 30 seconds of silence, you spoke up again.

"Listen, we can slowly repair us, but you shouldn't expect everything to go back to normal immediately. Especially since I don't even remember what normal is."

"That's fine, I understand. I'll see you around, I guess." He left, closing your door behind him.

☆

About an hour later, you were still in your room, but now tuning your guitar.

You just got done with your online schoolwork and were dying of boredom.

The Little Mermaid musical was playing on the TV in front of you, and you could hear a slight hum coming from the 3DS next to you, which was playing Pokémon.

Was this a little too much? Possibly.

But you were bored and needed to get some sort of stimulation, since you didn't want to go out and have one of your stupid family members follow you. Again.

You sighed and put your guitar down, watching TV instead.

You took notice of the song playing, Part of Your World.

You cringed at an old memory of you, one where you were around eight.

You were quietly singing, almost humming, Part of Your World, hoping that somehow, some way, while hanging around Jason and Dick, he'd see you and play with you too.

You'd daydream for hours on end; most of your daydreams consisted of your family coming to your performances.

You grew up

preferring performing arts, music, dance, and theater over most physical activity.Not that you didn't like some sports; volleyball and soccer would always have a special place in your heart.

Plus, the semester you cheered for was pretty fun.

You also did gymnastics for around 2-3 years just to be like Dick; maybe Bruce would've liked you more if you were just like him?. Which was GREAT for when you became Arana.

But nothing compared to performing and seeing performances.

Both being in the crowd and seeing the crowd gave you a funny feeling, one that gave you adrenaline and made you all giddy and excited.

The first performance you saw was Seussical, on a field trip in second grade.

The Little Mermaid could've been the first, and you begged Bruce to take you to go see it. At some point, he said he'd take you. But he never took you; instead, he took Jason to a bookstore.

You were actually in a play; unfortunately, due to being bitten, now most of your time has to be put into being Araña.

You had to quit halfway through the play you were doing; your excuse was that Bruce no longer had time to take you.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you sighed, pausing the musical, which was now almost halfway done. (How long were you spaced out?) and instead of picking up your phone.

You had no new notifications other than Pinterest telling you that you had good taste.

Normally, the lack of notifications would worry you, seeing as how you and your friends usually talk all day.

But you knew they were most likely busy right now, either with work or schoolwork.

Unlike you, your friends went to school in person.

You missed doing in-person school, but it gave you more time to be Araña.

You put your phone face down and flopped onto the bed.

You didn't know what to do right now.

Your friends are busy, and nothing seems interesting.

You could go shopping again, but that would mean having to bring someone with you.

And full offense, you don't think you can stand being around anyone right now.Sure, Damian's cool, but you were tired of seeing him everywhere. Jason is most likely going to try and ask to hang out more.

Bruce is awkward with you, plus you don't think you can stand to willingly be around him. Connected by blood, separated by time.

Tim scares you, Dick tries too hard, and Alfred makes you mad.

You sat up and decided to get a snack.

It was almost time for patrol, and you needed all the energy you could get.

As you made your way down the hallway and past everyone's rooms, you looked at some family portraits.A couple of them were your grandparents, Martha and Tomas.

The pictures were old and somewhat rusty, but you could feel the love radiating off of them.Some other pictures were of the family which you weren't even in; no, you didn't feel angry and upset; shut up.

You had some photos of you, only put up recently.

They were from your social media and had your friends awkwardly cut or edited out.

You huffed and continued down the long hallway.

As you started to space out again, you felt your spidey senses go off slightly.

You were now in the living room, where everyone was sitting. Silently.

Dick patted the seat next to him.

Usually, when something like this happened, you'd ignore him and sit literally anywhere else.

Unfortunately, every other spot was taken.

You sighed and sat next to him, a genuine smile taking over his face.

You looked at Bruce, whose face was neutral.

Wanting to break the ice, you spoke up. "What is this, an intervention?"

You looked around to see everyone looking slightly guilty, like they got caught doing something stupid.

"Oh, so it is an intervention." You leaned back, a bit bored already.

Bruce cleared his throat. "We need to talk about you being Araña."

Shit.

You assumed that you all had a silent agreement that no one talked about each other's vigilante lives.

They never actually told you about theirs, so you found no use in telling them about yours.

"We have decided it is safer for you to be on patrol with at least one of us," Dick said casually.

"WHAT?!" you practically yelled, a bit dramatically.

"It's for your own good—"

"This isn't fair! I don't work in groups. I work better on my own." You stood up and argued.

Tim scoffed, "What about when you fight with your little friends?"

"That's different!" You started crying out of frustration. You hated it when they treated you like you were incapable of anything.

Bruce got closer to you, making you subconsciously back up in fear.

"One of us is coming with you. End of discussion."

You huffed and stormed off to your room.

You just wanted a snack.

☆

You were on top of a rooftop, sitting beside Jason and Damian.

They both had to come with you due to them not agreeing on who should go with you first.

Patrol was boring, and you couldn't stand hearing Jason and Damian argue for a moment more.

You were about to swing away when you got a familiar feeling.

"Hey!"The familiar voice made you turn around in excitement.

Before Damian and Jason could ask who the guy in the red and black costume was, you hurriedly ran and hugged him."Want to get out of here?" Miles asked.

You practically started jittering in place. "Yeah!"

"She's fine, Spider-Boy." Jason put an arm around your shoulder.

"Oh, not again." Miles dragged his hand on his face.

You started laughing harder than Jason had ever seen you laugh. Your eyes were watering, and you were grabbing your ribs.

"I'm very clearly a man; it's in the name!"

"You're never beating the Spider-Boy allegations," you teased.

Jason spoke, "No way, Jose, I'm on babysitting duty."

"I'm 16; I'm fine. I don't need a babysitter." You argued.

"No, you're not. B told me to take care of you—"

Before he knew it, both of you swung away, giggling.

You knew both he and Damian were following you guys using a grappling hook, but they'd be a bit slower.

You and Miles went around stopping a few petty crimes.

After around 10 minutes, you were sure you lost Jason and Damian, even if it was for just a moment.

You guys sat down on a random rooftop.

Miles went ahead and talked about small things that happened lately.

He and Gwen went on a couple of dates, his grades have gone up, and he might get a job soon!

Miles mentioned his family why couldn't you have a family like that? and how they've been more supportive of him since he told them he's Spider-Man.

Miles noticed how quiet you were, which wasn't normal for you.

Usually, you were very chatty and bubbly, so seeing you quiet and calm was worrying him.

He shifted the conversation onto you "So what's going on with you? anything interesting?"

You sighed, flopped down onto the concrete roof, and looked at the stars slowly appearing. "Nothing much. My family suddenly decided I'm incapable of doing anything on my own."

He laid down next to you. "Really?"

"Yep. They won't leave me alone."

"I could tell."

A moment of calm, serene silence passed as you both just stared at the stars.

All the two of you could hear were some cicadas and the sounds of people walking below you.

You smiled, "I missed this."

He looked at you, puzzled, "Missed what?"

"Being with friends. I missed being around my buddies."

Miles's eyes lit up a bit. "We should all hang out together next week!"

"We should! Where do you think we could go?"

You two talked about plans, which didn't really make sense.

You guys decided to plan it later. That's a problem for future you.

After half an hour of you both joking around, Jason and Damian showed up.

You let out a groan in annoyance, and Miles waved goodbye.

You knew once you'd get to the manor, you'd get a huge lecture, one more annoying than the one you were currently receiving from both Damian and Jason.

But all you could think about was how nice it was to get away from them and hang out with a friend for once.

It was so worth it.

☆

hi guys i hate this

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[zepskies]

Haha yeah I realized belatedly that Blake is actually the perfect "Ken" to go with that lyric!! 😂

I'm sure they think they are trying to help by setting up dates, but they really should respect the fact that it isn't what she wants. And if you are going to try and set someone up be upfront about it, don't be sneaky with it.

BIG YEP. They're trying to "help" her move on (and not be the sad friend), but they're not actually supporting her here 💔

Really?!! After what Rachel did they are still talking to her!! She needs better friends.

Right? I might explore it in future one-shots, but in my head Rachel has been able to manipulate and lie her way back into the group, like claiming to have been drunk as well when it "happened with Mark," etc.

Beautiful heartbreaking imagery 💔

Aww thank you! �� Poor girl went through it fr!

Oh no. That is definitely not the way you want to run into your ex for the first time after the breakup.

Right? Poor girl feeling like a gremlin while Mark's all handsome and cheerful. 😭 She just doesn't realize that it's a coping mechanism for everything he's hiding inside.

Poor girl. As if it's not bad enough running into Mark like that, she sees him with Oliveras and assumes something is going on there (with someone else she knows). No wonder she needed to get out of there quickly. Uh-oh

Ughh I know, it was hard to write that scene from the reader's POV since I ship Mark x Amber in canon loll 🥲

Seriously what is wrong with some guys?! Take the hint!!

Oof, unfortunately this guy had taking advantage of her on his mind. 😓 But luckily Mark stepped in!

I hadn't heard this song before, but I love how this bit fits, linking that line from the song with the story.

Oh yeah that part of the song is so gutting, I had to try and have that represented here 💙

Ok, love this. I read it hearing him say it in my head.

ahaha I'm so glad to hear that because I did too when I was writing it! Love getting that confirmation 🤣

Oh, I'm guessing this has the potential to cause some issues/ conflict between her and Meachum with his work on the task force.

This was 100% my thought when we found out about Meachum and his fiancée in the show. My first thought was that he did that to end it so she wasn't 'stuck' with a dying man.

BIG YEP. That was my thought too! I still hope he didn't actually sleep with Rachel in canon either. 😭

OMG, she has no shame!!! Why does she think this is ok? Imagine if the roles had been reversed and Mark had done what she has, he would find himself in serious trouble.

Rachel is the absolute wooooorst! 100% if the roles had been reversed, a man could be arrested in this situation. But bc she's a woman, it's just seen as "asshole behavior." Sometimes the double-standard is really rough

OMG... she needs help. That is not normal behaviour Rachel!! I hope she gets a few home truths told to her.

Oooh don't worry, she will in the next story to follow this 😏

Love the shift here fits perfectly with the fact they still clearly love each other.

Aww thank you, as gutting as it is, this really is the moment where you see both of them never stopped loving each other.

Her being his 'peaceful spot' is beautiful. That man definitely needs it after what has happened so far on that task force.

From what I've seen so far, Mark seems to be really alone and having to cope with all this stress at work, which would be enough to deal with on its own, let alone everything else he's going to. 😭

Thanks so much for reading, friend! So glad you enjoyed it 🥰💕

CATASTROPHIC BLUES

Pairing: Mark Meachum x F. Reader

Summary: Nine months isn’t as long as it sounds. When you run into your ex-fiancé at a bar, he finds out what you've become. You find out the truth.

AN: Okay, so this was only supposed to be a 1K drabble sequel to DOWNGRADE for my lovely friend, @waynes-multiverse, but of course it snowballed on me lol. (And there’s a little more to come!) This is set during early season 1, let’s say between 1x02 and 1x03.

Song Inspo: “Hits Different” by Taylor Swift (YT)

Word Count: 6.3K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Angst, drunkenness, skeevy men, Mark doing his best with an angry, hungover reader (bit of grumpy x sunshine), talk of cheating, what really happened, and other truths revealed…

Nine months. It should’ve meant something.

You should be able to go out with your friends to the club. You should be able to feel confident in one of your favorite dresses and the tallest pair of heels you could almost walk in.

You should be able to let loose on the dance floor, letting the closest attractive guy grind on your ass.

He later offered to get you a drink, his hot breath in your ear. An uncomfortable chill ran down your spine. But you know what? Fuck it.

You went back with him to the bar, taking the chance to rest your achy feet. He tried to make small talk with you, despite you being stiff and awkward now that you couldn’t distract yourself with the vibes of the music running through your body. Now the thump thump thump of the bass was too much, too distracting for a normal conversation.

Blake was an oxymoron—he dressed like a wealthy hipster and talked like a frat bro. He had the skinny jeans and a silky patterned shirt, a thin gold chain around his neck, an obnoxious gold pinky ring, and a trendy cropped haircut. You regretted letting him buy you a drink, but then again, you never wasted good vodka.

You also started to get suspicious when one of your friends “casually” came up on his other side.

“Ask her about her job,” Sarah whispered. You just barely caught it.

“Oh, yeah. So, uh, what do you do?” Blake asked you. You were pretty sure he was more interested in your cleavage than your job.

“I’m an assistant to the Head District Attorney of California,” you said blandly.

The guy blinked. “…Oh. Cool.”

“And what do you do, Blake?”

“Well, my dad owns an advertisement company, so I do some stuff for him every now and then. But mostly I’m a competitive gamer. Like, uh, League of Legends, Counter Strike, Mortal Kombat. What about you? You a gamer?”

Blinking slow, then sighing, you leaned over and locked eyes with Sarah, one of your best friends and a well-known esthetician in L.A.

“Where’d you find the trust fund baby?” you asked. “He one of your clients? Let me guess. He likes his asshole bleached the same shade as his hair.”

Sarah bit her lip in embarrassment. Blake coughed and spluttered into his scotch. You didn’t stick around for the predictable denial and slid off the bar stool. You gave him $15 for your drink, downed the rest of it in one long gulp, and savored the rush of it tingling through your head on your way out of the club.

“Wait!” Sarah called after you. Your other two friends just rolled their eyes and stayed behind to keep drinking and dancing. They were used to your antics by now, just like you were used to theirs. They'd been trying to set you up on dates for a couple of months now. This one was the sneakiest by far.

Sarah, for her part, never let you walk out alone.

“Next time you try to set me up with someone, can you please just tell me,” you said tiredly, “instead of pretending you want to hang out with me?”

Sarah deflated. “Look, we’re just trying to help.”

“I know,” you said, holding yourself against the chill in the air. “I know, okay? I know you guys want me to move on, because I’m a fucking bummer. I know I’m…I’m not handling all this as well as I should be. And I know they still talk to Rachel.”

Tears stung in your eyes, but you sucked in a subtle breath. Sarah’s blue eyes were sad and glassy with guilt, even if it was just by association.

“Go back inside,” you said eventually. “I’ll just take an Uber home.”

But you didn’t.

Instead, you ended up at a bar down the street. You barely ever went clubbing anymore, but you hadn’t stepped foot into a real bar in nine months.

“Come on, sweetheart. You really want to do this here?”

“You’re one to fucking talk! But you know what? Far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing left to say. I just…I don’t know how you could do this to me.”

“Please,” he said. The green of his eyes were desperate. It was the first time you ever heard him beg. “Just let me explain.”

You wouldn’t let him touch you, let alone try to hold you. The thought alone made you sick.

“I saw you, Mark. I saw the goddamn pictures. And my sister told me all about how your last night of ‘freedom’ went. But you know what? You’re fucking free.”

You put the ring in the palm of his hand. He stared down at it, jaw clenched. Meanwhile, hot tears streamed down your face.

You walked away first—out of the seaside bar in beautiful Venice, California, with every piece of your heart bleeding out into the street.

Another vodka cranberry at the end of the bar turned into shots you couldn’t name or count. You rebuffed men who tried to talk to you. You ignored the voice in your head that sounded a lot like your dad.

Sweet girl, what the hell’re you doin’?

You stopped trying to answer that question a long time ago. Just like your friends had stopped trying to get you out of the house after work. No more wine tastings or Sunday brunches. No more weekends at the beach. The coarse grains of sun-bleached sand would only remind you of Santa Cruz—a sweltering summer, a perfect day, now fractured and wrong in your mind’s eye.

A fucking lie.

Another empty glass hitting the bar counter drowned out the salty crash of ocean waves, but you finally had to stop when your stomach churned with alcoholic slosh. Your brain reeled when you tried to blink. Your eyes felt dry, irritated, and glassy at the same time.

You got up from your seat and used the wall like an anchor on your way to the bathroom. You checked yourself in the mirror there. Your black dress, your hair, and your makeup were still intact, so you supposed you still looked good, if absent in the eyes. Again, you blinked too hard. Fuck.

On your way back out, new noise was filling the bar. A whole group of four or five people came in and grabbed seats at the bar, laughing, ordering drinks, giving each other shit. They sounded like cops. You knew, because you’d grown up around them your entire life.

“All right, Oliveras. What’re you drinking?”

You stopped short at the voice, deep and rich like aged whiskey. In fact, you needed the back of an empty chair to hold you steady.

“What, you're buying?” she shot back.

Amber. You recognized her profile and the litheness of her frame. You two were old friends, since you roomed together back in college. You hadn’t heard from her in months though. She had called to give her condolences when your almost-marriage fell apart.

And now, your ex-fiancé had an arm draped casually behind her chair. His smile was effortless, charming, the crows’ feet around his eyes crinkled with amusement.

“Well, within reason,” he replied, inclining his head. “I think I’m in the mood for some good fuckin’ whiskey—”

You stumbled in your stupid heels. You nearly took a whole table with you, but two chairs broke your fall. Almost all the cops in the group looked your way, their heads swiveling with a trained response to sudden sounds. Your name fell from Amber’s lips, a small, shocked breath.

Mark’s mouth fell open, his eyes widening when you looked up at him on reflex. You were forced to take him in, his green eyes, the new haircut, the well-trimmed beard, the jeans and dark blue jacket. He had no fucking business looking that good.

But you were like two shocked deers not expecting to meet in a forest—neither one willing to move or speak, or even blink…

Until you stumbled again. Your weight on the unstable chair began to give way.

“Shit.”

He and Amber both jolted to help you. Mark’s hand reached for you first, but you firmly ignored it and somehow straightened onto your shaky feet. You smoothed down the dress and fixed the little straps the best you could, even though one was hanging down your shoulder.

Your arm got tangled in the thin chain of your purse, but you slung that over your other shoulder with all the grace of a toddler. Then you affected a “polite” smile that just came off looking like a grimace.

“Uh, hey. Of all the gin joints in the world and stuff, right?” You made sure to enunciate, hoping your hand wave was casual and not insane. “I’ve gotta go.”

You pointed toward the door before you made it your mission to actually get there. Your heart pounded loud in your ears. The rush of cool and quieter air was a balm to your frayed mind, but it wasn’t enough.

The way he looked at her…

The turning of your stomach became a violent roil. You closed your eyes against the movie reel torturing you in your mind. You imagined how their night would go, drinking, laughing, touching, stumbling back into his house at 2:00 a.m. Maybe he’d end up actually loving her, someone more like him. More than he claimed to have loved you.

The liquid contents of your stomach rebelled, and you threw up right on the edge of the street. You clung to a utility pole as you coughed and cried involuntary tears. You heaved and gasped for breath when you couldn’t stop.

“Hey, you okay, sweetheart?”

Alarm trilled in the back of your mind. You had enough awareness to look behind you. Finally, you noticed the guy. He’d approached you in the bar earlier, but you’d turned down his advances. You couldn’t remember what you said to him. He clearly remembered you, though. 

You waved him off, not even able to speak as you tried to stay upright against the utility pole.

He didn’t take the hint. He drew closer, wrapping the pretense of a helping hand around your arm. He fingered the edge of your leather jacket.

“You need a ride? I’ll get you an Uber or something,” he said, with the facsimile of concern. “Where do you live?”

“Hey,” a voice cut in, deep and with authority.

You tilted your head, and Mark’s stern face came into view along with the rest of him. Him and those damn bowed legs.

“Take a walk, pal. I’ve got her,” Mark said. He flashed his LAPD badge for good measure.

That made it even easier to knock away the foreign hands off your body and angle himself in between. His arm came around your shoulders, supportive and safe.

Half of you was grateful, the other half resentful, but all you could do was glare at him. He shot you a quirking smile.

The other man backed off, trying to hide his annoyance. He continued down the street with his hands in his pockets. Mark itched to do more than just scare him off. A familiar protective anger had burned in his blood, raising his hackles, but he had to focus on you.

He led you back to the front of the bar. He went slow enough for you in those red stilettos (ridiculous, he thought, no matter how sexy they were).

“Late night, huh?” he said.

“What d'you think you’re doing?” you said. Your tone would be more snippy, if you had any energy left. Your inner world was reeling, unfocused and barely conscious. You had no choice but to lean on him as you gripped his jacket, the dark blue denim rough between your fingers.

“Well, I’m thinking I could call one of your friends, have ‘em take you home. You came out alone?” he asked. He was trying to be civil, retaining his sense of humor, but there was no masking the concern in his eyes. Not completely.

“No,” you admitted, “but ‘m alone now. Obviously.” You snorted.

Mark’s lips twitched upward. He heaved a small sigh. “All right. Well, who do you want me to call? Sarah? Yesenia? Lauren?” 

After a moment, you shook your head, even though that just made it swim. Fuck.

“I can’t…don’t want them to see me like this,” you said. The confession provoked a sniffle, a tremble of your lips. This time, you couldn’t stop the sting of tears from flooding over. You covered your face, as if that could stop your embarrassment, your overwhelming emotions from clogging in your throat in a painful lump.

“Okay, it’s okay,” Mark said. His tone pitched deep and gentle. It was an easy reflex for him to give into as he soothed a hand over your hair to try and calm you down.

You didn’t know it, but there was a gaping ache in his chest that had never really faded away. Seeing you again, let alone like this, made it sharp and splintering.

He led you to his car, and he took you home.

For a moment, you saw it so clearly.

Tracing his brows, the line of his nose, and the cut of his chin while he slept. What his hair felt like between your fingers, loose and soft, or gripped tight with need.

The sound of his voice reaching deep into your bones. The way his arms allowed you to reclaim safety whenever he came back to you…

Worrying for your dad on his twenty-five-year beat in Homicide had transitioned into worrying for Mark. He was always quick to reassure you though, to downplay with his ridiculous sense of humor and good sex. The best, actually.

But it was the in between moments you missed the most.

The distant sound of a lock turning in the door had you waking, slowly, a silent struggle in your bed. Your eyes cracked open.

Were you okay now? Was that him? Was he home? Had the past year just been a cruel invention of your mind to torture you?

…No. Your throat momentarily closed up as you realized. This really was just your shitty reality.

You groaned as you picked your head off the pillow, pushing your body up until you were sitting on the edge of your bed. Your bare legs hung off the side. You still wore your wrinkled black dress from last night, but your heels were strewn forgotten on the floor. You didn’t remember taking them off. You didn’t remember getting back to your apartment, let alone to your bed.

However, it all started coming back to you when the door shut again. Fresh coffee wafted in from the living room, along with something sweeter.

Your bedroom door creaked open, and there he was. Mark fucking Meachum.

He held a tray with two hot coffees and a greasy brown bag from your favorite bakery. Your gaze crept up to meet his, though yours was decidedly grumpy.

“Well, good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he said with a smile. “It’s already almost noon, but I figured we can’t start the day without coffee.”

“Did you stay here all night?” you croaked in disbelief.

“Yeah, just, uh, took the couch out there,” he said, pointing in the direction of the living room. “Could use a couple of extra throw pillows though. Think I got another notch in my spine…”

At your persisting glare, his expression sobered.

“Just wanted to make sure you were okay, that’s all,” he said.

“Well, mission accomplished,” you snarked. “You can go now.”

Mark watched you try and fail to stand. You sunk back down to a seat on the edge of the bed, closing your eyes for a second while you attempted to stop your head from swimming.

He sighed and set down the coffee and pastries on your desk nearby.

“Have you been making this a habit?” he asked.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but last night was the first bar I’ve been to in exactly nine months and...fifteen days,” you replied. You swept your fingers over your cheeks, grimacing when you found remains of your mascara. You probably looked like a gremlin. This wasn’t exactly the way you wanted to look when you next saw your ex.

Except you’d never planned to see this man again.

“All right,” Mark said. He grabbed your purse off your desk, where he’d set it last night. He popped it open, your private goddamn property.

“Excuse me,” you protested angrily.

He retrieved a whole pack of cigarettes. “How about these?”

He tossed you the pack, and you barely caught it. Your irritation grew and grew, along with the sting of shame. The worst part was, he knew he didn’t have to say anything.

The unfiltered nicotine in your hand was the reason your father died. He’d been the Captain of Mark’s precinct for ten years—the exact number of years since your dad had quit smoking. It hadn’t mattered much in the end.

Still, you resented that raised brow of judgment on Mark’s face.

You leaned over and grabbed a lighter from your nightstand. You fished out a cigarette from the pack, and you took your time lighting it up. You were being an asshole, you realized, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

You made a show of holding the cancer stick between two fingers. You looked up at Mark, right in his eyes, and tried to channel Audrey Hepburn when you brought it to your lips for a long drag.

And you immediately coughed it up. Fuck.

Smoke polluted the air above your head while Mark nodded in vindication.

“Yeah. How’d that feel, Smokey?” he asked (all too high-and-mighty, in your opinion). He crossed the distance and took the cigarette from your hand while you kept coughing. He went into the bathroom to get rid of it.

Meanwhile, you held a hand to your chest and groaned. Damn him, he was right. Your stomach roiled at just the taste of that shit in your mouth, let alone first thing in the morning.

“Why don’t you get cleaned up?” he suggested, sweeping a hand toward your adjoining bathroom when he came back out. “A little coffee and sustenance will be waiting when you’re done.”

“Seriously, you can go. You don’t need to wait up for me,” you rasped, but the man still helped you to your feet with a supportive hand on your arm and your lower back.

“Yeah, and what if you lose your balance and crack your head on the bathroom tile? Nope, not on my watch.”

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered.

“He ain’t gonna help if you take his name in vain like that,” Mark couldn’t help but tease, fully expecting your glare. That was something your mom used to say.

You groaned, annoyed and still nauseous.

“Would you just shut up?”

“Nope, pretty sure I’m physically incapable.”

You snorted. “Clearly.”

He made sure you were steady on your feet before he left you in the bathroom. You avoided his gaze when he closed the door. His heart gave a painful pulse.

What the fuck am I doing? he thought.

Brushing your teeth and taking a hot shower had its innumerable benefits—making you feel alive and close to normal again, for example. But the one thing it didn’t do was get Mark out of your apartment.

You sat together on your couch while the TV played at a low volume. You saw the remnants of Mark’s night in your favorite throw blanket tossed over one of the armrests. The pillow he'd used for his head was caved in and smelling like his cologne, a rich, woody scent of sandalwood, spice, and musk.

You tried to ignore it while you finished eating a blueberry muffin. He polished off his third donut and washed it down with some more coffee.

“So,” you said. “Amber Oliveras.”

Mark blinked in confusion. “What?”

“Last night. You two were out together, seemed to be having a good time. Sorry I crashed your date,” you said, trying not to seem as bitter you sounded in your head.

Mark’s brows furrowed. “We’re, uh, not together. Not like that. We’re just working a case.”

“A case?” you said dubiously. “She’s DEA. You’re Homicide. What kind of case would you be working on together?”

He hesitated, brushing some pastry crumbs from his mouth. “Sorry, I can’t get into the specifics. You know the drill.”

Yes, you knew his cases were supposed to be confidential, but that hadn’t stopped him from telling you details before, especially because you were D.A. Valwell’s Executive Assistant. You had a higher clearance than the average civilian anyway.

But you let it go. It truly wasn’t your business, after all.

It was Mark’s turn to look your way. Morbid curiosity was eating him alive. Or maybe that was just the pull of being with you again, seeing your face, hearing your voice…even if you hated him.

He did think you were torturing him a bit too. You smelled nice, like floral soap and minty freshness. You were wearing an oversized shirt from your college days that was already threadbare from how many times you ran it through the wash. It slipped off one shoulder and barely went halfway down your thighs, brushing the edge of some little shorts. He had to stop his eyes from following the path of your bare legs.

“So, uh, how’ve you been?” he asked.

You paused. You even set down your muffin and chuckled, giving him a long look.

“How does it look like I’ve been?”

A grim silence fell between you two, thick and tense.

“All right," he said. "How long’ve you been smoking?”

You shook your head, lips pursing at his audacity. “You really don’t have any right to judge me. You know that, right?”

Mark rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin, an anxious, frustrated tick you knew well. “Look, what happened back then—”

You rose a hand to stop him. “Please, for the love of God. We don’t have to go through this shit again.”

You got up from the couch, intending to throw away the coffee cups and garbage if it meant gaining some space from this man.

But he followed you, stopped you with an imploring grip on your arm.

“It wasn’t what it looked like,” he said. He met your gaze, firm, earnest. “It didn’t go down the way she said.”

Your instinct was to jerk your arm out of his grasp, but he just held you in place, gently, but insistent. 

“Are you gonna let me explain this time? If you do, then just let me get it out. And afterward I’ll screw. I’ll walk the fuck outta here, and I promise you, you’ll never have to see me again.”

You stared up at him, close to seething, but there was something in his eyes that stilled you, gripped you more than his hands. A sliver of doubt began to creep in.

Your sister apparently hated you enough to fuck your fiancé. Had she been vindictive enough to lie about it?

You had realized, all too late, that you couldn’t put anything past her. Mark could be stubborn, but he wouldn’t dig his heels in on this without a reason.

So you relented, with a small nod.

Breathing a subtle exhale of relief, Mark guided you back down to the couch. You turned off the TV and sat facing him with your arms crossed. You gave him an expectant look.

Mark steeled himself. Where to fucking start?

A beat to think, and then he knew.

He had to give you everything.

Nine Months Ago...

One late night. One fifth of whiskey at the hotel bar turned into numbers Mark stopped counting—until the Captain reminded him. Your father reminded him beyond the grave, with words Mark never forgot.

You’ve got someone waiting for you. Don’t take that for granted.

He needed to find you.

Somehow, he made it to the elevator by himself. Third floor. Room 304, 305, 306. Fuck. Was it 309?

The door opened, and his addled fucking brain thought it was you at first. She almost had your eyes, if just half the sincerity of your smile.

Rachel welcomed him in and shut the door. He stumbled at the threshold, and she stopped him from falling completely onto the floral-patterned carpet.

“Oh my God, Mark. You okay?”

No. And he knew he wasn’t ever gonna be okay.

But her hands were warm, carving sensuous paths under his leather jacket without him realizing.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you,” she said, guiding him further into her hotel room. With slurring words, Mark asked her to go find you. He needed to talk to you.

“Shit, think I left my phone downstairs too. Needa get it,” he muttered.

“You’re a mess. I think you need to lay down first,” she said, huffing as she supported his weight over to her bed. She helped him lay down. A subtle smile tugged at her lips as she began to open up his jacket. He resisted at first, giving her a look of confusion.

“You should get comfortable. I doubt we’re gonna be able to move you from here.” She giggled.

He guessed he could see the sense in that. He let her help him shrug the black leather jacket off. You helped him pick it out a couple of weeks ago while you were planning for this trip.

Rachel tossed his jacket to the foot of the bed, and she sat close to him on the edge of it. Her bare thigh brushed against his arm as the skirt of her dress rode up. It looked like she’d been about to take a shower after a night out with you and your friends. He instinctively moved his arm, crossing it with the other over his chest.

“You know, I never got a chance to thank you,” she said.

Mark’s brows furrowed. It was taking all of his concentration just to keep her face in focus.

“For what?”

“You were really there for me when Dad passed. You were like our rock, coming by with food, checking in on me when you visited. It really meant a lot to me,” she said. Her words said one thing, but her eyes were beginning to lead him somewhere.

“Your dad was a good man,” he said tiredly. “You guys went through a lot. You, your mom, your sister. It uh, hit her pretty hard.”

Rachel’s lips pressed together. “Yeah… She was his favorite, you know.”

Mark blinked. “What, he said that?”

“He didn’t have to,” she said, glancing away. She began to drum her fingers against his arm. He noticed it, but he was also trying to concentrate on what she was saying. “He always talked to her more, trusted her more, even when he was harping on her. She got that government job, probably thanks to him. But he was proud of her.”

“’M sure he was proud of you too,” Mark said.

“No, I don’t think so. I just don’t know why,” she said, sniffling as tears welled up in her eyes.

Mark frowned in sympathy. “Aw, hey.”

He didn’t know how to make her feel better, but he didn’t like to see her cry either. He sat up the best he could in the bed. She met him halfway, burying her face in his chest and sliding her arms around his middle for a hug. He gave her that comfort, patting her on the back.

Only, she didn’t stop there. She shimmied a bit higher and buried her face in his neck, where she pressed a little kiss. An alarm bell rang in Mark’s mind, but his body was too slow to respond. She turned her head and laid another kiss on his cheek, and then his lips.

He finally jerked back, holding her at arm’s length.

“Hey. What the hell’re you doing?” he demanded. His tone was sharp without a filter.

Rachel’s tearful eyes met his as she bit her lip. Her hand tentatively drew down his chest, warm over his shirt.

“I just…I finally had to tell you how much you mean to me,” she said. “And I think she takes you for granted.”

His brows furrowing, Mark grabbed her wrist.

“Rach, I love you. I really do, but you’re like a lil' sister to me. I love your sister. I wanna marry her.”

The thought alone struck a sharp jolt of pain through his skull, and through his chest. He did want a life with you. But is that fucking fair?

Could he really shackle you to a dying man?

Sure, he didn’t know how long he had, but that could be a cruel waiting game, one you'd just gone through with your father for three months. Mark didn’t want to put you through that all over again.

“Look, just...go tell her 'm here. Please,” he said. The fight was draining out of him. His energy was waning, his eyes blinking slow.

Rachel nodded, wiping at her tears. She left him in a huff, but she went to lock herself up in the bathroom first. The sink faucet turned on.

Mark sighed. Fine, let her clean up and pull herself together, but she’d better go get you. He doubted he could make it, even if he crawled. But if he had to, he would…

Slowly, the ticking seconds turned longer. His eyes grew heavier, until he was unable to pry them open again. He fell asleep.

He woke to a streaming sun in his eyes, and a pounding ache between them.

Shit. He groaned, covering his eyes. Maybe getting drunk wasn’t good for an already fucked head after all.

“Hmm, good morning, sleepyhead.”

Mark frowned. He looked over and found Rachel leaning on his arm. She was lying naked under the thinnest sheet. He knew, not only because of her bare shoulders, but her nipples poking through the fabric.

“Jesus Christ,” he grunted, immediately turning over to climb out of the bed. He was very fucking relieved to see he still had his jeans and underwear on, but his shirt was missing. He found it strewn on the floor.

“You actually did that yourself,” Rachel remarked. “Think you got a bit hot last night.”

There was a playful note in her voice. Mark grit his teeth. He was fucking pissed.

“You’re over the fucking line, you hear me?” he snapped.

“What, are you really gonna tell her?” she taunted. “It’s not like we did anything. I just prefer to sleep naked.”

He snorted. Sure. And what happened to the part where she was supposed to go find you and tell you where he was? No, the girl saw an opportunity, and she took it.

Mark hesitated though, because she raised a good point. Goddamn it, what was he going to tell you?

His jaw clenched, and he angrily finished getting dressed. He got up and stormed out of the hotel room, but not before Rachel got of out bed and let the sheet fall away from her slender form. She walked in confidence and feminine sway over to the bathroom, smiling in amusement when he quickly turned away before he saw anything.

The door slammed shut.

Her smile slowly fell. Tears of embarrassment stung in her eyes. Not really because he was mad at her, but because he’d rejected her too.

She knew it was wrong. Yeah, she was pretty sure it was the worst thing she’d ever done. Part of her even hated herself for it. You were her older sister, after all. You, who always looked out for her when you two were kids—better than Mom did. You, who got the most attention from Dad, and the quiet reliance of Mom.

Yeah, Rachel did love you...but she also kind of hated you too.

After she got dressed, she went back to find her phone. She cycled through the pictures she took, every angle that made it seem like your fiancé had spent the night in her arms after the hot and steamy bits.

It was a joke. A cruel prank. But maybe after this, you wouldn’t open your mouth to criticize her ever again. Maybe you’d think twice next time, because in the back of your mind, you’d remember that she could’ve had your man.

Now...

Mark finished telling you the story from his perspective. He gave you as many details as he could remember: what she said and did, and what he said and did.

Understandably, you were getting more upset by the moment. That pendulum swung between shock, and anger, and upset again. It all culminated in hot tears as you crossed your arms, holding a hand over your mouth.

“How do I know that’s true?” you asked, wiping vainly at your cheeks.

The problem was, you wanted to believe him. Of course, you also wanted to believe your sister wasn’t quite as screwed up and hateful as you thought she was, but even this was insane. You'd only ever tried to look out for her. Maybe along the way you had been a little critical, a little too judgmental. But had you really deserved this?

Could you even let yourself hope it was all a lie?

Mark met your gaze head on. “Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m lying.”

You sighed in frustration. “Mark, you’re a professional fucking liar. I’m not a human polygraph.”

“But you know me.”

“I thought I did,” you said, rubbing at your eyes with shaking hands. Eventually, you were able to look at him again. “If what you said is true, why the hell didn’t you just tell me that?”

“You wouldn’t let me! You made up your mind before I could get a word in edgewise.”

“I was angry!"

God, what an understatement. You'd been so furious and hurt, you'd seriously debated taking one of your dad's old golf clubs and knocking out every window, headlight, and tail light in Mark's precious car.

"So you're saying you didn’t even fight for me. You just let me think the worst of you all this time? For what?!” You sunk your hands into your hair and pulled hard on the strands. You shook your head. “And you know what, why did you get so drunk in the first place? Your friends told me you went back to the hotel early, by yourself. It had to be for a reason.”

Mark nodded slowly.

That was when he knew, he really did have to give you everything.

“You, uh…remember those headaches I’d been getting?” he said. “Started about a month after your dad passed.”

Your brows wrinkled with a hint of confusion, but you nodded as the memory resurfaced.

“Yeah, you were going through entire bottles of Advil. But what does that—”

“I went to the doctor.” Mark rubbed a clammy palm over his jeans. He could stare down murderers, drug lords, and terrorists with steel in his veins, but coming clean with you was going to be one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He knew it in his bones, just like he knew why he needed to do it.

“Turns out… I’m sick, baby.”

Your expression changed, almost instantly. Traces of anger and doubt fell away, but so did some of the color in your face.

Mark took the chance to get a little closer on the couch. He laid a hand over yours on your thigh, but your whole body was locked up, sitting very still.

“W-What do you mean?” you asked.

“I mean,” he sighed, “I’ve got a mass in my brain the size of Nevada. I don't know how much time I got exactly, but..."

Your eyes widened. Your hands clenched into the fabric of your shirt, until your nails bit into your palms. As you processed those words and began to understand the weight of them, it sunk inky claws into your mind, into every shady corner.

You shook your head in denial, lips trembling. Mark just held your gaze, a silent confirmation that he said nothing but the truth.

"I found out a few days before the trip to Venice. I was trying to figure out how to tell you, but obviously I didn’t handle that part very well," he said.

Anger, stubbornness, suspicion, pretending you didn't care what he had to say—all of that faded. It drained out of your muscles, out of your pores. You began to fall apart.

You turned your hand under his and squeezed, hard. It was a while before you could speak, but Mark was patient. He held your hand and stroked his thumb back and forth across your skin while you tried and failed to hold onto your tears. Then your soul-wracking sobs.

Finally, he couldn’t help himself. He brought you closer, soothing a hand over your hair and pressing a kiss to your temple. You rested your forehead against his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, a coarse whisper. “God, Mark. Why the fuck would you let me think you cheated on me, with my sister?”

He gave a wry huff. “I guess I thought I was being noble. I thought I’d rather have you hate me, than try to stay with me. Watch me break down, bit by bit, for God knows how fucking long. Now I know I’m just selfish. I don’t want you to see me like that… Hell, I don’t wanna see me like that.”

You pulled back on him. Devastation filled your bleary eyes, but you caressed his cheek with a shaking hand.

“Have you gotten treatment?” you asked.

“Doc says it’s not worth it.”

The divot between your brows deepened. “What about a second opinion?”

He hesitated.

“Have you seen another oncologist?” you pressed.

“No. Guess I didn’t see the point. I saw the scans myself. I don’t know how you’d confuse a big fucking tumor for anything else.”

“Mark.” You shook your head and wordlessly guided him closer. You framed his face with both hands, while his own found purchase on the soft curve of your waist.

It was nice to feel your touch again…but at what cost? All that stubborn fire in your eyes, all that pain, it was everything he’d been trying to avoid. 

Still, you were gentle, sliding your fingers up into his hair. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

After all this time, you were still his peaceful spot. If you only knew the amount of death he’d seen in just the past couple of weeks on Blythe’s taskforce, the chaos, the stress of near-misses, being on the sweet razor edge of getting killed, saving his own body the trouble. That thrill took its toll.

Before that, those nine months undercover had been a divorce from his reality, pretending that he hadn’t left you broken along with whatever heart there was left in him.

He never imagined that he’d be here with you again. He never thought you’d forgive him, let alone touch him like you still loved him.

When he opened his eyes, you were still there. Tears clung wet to your lashes. You led him closer, where you tenderly rested your forehead against his.

He let you do it too. You were the only one he’d soften up for like this.

He smiled. “Hmmm. What now, sweetheart?”

You bit your lip, but you slowly pulled back and opened your eyes. You didn’t go far though.

You guided him into an even more familiar path to your lips. It was more bittersweet than he remembered, but worth it all the same.

He was home.

AN: So, you guys forgive me? 😘💙 I know it's not the happiest ending ever, but it felt like a good place to pause for these two. Rachel was more complex than she seemed, and so was Mark's side of the story!

I have at least one more actual drabble in mind for these two, coming soon! 😂 Please let me know what you thought of this one 💜

⋆˙⟡ Get notified when every new story drops! Add yourself to my Tag Lists ⟡ Follow my fic library blog - @zepskieswrites - with notifications on. 💜

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Mark Meachum Masterlist

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Mark Meachum Tag List (Part 1):

It seems like a lot of people on the Dean tag list like Mark! lol So if you prefer not to be on this list, just let me know. I'll take you off no problem (you won't hurt my feelings lol 💜).

@luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @winchestergirl2 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373

@chevroletdean @hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl

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@stoneyggirl2 @cheynovak @jollyhunter @deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog

@leigh70 @aylacavebear @kmc1989 @siampie @masked-lost-girl

@spnbabe67 @deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @supernotnatural2005 @globetrotter28

@cookiechipdough @winchesterwild78 @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @iprobablyshipit91 @bleuatlas

@mrsjenniferwinchester @fromcaintodean @kiddieclaws

[orellazalonia]

Caged in Comfort (Pt. 8)

Summary: After recovering from illness, you’re gently introduced to Peter Parker in a soft, controlled playroom in a new part of the tower as a reward for being so good. (Dark Stucky x little!reader)

Warnings/Disclaimer: Minors DNI. Dark Stucky. Age Regression. Forced Age Regression. Slight reference to Labs/Experimentation. Stockholm Syndrome in the future likely. You are responsible for the media you consume.

Word Count: 1.8k+

Caged in Comfort Masterlist | Previous | Next

It’s been almost two weeks since your fever broke.

You’ve been… good. Or at least you’ve tried to be.

You take your medicine without complaint. You let Steve brush your hair and call you sweetheart. You let Bucky buckle your shoes and wipe your hands after snack time. You color, say “thank you”, and use your softest voice when you answer questions even if your chest tightens every time they praise you for it.

And in return, they’ve given you what they call privileges.

More plushies. More time in the playroom. Your choice for dinner. You’re allowed to sit in Steve’s lap in the morning and drink juice from your ‘favorite’ sippy cup while Bucky reads aloud from children’s books. They tuck you in with even gentler touches now, soothing and slow.

The careful kind of love that’s meant to reshape you.

And it’s working… more than you want to admit.

This morning, Steve smiles as he helps you into your softest hoodie, the one with the floppy bear ears on the hood.

“You’ve been doing so well,” He praises, voice low and proud as he brushes your sleeve smooth down. “You’ve earned a very special reward today.”

Your stomach tightens slightly as you nod. You’re learning not to ask too many questions.

Bucky moves by the door, zipping up his jacket. “We thought it might be good for you to meet someone,” He adds. “Someone like you.”

“Not exactly like you,” Steve corrects gently, “But someone who understands this place. Someone safe.”

You blink slowly. “Someone… little?”

Steve grins. “That’s right.”

Your heart stutters. You don’t know what to expect. You’ve only seen glimpses of others. Sometimes from soft voices down the hall or fleeting images through a crack in a door. But you’re never left alone and you’re never with anyone else.

Until now.

The elevator doors open with a soft chime.

You stay close to Steve’s side, gripping the edge of his sweater with trembling fingers with your stuffed bunny in your other arm. Bucky stands just behind, one hand resting protectively at the small of your back.

“You’re doing good,” Steve says, voice low and encouraging as he leads you into the room.

It’s warm and colorful.

A padded rug covers most of the floor, surrounded by low shelves of toys, storybooks, beanbags, and soft, rounded furniture. A wide window lets in the kind of filtered sunlight that doesn’t burn your eyes.

And in the middle of it all is a boy.

He’s sitting on the floor in navy-blue pajamas patterned with tiny stars, legs crisscrossed and hands busy stacking blocks into a wobbly tower. A stuffed octopus leans lazily against his knee.

When he hears the door open, he looks up and immediately brightens.

“Hi!” He says, springing to his feet. “Oh wow, hey! You’re finally here!”

You freeze. Your hands tighten around Steve’s sweater.

Steve leans down, murmuring near your ear. “It’s alright. That’s Peter. He’s very sweet.”

Bucky steps forward beside you, crouching so his gaze is level with yours. “You’re not expected to talk if you’re not ready,” He says quietly. “Just go sit. We’ll be close.”

The boy, Peter, bounces a little on the heels of his feet but doesn’t get too close. You don’t move an inch while he’s smiling wide, eyes bright and open.

“She’s shy,” Steve says over his shoulder, more for Peter’s benefit.

“That’s okay,” Peter replies easily. “Sometimes I don’t talk right away either. But I made space for her! We have blocks, crayons, and the good snacks are in the cubby–if we get permission.”

Just then, another door swings open.

It’s a man this time, casually dressed in a black tee and jeans, holding a coffee mug in one hand and some kind of sleek-looking tablet in the other. His goatee and sharp eyes make your pulse quicken.

He doesn’t smile, but he nods once at Bucky and Steve.

“Morning, Cap. Frostbite.” His eyes flick to you. “So this is the new one.”

“Tony,” Steve says in warning.

“I didn’t say anything.” Tony sips his coffee. “Just making an observation.”

Peter rushes up and tugs his sleeve. “Dad, can she stay a little while? She hasn’t played anything yet and she looks nice!”

Tony sighs, then ruffles Peter’s hair lightly. “You’ve got twenty minutes, bug. No chaos. No climbing. No trying to ‘fix’ her, you hear me?”

“Yessir!” Peter chirps, then turns to you and grins. “Wanna help me build a robot? Or a tower? Or–ooh, maybe you can help me name my octopus. He’s pink, but I think he might be sad inside.”

You blink at him, overwhelmed by the flood of words.

Your voice barely comes out. “…Hi.”

Peter smiles anyways, not bothered by your lack of enthusiasm so he switches to a simpler question. “Wanna sit? I made a circle so it’s cozier.”

You hesitate.

Your legs feel heavy, like moving will mean something permanent. But Steve gives you a little nudge at your shoulder. “We’ll be right here.”

You move slowly toward Peter, heart fluttering. He’s already sitting back down, reorganizing the blocks into a new pattern. You lower yourself to the rug across from him, hoodie sleeves covering your hands, Mr. Bun tucked under one arm like a secret.

Peter smiles and pushes a red block toward you. “You can have the corner one. That’s the best one.”

You reach out slowly and place it beside his, unsure if this is what you’re supposed to do but doing it anyway.

Peter hums to himself, tapping one foot in rhythm.

“I originally named him Squidward,” He says suddenly, gesturing to his octopus. “Even though he’s not a squid. I think he looks dramatic.”

You glance at the plush toy, then back at him. A small, almost invisible smile tries to tug at your lips. You don’t speak. But you build another block.

That seems to be enough for him.

Behind you, Steve and Bucky settle into low chairs near the corner of the room, talking softly but keeping their eyes on you. Tony’s still nearby, poking at his tablet, but not watching too closely.

You can feel the tension in your chest start to ease. Not completely, but a little.

Peter hums louder as he lines up a yellow block. “It’s more fun when there’s two people. I don’t get to do this with many others.”

You nod once. You still haven’t said a word to him. But you’re sitting and you’re playing.

That, apparently, is good enough.

As the both of you play, you remain quiet and focused on the tower between you.

Peter does most of the talking and the building, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s chatty in a way that feels… harmless. Not sharp like the scientists. Not probing like Steve or Bucky. Just a boy narrating his own little world, like he’s already made peace with it.

“Okay, okay, this is the lookout part,” Peter says, balancing two blue bricks on top of the wobbly tower. “That’s where the jellybean guards stand to protect the princess. You can be the princess if you want–or the knight. You can pick.”

You pause.

Your fingers tighten slightly around Mr. Bun, tucked in your hold like armor. The word princess makes your stomach twist, but not in a bad way. Just… unfamiliar.

Peter tilts his head at you, waiting patiently.

Behind you, Steve gently prompts, “You can choose, honey. Either one.”

You glance at the small tower. Then at Peter’s hopeful face. And after a breath, you whisper, “Princess.”

Peter lights up. “Awesome! Okay, Princess it is.”

You flinch a little at the word, but he doesn’t tease or laugh. He simply accepts it like it’s normal.

Like it’s yours now.

“Squidward’s the king,” Peter continues, placing his stuffed octopus on the little brick throne. “He’s a little over the top, but also chill. You’re his daughter, and I’m the knight. We have to make sure the tower doesn’t fall, or the marshmallow dragons win.”

You blink. Slowly and hesitantly, you place a green block beside the base to reinforce it.

Peter grins. “Nice move, Princess. You’re a natural at this.”

You freeze for a half second at the nickname. But he’s already turned back to the tower, oblivious to how the word makes your heart flutter in confusion.

Behind you, Steve and Bucky exchange a quiet glance.

Peter leans back on his palms, beaming. “You know, it’s more fun when there’s two people. Sometimes I try to do all the characters myself but that gets confusing, and my princess voice isn’t very good.”

You don’t respond, but your shoulders lower slightly. It’s not… awful here. Not this moment, at least.

Peter hums thoughtfully and starts building a new wall beside the throne. “You’re doing really good, by the way. My dad says when you're really good, you get cookies after nap time.”

Your fingers still slightly.

Then, just like that, Peter scrambles to his feet.

“Oh! Can we get cookies now? Or some candy please?” He calls toward the adults. “It’ll be special, it’s her first time here!”

Steve goes to speak but Tony answers first, not even looking up from his tablet. “What’s the rule?”

Peter sighs. “We’re supposed to wait until quiet time.”

“There you go.”

Peter plops back into a beanbag chair dramatically. “Rules ruin everything.”

You blink at him. That kind of casual defiance makes your chest tighten. You wouldn’t say that, you couldn’t. But Peter doesn’t get scolded.

He leans forward again and whispers to you, “Sorry. Sometimes I get excited.”

You nod faintly.

Peter pulls out a nearby snack basket but pauses before opening it. “Are you hungry, Princess?”

You hesitate, but before you can respond, Bucky speaks sharp but calm.

“No snacks right now, sport.”

Peter quickly nods and returns the basket. “Right. Sorry, again.”

Steve gets up and heads over, checking his watch. “Alright, time’s up.”

Peter sits up straighter. “Already?”

“Twenty minutes,” Tony says, shutting off his tablet and rising to his feet. “She’s brand new. Let her go slow.”

Peter sighs, then offers you a softer smile. “Bye, Princess. You can come back soon, right?”

You shift, unsure, and start to rise as Bucky comes over to help you up. His hand brushes the back of your hoodie, straightening it.

“You did really well,” He murmurs. “Stayed sweet. That’s what we like to see.”

“Maybe we’ll come back another time, Peter.” Steve adds.

Peter nods and waves again, “Okay. Bye, Princess!”

You don’t say anything, but you lift your hand just a little and wave back.

It makes Peter beam.

And as Steve and Bucky guide you out of the room, one on either side, you realize you don’t hate spending time with Peter, even if you have to be little.

Taglist: @the-ruler-of-death @gaychaoticraccoon @hazydespair @yarn-mony

[pohtaytoh]

Cornelia Street

⋆·˚ ༘ * Sophia Laforteza x g!nReader

Sophia, now the famous leader of the pop group KATSEYE, once shared an unexpected love story with you. You, a quiet high schooler, never imagined someone like the popular and brilliant Sophia would notice you, let alone fall in love with you. Your romance blossomed after a chance meeting on Cornelia Street in New York. Now, the street remains as a painful reminder of the love you lost, a place you try to avoid, filled with the bittersweet echoes of a past you can't quite escape.

Sophia Laforteza.

Leader of the global pop group KATSEYE. 

She has the voice, the beauty, and the brains. It was either people wanting to be her or be with her. However, before the world discovered her—prior to becoming KATSEYE Sophia—she was your Sophia. Your Fifi. Your Sophie. 

Your love story was something you did not expect. She was way out of your league. During your highschool years, you remember that she was a straight A student while you were just…you. Teachers would praise her intelligence. She was the president of the class, always sitting at the front, the one representing your school during competitions, the student council president, and the popular girl. She had boys giving her boxes of chocolates and flower bouquets but to their luck, she was dating the basketball captain, his name you couldn’t even bother knowing and remembering. 

You, on the other hand, were the complete opposite. You were always sitting at the back of the classroom, keeping to yourself, in your own little world. Sometimes participating in the discussions but most of the time, just listening to the teachers yap about their life. Others wouldn’t even bat an eye on you. Other teachers would just shake their heads at you. Your life was not anything like hers. She has the money while you don’t. You were basically a ghost to others, sometimes wishing someone could see you but you realized, maybe, it’s best that way.

So imagine your surprise when THE Sophia Laforteza is calling out your name whilst you were walking along Cornelia Street in New York. 

“Y/N? Y/N!”

You recognized that voice, so you turned around, confused. There, lo and behold, was Sophia Laforteza, waving at you with a smile on her face. She looked pretty much the same as five years ago, but this time, prettier, and she had that different kind of glow on her. A kind of glow that makes her ten times more attractive in your eyes.

“Uh, me?” you mouthed to her, pointing at yourself, confused. How did she know you? You tried to recall moments where you both interacted but there were none to remember. You were nobody back then, how can a woman as popular as Sophia remember a person like you?

She then nodded. You stood there confused, not knowing what to do. Sensing this, Sophia walked up to you like it was a normal thing to do. It was like she knew you all along. 

“Hi! I haven’t seen you in a while! I can’t believe this is where I would find you. You kind of disappeared after our graduation.” 

You raised your right hand, becoming more confused over her actions. This seems like a prank. 

“Hold up, pause. What…Why….How…” you tried to form the right words but it came out incoherent. Everything was confusing and overwhelming all at once.

“Who…where?” Sophia attempts to joke at you but seeing that you’re serious, she scratched her nape awkwardly while clearing her throat. “Not funny, huh? I forgot we never really interacted back when we were highschool students.”

“Exactly. I’m so sorry if I’m such a mess, like you said, we never really talked to each other. I was nobody back then so I really didn’t think someone like you would notice a person like me.”

You explain to her, playing with your hands, not knowing what to do but settling in crossing them instead.

“A nobody? Why would you say something like that? Don’t talk to yourself like that.” You couldn’t help but smile a little as she frowns at what you said. This is why Sophia was popular, she wasn’t like those typical mean popular girls. She was the complete opposite. She was sweet and considerate.

Shrugging, you told her “Well, I was practically like one. I’m surprised you know me.”

“Right.” The latter says, dragging the letter I, and then clears her throat. You noticed she seemed nervous, which confused you even more. Why was she nervous around you? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?

“Anyway, what brings you around here?” You asked her, trying to start a conversation. You were no longer the shy and awkward person that you were five years ago, you do have your moments but you completely changed. You are no longer scared of initiating a conversation. Working as a call center agent before definitely had its perks. 

She seemed surprised at your question but immediately relaxed. You knew why. It wasn’t like you to initiate or even talk to someone longer for five minutes. “I’m on vacation and decided to pay this side of New York a visit. In a couple of months I’ll be busy training because I auditioned for this company so I thought why not travel for a bit? What about you? What brings you here?”

“I work here. As soon as I graduated, I packed all my stuff and—”

“I'm really sorry for interrupting but uh…can we continue this at a nearby cafe? It looks like it's about to rain,” as soon as you heard this, you looked up, and surely, dark clouds were starting to form.

“You're trying to ask me out, aren't you?” you joked, hoping she doesn't take it the wrong way. 

“Uh…w—well, maybe? I want to talk to you more but uh sure, that too.” Sophia was a stuttering mess which you found adorable. 

You chuckled, “Sure. Lead the way, Miss Laforteza.”

You two walked together towards the nearby cafe, side by side, with her yapping about whatever she's busying herself with at the moment. You used to not like people who talk too much but you found yourself listening to every word that she said. 

Later on you discovered everything. You discovered that Sophia knew who you were even before graduating as high school students. She told you how she noticed you at the back, how intrigued she got when she discovered your name, and how she wanted to befriend you but was never really given the chance. 

You couldn't blame her, you tend to stir away from any school events that would cause a huge crowd (basically every event that the school held or celebrated). 

You also discovered that the basketball captain she used to date ditched her for another woman four years ago. 

You discovered a lot of things you didn't know about her and she learned everything about you too.

That's when it all began. Cornelia Street was the reason why your love story bloomed. 

Sophia asked for your phone number after that little date that you had at the cafe, you quickly became close through texting each other, you often hung out—her asking you out on dates—one date after another until she finally asked you to be hers. 

It was surreal. It took a while to sink in that you're dating Sophia Laforteza. The first few months were blissful, the Filipina really showered you with her love, she was the epitome of the five love languages. In the span of those months you also met her family and you were glad that they were accepting of the relationship that you had with Sophia.

Until the day she had to fly out to Los Angeles to fulfill her training, aiming to claim a spot on a 6-member global girl group that companies Hybe and Geffen were going to create. Sophia had told you and made you promise not to tell anyone. 

It's not like you have someone to share this information, anyway. 

You went with her to the airport and it was one of the most heartbreaking memories for you. You both stood there, arms wrapped around each other tightly—like you didn't want to let go—crying and telling each other how you're going to miss one another. 

You wanted to tell her to stay but you didn't want to be selfish. Sophia was following her dreams and you didn't want to hold her back. When her flight was called, she kissed you goodbye, telling you to take care of yourself before she turned around and walked towards the gate without turning back.

You noticed how each step that she took was hesitant, as if she wanted to turn back around and ditch the training, but you couldn't let her do that so you yelled despite being surrounded by a lot of people: “Best of luck, my future popstar! Claim that spot!”

The following months were torture, you were longing for Sophia’s touch. You barely talk. You were busy with work while she was busy following her dreams. Whenever she is given the chance, she talks to you on facetime, most of the time looking a bit tired and surviving on a two-hour sleep. Most of the calls that you do were also spent with her sleeping because you wanted her to at least take a minute to nap more. 

You spent the days that you couldn't get a hold of her walking along the bustling Cornelia street, reminiscing about everything that you both did together. The lack of communication was taking a toll on you and you didn't know if it was doing the same to her. 

However, you hold on. You didn't let it get to you because you knew your love for each other’s stronger than that. It was a challenge in your relationship, a minor bump on the road. 

‘Till it wasn't. 

After all the hard work the girls did during their training, the company allowed them to have a month's vacation before the big announcement was made. To say you were excited for your girlfriend to come home was an understatement. 

You were at the airport alone, practically buzzing with anticipation, standing on your tippy toes as you looked for your girlfriend to come out. Sophia’s family was in the Philippines and they couldn’t immediately fly back because both her parents’ schedules were packed.

There were too many people today but you knew you’d recognize your girlfriend even from afar. 

There she was, looking a bit tired while rolling her suitcase. She didn’t see you at first, that’s why you were the first to approach her. 

“Fifi!” You wrapped your arms around her in a hug. She reciprocated the gesture but you felt it was forced with the way her arms wrapped around you loosely. Maybe you were just overthinking things. Maybe she was too tired for a hug. 

The first few days were a blur of you trying to make up for lost time. You wanted to take her everywhere, show her everything you’d missed, but she was always so tired. You brushed it off at first, of course she was exhausted from training and the flight. You kept telling yourself that.

“Hey, want to grab some dinner at that new Italian place down the street?” you asked one evening, hopeful.

She mumbled something from the couch, not even looking up from her phone. “Hmm? Oh, no, I’m good. Just gonna order in tonight, too tired to go out.”

You tried again the next day. “Fifi, let’s go for a walk? The weather’s perfect, we could even walk along Cornelia Street, just like we used to.” You remembered the way her hand used to fit so perfectly in yours, the shared smiles as you pointed out every little detail.

“No, I can’t,” she said, her voice flat. “Got some stuff to do. Maybe tomorrow.”

Tomorrow never came. Or the day after that. For three weeks, it was the same. Every suggestion you made was met with a polite refusal. You missed her laugh, the easy banter, the way she used to just be with you. You even tried to get her to play games with you, anything to just spend time together.

“Want to play that new game I downloaded? It’s pretty fun, I think you’d like it.”

She shook her head, still engrossed in her phone. “Nah, I don’t know how to play those types of games. You go ahead.”

But you’d see her, across the room, illuminated by the glow of her screen, a soft smile gracing her lips, a smile that never seemed to be for you anymore. It was always there when she was on her phone, typing furiously, occasionally giggling to herself. You didn’t ask who she was talking to. You didn't want to know. The silence between you grew, thick and suffocating, much louder than any conversation you used to have. Every refusal, every distant glance, every time you saw that smile on her face that usually was meant for you, chipped away at the hope you desperately clung to.

You didn’t give up. You couldn't. Not yet. You still tried. Every morning, you’d ask about her day, suggest a movie, or a coffee. Every time, the same half-hearted excuses. "Too busy." "Too tired." Her eyes, once so bright and focused on you, now seemed to drift, always pulled back to that glowing screen in her hand.

One afternoon, you found her on the couch, laughing into her phone, a genuine, joyful sound you hadn't heard directed at you in weeks. You took a deep breath, mustering what little courage you had left.

“Fifi, how about we actually go out tonight? Just us. Dinner? Anything?”

She pulled the phone away from her ear, her smile immediately fading, replaced by a strained look. Her eyes narrowed just a fraction. “Can you please just let it go for once? I said I’m busy. I’m tired of you constantly asking!”

You froze. The words hung in the air, sharp and unexpected. You felt your face flush, your heart sinking. You didn’t say anything, just sat there on the opposite end of the couch, shrinking into yourself, the silence now deafening.

After a long, painful moment, you managed to find your voice, quiet, almost a whisper. “Who are you always talking to? Is it… is it someone new? Did you find someone else during your training?”

She sighed, a frustrated, drawn-out sound, and finally put her phone down. “No! God, no. It’s just Marquise. She’s a trainee from Dream Academy too. We’re just friends, that’s it.” She looked at you, a flicker of something in her eyes you couldn't quite decipher. “Marquise has a boyfriend, and they’re really in love. There’s nothing like that going on.”

The relief was a brief, faint flicker against the dull ache in your chest but it didn't answer the core of it. Your voice was barely audible when you finally asked, the fear, a cold knot in your stomach, “Then why don’t you want to hang out with me anymore? Do you… do you still love me the same?”

The question hung there, suspended in the air between you like a fragile bubble, ready to pop. You watched her face, searching for any sign, any flicker of the girl you knew, the one who would have crushed you in a hug and sworn her undying love. But her expression remained unreadable, a blank canvas where your hopes slowly bled out.

She didn't answer immediately. Her gaze drifted past you, out the window, as if something more interesting was happening outside. The silence stretched, becoming unbearable, each second feeling like an hour. You could hear the muffled sounds of the city outside, the distant hum of traffic, but in your living room, there was only the sound of your own frantic heartbeat.

Finally, she pulled her eyes back to you. 

Her voice, when it came, was flat, devoid of any warmth. “Of course I still love you.” It was a programmed response, lacking any conviction, when she told you that, you didn’t want to believe her. All her actions were anything but. “It’s just… a lot has changed. We’re both so busy. It’s hard.”

It’s hard. That was it. No explanation, no reassurance, just that hollow statement. You wanted to scream, to shake her, to demand the truth, but you couldn’t. The energy had drained out of you, leaving you empty. You just sat there, watching her, the person you loved more than anything, slipping away right in front of you, and yet, there was still this sliver of hope.

You were still holding on by a thread, barely, hoping that something, anything, would eventually change. But it was like you were hoping for nothing. Your relationship with Sophia was already falling apart, but it was getting worse. You were now constantly fighting. Each passing day, your fights got worse and worse, draining the life out of you.

You remembered the early days, when just a glance from her could light up your whole world. Now, her eyes held a distant look, like she was seeing right through you. It wasn't just the big arguments that hurt; it was the quiet moments, too. The way she'd scroll on her phone while you tried to talk, the quick goodbyes that replaced lingering hugs, the jokes that no longer made her laugh. It was a slow, painful fading, like a photograph left too long in the sun.

You'd tried everything. You'd cooked her favorite meals, planned surprises, offered to just listen. You’d swallowed your pride countless times, apologizing for things you weren't even sure you'd done wrong, just to stop the fighting, just to bring back a flicker of that old warmth. But every effort felt like pushing against a heavy, locked door. Each attempt to connect felt like it drove her further away.

The dreams you once shared, the future you’d painted together in vivid colors, now looked dull and faded, like old forgotten memories. You still saw her, physically, but the Sophia you loved, the one who understood you without words, the one who was your home, felt like a stranger. It was like living with a ghost, a constant reminder of what you had lost, even though she was right there. The loneliness in her presence was worse than being alone.

You felt a deep ache in your chest, a constant dull pain that never went away. It was the pain of a heart slowly breaking, not with one big crack, but with a thousand tiny fractures, day by agonizing day. You were tired, so tired of fighting, tired of hoping against all odds, tired of feeling this constant emptiness.

Until you had enough.

Something inside you snapped. You were tired so you did what you thought was the best thing to do, you confronted her. “Sophia, we need to talk.”

The words hung heavy in the air, like a thick, choking blanket made of bad feelings and pain no one talked about. You stood across from Sophia, but it felt like a huge hole stretched between you, wider than any room. Her face was a mask you didn't know anymore, and your own heart pounded fast and hard in your chest, a desperate drumbeat of sadness.

"What do you want from me?" she finally snapped, her voice sharp, cutting through the heavy quiet. It was always like this now – a constant fight, every word a fresh cut.

You felt a shiver go through you, a cold fear spreading deep in your bones. "What do I want?" Your voice cracked, just a whisper. "You. I want you. I want us, Sophia. I wanted what we had. What we had was real, at least that's what I think. Don't you remember? The way we used to talk for hours and hours, about everything and nothing? The way we planned our whole lives together, every tiny detail, every dream we shared?"

She scoffed, a quick, rude sound that twisted something painful inside you. "Don't be so dramatic. Things change. People change. You can't expect everything to stay exactly the same forever."

"Yes, they do," you shot back, the little bit of control you had slipping away. 

"And I was willing to change with you. I was willing to do anything. You were the only thing that ever made me want to stay soft in a world that kept handing me reasons to harden. Every time life hit me hard, every time I thought about closing myself off and becoming cold, there was you. You were the only reason why I let my guard down, why I dared to feel things deeply. You were the reason why I kept holding on. You were the reason why this sliver of hope exists, why I didn't want to give up on this, on us. On everything we promised each other."

Sophia looked away, her eyes moving past you, out the window, just like she always did when things got too raw, too real. It was her usual way of escaping, like a brick wall she had built around herself, a clear sign that she was pulling away again. 

The silence stretched, becoming so heavy it hurt, each second feeling like a torturous hour. You could hear the city's distant hum, the faint sounds of life continuing outside, but in this room, your whole world was falling apart. The quiet roar in your ears was louder than any traffic, the sound of your own heart breaking into tiny pieces.

"And what about now, Sophia?" you pushed, your voice getting louder, raw with pain. You felt tears stinging your eyes, burning them, but you wouldn't let them fall, not yet. You refused to break completely. 

"Now? Now you're just giving me a reason why it's better to let us go than to hold on. Every day, it feels like you're pushing me away more and more. The more I'm holding on to the possibility of us being together for a long time, the more it's hurting me. It's like I'm ripping off a bandage every single day, just to feel the wound again, to watch it bleed all over, never getting a chance to heal."

She finally pulled her eyes back to you, but there was no warmth, no sign of understanding in their depths. Her eyes were blank, empty, unfeeling, like stones. "I don't know what you want me to say. I'm trying. It's just... hard." Her voice was still flat, emotionless, as if she were reading from a script, words without any meaning behind them.

"Hard?" A bitter, empty laugh escaped you, hollow and painful. 

"That's always your answer, isn't it? 'It's hard.' Do you have any idea what hard truly means at this moment? Do you know how hard it is to stand here, loving you, while you look at me like I'm a stranger?" You took a shaky step closer, your voice dropping to a desperate plea, begging her to see, to feel, to understand just a tiny bit of your pain. 

"I prayed that one day things will change. I always pray silently, to God, to Allah, whoever is listening to me, that you don't break this piece of me that's staying. The piece that still remembers every good thing about us, the piece that still loves you with everything it has, even when you make it so difficult." You could feel that last tiny part of yourself shrinking, begging for mercy.

A tear finally escaped your eye, tracing a hot, burning path down your cheek, followed by another, and another. They just kept coming now, a flood you couldn't stop. 

"Do you even know what it feels like, Sophia? To love someone so much it aches, a constant, sharp pain, and to feel them slipping away, piece by agonizing piece? To feel like you're losing your footing, your ground, everything you built your entire life on? Like the very earth beneath you is crumbling?" You swallowed hard, forcing the words past the lump in your throat, feeling your voice grow weaker, ragged with raw emotion. 

"I know you loved me, but not the way you used to, not the way I love you. Not with the same fire, the same deep connection. You never loved me enough to learn the language of my heart, that it was longing for you, that it was breaking every damn time you say no. Every time you chose something else over me, every time you pulled away. But every time you hurt, I was there. Even with a bleeding heart, a heart that was already shattered, I checked on yours. I put your feelings above mine, time and time again, believing that if I just loved you enough, if I just kept giving, you’d come back to me. You’d remember us. You’d remember what we were."

The air crackled with the heavy weight of your words, and Sophia's face remained blank, unmoving, like a cold stone. It was a blank canvas that offered no comfort, no understanding, no sign that she even heard you. It was like speaking to a wall, a beautiful, familiar wall that had suddenly become impossible to get through. The energy had drained out of you completely, leaving you hollowed out, empty, like a shell washed up on the shore. 

You just stood there, watching her, the person you loved more than anything, slipping away right in front of you. And yet, that tiny, cursed sliver of hope still stubbornly clung on, a tiny, annoying spark in the overwhelming darkness. It was a torture you couldn't escape, a cruel joke your heart kept playing on you.

"I just... I can't do this anymore," you whispered, the admission tearing through you, a raw, ragged sound. It was a surrender, a painful giving up, the final breath of a dream that refused to die but was suffocating nonetheless. 

"I hate giving up on people but I also hate forcing things.”

“And I’m forcing us, Sophia. I’m forcing us to exist in a space where only one of us wants to fight for it. I can’t be the only one pulling, dragging this relationship forward. It's too heavy. It's crushing me."

The silence that followed was different this time – not stretched and unbearable, but heavy with finality, like the last breath before a big storm finally clears and leaves nothing but stillness. The fight was truly over. And in its wake, only an aching emptiness remained, a silence that echoed with all the unspoken words, the shattered promises, and the ghost of a love that was now truly gone.

You remember how painful it was to walk away, to leave her all alone in that apartment, a space that suddenly felt colder than any winter. Your hand was shaking on the doorknob, hesitating, waiting. You were begging silently, with every beat of your broken heart, for her to tell you to stay. For her to say she'd fight, she'd change, she'd remember. Instead, you were met with the words you never wished to hear, words that cut deeper than any knife— "Let's break up, then."

Sophia, the person you thought was your forever, your anchor in a confusing world, just delivered the final, crushing blow. And just like that, with the bang of the door as you closed it behind you, both of you got your answer. It was over. The sound echoed in the empty stairwell, a lonely, final note in your shattered love song.

Everything that happened between you ended a month ago. Sophia ranked first among all the trainees, earning her spot as the leader of the global pop group KATSEYE. You had supported her all throughout, silently, from a distance, becoming her most secret fan. You watched her grow into the powerful, shining star she is now, gracing magazines and screens, her voice reaching millions. It was like your breakup never happened to her, she looked happier now, brighter, more alive than she had been in years. The only difference was that she was no longer yours.

Now, sometimes, when you walk through the city, you try to avoid certain streets. You go the long way around, take different turns, just to keep away from it but no matter what you do, you can't escape Cornelia Street. It's not just a street anymore; it's a living, breathing memory. Every brick, every lamppost, every cafe window screams her name. Sophia. Fifi. Sophie. The echo of her laughter, the warmth of her hand in yours, the way she used to lean into you when she was talking too fast and too excitedly. It's all there, waiting for you on Cornelia Street.

You remember that day you first met her again, the surprise, the hope that bloomed like a wild, unexpected flower. You remember all the dreams you built on that street, the whispered promises, the feeling of finding your home in another person. But now, Cornelia Street is a monument to what was lost. A painful reminder of a love that was once so vibrant, so real, now reduced to dust.

You can't walk Cornelia Street anymore. Not without feeling the ghost of her hand in yours, not without hearing her voice in the wind, not without seeing the shadow of a future that will never be. The city, once a canvas for your shared dreams, now just screams her name, a cruel reminder of the girl who walked into your life and then, just as suddenly, walked away, leaving you with nothing but a street full of memories and a heart that still aches for what used to be.

a/n: I tried to make this one as painful as I can. This was one was a bit personal because it was one of the reasons why me and my ex broke up. I am fine now, obviously but yeah, it still hurts alitol. Soooo, how was it? Please let me know!

[zazaiafe2]

Hey i have been trying to enter the void state since 3 years i don't know what stopping I become numb within seconds but after that I become so obsessed with symptoms then everything stops I don't know I have been procrastinating I will see routine from today I will enter in 3 days then in middle I stop doing routine I want to try for other this is happening like a loop I feel so low I feel my heart is heavy with pain I don't know how to explain I know I am responsible for everything I don't know how to stop that screaming in my head all day sometime I feel like ending my life is better option I am not drama dumping Pls help me with my situation

Hey love, first of all please take a deep breath, I can really feel how exhausted you are, and I want you to know you don’t have to fight yourself with a stick, you deserve some self-compassion.

It makes total sense that after three years trying so hard, your mind and body feel like they’re caught in a loop. You are not broken, you are not failing, you are just stuck in an over-focused state.

→ What I’d like you to try instead is to first reset your nervous system before even attempting the void. You can do this by:

1️⃣ Doing holotropic breathing sessions (like 20-30 minutes) earlier in the day or just before , to help release the tension and fears that block you, you could see my blog about it.

2️⃣ Switch to alpha or theta waves (binaural beats or isochronic tones) before sleep, to calm down the obsessive mind-loop.

3️⃣ Or/and use a guided meditation that is slow, reassuring, and focuses on acceptance rather than trying to force the void. Then use one to enter the void

4️⃣ If you notice yourself self-checking the symptoms too much, remember this is pulling you back into body awareness. It’s normal, but gently remind yourself “I can let go” instead of scanning your body.

Also, you are not alone with these feelings. That “screaming in your head” is a signal of burnout and emotional pain, not proof that you have failed. If it ever feels like ending your life is the only option, please, please talk to someone you trust or a mental health professional. You matter. Shifting is never worth losing yourself over. And you will shift /enter the void state, I believe in you

If you want, you can come talk to me anytime, really. Don't worry you're not making drama at all.

[golddustwomanwins]

FORGIVE ME

Art Donaldson x Reader

18+

You heard it first while putting out the little pocket bible's for your father's next sermon. A choked sob. A small sniffle. You turned surprised, thinking you were alone but the benches were all empty, no lone soul in sight. When you turned back around and placed the last bible on the wooden surface you heard it again. It was coming from one of the confessionals.

You approached the box slowly, soft sobs becoming more coherent. You could hear someone mumbling past the curtain, the soles of white trainers peaking out of the red velvet curtain. Your steps hesitated. Should you? You knew your father wasn't in yet for the confessionals. Maybe this person was only looking for peace and quiet. A place to pour their guilt inside. But maybe you could be that vessel.

Your hands grabbed the soft fabric of the velvet curtain and slowly drew it away, metal hinges screeching softly against the rod. The person was too busy sobbing its soul into the crevices of the wood and only when you recognized a mop of golden curls they turned around.

"Art?" Your voice was a surprised gasp. The blond whirled around, still dropped to his knees. His cheeks were flushed, curls a mess a top his head, his eyes big and glassy.

"What are you doing here?" You tried lowering yourself to your knees but Art was already getting up, flattening his crumpled shirt as embarrassment tinged his cheeks crimson.

You grew up with Art your whole life. He was one of your closest friends, due to his family being as devoted as yours you two easily connected when he'd moved in across the street. When he went off to college you two only got to see each other on the weekends when he visited his Nan.

Though why he was currently on his knees, crying, in one of the confessionals was a mystery to you. Art was a good boy. He never got into trouble, listened to your father's sermons with devotion. Sometimes you even saw him slip out a small journal and transcribe every single word.

"Is your father here?" Art's voice cracked slightly, his eyes avoiding yours at any cost.

"He's still in the back getting ready. He's taking confessions on Fridays."

Art knew that and still he was here. "Do you need me to get him?" You asked cautiously.

Whatever's been plaguing his mind, must've been bad by his flighty behavior.

"Oh, no. I wouldn't want to impose."

You frowned. "Do you want to talk about it?"

It was the first time Art properly looked at you. "With you?" "Sure," you smiled gently. Taking his hand you pulled him into the booth, drawing the curtain shut behind you. Siting down on the bench together, Art slid as far as he could towards the wall as you settled beside him.

You looked at him when he didn't speak.

"Forgive me Father—" Art hung his head low huffing, "this is stupid."

"Come on, at least try." You nudged his knee with yours. Art flinched and shifted in his seat again.

"Do I need to—" "No," you assured him, "just talk."

He started to fiddle with his hands, knee bouncing up and down as exhaled heavily. "I’ve been having thoughts."

“What kind of thoughts?”

You waited patiently, the wooden bench creaking every time Art's knee bounced. Tears started to pool in his eyes and dropped over his cheeks.

"Thoughts I shouldn't have—c-cause I know they're wrong. I'm trying my best...to ignore them." He glanced at you before looking towards the ceiling. "They keep coming back. I've tried—god—how I've tried." "Hey," you said softly, putting your hand on his bouncing knee.

"YOU'RE NOT HELPING!"

Suddenly, Art was out of his seat, staring down at you accusingly. "With the way you toss your hair over your shoulder, and those stupid dresses!" You looked at him baffled. "Stupid dresses?"

"They swish around your waist and your tits—my god—I'm going to hell because of you..." he sobbed. "But it's not your fault. It's mine, I need to be punished." Slowly you realized. He was standing there in front of you, shoulders caving in, tears running down his throat. He was not confessing. He was begging for forgiveness. He needed it in order to move on. And you were going to forgive him.

Slowly you reached out for his hand and pulled him closer to you.

"No..." Art sniffled without any fight in his voice.

"It's okay," you whispered but Art repeatedly shook his head.

"No, it's not." "It is. Everything is going to be fine." You pulled him closer until his knees knocked against yours.

"I am a bad person," Art sobbed.

"You're not." Your hands slowly drew circles over his thighs. He was too agitated to even notice your touch, head thrown back as he groaned in pain.

"Please, just...release me from this agony." "I will," you told him and went for his belt buckle. His hands took hold of your wrists instantly as he stared at you in shock. "What are you doing?" "Releasing you." You blinked up at him. The air was charging, growing stuffy with his want. His tears had dried on his cheeks, only splotches of red left.

When you were sure he wouldn't protest you undid his belt buckle, the sound of the zipper running, echoing around you. He kept looking at you, lips parted and glossy, chest rising and falling slowly. He was already half hard, cock straining against his slacks as you spit in your hand and slipped it inside.

"Oh," Art's knees buckled and he fell forward, hand coming up to stop himself from falling. His skin was smooth as your hand wrapped around his cock, slowly dragging it upward until you reached the tip, already wet with precum.

Art whimpered as you drew your thumb over his slit, a choked sound falling from his lips. You got on your knees on the wooden bench as your hand set a slow rhythm, lips trailing along his jaw.

"You're doing good, Art," you whispered, luring more desperate sounds from him. His other hand found your hair, fisting it gently. His head turned and he desperately searched for your lips, kissing you as if he was drowning. His nails scratched against your scalp and you moaned into his mouth, hand moving faster.

"That good?" You asked and Art nodded breathlessly.

"Faster? Harder? Tell me what you want me to do, Art."

"I—" he choked as your grip tightened for a moment. "Oh Jesus fuck, fuck, fuck." "Like that?" You grinned against his throat as he caved in around you.

"Faster," he gasped and you jerked him off faster, wet sounds echoing around you as his precum ran down to his shaft.

"You're so wet," you chuckled. "Wouldn't even need any lube." Art groaned. "Don't say that—please—don't."

"Be a good boy, Art, and cum for me," your thumb drew over his slit again, making him whine. "I know you can. Cum for me and you'll be forgiven." "Oh fuck—ahh—please, please, I' cumming—"

Spurts of cum shot from his cock and stuck to his underwear, the other half coating your hand. You kept jerking as he whimpered and whined, the grip on your hair slackening as he cried into your neck.

When it got too much he started to twitch away, falling onto the bench beside you. His head tipped back and you sneakily cleaned your hand until you heard soft sobs again.

"Hey," you whispered, turning to Art. "You did so good." You gently wiped the tears from his cheeks.

"I did?" He looked at you with round eyes and you smiled. Your hand slipped into his curls, massaging his scalp gently.

"You are a good boy and you're forgiven. Next time you feel like this you come straight to me, yeah?" He nodded quickly. "Yeah, I promise."

[cherryo]

Bumblebee trying to romance you

I LOVE BUMBLEBEE SOOOOOO MUCH <33333 i would take care of him so welllllll, he's my favorite, he's so full of life and personality! even in gen 1 hes such a cutie patootie!!

Pairings: Bayverse! and TFO! Bumblebee x Human! and Autobot!reader (respectively)

Pronouns: gn

Word count: I don't count for hcs

warnings: none, not proof-read

Bayverse:

-oh lord, he does everything in his power to impress you

-at first he tried the cool, nonchalant act. overheard you talking to someone else about how nonchalant guys are silly and wont get girls. he switched his tactics up immediately!

-everything from catapulting enemies away from you to shadow boxing (which gets giggle out of you so he considers that a win)

-gets you a literal bush instead of flowers, he thought it was interchangeable, you kept the bush in your garden

- bless his little soul, at first he changes his alt-form every time you mention or see a car you like

-  No regard for what he likes, he changed into a pink porsche once, Ratchet and Hound wouldn't stop making fun of him for a week. He stays in his camaro form now.

- takes you on drives all the time, he’ll purposely take the more dangerous roads and turns fast so you have to grip onto him

- he’s a little bastard

- Optimus has to drag him away from you in the garage bay, doesnt quite work out, once bumblebee is free he just comes right back to talk to you

-he thinks wrestling the other bots in the garage will impress you, he wins a lot but still gets his ass handed to him sometimes. he pouts for hours till you tell him how good he looked while fighting

-keeps an out to see if you watch him when he trains with Optimus or Hound, if he sees you staring, he'll go twice as hard. Optimus gets onto him because he'll strain himself just to impress you

-he does take you out on this one drive that during the sunset and it was absolutely gorgeous

- i think he would take Courting you very seriously (being raise by optimus prime meant there was no “talking” stage, you either court them or not)

-he’s afraid to mess up, thinks by having to talk with his radio will drive you away

- LOVES LOVES LOVES when you hold his face or just have your hands casually on him!!! please just rest your hand against his leg or hand, whichever one you can grab lol

- his love language is def touch, he cant get enough!! Loves when yall are laying together and you lay on his chest close to his spark

- loves how small your hands are compared to his servos, he loves how small you are compared to him entirely

- although he loves being bigger, loves being in his alt form so he’s somewhat your size

-he’s such a respectful autobot, when he’s driving he’ll open his doors for you to get in/out

- plays songs that he can relate to at the time, he plays love songs a lot, at first you didn’t realize what he was doing but you slowly understood

-gets Optimus to help him set up a proper date area so he can ask you out, it might not be proportional to you, like at all but it sure is the sweetest thing ever!!!

TFO

- so id like to think you’re a miner or a friend of Orion and D-16 that somehow got roped into their stupid adventures and got kicked down the levels by Darkwing with them.

-you were on edge seeing an Autobot so far down, intimidating at first, then he spoke and all the intimidation left your body

-honestly you thought it was cute, D-16 pushed B-127 onto you at any chance after noticing you could handle his,,,,,personality

- his first view of you was love at first sight!!! He immediately knew he had to talk to you!!!

-wouldnt stop talking to you about his nickname that he totally didnt give himself, at first you looked at Elita for help and she just shook her head, leaving you to deal with this extroverted bot alone

- slowly eased into being able to handle his ramblings, he kept mentioning his friends back at sublevel, you didnt know what to say (he kept reassuring you he knew that they werent real to look sane, you werent buying it)

-did think he was talking too much but he was worried if he stopped talking you wouldn’t be interested in him (you thought his consistent rambling was cute rather than annoying)

-pulled you with him when yall were on the train, he was so fast for a bot who barely had space to walk

-watched your back the whole time you guys were around Sentinals bots and the high guard

-was excited you were working under Orio- Optimus Prime with him, took his lunch breaks with you

-comes up with ‘Awsome’ nicknames for you that loosely follow “BADASSATRON,” he says it in that voice every time too

-quality time is def his top love language, after being alone for so long just being next to another bot makes him so happy. He likes physical touch too, makes the thought of you more real to him, it reminds him he’s finally out 

- any time he sees you or you acknowledge him, his little antennas pop up. He doesnt notice it but you do, its adorable

- i would say he would be way too nervous to ask you out but he’d blurt out randomly that he liked you a lot (it was obvious)

- would be sweet and take you somewhere nice, away from work and home, just a nice spot and he’d probably kiss you before asking you to date him (you leaned in and would’ve said yes anyways)

[nottellingofname]

Satoru Gojo Called For Help

Call #03 - Boy meets Twilight ☼

Hello there! This is the Teen Confessions Helpline! What’s the problem? Feel free to confess anything you like and we’ll be there to—

Okay, slow your roll. Do you snort cocaine before answering these calls? Why do you sound like a kindergarten teacher on caffeine?

Oh. I just... I like to sound upbeat! Helps people feel safe and, you know, less like they’re about to emotionally explode on a stranger?

Sweetie, I already exploded. You’re just catching the fallout.

...Okay then, emo bomb. What brings you back? Ran out of people to mock or did the void get too quiet again?

I came back because I missed the warm embrace of being judged by someone who sounds like they crochet emotional support coasters.

That is—specific. And wrong. I don't crochet. I stress-bake.

Even worse. That means you’re nice and smell like cinnamon. Gross.

You're so aggressively weird. And grumpy. Is that your thing?

It’s called having a personality, Y/N. You should try it sometime without quoting pamphlets.

...I don’t quote pamphlets! I improvise my hope speeches, thank you very much.

Yeah? Must be hard juggling teenage youth and unpaid therapy.

I’m trying, okay? You try talking people down from the ledge when your most relevant life experience is failing a math quiz.

...Relatable.

Thought so. So. Are you still... you know. Floating in the metaphorical death pool?

Still doing backstrokes in it, yeah.

Do you want to talk about it?

Not really.

Cool, cool. Love a good emotional stone wall. Super helpful for my job.

I’m just... too much. I should just disappear. In the grand scale of things, I'm worth just as much as a chewed gum stuck on the bottom of someone's shoes.

...Mr. Fanceh, that’s the saddest and most aggressively petty thing I’ve ever heard. I’m impressed.

I aim to disappoint with style.

You’re not too much. You’re just... going through shit with too many emotions involved. Like every teen with a Twitter account in 2012.

I’m seventeen. Brooding is in my DNA.

Well, I’m seventeen too. Except I’ve chosen to be happy in delulu land. Like, violently choosing joy until the universe gets annoyed and gives up.

That’s not healthy.

Neither is spiraling alone while listening to sad music at 2 a.m., and yet here we are.

Touché. So... what keeps you from joining the void, then?

Pizza. Chocolate. And Edward Cullen.

...Twilight?

Yea? What about it?

It’s glittery garbage.

...I have never been more personally victimized. If you don’t kill yourself, I just might, out of sheer rage and secondhand shame.

That’s one way to keep me alive, I guess.

Damn right. Now sit down and take your medicine.

...What medicine?

The sacred text. I’m reading you Twilight. As punishment.

Wait, you’re seriously—

‘I’d never given much thought to how I would die—though I’d had reason enough in the last few months—’

Oh my god. You’re actually doing this.

Yes. This is your hell for mocking my sparkle king. If I can sit through your nightly existential monologue, you can endure Bella’s dramatic monologue about death and romance.

...You’re actually evil.

And yet... you called back.

...Yeah. I did.

ONGOING CALL: 1 hour, 54 minutes

Call Satoru Gojo?

Taglist:

@pickledsoda @yamato-my-beloved @yoontaedotin @16thwriter @vehuzzzz @raining4food @sukunaslilsocks @sparqvls @nanamisss

[wonderful-calalini]

– It's just one evening, Hans. You used to get along just fine without me.

– I used to just drink wine at those boring noblemen's parties. After Raborsh, I swore to myself never to do that again. I'll get into trouble again! – Capon howled, tightening the garters on his stockings. He hadn't wanted to go to this upcoming meeting at Jobst's in the first place.

– It'll be me and Samuel this time, and your uncle won't be there, – Henry reassured him, crouching down to help.

– That's the problem! Your brother will drag you into a corner, and I'll stand there alone like a fool!

– We don't see each other that often. And you could have a chat with John. He'll probably be lonely without Sam, too.

– That rat Jobst's and I have nothing in common! We're not even friends. He'll find out all my dirty secrets! What am I supposed to talk to him about? Gossip?

– He already knows all your dirty secrets, just as you know his. You're on the same side, and you need friends. And isn't that what nobles do every time they meet?

In response, Henry only received an offended look from above.

***

As Hans expected, this was not at all like an important military meeting and was just another feast. Capon, frankly bored, drank his wine for an unusually long time. Looking around, he noticed his lover and Samuel in the corner, laughing and telling each other something. His soul became even sadder. And although it was stupid to be jealous of the page for his half-brother now, he still could not get used to the fact that he would have to be shared with someone.

After Samuel learned about their relationship with Henry, and they, in turn, learned from him about his connection with John, their conversations became less tense, but more awkward.

Hans glanced around the room and saw a man in blue clothes on the balcony, who also seemed to be avoiding company. This was unusual for him, and so the lord, remembering Henry's words, approached the lonely figure.

"And what should I talk to him about? He is not interested in hunting, archery, or women. ... Should I talk about men?"

– I see that I am not the only one without an escort today, – John grinned, sipping white wine from his mug.

– Indeed. It is very strange to see you without company. Shouldn't a spy sniff out traitors all the time?

– Sometimes even a good hound needs a rest. This is a common drinking bout. You will not find any useful information here. I am not interested in hearing about who cheated on whom or who has a rash on their ass, – Liechtenstein's voice sounded tired, which made Hans feel guilty.

– What else interests a spy besides gossip?

– Well... I like poetry. You know, Lord Capon, sometimes it's very nice to read something light and unobtrusive. Sometimes I make Sam read plays with me by roles.

Hans immediately imagined this and burst out laughing.

– It must be very fun. Henry likes to read, too. Ever since he learned, he's been robbing my library. He especially likes my poetry, - Capon immediately regretted blurting it out, because the eyes opposite him lit up with curiosity.

– Do you write poetry?

– Hm... Sometimes. Nothing special, but I suppose it could be called "light poetry". ... If you like, I can give you some to read later.

Liechtenstein smiled charmingly, nodding at such a generous offer.

"He is the only nobleman who could appreciate poetry of such content!" – Hans mentally justified his impulse, leaning on the railing, – “And it’s definitely not because I want to be friends with him!”

[asukiess]

like, I think nathalie could be. something like happy alone. she's got a lot of things to catch up on and adrien to focus on. I think having someone in the least bit interested in you makes things complicated---enter amelie.

it's wrong to refuse her friendship, she is more kin to adrien than nathalie is. but why does she stick so close? what's it to amelie when nathalie eats, if she's eaten at all today? what does or doesn't amelie know? it's best to keep things at arms length.

amenath where it's a lot of creature comfort. help me tie my bathing suit. I made enough afternoon tea for two (emilie liked it at this time. you prefer a bedtime cup? okay, I'll adapt. habits are hard to break and my hands are useless. nathalie makes her tea and amelie smiles weakly because she added three cubes of sugar, just how emilie liked it. I like it bitter.) tell me about spending your vacations here in paris; I don't have a lot of happy memories here; sorry I've changed everything.

they're talking about emilie even when they aren't.

it's been a long time since I've shared a bed with anyone---and it's not like they do anything, but nathalie still stiffens when amelie rolls over and gets too close.

and I think amelie & felix could come and go. freedom still has to be foundational for amelie; she has her london flat. but it's nice to think about the random saturday that amelie drops by and nathalie asks why, did she forget something? and amelie laughs and says people visit each other sometimes. that's something friends do, you know.

[monstermoviedean]

if you have a good vibe/kind thought to spare and could send it my way. i'd really appreciate it.

[kenntoria]

synopsis ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ nanami accidentally finds your small, anxious-but-sincere vlogs and quietly falls for you through the screen. and when you meet, he becomes a gentle, faceless presence behind the camera—helping you grow, and loving you all the while.

tori’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ this was so fun to write

nanami doesn’t really use youtube. it’s too loud, too cluttered, too full of people trying too hard. he’s more of a quiet reader or podcast listener—he likes his content slow and thoughtful. but sometimes, during quiet lunch breaks or sleepless nights, he finds himself scrolling, searching for something simple to fill the silence.

the first time he sees your face, he skips the video. it’s nothing personal. the thumbnail just seems… ordinary. a soft smile, a blurry background of what looks like a street food stall, and a simple title: “trying something new today (๑•́‿•̀๑)”. he doesn’t think much of it.

but youtube, in all its persistence, keeps putting you in his recommendations.

every few days, your face reappears. new title. new blurry background. another small smile. there’s something oddly comforting about it, even if he hasn’t clicked yet. eventually, curiosity wins. one night, half-asleep and curled up on his couch, he taps on a thumbnail without thinking.

the video is quiet. not silent, but there’s no obnoxious background music or jump cuts. just you. talking a little nervously to the camera, explaining how you’ve never tried this kind of food before, how it makes you anxious to eat alone in public but you’re doing it anyway, for yourself. you pause a lot. laugh at yourself. your editing is minimal—sometimes you just leave long clips in where you sit there silently, debating the next bite.

and nanami… stays.

he doesn’t mean to. he thinks he’ll just let the video play in the background while he dozes off. but he finds himself watching. then clicking on another one. and another. you talk to the camera like it’s a friend. you say things like “i know no one’s really watching this, but…” and “this was scary for me, but i’m proud of myself anyway.”

there’s no performance. no show. just you, trying. trying to live a little braver. trying to make the world a little softer for yourself. and even though your videos have only a few thousand views at most, and a comment section with maybe ten or twenty kind words, nanami can tell you read every single one. you reply with gratitude and sincerity. you sign your replies with hearts and “thank you for watching!!” even when someone just says “nice vid :)”.

he doesn’t comment for a long time. he watches quietly, always late at night, a silent companion to your small adventures. his favorite video becomes one where you try to bike through a park trail you’ve never been on before. the camera shakes the entire time, the sky is gray, and you end up getting rained on halfway through. soaked and breathless, you laugh and say, “this was a disaster. but i don’t regret it.” and something about that sticks in his chest.

he comments on a video one day. it’s short, awkwardly formal:

“i admire your courage to keep stepping outside your comfort zone. thank you for sharing.”

a few hours later, you reply.

“thank you so much!!! i get really nervous about posting sometimes so this means a lot ;; i’m trying my best!! ♡”

nanami reads that reply more times than he’d like to admit.

—

he doesn’t think he’ll ever meet you. you feel like a little glowing orb in his private world. something precious that lives on his phone, just a click away, not real, not tangible.

but then, he’s at a weekend market. the kind of place you’d probably vlog, actually. he’s just there to buy fresh bread, enjoy the quiet, maybe grab a coffee. he’s walking past a stand selling handmade keychains when he hears a familiar voice.

soft. a little unsure. asking for the price of something.

he turns.

and you’re there.

you look just like your videos—maybe a little shorter, bundled in a cardigan despite the warmth, your bag too big for your frame, holding a small camera that’s not even recording. your hair’s a little messy. your eyes bright, darting around nervously. you’re alone.

and suddenly, nanami is nervous in a way he hasn’t been in years.

he debates not saying anything. he could let this pass. keep you as a digital secret. but then you glance in his direction, and smile—just polite, a brief flicker of recognition for another passerby—and nanami finds himself stepping forward before his brain catches up.

“…excuse me,” he says, and your eyes widen a little.

“yes?” you ask, voice soft.

“i’ve… watched your videos,” he says, and you freeze for a second. “they mean a lot to me.”

you blink. your mouth opens a little in surprise, then closes. and then you smile.

“really?” you say, a little breathless. “you… you actually watch them?”

“yes,” he says simply. “i think you’re brave.”

your hand flies up to your mouth, eyes darting away. “oh my god,” you mumble. “that’s—thank you. that’s so nice. i didn’t think anyone recognized me. my channel’s tiny.”

“doesn’t change the impact,” he says, and it’s honest. the way he always is.

you talk for a while after that. awkwardly at first—your nerves, his reserved nature—but slowly, something soft and lovely builds in the air between you. you laugh a lot, mostly just nervous. he listens a lot, mostly because that’s just the way he is. he tells you his name is kento. you tell him you were scared to even leave the house today, but you’re glad you did. he smiles.

before you part ways, you ask, very shyly, if he’d be okay with you filming just a little. not his face, of course—just his voice, his presence. he agrees.

that night, a new video goes up.

“a tiny adventure at the weekend market ✿ i made a new friend today…”

nanami watches it from his bed, and when his offscreen voice appears—gentle, amused, offering to carry your bag for you—his heart does something strange in his chest.

—

the first time nanami appears in a vlog, it’s his hand passing you a coffee.

you call him “a friend i made recently,” and giggle when he corrects your pronunciation of a pastry. he’s never shown — not fully. a shoulder here. the back of his head. your viewers are very curious. you just smile, almost bashful, and say, “he’s camera-shy, but he’s very sweet.”

you start mentioning him more in your vlogs. he’s still off-screen, but you’ll glance his way and smile. say something like “he helped me set this up,” or “he picked this place,” or just “he’s here with me.”

you don’t have to say his name. he stays a faceless figure in your videos. your viewers start to notice something more.

you never confirm anything. you just smile, cheeks pink, and say, “he’s really sweet. i’m lucky.”

nanami doesn’t need the spotlight. he’s happy to carry your bag, offer a steady hand when you’re nervous, and hold the camera when you want to capture something new. he’s happy to be the one encouraging you behind the scenes, whispering that you’re doing great when you doubt yourself.

you film together more and more. he goes with you to bookstores, little food stalls, quiet museums. he carries your tripod. holds your coat. gives you gentle encouragement when you freeze up in public and smile too hard when it’s over.

he falls in love with you quietly. over time. he doesn’t say it at first. he lets it bloom through little gestures — buying the tea you liked, learning how to edit videos just to help you with cuts, leaving voice notes when you’re too anxious to leave the house. he listens. he supports. he stays.

and he’s happiest when, in a quiet clip near the end of a video, you look off-camera and say, “i think i’m a little less scared of the world lately.”

he squeezes your hand off-screen. you smile at the touch.

and your viewers never hear the softest part—how, when the camera stops recording, you lean into his side and whisper, “thank you for finding me.”

nanami, who never believed in fate or chance or algorithms, just kisses your cheek and replies, “thank you for being found.”

[em1i2a3]

i don’t know if you take requests but some yearning or very obvious bob having a crush on reader… like full on fluff and everyone makes fun of him cause he’s just that obvious

Plainclothes Man

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Avengers!Fem!Reader

Summary: Everyone at the compound knows Bob has a massive crush on you–except you.

Warnings: Semi-Spoiler for Thunderbolts because of Bob’s involvement but other than that…None :)

Author's Note: Hey y’all! I do take requests! Just to make that clear! Nothing is really off limits! :) I love this idea! So I thought I would start with it. I kind of rushed it a bit because I have so many ideas going at once for Bob right now, but I wanted to please y’all so hopefully it’s good :)

Word Count: 1,775

Bob was a neon sign of romantic agony.

Everyone could see it.

He was about as subtle as a firework in a library when it came to you, and everyone–everyone but you–knew that he had very obvious feelings for you.

At first, it was just the little things. He would hold the door open for you, make your coffee in the morning, and sometimes he would walk you to your training sessions carrying all your weapons and gear. God forbid you mentioned needing help with something too, because it was like he teleported into the room instantly just to be your knight in shining armor.

It would’ve been sweet–it was sweet–except for the fact that he looked like he was going to pass out every time you smiled at him, or the fact that the first time you touched him he felt like he was having a heart attack.

Not only that, but at the Thunderbolts compound, privacy was a myth. Everyone noticed the way he put you first, and nobody had the emotional maturity to leave it alone, especially during down times when everyone was home with no missions or jobs to run off to.

Idle hands made for cruel commentary.

They started small. Little side-eyes, snorts, giggles, the occasional cough-covered ‘lover boy’ muttered under someone’s breath when Bob stood the moment you entered a room, like he was always on guard.

Then it escalated.

Yelena turned it into a sport, narrating his reactions like a nature documentary when you weren’t present.

”And here we see Bob Reynolds in his natural habitat–blushing violently, hands wringing in his lap, trying not to pass out because Y/N said his name. Observe how he avoids eye contact while trying to remember how to function.” This would make him even more flustered, and only add to his embarrassment of wearing his feelings on his sleeve.

“Please stop,” He would say, with his face on fire.

Ava took to mimicking Bob’s dreamy stares behind your back when the both of you would talk to one another, making sure there was grotesque exaggeration to every detail. How his eyes would widen, and his lips would part, oftentimes she would clutch her chest dramatically and sway from side to side, which only made his cheeks go a bright red as he was talking to you.

Even Alexei, who should’ve had better things to do, began to offer unsolicited advice.

”You must confess, Bob. Women like confidence. You must say, ‘I am man of strength and softness, let us be passionate together!’” Bob nearly choked on the air he breathed, blinking up at Alexei, who was nodding like he had just offered the secret to eternal happiness, and not a line from a Soviet soap opera.

”I…I’m not saying that,” Bob stammered, voice thin with embarrassment.

“Why not?” Alexei boomed, looking over at Walker and Yelena as if they were going to back him up, “You are soft man! Strong man! Women love this contradiction!” Walker sipped his protein shake without looking up from his phone.

”Honestly Bob…It’s not the worst idea he’s had.” Bob looked like someone had just pulled the emergency brake on his nervous system. He was stunned by the agreement the idea was receiving, then he rubbed his hands over his face, like he could scrub away the humiliation clinging to his skin.

”I can’t say that…I’ll die in the middle of it.” Bob muttered, his hands muffling his voice, before hearing a little chuckle coming from Yelena.

”You’re like watching a candle melt under a heat lamp…Take it easy on yourself Bob.” She said, leaning back in her chair.

”Seriously,” Ava added, leaning against the counter with a yogurt in her hand, “ Just say something. Anything at this point will be better than nothing. And please hurry up, because you’re starting to give us secondhand embarrassment with this mating dance you’re doing.” Bob was about to say something then the door creaked open, causing him to pause mid conversation.

Bucky walked in with a towel draped around his neck, drenched in sweat from the endurance run he had done on the treadmill just moments ago, with a look of vague concern on his face.

”What’s with all the noise? I heard Alexei yelling about passion through the vents.” He said, glancing over at everyone who was crowded in the kitchen.

”We’re trying to get Bob to confess his undying love for Y/N.” Yelena replied, watching as Bucky looked over at Bob who was hunched over the kitchen island and flushing a scarlet red.

”Oh,” He said, like it suddenly made perfect sense, “…Wait, he still hasn’t said anything?” He added, confused.

“Nope,” Walker responded, still scrolling through his phone, not bothering to look up, “Somehow he’s been able to keep the verbal diarrhea to a minimum with her.”

“Barely. Last week she complimented him on how strong he was for carrying six bags of groceries for her in one go and he stammered over a thank you for two whole minutes.” Bucky let out a little laugh.

”Pretty sure you’re describing a stroke, not a crush/“ He started, wiping his face off with his towel, “What exactly are you waiting for, Bob? A written invitation from the president or something?” Before Bob even had a chance to answer, the door creaked open again, and you appeared.

You were still damp from the shower you had taken a few minutes ago, with your hair pinned back, and your skin still flushed from the heat of the water. You had on a soft, oversized t-shirt and…Bob’s sweatpants. He had given them to you last week without prompt, saying that you would be warmer in them, and since then, you managed to forget to give them back–whether it was on purpose or by accident, nobody really knew for sure.

Yelena had caught it immediately though.

”Wow…Y/N, those are some nice sweatpants, where’d you get them from?” She drawled, grinning like a cat that had just spotted a mouse. You glanced down at them and pointed.

”These? They’re Bob’s actually, so I have no clue where they’re from, but they’re super comfy.” Bob made a noise that could only be described as a choked squeak, as everyone glanced over at him in their own small ways. Yelena grinned.

”Oh, Bob’s, huh?” You nodded cheerfully, completely missing the way Bob’s soul was visibly leaving his body.

“Yeah, I was freezing after that mission last week and he just gave them to me. I forgot to return them, but they’re just too good to give up.” You replied, looking down at them fondly, like they were a luxury item of sorts, before adjusting the waistband a little bit, “Hope you’re okay if I keep them a little longer before giving them back to you.” You added, with a little smirk.

Bob–already pink from neck to ears–opened his mouth but only managed a soft, and cracked, “Yeah…Yeah totally fine.”

You smiled at him–kind, and warm, and totally unaware of how he was going to spontaneously combust in a few moments if you didn’t stop looking at him the way you always did, with this admiration and care.

Yelena nudged Ava as you turned to the pantry to grab your tote bag.

”I was about to actually go on a grocery run, I figured it’s a good time to stock up for movie night tomorrow…Bob, do you wanna come?”

He lifted his head almost immediately, like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard you correctly–or like he was still rebooting from the sight of you wearing his sweatpants again and saying you might want to keep them longer.

You looked at him with your eyebrows raised, and everyone else looked at him like a firing squad waiting to shoot.

”I-uh…Grocery run?” Yelena pressed her lips together to hold back a grin, before glancing over at Bucky who was shaking his head, then Walker glanced up from his phone, staring at him with a look that basically screamed ‘don’t you dare blow this.’

“Yeah, “ You said with a casual smile, “I was actually going to go because they finally restocked those kettle chips you like, and that weird sparkling iced tea…The lemon honey one. But I thought I’d just kill two birds with one stone and just take the whole movie night snack order now and get it over with…Y’know what I mean?” Bob felt like his entire chest was going to cave in under your words. The fact you remembered such little details about him killed him, because it gave him those butterflies in his stomach–the ones that gave him hope. Dangerous, reckless hope.

”He’ll go.” Yelena replied, “He’s not doing anything anyways, he’s super available right now, aren’t you Bob?” All eyes turned to him.

“I–uh…”

“He lives for those late night grocery runs,” Ava chimed in, “You’ve made his week.” Bucky crossed his arms, clearly entertained.

”Oh yeah, didn’t you say twenty minutes ago that your dream night would be picking out snacks with a girl you–respect deeply as a teammate?” He piled on, causing Bob to swallow loudly.

“Well that’s perfect then! I’ll meet you in the garage in five minutes!” You said brightly, giving him one last smile that probably shaved three years off his life expectancy before you turned and strolled out of the kitchen, with your tote bag bouncing against your hip. Everyone waited until the front door clicked to interrupt the silence.

”Oh Jesus.” Bob said, sinking his face into his hands, hearing Yelena clap like a coach at halftime.

”Alright, let’s lock in–because if you mess this up, Bob, you’re probably never getting another invite like that again.” Ava pointed her spoon at him like a judge handing down a sentence, before saying.

”And it’s the first time she’s asked you to come with her somewhere instead of you tripping over your shoelaces to offer a hand, so that’s a good sign.”

“Yeah,” Bucky added dryly, “So don’t think yourself into a grave for the love of god, because you’ve done it all backwards. She’s supposed to be wearing your clothes when you’re dating, not before.” Bob groaned louder.

“I think I’m gonna throw up.”

[imaginedisish]

Lover, You Should've Come Over (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Get ready to cry. This is based on a request I received yesterday where the reader gets jealous of Jean. I tried to take this in a different direction just because I feel like this is a popular trope that has been done by many fantastic writers. It's also inspired by "Lover, You Should've Come Over," by Jeff Buckley. Hope you guys enjoy.

Summary: You've been pining after Logan since you joined the X-Men, and you're convinced he'll never love you back. He’s obsessed with Jean—always has been. Or...maybe he's not.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI, Oral (f!receiving), fingering, PIV (unprotected...pls WRAP IT UP THIS IS FICTION!), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, f!reader/afab!reader, telepathic!reader, cocky!Logan, softdom!Logan (kinda? yeah.), non-canon compliant (you'll see what I mean...no spoilers), cursing, angst, feelings, implied mutant trauma (kinda a given in X-Men), probably some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,197 sorry

Wanting someone you can’t have—it’s that crying in the shower, pulling your legs into your chest, screaming into your pillow kind of heartache. You’ve come to know the feeling intimately. It’s an awful, horrid, stomach-churning kind of pain.

But you want him. Despite all the pain, you want him. Logan Howlett. You can’t seem to keep him off your mind. For the few months you’ve been one of the X-Men, Logan has been a constant. He’s always there—whether it’s to train or just to talk. But you know he’ll never want you. You see the way he looks at Jean. You wish you didn’t. You wish you were oblivious to that sort of thing. But you don’t need to use your telepathy to reach inside his mind for proof—you just know. 

You keep holding on, savoring every moment, every interaction you have with Logan. You sit on the lawn of the mansion with him, watching the sunset. You’ll come down to the living room late at night to find him sitting in front of the T.V. and join him. Sometimes he’ll drape an arm around your shoulder. He’ll draw circles into your side as you drift off. You’ll wake up the next morning back in your bed, Logan having carried you there long after you’ve fallen asleep. 

You’ve decided you’ll take all he’ll give you, even if it means nothing to him—even if it's platonic. 

But tonight, you wish something would come up through the floor and swallow you whole. A void, a black hole maybe. That would do the trick. Disappearing would make everything so much easier. The second-best thing to disappearing is sitting in the kitchen of the mansion, alone, with a pint of ice cream. You decide to practice your powers, moving the silver spoon with your mind, concentrating as you dig the spoon into the top of the pint and into your mouth. 

You hear a warm, familiar chuckle from the doorway as the spoon lands on your tongue. You look up, and there’s Logan, arms tucked across his chest. “Wish I could do that.”

You can’t help but smile around the spoon as he strides over to you, taking a seat on the stool next to yours. You slide the spoon out of your mouth and rest it on the napkin next to the ice cream. “Hey,” you mutter, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

His shoulder brushes against yours. He’s so close it hurts. You try to shove the pain down and enjoy the moment. 

“Was hoping I’d run into you down here. Thought maybe you’d be in bed already,” Logan says, his eyes locked on yours. 

You shake your head, doing your best to keep that fake smile plastered on your face. “Couldn’t sleep.” 

You can see the sudden concern appear on his face. “Everything okay?” He asks, tilting his head to the side. Fuck, you think to yourself. Maybe he’s catching on. 

“Yeah,” you murmur, looking down at the ice cream. “Just still having a hard time adjusting.” It wasn’t a lie. You had always struggled with your powers, longing to hide, to shove them down. Your whole life, you were either a freak or something to be used—whatever was most convenient in the moment. The struggle between visibility and forcing yourself to be “normal” was an impossible battle. You were no stranger to being taken advantage of or being experimented on.

Logan was the first person who understood that—understood you. He made you feel seen in a way that no one ever had. It’s part of the reason you’ve fallen so hard for him. 

His hand is suddenly on your back, yanking you from your thoughts and back to reality. “I’m here,” he whispers. “Whatever you need, anything.” 

Anything. You wish he really meant it. 

“Thanks, Lo.” You smile up at him, letting your eyes linger on his lips for just a second before looking back down at the ice cream. “Want some?” You ask, nodding at the pint. 

“Only if you feed it to me the way you did when I walked in.” You can hear the smirk in his voice as he taps the spoon. You side-eye him incredulously. “I mean it. Wanna see you do it again.” There’s a husk in his voice, a shift in his timber that sends a chill down your spine. You try not to think about it too much as you pick up the spoon with your mind. 

You guide the spoon inside the pint, scraping the top, and lifting it up towards Logan’s mouth. He opens wide as you lead the spoon inside, his tongue hitting the bottom as his lips close around it. The implications of the moment don’t dawn on you until he’s grabbing the spoon with his hands and sucking on the metal. There’s something undeniably suggestive about this. 

Heat rises to your chest as you replay the image of him taking the spoon into his mouth in your mind. It’s so intimate, so domestic. And, certainly, something else—something that makes you tick, that makes that familiar fire grow deep within your belly. 

But—like always—the moment doesn’t last long. You wince, feeling someone itching against your thoughts, prodding at your mental shields, begging to be let in. Suddenly, there’s another voice in your mind. 

I gotta try that myself. You flinch at the sound, taking the spoon from Logan’s hand and shooting it across the room to where you sense the person’s presence. You turn around, and there’s Jean, resisting the spoon’s trajectory with her mind. 

It's almost pressing into her skull, shaking in mid-air, ready to break her skin. You gasp and drop the spoon, embarrassed to have registered her as a threat. “I’m so sorry,” you say, watching as Jean crouches down and picks up the spoon. “I didn’t know that was you in there, I swear.”

You expect Logan to stand from the chair and rush over to Jean, but he stays next to you, glued to your side, the palm of his hand resting gently on your back. “Jean.” His voice is firm, almost cold and harsh. “What was that?” You’re surprised at how curt he’s being with her, surprised he remembered that you’re sensitive to people probing around your mind, even if it’s friendly. 

Jean mutters a curse. “I was just communicating with her. I didn’t think she’d—” 

Logan stands, his hand still steady at your back. “Don’t do that again. Ever.” His voice is louder now, heavier. 

She whispers an apology, setting the spoon on the counter and walking towards the doorway. “I really didn’t mean to hurt you,” she says. “I should’ve remembered given your…” she pauses, searching for the word, “past…that it wouldn’t be a good idea.” She takes another tentative step. “I’ll leave you two alone,” she says, and she slips out. 

Logan settles back into the stool next to you. You’re shocked that he’s still here, that he hasn’t run away yet. You can hear him breathe—in and out—gentle, long breaths. You close your eyes and listen, the sound calming you down. You’re still expecting him to leave, to walk away, but he doesn’t. 

“You okay?” He asks, your eyes fluttering open, his voice hanging in the air. His head is tilted to the side, worry painted across his face. 

“Y-yeah. I’m fine,” you stutter, your voice cracking. “You don’t have to stay with me. You can go check on her if you want.” You nod towards the doorway—to wherever Jean wandered off to. 

“And why would I do that?” Is all he says in return, furrowing his brows. 

You put on that fake smile again. “I almost jammed a spoon into her forehead because she spoke to me telepathically.” You shake your head. “Don’t really think my reaction was particularly friendly—or something that good people do.” You break eye contact with Logan and look to the other side of the kitchen. “Plus, you two are…close.”

“Hey.” His voice is firm again, but gentle this time, reassuring. His hand slips across your back and rests on your waist. You’re so shocked by the contact that you almost miss what he says. “First of all, she knows better. Charles warned her about what you’ve been through. And second…” He trails off, smirking at you. “I’d rather be with you.”

Oh? Oh. He’d rather be with you. 

“I just thought, you know, you and Jean were…” You’re too embarrassed to finish the sentence and too nervous to hear him say the words you’ve been dreading most. 

He shakes his head, that smirk still spread across his lips. “No, it’s not Jean I want. Never has been.” 

Your breathing becomes shaky—your heart beating rapidly in your chest. “If it’s not Jean, then—” 

Logan cuts you off as he suddenly moves. His arm lifts from your waist as he stands, turning your stool around so your back is against the cold countertop. He’s gripping the arms of the stool now, caging you in. Your mind is hazy—you can’t concentrate with him this close. 

“You think I do the shit I do with you with Jean too, hm?” He’s towering over you, his head cocking to the side, his voice self-assured and confident. “Think I’m watching movies and sunsets with her? Carrying her to bed, too?” 

You’re overwhelmed, dizzied by his words, his size, him. “Just thought that—”

“Just thought what?” He cuts you off again. “That I didn’t want you, darlin’?” He brings his lips to the shell of your ear, one hand moving from the counter to your hip. “Wanted you this whole time,” he huffs, goosebumps rising on your arms. “Only you.” He presses a kiss to your ear, and then just underneath your jaw. 

“Logan,” you whisper. “W-want you too,” you choke out, your hands coming up and around his back. “B-but someone’s gonna walk in on us.” 

He’s ignoring you, biting your pulse point lightly and licking the pain away. “Let them,” he husks, refusing to stop. You instinctively bring your hands up to the nape of his neck, your nails digging in slightly. He groans at the contact, his chest heaving against yours. 

“One of the kids is catch us in here, or somebody else,” you mutter, his face still buried in the crook of your neck. “W-we should—”

“Go to my room.” He finishes your thought. 

“Please.” 

And then he’s picking you up from the chair, his hands under your thighs, grabbing your ass. You wrap your legs around his waist as he prowls out of the kitchen. He looks both ways as he crosses the hallway and makes his way to the stairs. There’s no one in sight. He carries you up the steps and down the hall to his room, practically breaking down the door as he swings it open and slams it shut. 

And then he’s laying you down on his bed, crawling over you, pressing his forehead against yours. “Wanted you in here sooner,” he murmurs, his lips just inches from yours. “Hoped you’d come over one night. You should’ve.”

His lips crash down onto yours before you can find the words to say. He’s starving for you, swallowing your moans as his hands slip under your shirt, his nails digging lightly into your sides. “So fucking beautiful,” he rasps against your lips. Everything is desperate and rushed, hands pawing at bare skin in the dim light of his room. 

Logan tugs on the hem of your shirt, rolling it up your body and over your head. He tosses it to the side as he sits up on his knees, taking you in. He curses under his breath, looking you up and down. 

“Logan,” you whine, arching your back. You need his hands on you again, his lips. Something. Anything. 

“I know, pretty girl,” he soothes, his fingers hooking inside the waistband of your shorts. “Gonna take care of you.” He yanks them down your legs, leaving you in just your bra and panties. 

He pulls off his own shirt, tossing it carelessly, letting it get lost on the floor. He settles back down over you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand finds your waist. He slides up to the bottom of your bra, teasingly pulling on the fabric before slipping his hand behind your back—skillfully unclasping the bra with one easy motion. You arch your back again, the bra straps sliding down your arms as Logan tosses the bra to the floor, too. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles, his hand tracing the curves of your breasts, massaging gently. “Perfect.” He captures your lips in another kiss as his thumb ghosts over your nipples, just barely giving you the relief you need before pinching softly. The pressure feels so good, so right, but it’s not enough. 

He draws circles around your nipples with his thumb, the sensation feeding the aching fire between your legs. Your hips involuntarily lift off the mattress, meeting his. “Need me that bad, huh?” He is always so incredibly cocky, even now—especially now. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and what to do next. 

Logan grinds his erection into your core. You can feel how big he is, the weight of him heavy against your cunt even in his jeans. You clench around nothing, whining his name as his strained cock teases your panty-clad pussy. “You want me to make you feel good, pretty girl?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter, biting your lips as his hand leaves your tits and sweeps down your stomach, stopping just above your clit. He slides his fingers down just a bit more, feeling where your arousal seeps through your panties. 

“Already soaking for me, sweetheart.” The bassy timber of his voice stokes that flame deep within your belly. Without warning, he’s hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and yanking them down your legs. “Can’t wait anymore, pretty girl,” he whispers. “Wanna taste this pussy.” He kisses your belly button, leaving a trail down the rest of your stomach as his mouth travels to where you need him most. 

There’s something depraved about the way he’s crawling down your body, taking in every inch of you. He spreads your legs apart with the palms of his hands—his thumbs brushing against your bare skin, licking teasingly at your inner thighs as he settles in between them. 

He pauses, looking at you under hooded eyes. You can see the want—no, the need—in the way his muscles flex and how he works his jaw. But he’s hesitating, his breath hot against your core, sending another jolt of desire through your body. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your eyes searching his for his next move. 

He finally presses a kiss to your clit. “You don’t understand how you make me feel,” he mumbles against your heat, licking a long stripe through your folds and back to your clit. “No idea how long I’ve fucking wanted you.” You throw your head back, whimpering his name as he laps again and again. He’s starving, and you’re the only thing that can satiate his hunger. His tongue swirls around your clit, flicking it, taking it in between his lips and sucking hard. 

Your hips lift off the mattress and Logan quickly moves to hold them down. “You’re not going anywhere, darlin’,” he grunts against you, the vibration of his voice going straight to your core. 

His free hand slips up the inside of your thighs, teasingly climbing higher and higher, his nails skimming your flesh. He’s toying with you, leading you on, taking his time. His fingers finally ghost over your folds, exploring you, stroking up and down as his tongue laps at your cunt. 

Logan prods your entrance with two fingers, slipping in just a bit, testing the waters. “Please,” you beg, pushing your hips down in an attempt to sink his fingers deeper into you. He stops you, his hand still firmly holding your hips down, refusing to give you the release you’re dying for. 

“So fucking impatient, aren’t you?” He tuts. And then he’s shoving two fingers all the way inside you, down to his knuckles. “Such a pretty pussy.”

“F-fuck!” You cry out, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he sets a relentless pace. He’s drinking you in, sucking roughly, his long fingers pumping in and out with a vengeance. 

“’This what you wanted, pretty girl?” He asks condescendingly in between laps. You’re too fucked out to form a sentence, your legs trembling underneath him. You know he’s loving this—loving that you’re a wet, needy, whimpering mess. 

Your walls squeeze around his fingers, your swollen clit throbbing as he laps at you. You’re so close already. “Lo,” you call out, fisting the sheets of his bed. Everything in here smells like him: pine and mint and musk and tobacco and that thing that’s uniquely Logan. It’s all so overwhelming and overstimulating. You’re ready to fall apart, to melt into nothingness. “S-so close.”

He squeezes your hip. “I know, sweetheart,” he soothes, his pace unwavering as his fingers fuck into you, scissoring inside you, drawing you closer to your climax with that come-hither motion he does so well. Your walls flutter again. “That’s it,” he coos. “Wanna feel you come—wanna know what it tastes like.” He licks harder, faster. “Let go for me, darlin’.” 

He pushes you over the edge, pleasure warming your belly as you let go. It washes over you in waves, his fingers still pumping in and out, his tongue still hanging on to the taste of you. You ride it out, his thumb brushing your hip, coaxing you through it. His fingers slip out of your cunt, but his head is still buried between your legs. You shudder as he licks long, slow stripes through your folds. 

“So fucking sweet,” he growls, still starving for more. “Not done with you yet.”

Fuck. 

But you need more—need his cock deep inside you, pounding into you. You need him in front of you, his lips on yours. 

“Logan,” you whine, your voice shaky and trembling just like the rest of your body. He finally lifts his head, his hair a disheveled mess, your juices glistening on his lips and his chin. The sight of him makes your breath hitch in your throat. There’s a feral, needy look in his eyes. He’s starving for more of you, and you’re not quite sure he’ll ever get enough. 

But he can see your chest heaving and the desire in your own eyes. He knows what you need—he always does. He sits up on his knees, staring at you while he slowly unbuckles his belt. The tension is palpable, the clinking of his belt against the hardwood floors cutting through it like a hot knife—the only sounds the melding of your quick breaths and the shuffling of bed sheets as Logan finally comes up to meet you. 

He's balancing on his forearm as he unbuttons his jeans, undoing the zipper and shoving the denim and his boxers down his legs. You swallow at the sight of his cock springing against his stomach. You had felt his erection before, but he is far bigger than you ever anticipated. 

With one hand on his cock, he lowers himself in between your thighs. You instinctually spread your legs for him, inviting him in. He nudges against your entrance, taking his time. 

His forehead meets yours, your chests flush against each other’s, panting in sync. You’re both waiting with bated breath, his tip slipping inside, but stopping short before going any farther. 

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Thought I’d never have you,” he confesses, pushing his tip a bit further in. “Would’ve given up anything for this. Would’ve waited forever.”

“You don’t have to,” you murmur.  “I’m right here. I’m yours.” 

“Mine?”

“All yours.”

And then he’s pushing deep inside you, down to the hilt, bottoming out. He swallows your moans with a kiss, biting your lip, drawing blood, and licking it away. “All fucking mine.” He stays buried inside you, unmoving. “Wanna stay inside you forever, sweetheart,” he growls, your heart bursting at the thought.

He pulls himself all the way out and all the way back in, stretching you out, working you open. You look down in between your bodies and watch as his cock disappears inside of you. “Feels s-so fucking good,” you stammer, already drunk off him. 

“Like watching me fuck into you?” Logan husks, picking up his pace, his hips snapping into yours. 

“Y-yes,” you whimper. His muscles flex as he ruts into you. He takes the hand that was on his cock and brings it in between your bodies, his fingertips quickly finding your clit and giving it a soft pinch. Your back arches off the mattress at the sensation. 

Logan hums at your reaction. “So sensitive,” he groans. “Taking me so good, sweetheart.” You can feel him losing control as he rams into you, his thrusts growing harder with each pump of his cock. He’s drawing firm, fast circles into your core. 

It’s all too much, him, his cock, his fingers. Your skin is on fire, your nipples pushing against his chest—the friction absolutely delicious. You’re already so close, just a few steps away from the ledge, and you’re ready to fall. 

“Know you’re close, darlin’,” Logan moans in between kisses. “Can feel you squeezing me.” 

You hum in response, but Logan refuses to let up. His pace is beyond brutal, pounding into you over and over again, his fingers working your clit in tandem. Your muscles contract around him, gripping tightly. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “So fucking tight, so fucking warm.” His praises are more than you can handle. “You gonna come on my cock, just like this?” 

“Yes, fuck, Logan!” You’re a babbling mess, his name the only thing on your mind, on your lips, hanging in the air like it’s a sacred prayer. Everything is him, and it always has been. In this moment and in every other, he is your end and your beginning. 

 “Let go for me, sweetheart. Know you can do it for me.” His deep voice is all you need to walk you through it. You’re breaking down, coming on his cock, the pleasure coursing through your veins, spreading like an untamable fire. 

He’s stroking your clit long after you’ve come, still snapping his hips into yours, still working up towards his own orgasm. His pace is getting sloppier, but he shows no signs of stopping. You can feel yourself growing overstimulated, his cock rubbing against your walls, his fingers circling your clit. “S’too much,” you whine, your nails digging into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist. 

Logan presses himself closer to you, as close as he possibly can be. “You’ve got one more in you, sweetheart,” he coaxes, not letting up. “Know you can take it.”

You’re breathless, clinging onto him helplessly. You’re clamping down on him again, taking him deeper than you did before. He’s hitting that sweet spot with every thrust. “Lo,” you whimper. “I’m gonna—”

“I know, darlin’,” he grunts. You can feel him throbbing inside you. “Let it happen, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.” 

The tension is snapping again, breaking in half as he pulls another orgasm from you. You shudder as you come for a third time, overstimulated and beyond fucked out. You know he’s close behind, his hips slowing down, his forehead pressed against yours. He slips his hand away from your clit and around your back, pulling you closer to his chest. It’s so intimate, so perfect. 

“F-fuck,” he mumbles. “Where do you want me to—”

You hold him closer. “Stay,” you whisper. “Want you inside. Wanna feel you come.”

“Oh fuck,” he mutters, plunging deep inside you, his muscles tensing as he fills you up, your name on his lips. His thrusts slow, pumping in and out every now and then before finally stopping. 

You stay like this for a few minutes, his arm keeping you tight against his chest, his cock still buried inside you and your foreheads still pressed together. 

He brings a hand up to your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across your skin. You sigh, your eyes fluttering open and closed. 

He shakes his head. “I always wanted you,” he says, his voice low and raspy. “The whole time. It was only ever you.” 

His words could make you cry. It’s everything you’ve ever hoped to hear. You smile, his hand finding its way to the crook of your neck, his fingers lightly stroking your sensitive skin. “Can’t believe I didn’t see it,” you breathe, your voice laden with sleepiness. “I never knew. Thought you’d never want me.”

“I’ll always want you.” His cock finally slips out of you, leaving you feeling empty. His legs tangle with yours, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to your temple. “Would’ve waited forever for you, darlin’.”

“Forever?”

“Longer.”

[smileysuh]

camera man

🌙 starring. Choi Seungcheol x afab!Reader 

🔮 preview. He’s this big, strong, business major and frat president- but right now, he’s putty in your hands… and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t feeling extremely powerful from this.

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, cam girl reader, mentions of alcohol/drugs/porn, masturbation, use of sex toys, multiple reader orgasms, oral (both m/f recieving), blow job, pussy eating, overstim, multiple sex positions, dirty talk, praise, etc… I pet names: (hers) baby.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 6.3k 

🍭 aus. Svt cam boy au, frat au, university au, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. This is part 2 of a 3 part cam boy svt au. Each story can be read as a stand-alone, but exists within the same universe :) Wonwoo is April, Seungcheol is May, and Mingyu will be in June. The complete masterlist is here. 

Prologue:

It’s a generally unspoken secret amongst the frats and sororities at your university that some of the students within the ‘Greek system’ are a part of the adult entertainment camming industry. When notorious gaming streamer ‘No Face’ had made his debut in the more erotic style of video making, there had been whispers about Sigma Veta Tau’s Jeon Wonwoo being the man behind the mask. 

“I swear to God,” your friend Kelly says one night as you’re all watching Legally Blonde for the tenth time, “No Face had another cam show last night, and I’m like a hundred percent sure he was talking to someone behind the camera.”

“So?” you sigh.

“So… everyone knows Wonwoo has that new girlfriend! I would bet my scholarship that Wonwoo is No Face, and he and his girlfriend are into some weird in front of camera and behind the camera masturbation type of shit.” 

“If they are, that’s their own business,” you shrug. 

“I wonder how much money they make,” Kelly frowns. “Like… No Face is huge- I wonder if he makes like… thousands every month.”

Now your friend's words draw your attention. It’s one of those weird things, you’re aware of camboys and camgirls, aware of the porn industry and everything, of OnlyFans- but with so many easily accessible free porn sites, you’d forgotten that a lot of content creator’s have switched to behind paywall options in order to make actual income on their work.

“I heard he’s making over ten thousand a month,” another sorority sister pipes in. “There are rumours that Sigma Veta Tau’s frat president, you know, the business major one, supports the whole thing and helps with marketing and style and all sorts of stuff so that it’s more profitable.”

Your skin is prickling now… ten thousand a month? Just for… diddling yourself on camera? Wearing a mask would make you anonymous, and as a female, if you did a wig, it would be even better…

You shake your head at yourself, you can’t actually be considering this… can you? 

One:

It’s been about six months since you started camgirling, and it’s going alright. It had been a definite learning curve, as you don’t have some business major to talk you through the ropes, and unlike No Face, you didn’t start with a preexisting following from being a gaming streamer- no, it’s slow going, but sometimes with things like this, it just is what it is.

Being an anonymous camgirl doesn’t stop you from having fun though, and tonight, you’re with Kelly at a Sigma Veta Tau frat party. 

There had been talk about frat president Choi Seungcheol being a mastermind behind the possible camboy ring in this frat, notably No Face being the most famous, but you push that aside. You’ve been into Seungcheol since you first saw him, and, expertise or not, you’d do anything for a chance with him.

The two of you know each other in passing; you’re both in the ‘Greek system’ after all, so when you get to the party, you zero in on Cheol by the beer pong table.

He looks up as you approach, a smirk working its way onto his mouth. 

You’ve had near misses with this man, misses that you’ve since dwelled on incessantly.

There had been that time your sorority and his fraternity were doing a bake sale together, and the two of you had been stuck at the booth all day due to scheduling conflicts with other volunteers. The booth had been small, and there had been numerous moments of contact, you trailing your hand along his shoulders as you moved behind him to grab cupcakes, his hands on your hips to gently guide you out of his way so he could access the cash box-

Christmas had been interesting, with the two of you stuck under the mistletoe only to be interrupted by first-year Dino, who had come to warn Seungcheol that Hoshi and Seokmin had spiked the punch with LSD by accident- how had it been an accident, you might ask? Well, the jury is still out on that one.

Seungcheol is definitely your ‘maybe’ man, the man you maybe will kiss, the man you maybe will fuck, the man you maybe will fall for… if the situation allows it. 

“How are you doing?” Seungcheol says, immediately wrapping his arm around your shoulders to pull you in.

It’s a forward approach, but you don’t mind as you snuggle up to the big, muscular frat boy. 

“Doing good, you?” 

“Been drinking,” he notes, holding up his red solo cup for you. “Promise there’s no LSD in this one.”

You laugh, accepting the liquor. It’s a mixed drink, something strong, and now you know why Seungcheol is so relaxed. This is pure giggle juice, and if you’d had a whole cup of this, you’d be just as forward with Seungcheol as he’s being with you right now.

“What did you put in this?” you ask.

“I don’t know, Dino made it.” 

Sometimes you forget that Seungcheol is one of the older men here, and he’s the president, so he has a whole house of dudes ready to do anything he asks. It’s funny how often he picks on Dino, but at the same time, you know Seungcheol loves the kid and sees him like a little brother.

“Are you sure there’s no LSD in this, then?” you tease.

Seungcheol chuckles. “Dino’s more of a weed guy, and Vernon only sells the flower shit, which would be hard to hide in a drink, so you don’t have to worry.”

You love the inner workings of this community. Hoshi and Seokmin are the trouble makers with a thing for getting too messed up on alcohol or anything they can get their hands on. Seungkwan, their bitchy mother figure/younger cohort who always runs around with them, or with Vernon - the resident weed seller - even though Seungkwan is a total musical theater kid and hasn’t touched any drug in his entire life.

Then you have the likes of Jeonghan, Joshua, and Seungcheol, three of the older members, the business majors. Woozi and Wonwoo are more on the quiet end of the spectrum, avoiding parties. There are Jun and Minghao, who can have a crazy streak, but also prefer to seclude together rather than come to big gatherings. Mingyu and Dino are both just puppies, and they’re constantly running around and getting into trouble.

No, you love this frat, and regardless of the camboy rumours, you’re happy that they’re the brother frat to your sorority. 

You continue to sip on the drink, standing with Seungcheol while you watch Seokmin and Hoshi versus Jeonghan and Joshua in beer pong. It’s a riveting game, with all sorts of fake-outs, crying, screaming- Hoshi pretending to sip his drink, then doing a trick shot that fails, only for him to sprawl onto the floor in disappointment. Seokmin laughing at his teammate’s antics can probably be heard over the music throughout the whole house.

Jeonghan and Joshua end up winning, and the ‘evil twins’ - as some call them - celebrate accordingly with shots.

Seungcheol can only laugh, turning to look at you. “How’s that drink working out?”

“Are you trying to get me drunk, mister Choi?”

“Just a little tipsy, not drunk,” he smirks.

“And why would you want me to be tipsy?”

“So you’ll dance with me,” he admits, and for the first time, he actually looks kind of shy. This big, beefy, muscle-head businessman who always fills out his suits - or his blue jeans - is shy about asking you to dance… You couldn’t be more into him than you are in this moment.

“Cheol, you need to be more confident,” you tell him, grabbing his hand to lead him onto the dance floor.

“I am confident,” he argues. 

“Yeah? I don’t believe you.”

Seungcheol swallows thickly, and then he grabs the back of your neck. He tugs you to his chest, closing the distance between your mouths. You kiss him back eagerly, latching onto his plain white t-shirt as your tongues begin to clash deliciously. 

Seungcheol groans, his hand slipping from the small of your back to your ass, and you realize that maybe this man wasn’t being shy at all, maybe he just wanted your first kiss to feel right. After all, there have been so many near misses-

No, this is perfect, and you get lost in the taste of Seungcheol as he kisses you on the dance floor.

You don’t feel exposed even though you’re in a crowd like this- you know no one is paying attention to you, and you also know you’re not the only couple making out on the dance floor right now.

Your heart is racing when Seungcheol finally pulls away, and he looks down at you with a grin.

“My room?”

“Fuck, yeah.”

He grabs your hand, pulling you off the dance floor.

Your heart is still thundering as you follow him. He takes you up two flights of stairs, all the way to his back corner room. 

Lots of frat boys have double rooms that they share with others, but there’s a select handful that have solo lodging like Cheol’s.

You’ve never actually been in his room before- most of the frat boys keep their doors locked, and you’re shocked at the neon blue hue created by many panels of mood lighting along the walls. There’s a massive gaming station in the corner, a desk, a big bed- it looks like a room that suits Seungcheol, but there’s something about the aesthetic that’s throwing you off.

The neon blues are No Face’s colours- but you know Cheol is not No Face, he’s much too big to be the lean, thick anonymous gamer turned OnlyFans celebrity. 

“You good?” Seungcheol asks, closing the door behind you.

“Yeah, just never been in here before,” you lie, shaking your head as you grab Seungcheol again, pressing your lips to his desperately. 

He wraps you up in his large arms, leading you over to the bed. You fall onto the mattress as gracefully as gravity allows, looking up at Seungcheol.

His expression is one of complete lust, you can tell you’ve both been waiting for this for a while.

“Here,” you offer, undoing your jeans and lifting your hips so you can shimmy out of them.

He immediately grabs at the fabric, helping you tug it off. Next is your shirt, and you remove that too-

Then you notice Seungcheol staring at you, but his expression has shifted to one of confusion.

You look down and realize he’s staring at a faint birthmark on your inner thigh.

“Wait…” he shakes his head, “are you camgirl BabyDoll246?”

Two: 

Seungcheol’s whole world has stopped. Things had been a little fuzzy from drinking mixed booze for a couple of hours, but now, the world is extremely clear. He can’t stop looking at the mark on your thigh, the tiny mark- so small you could miss it, so small it would likely be insignificant in every scenario- except Seungcheol has been looking at that mark nearly every night for the better part of two months.

As someone involved with unofficial guidance in the camming industry, Seungcheol has made it his job to keep an eye out for competition… but at the same time, Seungcheol’s not about to watch all the male camboys. No, he’s taken to watching the girls, seeing what works, what doesn't-

And then he’d found anonymous, mask and wig-wearing camgirl BabyDoll246, and he’d become obsessed.

You… you can’t be camgirl BabyDoll246… except, it’s your mark, on your thigh- and now that Seungcheol thinks about it, other things are starting to fit too.

“Y/N,” Seungcheol repeats, “Are you camgirl BabyDoll246?”

“Cheol…”

“I’ve got so many business tips for you!” Seungcheol belts out, his grooming as a businessman taking over, without the aid of his usual charming lines, which are blurred by his tispy countenance. 

“What?” You blink up at him in confusion. “You’re not mad that I’m a camgirl?”

“Why would I be mad?” Seungcheol asks in shock. 

“Because, uh… well, some men are very controlling and protective over the girls they sleep with?”

“Some men need to grow some balls, and also, we haven’t slept together yet.”

“Which brings me back to the fact that I’m in my bra and panties on your bed, so are we doing this, or what?” You chuckle, but there’s a nervousness to it.

Seungcheol gets the impression that the whole camgirl thing is a touchy subject for you. Not many cam people are proud and loud about what they do for work, and Seungcheol knows it’s hard to face the judgment that comes with being an adult entertainer while also trying to get a university degree.

His mind is spinning, and Seungcheol does his best to push it all down.

He thinks maybe he’d had too much to drink earlier, and Seungcheol’s the kind of man who struggles to get hard when he’s been excessive with his alcohol consumption. But he’s not about to pass up this opportunity, not when his mouth still works.

The frat president sinks to his knees, hooking his fingers in your panties to remove them.

“Eat you out now, talk business another time, when I’m sober,” he promises.

“You’re not going to fuck me after eating me out?” you question.

Seungcheol would normally be open about his failings as a man, but now that he knows you’re camgirl BabyDoll246, he doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of you. So instead, he tells you, “I don’t want to rush things,” then he pulls your core to his tongue.

You don’t question him further, your head lolling back, a whimper escaping you.

God, you sound even prettier in person, and it encourages Seungcheol to go harder, giving you everything his mouth has to give.

He’s watched you cum on toys of all sorts, and he’ll be damned if he can’t make you cum on his tongue. 

Three:

You can’t believe you’ve agreed to a ‘buisness meeting’ with Choi Seungcheol- but after he’d made you cum on his tongue three times, you hadn’t been in the mindset to argue with him about anything.

So here you are, after dinner on a Tuesday, walking through the nearly deserted library until you find the frat president in a far corner on his laptop.

Seungcheol waves you over, and he even stands to give you a lingering hug.

“Missed you,” he whispers, and if he didn’t sound so sincere, you might find it laughable.

By now, you’ve worked it out that Seungcheol is a major fanboy of yours. What had felt like a push-pull power dynamic ‘maybe’ relationship has been flipped on its head, and now, you’re acutely aware that you hold all of the cards. 

“I made a PowerPoint,” Seungcheol announces as you both sit down next to each other.

“What?”

He opens his laptop, and you find yourself staring at a Google Slides document with the apt title ‘BabyDoll246 - rebranding prospects for financial gain.’ In tiny font at the bottom, there’s a ‘by Choi Seungcheol’ note, and you find yourself laughing.

“You can’t be serious,” you tell him.

“Deadly serious,” he warns you. “Now, if I could have five minutes of your uninterrupted time, I can present this for you.” 

You sigh. “Okay, I’m listening.”

“I wanted to start my presentation today by discussing my qualifications,” Seungcheol announces - as if this is some sort of job interview - as he clicks the next slide. “Although I should be maintaining client and marketing manager anonymity, I need you to know that I’m the mastermind behind streamer No Face’s success on OnlyFans. I helped guide him into the world of adult content by keeping his brand simple and focused, which is what I can help you with too.”

He hits the next slide, but pauses momentarily.

“I also want you to know that I think it would be a lot easier for you to get big on OnlyFans because more men watch that kind of shit than women do.”

“Do you have the statistics on that?” you tease.

“In a recent study, OnlyFans estimated that seventy-nine percent of their monthly traffic came from male users, as opposed to twenty-one percent for female users.”

“Oh, you actually had the stats.” You blink at him in shock.

“I’m a business major, I come prepared,” he reminds you. “Anyways, there are a few avenues for growth when it comes to you. First, we need to get your brand narrowed down. I’ve noticed you switch a lot between masks and wigs and lighting, there’s no set mood or colour, which makes it hard for repeat watchers to realize it’s you and not one of the many other anonymous camgirls.”

You consider his words.

“So… you mean like No Face has his whole blue thing, and one mask, and that’s it- you always know it’s him,” you clarify.

“Exactly, you need to find your brand, and stick to it. You can mess around with outfits, but one mask, one wig or wig colour, and one lighting set up.”

“That could work,” you admit.

“I also think it would be interesting for you to have a…” he hits the next slide, which just says, “Camera man.” 

You laugh, but then you realize he’s being serious. “Cheol, this is camgirl stuff, it’s not real porn with a real director-”

“But a lot of male audiences like the whole ‘pov’ style of thing, and also, as a man… if I were your camera man, I could help direct you with things your audience would want to see.”

“Oh, so you’re my cameraman now?” you chuckle.

“I think it would help your platform. Not always camera man videos, but sometimes… I’ve also found it helps some cam performers to have a partner behind the camera, someone to talk to, to make the dirty talk more real.”

“Like Wonwoo and his girlfriend?”

“Wonwoo?” Seungcheol’s skin turns pink. “I never mentioned Wonwoo- Wonwoo’s not No Face-”

“Cheol, you don’t have to hide that Wonwoo is No Face, I’m pretty sure everyone knows.” You release a breath and look back down at his PowerPoint. “If I’m being honest, these aren’t the worst ideas in the world.” 

“Then think about it,” Seungcheol says. “You don’t have to agree to anything right now, but just… think about it.” 

Four:

You’ve taken some of Seungcheol’s suggestions to heart. Getting ready with a pink wig, a pink purge mask and pink lighting, you can’t help but think you might be ripping off No Face- but to be fair, Seungcheol had helped Wonwoo’s marketing, so you’re not stealing anyone’s ideas of Seungcheol’s the one who told you to do this.

If this whole thing works, then it works. You know Wonwoo’s not about to sue you for ‘copyright of camming aesthetics’ or something stupid, so you take a breath and turn the camera on, inspecting yourself on the screen. 

One of the good things about the mask is that you can just stare at yourself. There’s no awkward eye contact since no one can see your eyes… however, the mask and wig do get stuffy. 

Pushing the uncomfortable sensation aside, you relax against your bed.

You’ve worn a pink babydoll-style lingerie set, and when you spread your thighs, it shows off your crotchless panties.

“I’m so wet already,” you murmur, playing it up for the camera. In the back of your mind, you consider what you’d be saying if Seungcheol were with you right now, so you draw on that for inspiration. 

“I’ve been wanting you inside me,” you groan, reaching down to rub your clit. “Want to feel your tongue again, want to feel your thick fingers and your massive cock.”

You can see donations coming in, and you realize Seungcheol was onto something with upping your dirty talk game by being in the moment.

“My little fingers just aren’t enough,” you continue, pushing one inside of yourself. “Maybe I should add another.”

You continue teasing yourself and dirty-talking to the camera until you have enough donations, and then you reach for your vibrator. 

Thinking about Seungcheol is making you wetter than than ever before, and as you bring the toy to your clit, you know you’re not going to last long tonight.

You throw your head back, deciding to moan and whimper instead of dirty-talking further. You imagine it’s Seungcheol holding this toy to your clit- and thinking about that brings back the memory of him eating you out, which only makes you more turned on.

God, his tongue had felt so good that night- 

You’d gripped his hair, riding his face for the third orgasm, your chest heaving, heart racing, skin clammy from exhaustion. 

You get lost in the memory, the tension building in the pit of your stomach. Soon, you’re falling over the edge, your pussy clamping down on nothing while desperately aching for Seungcheol to be filling you up-

You ride out your orgasm, waves of pleasure surging through you with each wiggle of your hips.

Seungcheol’s voice swirls through your head, and as the show comes to an end, you realize you want to take him up on his offer.

Five:

It’s been all of ten minutes since you turned off your cam show, your wig is off, and you’re resting in bed just trying to collect yourself, when there’s a knock at your door.

“Uh… busy?!” you call, thinking it’s a sorority sister.

“It’s me.”

Seungcheol’s voice makes you sit up abruptly. “One second!”

You wrap a robe around your body, nearly falling on your face in an effort to hop off the bed. You unlock your door, opening it to find the business major standing there.

He looks disheveled, frantic even, and he immediately pushes into your room.

“You took my advice,” he says.

“Hmm?”

“I just watched your stream. All pink monochrome colours and aesthetics- of course you’d choose pink, fuck you look so good in pink.” Seungcheol is practically pacing in front of you, and you wrap your rope tighter around your naked body.

“Are you alright?” you ask.

“I got too caught up in drinking and business last time, I should have fucked you, but I didn’t, and you have no idea how much I’ve been regretting that.” 

You realize he’s still hung up on the night of the frat party, and you also realize maybe Seungcheol’s been thinking about you as much as you’ve been thinking about him. 

“I’m not used to this,” Seungcheol admits, taking a seat on your bed and running his hand through his hair. “I’m a business major, I’m supposed to keep a level head, but fuck- I found out  you were BabyDoll246 and I think it just made me feral.”

“You’re cute when you’re a fanboy,” you tease, sitting next to him.

Seungcheol groans, but he accepts it when you open your arms for him, and he cuddles close to your chest, breathing in heavily. You stroke his hair, giving him space to speak.

“I want you,” he says finally. “I want you so fucking bad. I offered the cameraman thing to be close to you, and I’ll still do that for you, I’ll help you with your brand, but- even before I knew you were BabyDoll246, I’ve been into you for months.”

“So why did you never make a move?”

“I’ve got a porn addiction,” he admits. “Well… maybe not an addiction. I’m pretty ingrained in the OnlyFans industry, not personally, but… I’m involved, and I know that can be rough on partnerships in this day and age-”

“So this situation is kind of perfect, huh?” you grin. “Can’t microcheat on me by watching porn if I’m the one you always want to watch.”

Seungcheol chuckles. “Guess that’s true.”

“What if you only like me because I’m BabyDoll246?” you joke.

“Fuck,” Seungcheol shakes his head and lets out a sigh. “I’m going to simp for you so hard.”

“I think you already are,” you grin. “Making me cum three times on your tongue, not even fucking me yourself- how were the blue balls after that party?”

“So bad.”

“And how are they right now after watching my show?”

“Maybe you should take my pants off and see for yourself,” Seungcheol teases.

You stare at him for a moment, and then you sink to your knees next to the bed. You push open his thighs, hands reaching for his button and zipper.

“Shit,” Seungcheol cusses, letting out a shaky breath as you begin to tug his pants down. 

“Didn’t think I’d actually do it, did you?” you grin.

“I guess not,” he chuckles, swallowing thickly. “Are you sure about this?”

“I am, are you?”

Seungcheol nods. “Yeah, but uh… no pressure.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, and you pause to look up at him. “Seungcheol, you made me cum three times with your mouth, I think you deserve this in return.”

“I don’t uh… keep track like that,” he says shyly.

“Then don’t keep track. Sit back, relax, and let me do this.”

Seungcheol nods, watching you carefully as you hook your fingers in his underwear, tearing them down his legs.

God, he’s so thick. His shoulders are broad, his thighs are juicy, and his cock looks like something out of a fever dream, all hard and big-

He might have the biggest cock you’ve ever seen, and when you wrap your hand around the base, you realize you’re already practically drooling.

“Try not to choke,” Seungcheol says, and you flash a glare up at him.

“For someone who seems shy at points, you’re actually pretty cocky aren’t you?” 

“I mean…” he bites his lip, “I think I’ve got a lot to work with.”

You have no response to that, because it’s true. You simply shake your head, taking a breath before leaning forward.

You start by licking at his tip, teasing it while he groans above you. You like his sounds, and they prompt you to take more of him into your mouth. You continue to suckle on him, paying attention to the sensitive mushroom head.

Men always want more, they always want to see how much you can fit inside your mouth- so to start like this, well, it will tease Seungcheol and make him even more eager for you than he already is. 

His hand finds your hair, and he strokes you as you suck on him.

“Feels good,” he groans, shifting a little so he can lean back, his other hand now pressed against your mattress.

You moan a sound of affirmation, sinking down on him further.

“Fuck,” Seungcheol breathes. “You’re so good at this.”

You’re a glutton for praise, and you do your best to hollow your cheeks, moving up and down on his length.

When it comes to sexual activities, blow jobs aren’t usually at the top of your preference list, but there’s something about pleasuring this man- about hearing him come undone for you.

He’s this big, strong, business major and frat president- but right now, he’s putty in your hands… and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t feeling extremely powerful from this. 

You’re practically slurping on him now, your mouth starting to make obscene sounds from the effort, and Seungcheol echoes the noises with groans and grunts of his own.

“Fuck, baby, I don’t want to cum from this.”

You pull off of him. “Then don’t cum?”

He lets out a shocked laugh. “It’s not that easy.”

“No?” You trail your tongue from his base to his tip. “Can’t control yourself?”

Seungcheol meets your gaze, and you see something harden in his eyes.

“No, I can’t.”

He grabs you suddenly, lifting you off the ground and tossing you onto the bed.

Then Seungcheol stands up, tearing off his shirt so he’s now naked for you. God, he’s so gorgeous- he’s all big and muscled and-

Seungcheol reaches down, opening your robe with one motion, and just like that, you’re both naked.

“Condoms?” Seungcheol asks.

“I’m protected, as long as you’re not some STI-riddled frat boy.”

“I’m clean,” he laughs.

“Me too.”

“So… you’re okay with this?”

“Stop talking and fuck me,” you whine, opening your thighs to expose yourself to him.

You’re wet already, and it’s not just from the orgasms you’d had on cam half an hour ago. No, you’re more turned on than you ever have been before, your pussy already practically aching for something- anything, to lessen the feeling of complete emptiness.

Seungcheol joins you on the bed, and your thighs wrap around his hips.

He presses his lips to yours eagerly, your tongues immediately clashing in a passionate dance.

Your hands grab his strong shoulders, and you love the feeling of your chests pressed together like this. Seungcheol moans, rutting his hips so he can grind down against your wet core.

The sensation of his hard cock teasing your clit has you whimpering, and the kiss deepens.

You’re eager for him, but just as you’d played around by making him wait when you sucked him off, it seems Seungcheol is intent on making you be patient as well.

God, each grind of his hips has your core tensing, your clit nearly throbbing with need.

“Seungcheol,” you whimper, breaking the kiss so you can gasp at the feeling. “Please-” 

His lips move down to your throat, and he teases your sweet spot there, making you moan even louder.

“Please!” you say again, with more force.

This time, Seungcheol does as you ask, his hand slipping between your bodies to grab the base of his cock. He lines himself up with your core, slowly sinking into you inch by inch.

You gasp at the stretch, loving the feeling of his big cock as it splits you open.

“Fuck,” Seungcheol groans. “So fucking tight.”

You can’t say anything in response, you can only writhe against your bed, your core finally appeased. The sensation of his thick length working every inch of your inner walls- it has you feeling dizzy already, and when he begins to thrust, your mind goes practically blank except for the pleasure that washes over you.

Seungcheol adjusts your thigh, spreading you open so he can sink even deeper. He hits every spot perfectly, and you feel feral as you lay there, taking everything he can give while moaning like a whore in heat.

“You look so good like this,” Seungcheol tells you, panting from the effort. “Could fuck you for hours.”

“Cheol- I’m sensitive!” you warn him.

“Came a few times on cam, but you can still take more, right?” He lets out a small laugh. “What would be the point if you can’t take more?”

“I can cum,” you tell him, nodding enthusiastically. “Just- don’t break me.”

“In one of your shows, you came five times, I think that’s your limit. You just came three times on your show tonight, so I think that gives me two to work with.” 

Your muscles clench at the idea of cumming two more times tonight, but you’re not about to argue with him, so instead you just whimper, “Please.” 

“Anything for you, baby.”

Seungcheol pulls out of you suddenly, and you look at him in confusion, only for his lips to wrap around your nipple. He gropes your other breast, and you can’t help but moan, tangling your fingers in his hair desperately. 

He gives your chest the attention it deserves, and then his mouth continues its descent.

Seungcheol is lying on the bed now, his hands adjusting your thighs so they’re braced over his shoulders. 

“Been thinking about eating this pussy every fucking day,” he tells you. 

“Me too,” you admit.

“Yeah? Bet you were thinking about it during your show earlier.”

“I was,” you whimper, wiggling against the bed, your clit stimulated from his breath alone.

“Guess I shouldn’t make you wait.”

Seungcheol dives in, not holding anything back as he pushes his tongue into your core, rubbing his nose against your clit at the same time.

Your thighs are already beginning to shake, and you grab at the bedding, trying to keep yourself anchored while your muscles begin to tense.

Neither of you needs to say anything else. It’s clear Seungcheol has a goal in mind, and he’s quickly approaching the finish line. There’s something so sexy about a man who’s messy while eating you out, a man who clearly enjoys himself and doesn’t hold anything back.

“Shit,” you whimper, feeling the build up as it begins to tingle through you.

Seungcheol groans against your core, turning his attention to your clit. At the same time he shifts so he can push two fingers into your wet pussy, crooking them so he can stimulate your g-spot.

“Just like that!” you cry out. “Don’t stop!”

Seungcheol has no intentions of stopping, and he works you all the way to your high. 

“Cumming!” you announce, core clamping down on his fingers as intense throbbing errupts through you. 

You know enough about Seungcheol from the last three times he made you cum with his mouth to know he’s not the type of man who stops the moment you orgasm. No, he’s the type to work you through it, to eat you out with even more vigour until your legs are shaking, your heart is racing, and you’re physically pushing him away.

You’re still sensitive from cumming on cam, so it takes very little for you to reach the point of being overstimulated.

One push to his head makes Seungcheol pull away, and he looks up at you.

You’re both breathing heavily, and you watch him lick his lips, his pupils blown as he stares at you.

“That was one of two,” he warns you, and you would find it comical that he’s keeping track like this if you weren’t so overwhelmed from that orgasm.

You open your arms, a wordless urging for him to join you again.

But Seungcheol doesn’t comply, instead, he moves to sit next to you, his back against your headboard.

“Come here,” he says softly, helping you up. You straddle him, and he guides you down onto his cock, which fills your still aching core deliciously.

You both groan from the sensation, and you simply cockwarm him while you get your bearings.

He begins to kiss you, soft kisses that tease your skin.

One of his hands begins to massage your breast, and you let out a sigh of pleasure, throwing your head back.

You grab at his shoulders to anchor yourself, beginning to circle your hips so you can feel how deep he is inside of you.

Seungcheol wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer, his lips now moving to your throat.

“You look so good like this,” he tells you, and your core throbs from his words. 

You take a breath, steadying yourself so you can begin to move.

Bouncing is effort, and you know you’re not going nearly as fast as Seuncgheol can go when it comes to fucking, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He lavishes on you, kissing your body, groping your breasts, all the while moaning, which turns you on even more. 

Soon, he’s grabbing your hips, helping you bounce on him. You love how fucking strong he is, the way his biceps bulge with effort.

There’s something so slow and sensual about this, for you to be on top but still controlled by him. It feels amazing, and you feel very close to Seungcheol. There’s no rush; it’s simply an enjoyment of each other, and it allows you to lose yourself in the feeling.

However, soon, you can’t help yourself.

Your hand reaches for your clit, and your entire pussy clenches around Seungcheol as you begin to rub your sensitive bud.

“Fuck,” Seungcheol groans, moving you faster on his cock.

“Want you to cum with me,” you whimper, eyes closed as you focus entirely on the feeling beginning to build inside of you again.

“Let me know when you’re close,” he tells you, continuing to bounce you on his cock. 

You give yourself grace to enjoy the build-up, there’s no pressure or time constraints, and soon, you’re nodding. “Okay, I’m almost there.” 

Seungcheol nods, and with one motion, he flips you onto your back so you’re in missionary again. Now he has full control, and Seungcheol begins to fuck you fast and hard. It’s a contrast to the slow way you’d been moving on top of him, and the new change of pace feels amazing.

You rub your clit even harder, your eyes clenching shut as you get closer and closer to the edge-

“Cheol!” you whimper.

“I’m almost there, too,” he tells you, panting against your throat.

“Fuck, fuck-” Your entire body tenses, and then you fall over the edge. Your pussy clamps down on Seungcheol like a vice and he groans deeply, signalling his own release as he fucks you through your shared high.

You’re both gasping, panting, and clutching each other desperately, with Seungcheol all but burying his face against your throat. You thread your fingers through his hair, holding him close as his motions start to slow.

The pleasure is surging through you, all the more amplified by the sensation of closeness with Seungcheol.

Soon, he comes to a stop, and you hold him tight, both of you just trying to catch your breath.

You feel Seungcheol swallow, and he pulls away from your neck, looking down at you. “That was amazing.”

“It was,” you agree, teasing your thumb across his cheekbone. “So… you’re my new cameraman.”

He chuckles. “Going to be hard to watch you do any solo things.”

“You’ll just fuck me right after, like this,” you say simply.

“Fuck, what a life.”

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! If you're interested in Wonwoo's chapter about No Face, find it here

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview. Seungcheol has been learning your body, inside and out, and you love that he’s taken the time to understand what makes you tick.

cw/ tw.  Unprotected sex, cam show/ porn, dirty talk, multiple sex positions, multiple reader orgasms, cum kink, creampie kink, sexual catering to audience, use of vibrator toy, spanking, ‘pov’ video filming, Seungcheol is her mute fuck toy for the cam show, overstim, squirting, hand job, masturbation, edging, etc…   I petnames. (hers) baby.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.1k I teaser wc. 130

🌙 starring. Choi Seungcheol x afab!Reader

bonus

It’s been a few months of Seungcheol being your cameraman, and your streams have definitely improved.

It helps to have a businessman with a vision in your corner, and when he’s behind the camera, it’s especially helpful for your content. Seungcheol brings realism to everything, because you can almost act as if there’s no camera at all. It’s just you and Seungcheol, and that taste of reality has brought in a ton of new subscribers. 

He’s your official boyfriend now, but you know he’s been whipped for you from the start. Any man who’s willing to help their girlfriend succeed in the adult content industry is a bit of a simp, but you kind of love that about Seungcheol. In fact, you wouldn’t want it any other way.

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