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leaawrites · 1 day ago

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Asking for more isn't a bad thing

Jannik Sinner x fem!reader

Summary: where Jannik is willing to give more to her than her actual boyfriend.

Warnings: fluff, angst, no actual cheating but mention of suspected cheating and fast moving on, toxic boyfriend, implications of emotional cheating from both sides, tension, slow burn, 16+, no actual smut but making out

A little treat because Jannik just won Wimbledon!!!!

Wordcount: 5.2k (It's slowly getting out of hand atp)

Masterlist, ATP Masterlist

It had always been the bare minimum. Whether it be what she received or expected, it had never been more than necessary and she had come to terms with that. She lived in a nice flat with enough space to move around comfortably. She had a job that left her with enough sleepless nights so that she wouldn't die but still feel productive. She had a boyfriend that brought her flowers on Valentine's Day and maybe even chocolates.

And if she wasn't meant for more, she decided she wouldn't ask for more. Especially when she knew how often he had complained about them spending not as much time together but how he inevitably came to terms with it. It made her come to terms with it as well.

Everything in her life was comfortable.

It came down to days like this. When she was sat on the outsides of the game but was still emersed in it. The ball flying over the net with every hit until one eventually messed up. The anticipation till that point made her feel more than she ever had in her life. The nerves came raddling down her brain as she watched the player she bet on out of fun in her head fall behind. It made the adrenaline pump through her veins when there was hope resurface and a smile spread across her face when that said player won his second or third game.

Standing behind the camera with her hands clasped together in happiness, filming the post game interview before wrapping the tournament up with a dinner or a movie night with one or more of the players.

It had always been like this. The way she dreamed of it to be.

The opportunity of traveling the world reaching out to her with every time a new tournament was waiting somewhere around the globe. And she took it without hesitation. New places and new people pushed away the guilt she felt when coming home.

It wasn't that everything was bad back then, but she was so used to it all that nothing ever felt as good as being away from it. Whether it be the shoes in the hallway or the shows that played on TV, nothing could ever compare to the loud laughter she shared with her friends or the skyline she saw from her hotel bed late at night. Every mattress felt more comfortable than the one in her own bed. Every coffee woke her up better than the one in the coffee shop down the street.

Every face felt more welcoming than the one waiting for her at home. The one that was sprawled all over the bed when she would arrive late at night or on early mornings, leaving no space for her to relax in. The one that left in the mornings with a quick 'good morning' and a kiss goodbye. The one that was too busy attending business dinners to take her out whenever she was home.

It started like a dream. One neither wanted to wake up from. Though slowly it developed into a hasty completion of daily chores they heard about from happy couples on how to be complete.

But it never worked in the way they wanted it to work.

She always felt more complete in times like these. Sitting on the floor of the small balcony, overlooking the quiet nights of Paris. Her notes for her interview of the following day sitting long forgotten in her lap as she stared down at the people sitting in bars and walking along the streets. It had always been that way. She would watch the other's, taking notes on what made them unique and letting the guilt of wasted potential eat her up afterwards.

Convinced that she would never be the one worth looking at.

"What are you doing?" The all too familiar voice called out to her from a balcony away.

Looking up and turning her head, she knew who it was before making out their face. But the mop of red hair helped her confirm the intruder of her self-deconstruction.

Jannik Sinner, the world's number 1 Tennis player was looking down at her with a smile on his face. Leaning over the railing to get a closer look at her as she scrambled up to her feet and mirrored his position.

"Could ask you the same. Shouldn't you already be in bed?" she mused, tilting her head to emphasize the mockery intention. Awaiting his laugh that she knew would come before continuing, "I don't have the privileged of a tight day to day schedule. I actually have to put up with my body if it doesn't want to go to bed."

"Seems like a schedule doesn't prevent my head from being awake," he said back, gesturing to his present form in front of her. The bedside light from his room reflecting through the glass window onto his sweats and sweater.

"A light in the dark, huh?" she asked jokingly, her tone shifting from mockery to banter. A slight change he caught on immediately.

The weight in his shoulders falling along with his head as he laughed. Exhaustion lacing his vocal chords.

"It seems so, yeah."

Silence settled over them. A comfortable, understanding kind. One of those you noticed immediately when walking into a room of trust and affection. It settled over the whole city the longer they looked at each other, smiling like there was nothing else worthy to look at. And for the first time in a while a question of belonging made itself known to her mind. Depicting her life back home and the one she could have with someone that actually seemed to care.

For now though, she only asked, "Are you nervous?"

The words tumbling down before she could think about them. It seemed reckless to any outsider. They were colleagues in a sense, not long trusted friends. But they knew each other long enough for her to notice the way he fidgeted with his fingers the way he always did before a big match.

"A bit," he said, barely audible if she wasn't leaning so close. "I mean, it's always a bit scary thinking about how many people will be watching, especially with this match against Carlos. I don't think I will ever get used to that. The possibility of disappointment."

Nodding her head in understanding, she tried her best to understand. "I feel the same way about work. Pitching ideas that could be shit, having you not enjoy what I make you do for the content. It's not even half as important as your job, but it still feels intimidating."

"As if," he scoffed, shaking his head in disagreement of her words.

And with the way his tone dropped, she was already prepared for the talk about difference in their jobs. How what she was doing was barely considerable as a way of making money since it was something even toddlers could do. But it never came. She wasn't back with him in the end, she had to remind herself of that.

"Nobody would watch us play if it wasn't for the things you make us do for other's entertainment. I'm just chasing a ball like a dog, you're actually doing something worth paying for."

"Says the man living in Monaco," she mused and if it wasn't for the low lights she swore she could've seen a slight blush appear on his face at the teasing.

Falling back into silence without a counter from his side, she looked down at her phone screen. The bright light and colorful background of it engulfing her face in a way he never thought possible. Reflecting in her eyes like stars in the sky and lining her bones with intense shadows. Dark eyes turning blue, invisible skin tinting purple. His heart trying to escape his chest and run towards her. Capturing the moment forever in his mind before she looked at him again, turning the screen off and drowning herself back in shadows.

"It's already past ten," she announced, making him nod in understanding. It was time for them to part ways for the day.

Leaning back, his hands still gripping the railing, he waited for her to say something. Anything that would make their conversation last a moment longer.

"Not too late for a movie," she said.

Jannik jumping to a counter question immediately. "What do think of watching?"

"I don't know. You've got any ideas?" she asked, gathering her utensils from the little table. Holding them close to her chest like a shield. "Maybe you could come over? Calm your nerves, help me pick a movie?"

And he swore he never agreed to anything faster. Nodding his head and pushing out a quick, nonchalant, "sure," before stumbling inside his room and out of it again. Slipping into his bathroom to put on a extra dose of deodorant and fixing his hair.

The knock on her door came mere seconds after she put her stuff down. Walking to the door and letting him in, Jannik looked more out of breath than it would be usual for the two meter walk he had to put up, but she didn't question it. Only apologizing for her messy room and awkwardly kicking her suitcase out of the way, as it laid open with her clothes sticking out in the middle of the room.

"What's like your favorite movie for overwhelming situations? Like, when you're sick or one that reminds you of your childhood," she asked, walking over to the other side of the bed to settle down beside him. Grabbing her laptop from between the covers and starting to dig through the Netflix catalogue.

"I don't know, what's yours?" he said in such a soft voice it made her spine curl.

Eyes widening in surprise at his answer, rather expecting a detailed list of a thought-through male movie list than an 'what's yours?', she quickly went through the list she had in her mind.

"Hold up, I've got a list for this on my letterboxd," she said, opening a new tab to find the list.

"What's letterboxd?" he said it like a word out of a foreign language he only just discovered for a pr-video. Leaning closer to the screen in interest, gaze skipping through the different tasks and lists, his breath fanned down the side of her neck. All kinds of movie posters, most which he didn't recognize, popping up in front of him.

"It's a website where you can rate movies," she explained, "pretty boring actually." Straightening her spine to get the feeling of having him so close out of her head.

"You like movies that much?" Looking up, he didn't expect her face to be as close at it was to his. Eyes flicking down to her lips as she spoke, her own gaze avoiding his as she tried to pick a movie for them.

"I do, yeah. What about a simple pick, Cars?"

Finally looking back at him, she noticed the small grin spreading across his freckled face. The intensity of it all bubbling up in her stomach until she let out a laugh.

"What?" she asked, a slight blush creeping up on her already hot cheeks.

"Nothing," Jannik quickly said, looking back at the movie posters.

"Is it about the movie?" Sitting forward, the laptop fell out of her lap, tumbling down on her legs. Instinctively he reached for it, grabbing a hold of it before she could and settling on his own spread out legs.

"No, no, I like the movie. It's not about the movie." Tapping through her tabs and apps like second nature, he selected the movie before she could protest. Knowing how she could get when doubts about the slightest situation came up in her mind. "You just looked really cute when you were so focused on picking the right one."

"Did I pick the right one?" she asked just to make sure.

"I don't think you could pick a bad movie."

Before she could imply any further complications, the movie started. Both settling into the comfort of kids entertainment, falling back in time for a while, pretending like nothing besides the story mattered.

The hours went on and with every tick of the clock over their heads, her head fell further. Eyelids closing off with her mind. The pillow under her head becoming his shoulder. The blanket over her body being pulled up by his hands in a gentle motion, trying not to wake her while he sunk deeper into the mattress himself. Closing the laptop and closing his eyes. Shutting off the light and letting the darkness encapsulate both of them.

Dreams taking over a dream reality.

When morning came and the sun brightened the sky, the busy streets sounded from beneath the balcony. The window still open wide, letting the noise in without a barrier. People were shouting at each other, horns were aimed at other cars. The music from another room drifted into hers while she drifted further from her dreams and back into reality.

Her face was pressed into the soft cotton of his sweater, leaving her breath to be sucked into the fabric. Moving through it down to his skin, landing right above his heart.

Jannik's eyes snapped open, his fingers crinkling into the blanket around her waist. Holding the sheets to stay on the mattress and not float into delusion.

This couldn't be. He knew of her boyfriend, having met him a few times when he would still visit her on her work trips at the beginning of their relationship. Now he was a mere mention on the side if someone asked. A 'yeah he's fine' was all he knew about him now. It probably was all that she knew as well.

Slowly, Jannik let his eyes travel down to her peaceful frame. Admiring the way the sun caught every detail in it's hurry. Making all his favourite features seem like golden accessories to her soul.

With time passing by, the thoughts wouldn’t leave him alone. This wasn’t what they should do. This wasn’t how she should wake up.

With delicate fingers, Jannik lifted her head from his chest, her steady breathing brushing along his fingertips, making him stop for a second and reconsider, but his mind was already made up. Slipping from under the covers, he put his pillow under her head. Watching her arms tighten around it, her nose pressing further into the smell of it. And just for a second he let himself believe that she would have done the same if he moved with her still on top of him.

But that thought quickly passed when he closed the door of her hotel room behind him, lingering a few seconds before hearing footsteps echo in the hallway. They were too quick for him to not draw any attention on himself in time.

Frozen in place, he watched Carlos round the corner. A sick smile spreading across the Spaniards face as he caught sight of his opponent in front of the girl's door.

"Good night sleep before the match tomorrow?" He mused, cocking his head to the side. Not stopping to wait for him but slowing his step so that Jannik could catch up with him.

"It's not- Nothing happened," he quickly defended himself. Pushing his hands into his pockets, watching his feet as they stepped in front of one another like he had to watch them so they wouldn’t mess up.

"I never said that." Carlos smirked again, patting his shoulder as he left the red head standing in the middle of the hallway.

Glancing over his shoulder, back at the room he just escaped from, Jannik couldn’t stop the weird sensation passing through his chest. Clamping his ribs together and squeezing his skin in between them.

The rest of the day passed in silence. They were both in their respective worlds, neither accidentally running into the other by coincidence. Jannik avoided her at dinner and when she stepped out onto the balcony again that night, the light in his room was on but his door wasn’t open. He didn’t plan on focusing on anything other than the match.

She noticed that when she sat in the grandstands the following day. Fan in her hand while she watched him walk out on court. Waving like he always did, but his expression was more serious, like he was already two sets into the game.

It started out well, the first two sets were his. The third one wasn't and the fourth one could've been. Until the title was out of his sight and held by Carlos.

With his head in his hands, he tried his best to not let the devastation show. Biting his lip to bite back tears. Squeezing the skin around his eyes to keep them at bay. Taking deep breaths in between sentences when he congratulated Carlos and his team so his voice wouldn't be shaking too much. But when, on his walk out, his eyes found hers - her hands clasped together over her mouth but the comforting smile on her lips still visible - he had never walked off court faster. Taking the whole candy jar for the players with him.

She'd watched it happen. The mistakes, the devastation, the break-point. His breaking point. The moment the shimmer of hope left his eyes completely and his shoulders sacked his entire body down. His forehands got sloppier while Carlos' only got sharper. Turning a 5-3 into a 5-7. And lastly into a 2-3.

It felt like a heavier loss after Rome. The suspension. The number that stood in front of his name. Number 1. It would just be a matter of time before he'd fall down the ladder again that he was holding on to for dear life at the moment.

Hours passed before she felt calmed down enough to look at her phone again.

25 missed calls.

15 new messages.

Frowning at her phone screen, she went over the texts first. All incoherent sentences with typos in them that got worse over time.

'Saw you on TV'

'Seems to be the ofly timme U see ye noe'

'You look like ye klie him wed more thn me'

'why dent ypu just fuck him'

'Ye probably alredejy do'

'I don't even fckin care'

'Do what ye wfjn'

'I dotn cfre anymfew'

And it didn't face her as hard as she thought it would. She knew it was coming. Sooner or later. It was inevitable with them. It was predictable. She had imagined it happening many times before, when they were close to breaking. Usually, in her mind, it would be a heated discussion with insults thrown or a quiet confession that neither felt anything anymore. But this was spot on. This was more like them. A plain stream of texts with no other emotions than his drunk insults. They were distant and they were aware of it.

'I'm gonna be back on Thursday. You can take your stuff with you tomorrow, if there even still is something you own at my place.'

'And leave the key in the mailbox after you locked the apartment.'

Shutting off her phone again, she threw her body on top of the duvet that still faintly smelled like Jannik from the night before. Memories rushing back to her as she took it in. The way she felt how she fell asleep on top of him and how she woke up on her own. How his eyes avoided her till the very last second before he disappeared. She hadn't seen him since, nobody had. She heard the door to his hotel room close rather harshly as she sat outside on the balcony but no light came on.

Staring at the wall that separated them, she could only imagine what he was going through. Making a picture up in her mind, sensing the worst outcome in them but pushing it away as soon as it came. Instead she saw him laying in bed, head stuffed into his pillow, letting all the emotions run down his face and into the fabric.

Her heart wrenched at the unrecognizable figure she imagined. She had never seen him as broken as he looked back on court, with every pair of eyes fixed on him, just waiting for his downfall from the calm persona they perceived him with.

Changing from the outfit she still had on into comfortable clothes, she made her way through the hallway over to his door. Waiting outside for a few seconds, overthinking everything that could go wrong, before softly knocking on the door. No answer came, no little, tired footsteps. And she understood, she really did. But she needed to know that he was alright. She needed to see him with her own eyes before she could fall asleep.

Taking her phone out, she ignored the heaviness of the text that she received hours ago and only answered now. Typing a soft, 'Jan, please let me in' before leaning against the wall next to his door. Inhaling deeply as she watched her screen.

He didn't read it but a few seconds after the door opened. Just a little bit, enough for their eyes to meet before she pushed it further open to fall into his chest. Making him stumble back a few steps as he closed the door again, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and burying his head into her hair.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled with a shaky voice as he tried to push her away but she only clung to him tighter.

"Don't be. You played amazing today, no matter the result." Looking up at him she could see the hesitation clearly displayed in his eyes. This wasn't what he was talking about.

"You still have a boyfriend," he whispered, his voice breaking as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Not anymore," she said, shaking her head as she spoke.

Her words made his head snap up, his eyes widening in realization. Yesterday someone mentioned him still and she answered with the same tone as always. What had happened in the last 24 hours?

"Shit. I'm sorry," he said, his voice still quiet but not as uncomfortable anymore. His fingers were twitching as she sat down next to him.

"Don't be," she repeated herself again. Smiling softly at him. "It was foreseeable."

"You don't seem too sad about it," Jannik noticed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as it fell into her face.

"As I said, it was predictable. We haven't talked properly in a month even when I was home. It was just a matter of time before one of us said what everyone around us saw."

"You two didn't fit anyway," he commented absentmindedly, fidgeting with his fingers. Unable to look at her now that he had a chance of winning still.

"I know," she agreed. "But it was nice being able to say that I had someone. Even when I was stuck in misery."

"You'd rather be miserable than lonely?" It surprised him, not that he couldn't have guessed it, but having it actually confirmed made his chest churn. How could someone so full of life and charming be clinging to the slightest bits of attention?

"If I had to chose than yes." She nodded falling back on his mattress. Intertwining her hands over her chest, staring at the ceiling as he was staring at her. "But I felt less lonely with you around. All of you - the whole tour, I mean. That's why I love traveling all over the world even when I barely get any good sleep. I think it's worth it."

"What about-" Jannik cleared his throat, taking a deep breath and looking up at the ceiling before he continued speaking his thought aloud. "What about just me? Do you feel better when you're just around me? No one else."

"I always feel good when I'm with you."

Laying down next to her, they were face to face. Eyes traveling over the other's face as their breaths got entangled in each other. Pulling their bodies closer until Jannik pushed himself up on his elbow, leaning over her. Their faces inches apart as he stared at her lips like they were the trophy he wanted to claim by the end of the night.

Letting her hand travel to the hem of his shirt, she left her eyes fixated on it. Twirling the fabric in between her fingers before moving them to his skin. Tapping little rhythms on his chest and drawing uncertain figures as she felt his muscles tense under her touch. The rapid beating of his heart etching through her nerve system and mimicking it with her own.

"We're only gonna see each other again in Wimbledon," she whispered, not feeling the need to speak louder than she had to. He would find a way to understand her even if she would lose her voice.

"You're not coming to Halle?"

It's where she was last year, he assumed she'd be there again this year.

Shaking her head, she let her hand lay flat out on his waist. His muscles relaxing at the warmth of her palm. Rubbing her thumb over his skin in comfort, she bit back a grin as Jannik let his finger move over her cheek, down her jaw and letting his hand rest on the side of her neck. Feeling her pulse radiating through his palm.

"I was assigned for Queens this time, since I already have other stuff planned in England," she explained, making him nod in understanding even when he was clueless as to what other plans she could have. "I'm also not gonna make the media days before Monday."

"What have you got planned?"

"Gonna go to Glastonbury the weekend before it starts." Now she let the grin spread across her face in excitement. "And I've got ticket for Oasis opening night so I hope you guys don't play too long."

"If I even get that far." The bitter tone in his voice made her frown. Looking away from her gaze, watching the white bedsheets with a wide look in his eyes. Memories of the final he just played falling back into his memories.

"You will," she assured him, moving his chin back towards her. His jaw flexing as her fingertips hit it. But it was gentle, not forceful. If he wanted to pull away, she still let him. He didn't had to look at her, she told him that she wouldn't mind if he didn't. But he wanted to. Now that he had her near, he never wanted to let her go any further again. "I know that you will, because you are fucking incredible. And I don't just say this so that you give me better answers on media day."

Closing his eyes and letting out a small laugh, she smiled with him. Sucking her lip between her teeth, a proud feeling flashed through her body as his shoulders lost the tension that still lingered in them until now. The last drops of exhaustion falling into his system and letting his body fall on top of her without any second thoughts crashing between them. Burying his head in her chest and breathing in deeply. Sighing in contempt when her hand brushed through his hair, massaging his scalp as she let him relax into her body.

Letting her head fall back into the mattress and closing her eyes as she felt his breath hit her skin. Embracing the feeling of another one's body close to her in a way she had been longing for for so long. Feeling like the luckiest person in the world that it wasn't just someone. It was him. The guy she knew she could trust with every little one of her secrets who wouldn't judge her for any of them. The guy who listened to her ramble on for hours about some topic he wasn't interested in other wise. She could only imagine what would it be like to have him as more of a friend.

"You really are that good to win it."

"What if I'm not?"

"You are. Trust me."

Angling his head up to look at her, his chin rested on her collarbone. Both his hands moving up and down the sides of her ribs. His thumbs rubbing over her skin. Tracing her sides and the outlines of her breasts.

"This is nice," Jannik commented, loosening the muscles in his neck. His head falling to the side, lulling on her shoulder. His lips moving up to her jaw leaving a slow trail of kisses over it. He could feel her chest moving up but not down under his palms as soon as his lips met her skin. The breath she took now stuck in her lungs. Only exiting once he left the proximity of her neck and moved his head above her own. His breath fanning down her skin. Waiting for a conformation that he wasn't reading the room wrong and just made a total fool of himself by taking the risk.

"It is." Her voice barely a breathy tone as she spoke. Tucking his head closer to her own by the collar of his shirt. His body moving with her movement, letting her lead the way and define the pace. "It's really nice."

Their faces were inches apart, breaths tangled up in one another as Jannik's knee moved up between her legs. Pushing his body close enough to feel their lips touching but not kissing yet.

Halting his movement with a hand on his throat, she blinked up at him. Chest heaving as she pushed herself out of her dream-like state of mind. "If we do this, I just- I want you to know that if this should go into a direction of nothing more than tonight, I don't want it. I don't want any more complications than I had before, no longing for someone I know I could have but they don't want it in the way I do."

"You want more than what you had," he declared for her. Watching as she sucked her upper lip between her teeth. "You deserve more. By far."

"I just want someone who cares. That's not a lot to ask for, is it?"

"It's not." Jannik shook his head again, their noses bumping together in the movement. Smiles gracing both their lips again. "Let me care. Let me do more."

He could see the hesitation in her eyes, searching in his words for any form of doubt. Brushing the curls from his forehead out of her sight before finally pulling his face down to meet hers. Both her hands holding his face as their lips moved together. His tongue darting between her lips.

"You promise?" she panted against his lips, pulling back for a second to catch her breath and ask her question.

Nodding his head frantically, Jannik went back to pushing his lips down on her own, mumbling against them as he kissed her, "I promise."

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193 notes · View notes

chococolte · 2 days ago

Note

hello! this is my first time requesting something so sorry if i make any mistakes

can you write for reader teasing them? like not in a making fun of them in a way but yk randomly leaving kisses on their neck, brushing your hand against theirs, putting your hand on their thigh, lifting up their chin and staring at them while smirking and stuff? the characters i would like to request are (yandere) zhongli diluc kaeya and alhaitham but feel free to add or change the characters im here for anything you write for 😭

in all honesty im in LOVE with your work like literally you’re def my favorite genshin writer the way you use your words is just 🤌🤌 cant get enough of your writing, hope you never stop writing here 😭

word count. 3.4k

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, g/n reader. i do not condone yanderes irl.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. i'm so sorry i took forever to write this but hii thank u!!!!! this is my first non-sagau work in a bit and these r a bit shorter so i hope its okayii !! also i added neuvillette rubs my big greedy bellay

zhongli

Zhongli knows you have to be doing it on purpose.

It's torture. Sweet, blissful torture, but torture nonetheless.

Every time you touch him, it feels like heaven, and the fact you pull away so quickly feels like you're leaving a searing brand on his skin. He clings onto the burn, buzzing under his mask of perfect composure; desperate to keep the sting, and desperate more to keep you near him.

You kiss his neck without a word. You brush your hand against his as if it’s nothing. Your lips whisper against his skin with the softest touch, your warm breath a murmur, and Zhongli has to wonder why you insist on torturing him like this. Each time, you pull away fast enough he barely has a chance to register it. Those few seconds, he sits still, reeling— biting his tongue until it settles in, and once it does, he resists the urge to pull you back, his fingers twitching.

Zhongli wants to. He wants to so badly it hurts to keep himself still. He wants you closer. He wants you to touch him, and he wants to touch you, and he doesn't want anyone else to have you or feel even a semblance of the way he does.

His knee bounces without him realizing it.

Zhongli's expression stays the same, every muscle a disciplined quiet. His eyes have a certain quirk to them, crinkled and soft, but it’s the twitch of his knees and the glaze in his eyes that speak of the barking of emotions in his chest, and somehow, even with millennia of control, he’s not aware of how pathetically it gives him away.

All he knows is that he wants to keep looking at you. He wants to ask you to do it again, even if it’s slow and teasing and agonizing and far from what he really wants from you. He wants to ask you to never do it to anyone else, even if he knows it’s selfish, and then he wants to press soft kisses to your skin until his mind stops buzzing and his lips are bruised— until he’s sure you’ll never make the mistake of entertaining someone else.

Zhongli clenches his fists until his nails pinch into his skin each time he thinks of that sickly possibility. Then he relaxes once he remembers you would never do such a thing to him.

Even if it hurts to keep himself still, he wants more. More than you could possibly give him, but he wants anyway. He wants all of you.

Sometimes, he likes to wait for it. Zhongli watches you, a strange eagerness choking him as he waits for you to finally look his way. His chest feels full of something. He doesn’t know what it is— an indescribable emotion that turns him into a mortal’s pawn. He just wants you to glance over and notice he exists, and then he wants you to play with his heart some more, just to hear you laugh when you pull the reaction you want from him.

Whatever you do to him, he likes it. He likes that you do it to him and not anyone else. He likes that this part of you, teasing and cruel, belongs to him.

The thought of you acting this way with anyone else makes him ill, which isn’t a word he uses lightly.

Zhongli knew himself before he met you. You make a stranger out of him, but even with the light of you blinding his senses, Zhongli feels the same sickly jealousy. He wants all of you. He doesn’t want anyone to experience even a fraction of the things you make him feel.

If that makes him selfish, then so be it. If it makes him terrible, then he is.

You set your hand on his thigh and give it a light squeeze. Then you're pulling away, and he misses the warmth of your palm instantly. He almost wants to laugh. You tease him because you have no idea of what he would do to keep you near him.

Zhongli grabs your wrist, pinning your hand back against his thigh.

"Stay," he rumbles lowly, soft enough for only you to hear. He squeezes your hand and tries to engrave the feeling into his mind.

There's more he wants to say. He wants to tell you to touch him more. He wants to tell you about every dark, disgusting part of himself and still have the assurance of your presence— but he knows that if he spoke the full depth of what he feels for you, you'd pull your hand back in an instant. So, instead, he only asks for you to stay.

Your finger brushes against his inner thigh, and he purrs.

diluc

Diluc has to stop himself from begging you to keep touching him each time you do.

It's pathetic, and not exactly in a sad, pitiful sort of way, so he bites his tongue until you pull away and leave him aching for more.

It does nothing to kill the urge.

The touches are nothing. They're little things, the barest of skin-to-skin contact— you hold his hand for a few seconds longer than necessary, brush your fingers against his, touch him when you don't need too— sometimes, you hold his thigh underneath the table where no one else can see, and he just has to sit, unable to make a noise, unless he wants to completely ruin your perception of him.

He already has, if the way you smirk when he audibly shudders is any indication.

Diluc never thought of himself as someone so weak. You don't even have to touch him for the bundle of nerves in his stomach to flutter; you could smile, and it would do the same to him as you kissing his neck.

If it were anyone else, his reactions wouldn't be nearly so prevalent. No, he couldn’t stomach it if it were anyone else.

But it's you, he thinks, so it's inherently different. It's you, so how he'd react with anyone else is meaningless, because he would never allow anyone else to get as close to him.

It still doesn't keep the indignation from bubbling up when he, once again, proves how incapable he is at properly reacting to anything regarding you. It wilts just as quickly as it arises, though; he imperceptibly leans into your touch, unable to truly complain and lacking the desire to.

It's the fact that you do it so casually. You know exactly what to do to get the reaction you want out of him, and he preens under the attention, then gets upset that he does at the same time that he's eagerly leaning into your touch, before you torture him by pulling back.

Each time just makes the ache worse. Strangely, Diluc can't say that he hates it.

He wonders, like he always does in the silence, if you do this to anyone else.

Diluc sits with the thought for a moment before realizing very, very quickly that he hates it. It makes him sick, imagining you so much as brushing hands with someone else. Innocent touches to anyone reasonable, but it makes him want to pinch and tug at his skin until it bleeds.

He wishes he could tell you. He wishes he could ask you, at least, if he’s special, or if this is just some sort of game to you. Maybe you only like him because of how powerful it makes you feel. Maybe you just like the gifts. Maybe you just like the way he looks at you, because Diluc is self-aware enough to know he can’t hide it properly.

Diluc would kneel and kiss your feet if it gave him any sort of assurance of being at least somewhat important to you. He would do more if it meant he knew whether or not this was real to you.

His dignity is meaningless in front of you. He can’t say it bothers him.

You lift his chin with your finger, forcing him to meet your gaze.

His lashes tremble. His skin feels like it's on fire. He can feel his blood pumping through his body and his heart in his ears, rushing like nothing he's felt before.

He loves you. He loves you in a way he knows is far from innocent or pure. He loves you enough to want to keep you forever.

It's terrible, what you do to him. Worse still is what he knows he'd do if you did it to anyone else.

kaeya

You have no idea what you do to him, do you?

Kaeya thinks that, if you did, you wouldn't be nearly as willing to play with him as you are now.

You kiss his skin and then pull away before he has the time to react. You do it so casually he has to wonder if you even know what you’re doing at all. He can’t decide whether he loves or hates it.

In a way, it sets his skin aflame. It makes him think that you might actually care for him; in a way that’s uniquely his, one he doesn’t have to share with anybody else. But it also makes him wonder if maybe you just like toying with him; maybe you just like seeing him twitch as he suppresses every urge to do it right back to you.

Maybe you like knowing how much power you have over him, if you realize it at all.

Kaeya doesn’t know what he thinks. All he knows is that it feels nice when you touch him, even if the contact only lasts for a moment. He knows he hates it when you pull away. All he knows is that he wouldn’t mind if you touched him more, and if you wanted him to, he would never let himself be touched by anyone else again. He knows he hates how weak you make him and how, if only you would ask, he’d be willing to do anything. If it meant he could have you, selfishly and entirely, then Kaeya would curse his bloodline and shirk his duty.

If it meant you would love him even a modicum of the way he loves you, he would depart with all of the things that make him up.

You brush your skin against his, and for a moment, Kaeya thinks he sees stars. It’s a terrible thing. A weak thing. Worse still is the smile on your lips. It makes his heart clench painfully in his chest.

When you touch his thigh, he wonders if this is how he finally dies. He hates how he can still feel your touch even after you pull away, the heat of your palm still warming his skin.

Then, because his mind can’t let him have just one thing, he imagines you with someone else. It’s a human thought. Even if he had you all to himself, he would still be plagued with the same visions. Kaeya sees you touching another with the same tenderness, kissing their throat, intertwining your fingers and holding their warmth, and then he sees you smiling— except you look happier, and he knows it’s the sort of happiness he could never bring you— and then all he knows is agony, because he knows he could never let you have such a thing unless it was with him.

He knows he’s greedy. He knows he’s selfish. He knows that you deserve someone less sick than him, but he can’t bear the thought of living in a world where you’re anywhere but by his side.

“Are you like this for anyone else?” he asks once you’ve laid a soft kiss against his neck, unable to stop himself. There’s a gross vulnerability in his tone that he wishes he could tear out.

“You know it’s just you,” you say.

Kaeya knows that. He just wants to hear you say it.

“Say it again,” he says, and despite himself, looks at you like you’re something eternally precious to him. You are. He can’t help but be afraid of you knowing that.

“I’m only like this with you.” Your fingers are in his hair now, brushing along the nape on his neck.

“Good,” Kaeya says, and this time, he decides to believe you.

al-haitham

Al-Haitham freezes each time you touch him.

It’s not that he doesn’t like it. Rather, it’s the amount of restraint he has to use to keep himself still.

You kiss his neck like it's nothing, pulling away fast enough that he has to wonder if you even know what you're doing. The glint in your eye says you do. The fact that you don't realize what exactly it does to him tells him otherwise.

If you did, then you wouldn't do it as much, especially where other people can see. The surge of emotions that sparks in his chest can't be compared or defined by any human word.

It makes him feel dizzy. It makes him feel wide awake. It makes every thought slow like they're deep in a mire at the same time it causes another hundred to take their place. It makes him, strangely, want to laugh, adrenaline rushing off the high of your attention. It makes him want to whisper every single one of his thoughts and sickly desires into your ear until you never look at anyone else again.

Al-Haitham's body pulses and his veins burn. The fact that each touch could so easily be considered innocuous, if only he didn't already know that their purpose was to make him squirm, just makes his heart all the louder in his ears.

His expression stays neutral each time. The only thing that speaks to his utter depravity is the way his hands slightly shake, itching to touch you. He's unsure if you notice.

If you knew the sorts of things he thought about involving you, you wouldn't want to kiss him at all.

Good, then, that he has no intention of ever telling you; not when he can't be assured you'd stay by him. So, instead, Al-Haitham sits still and accepts it, withholding himself from acting out on his baser urges.

It's particularly difficult when you laugh afterward, maybe enjoying the way he doesn't do anything to stop you. His silence says more than his voice ever could. He doesn't push your hand away when you press it against his thigh. He doesn't tell you to stop when you kiss his neck, even when you do so in the Akademiya's library, rather enjoying the attention it brings.

It feels like you're claiming him. The way no one can believe he lets you do it, in a way, feels like he's claiming you. After all, how could people see such a sight and still think they have any right to you?

Rarely does Al-Haitham ever feel insecure. He feels no sense of shame when you kiss his neck in public, or when you less than subtly grab his thigh under the table. You pull away the next second, and he has to sit with the brand of your lips and your touch, trying to hold onto the sensation for a little while longer while his face stays impossibly still.

But sometimes, he imagines you doing the same thing to someone else. It's a reminder that people other than you exist, and he finds he doesn't quite like it. No, he hates it. The mere thought disgusts him. What need do you have for anyone else when he's right here?

"You only do this with me, correct?" he asks, and it's the first time he’s even referenced your actions at all in conversation. There's a strange note to his tone, and even Al-Haitham can't quite place it.

"Only you," you reply easily, mirth coating your voice. You press another kiss to his neck to accentuate your point.

"Good," he says, his eyelashes fluttering.

neuvillette

The first time you touch his thigh, Neuvillette is struck dumb.

He wasn't expecting it. Without thinking, his leg bounces, and you laugh. Neuvillette’s breath catches in his throat, and he clenches his jaw to stop himself from making a greatly inappropriate sound.

You tear your hand away the next instant. He misses your warmth immediately and almost asks for you to touch him again— before he remembers that asking such a thing is improper— so instead, he nods politely with a strange feeling in his chest.

Even that, he knows, is not the proper response, but you daze him; everything slows for the brief moment you decide to bless him with your touch. His idea of proper would have been grabbing your hand and keeping it there, just to feel you for a little while longer.

Neuvillette has never experienced anything similar before. He struggles to understand his emotions and the way his body responds. He doesn't quite understand why his heart picks up when you brush your hand against his, or why he has to remind himself that he can't just grab you and intertwine your fingers without asking, nor does he understand why he wants to do so in the first place. All he knows is that being in your presence reduces each of his thoughts to their barest components— images of you, you, and you.

He finds that he doesn't hate it. Even when you do it in front of other people, which just makes the journalists in Fontaine buzz with noise and curiosity. That, he notices rather quickly, pleases him and soothes some dark part of his subconscious that cries like a selfish serpent each time you look at anyone else.

Let them see and let them whisper it amongst themselves if in the end it proves that he's yours, and let them write their tabloids if it means everyone knows not to try and take you away from him.

That, he finds, is his greatest fear.

Kissing his neck provokes similar reactions. His eyelids flutter shut, and his fingers tremble with the numerous wants running through him, each equally adept at destroying him and equally indecipherable. It's a display the complete opposite of what he should project as the Iudex, yet he can't find it in himself to care, not properly.

It's you. It's you. It's you, and your every touch feels like rebirth, and he terribly, selfishly, doesn't want anyone else but him to experience it.

Neuvillette knows you do it to provoke a reaction out of him. It’s on purpose. You like seeing the falter in his step, hearing his breath catch in his throat, and you like knowing you’re the cause. Part of him wants to deny you the satisfaction, if only to see you press harder, touch him more, if it means watching his mask fall. The rest of him just wants to give it to you.

You make him weak. You make him selfish. You make him feel like a mortal man.

“Am I special to you?” he finds himself asking. The words don’t feel like his, but they’re wrenched from his throat all the same; coated in that terrible, terrible vulnerability he wishes he knew nothing of.

Strangest of all was that you weren’t touching him. There was no teasing laughter, no gentle brush of your fingers. The two of you sit in comfortable silence, and he asks because he can’t stand not knowing.

He can’t stand the thought of just being a thing to you.

“Of course you are,” you reply easily. You close the gap between you to brush some of his hair out of his face, and the touch feels electric.

Of course he is.

“You are special to me as well,” he says, trying to keep his thoughts off his face.

What would he have done if you’d said no?

Neuvillette isn’t sure. All he knows is that he detests the very thought. He detests the thought of not being important to you. He detests the thought of your relationship merely being something you do to entertain yourself, even though he would gladly be entertainment if it was all he could be to you. He detests the thought of someone else being in his place, feeling your touch— he’s disgusted by the notion that all of what you give him could so easily be given to someone else.

What would he have done if you’d said no?

Neuvillette realizes that what he would’ve done is not anything you would like.

262 notes · View notes

agustdsluv · 2 days ago

Text

GAME BOY 🎮 | JJK

summary | “you’re just a game boy, I ain’t tryna play, boy. I ain’t thinking about you. loving you’s a game boy, l should throw it away, boy.”

inspired by Katseye’s “GAMEBOY”

paring | jungkook x f!reader

genre/warnings | enemies (not really) to lovers, “I hate how much I want you” energy, slow burn, playful angst, teasing banter, unresolved sexual tension, emotional walls crumbling, Mature / 16+ (eventual 18+ themes implied) smut implied (nothing explicit, but heavy tension, undressing, kissing, etc.) Mild alcohol consumption

word count | 2.4k

notes: I was listening to Game Boy today and I kinda got this sort of idea but it’s not really my best work so I’ll probably try to re-create it and write something else out of it. It’s literally all over the place so just bear with me and then I’ll definitely try to rewrite it later.

SERIES M.LIST

The café hummed with the usual late afternoon buzz—clinking cups, soft indie music, and murmured conversations blending into a warm, familiar noise. Y/N sat at her favorite corner table, her legs crossed, one eyebrow raised as she scrolled through her phone without much interest. But her eyes kept darting up, scanning the entrance with a smirk tugging at her lips.

She didn’t have to wait long.

Jungkook appeared like clockwork, casual but confident, the kind of presence that made heads turn. The way his hair fell just right, the effortless swagger in his step—it was a carefully crafted act, one Y/N could read like a book. He was the Gameboy: fun, unpredictable, always ready to push buttons for the thrill of it.

Her smirk deepened as he spotted her immediately. His eyes lit up with that familiar mixture of mischief and something more subtle—something he never quite let show.

Sliding into the seat across from her without hesitation, he said, “Hey. I thought you’d be hard to find today.”

Y/N stretched her arms above her head, pretending to be unimpressed. “You’re just on time as always. I’m starting to think you time your entrances.”

“Maybe I do,” Jungkook teased, leaning forward, hands folded casually. “Or maybe I’m just drawn to the drama.”

She laughed lightly, eyes sparkling. “Tell your friends I love the drama. Play pretend, but you know it’s karma.”

He raised a brow, smiling. “Karma, huh? You’re the one always stirring things up.”

Y/N shrugged, unapologetic. “Someone has to keep you on your toes.”

They fell into the comfortable rhythm they’d perfected over months—a battle of words, a dance of teasing that everyone around might mistake for tension but was really just the early stages of something neither wanted to admit.

“Come on,” Jungkook said, dropping his voice an octave. “You know you’re the one who’s lonely calling.”

Y/N’s smile didn’t falter. “Blame me if you want, but I ain’t the problem.”

The café door jingled, and a few heads turned as a group of Y/N’s friends filed in, laughing and chatting. Y/N waved them over but kept her attention on Jungkook.

“Look at you,” she said, a teasing lilt in her voice. “Always acting like you don’t care. But I see the way you watch me.”

He shrugged, trying to look casual but failing miserably. “Maybe I’m just curious.”

Y/N leaned back, crossing her arms. “Curious enough to play a game you’re gonna lose?”

“Game on,” Jungkook said, flashing a grin that was equal parts challenge and invitation.

The rest of the day unfolded like a series of little battles and near-misses. They ran into each other unexpectedly—outside the record store, at the park where Y/N went for her evening run, even at the late-night taco stand she frequented after shifts. Each encounter layered with playful digs and flirty comments, their conversations a chess match of words.

“You keep pushing my buttons, you know,” Jungkook admitted one night as they sat on the steps of an old theatre after a spontaneous late-night walk.

Y/N caught his gaze, steady and cool. “And you? You leveled up, but you’re still losing.”

“Maybe I’m not trying to win,” he said quietly, eyes not leaving hers.

She felt the air shift between them but kept her tone light. “Now I’m somebody you don’t wanna lose, huh?”

He laughed softly, but there was no mistaking the truth beneath his words. “Yeah. Guess you are.”

Back at her apartment, Y/N rolled her eyes at her reflection. She’d been playing this game for weeks now, and despite her tough exterior, she found herself thinking about him more than she liked to admit. Jungkook, with his easy smile and those moments when his guard dropped just enough to make her wonder if maybe he was playing for keeps.

She grabbed her phone and typed a quick message to her best friend: “I swear, he’s like a Gameboy. Always flashing and buzzing, but can’t get enough.”

Her phone buzzed immediately with a reply: “You better watch out. Gameboys get addictive.”

Y/N smirked, pocketing the phone. Maybe this game wasn’t so bad after all.

The city skyline glimmered behind the bar’s floor-to-ceiling windows as Y/N slid onto a stool at the crowded lounge. She scanned the room with a smirk—her friends were already deep in conversation, but her eyes were on the door.

Because she just knew he’d show up.

And sure enough, like a magnet, Jungkook strolled in minutes later, cool and confident, slipping past the crowd toward the bar.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” Y/N called out, voice loud enough to catch his attention without seeming desperate.

Jungkook grinned, raising an eyebrow. “You missed me?”

“Miss you? Not really. But I did get bored without someone to tease.”

“Ah, so you admit you like the game,” he said, leaning on the bar beside her.

Y/N laughed, swirling her drink. “Maybe I like winning more.”

Jungkook smirked. “We’ll see about that.”

A few rounds of drinks later, their banter grew louder and more flirtatious, drawing amused looks from friends around them.

“So,” Y/N said, voice dipped in challenge, “I hear you think you’re leveled up.”

“Leveling up is my specialty,” Jungkook replied, eyes locked on hers. “But maybe you’re the one who’s underestimated me.”

She shook her head, mock exasperated. “Underestimate me? Big mistake.”

He tapped her fingers gently on the bar. “Then maybe I’m not underestimating. Maybe I’m just… curious.”

Y/N’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she covered it with a grin. “Curious enough to lose?”

“Not if I play it right.”

Outside, Y/N and Jungkook found themselves alone under the streetlights, the city’s hum fading into the background.

“You’re impossible,” she said softly, eyes glinting in the dark.

“Is that a compliment?” he asked, stepping closer.

She shrugged, trying not to show how her heart sped up. “Maybe.”

Jungkook smiled, voice dropping. “You keep playing this game, but I kinda like it.”

Y/N glanced away, heat rising to her cheeks. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late,” he whispered.

Back in her room, Y/N stared at the ceiling, replaying their night in her mind. The teasing, the tension—it was like they were circling something neither dared to name.

Maybe this game wasn’t just a game anymore.

The soft hum of the city outside was a stark contrast to the chaos swirling inside Y/N’s mind. She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the framed photo on her desk—a snapshot from years ago, simpler times. Back when life felt less like a game and more like something real.

Her phone buzzed. A message from Jungkook: “You okay? You’ve been quiet all day.”

Y/N smiled, typing back quickly, “Just thinking. Not thinking about you”

Truth was, she was trying to untangle the mess of feelings she was conveniently ignoring. She’d always been the confident one—the girl who laughed off drama, who pushed people away before they could get too close. But Jungkook? He had this way of poking at those walls, gently but persistently.

She remembered the first time they met—he was the guy who dared to challenge her at every turn, who teased like it was a sport. At first, she thought he was just another distraction. But now, it felt different.

Meanwhile, Jungkook’s fingers trembled slightly as he stared at Y/N’s last message: “Not thinking about you.” The words were a dare, a tease—and yet, they torched through his mind like wildfire. How could she say that? How could he stop thinking about her when every nerve in his body screamed her name?

He dropped his phone onto the bed and leaned back, eyes closing. The image of her—the way her lips curved into that confident, challenging smirk—was burned into his brain. Every time he thought about their banter, the way her fingers brushed his arm just so casually, a slow heat pooled low in his stomach.

It was more than addiction. It was obsession.

Jungkook swallowed hard, remembering the last time they’d been close—too close. Her breath had hitched when he’d leaned in just a fraction too near, her eyes dark with something dangerous and delicious. He’d wanted to cross the line, to see if she’d fight him or surrender.

And he knew—he wanted to find out.

The thought alone set his pulse racing.

That night, unable to shake the craving, Jungkook found himself pacing in his room. His shirt was undone at the top, the heat inside him growing unbearable. His mind was a relentless replay of every glance, every touch, every teasing word Y/N had thrown at him.

She’s like a game I can’t quit.

His hands clenched into fists as the need to close the distance between them burned hotter than ever.

Y/N wasn’t innocent in this game. She felt it too—the pull, the magnetic charge between them that sizzled just beneath the surface of their teasing.

One late night, they found themselves alone in a cramped elevator after a night out. The tension was so thick, it was almost suffocating.

Jungkook’s hand brushed her arm, deliberate and electric. Y/N froze, heart hammering, every nerve alive.

“Gameboy,” she whispered, voice low, “you’re messing with fire.”

His eyes darkened, lips curling into a dangerous smile. “And you? You’re the only one I want to burn for.”

They were inches apart—too close to back away, too charged to ignore the desire simmering between them.

Jungkook’s breath hitched as Y/N’s fingers traced the line of his jaw. “I’m addicted to this,” he confessed, voice rough. “To you.”

Y/N’s smirk softened into something more real, more vulnerable. “Good. Because I’m not just playing anymore.”

The elevator dinged open, but neither of them moved. The game had changed. The stakes were higher. And neither was ready to lose.

Before she could think twice, Jungkook’s hand cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheek with a tenderness that made her heart ache.

Their breaths mingled, the heat between them impossible to ignore.

Then, finally, his lips captured hers in a slow, searing kiss — the teasing game melting away into something fierce and real.

Y/N responded with everything she’d been holding back, fingers tangling in his hair as the world outside disappeared.

The elevator dinged open again, but neither moved. The line had been crossed. The game was over.

The moment their lips parted in the cramped elevator, the world outside ceased to exist. Jungkook’s hands slid from her face to her waist, pulling Y/N impossibly close. She melted against him, heat blossoming between them like a wildfire.

Her breath hitched as his fingers trailed lower, tracing the curve of her hip beneath the fabric of her jacket. The teasing smiles, the playful rivalry—it all dissolved into raw desire.

“You’ve got me,” he murmured against her lips, voice thick with need. “Completely addicted.”

Y/N’s pulse thundered, her fingers trembling as they explored the planes of his chest. “Don’t think I’m an easy win,” she whispered back, breathless and bold.

His lips found the sensitive skin beneath her ear, nipping gently as she shivered. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

The elevator lights flickered as time slowed, their bodies pressed so close it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Every touch ignited sparks, every breath whispered promises.

The world outside the elevator was distant noise compared to the storm raging between them. Once they made it inside the apartment Jungkook’s hands roamed with increasing boldness, memorizing the feel of her, igniting a fire neither could contain.

Y/N’s breath hitched as his lips traveled down her neck, the warmth of his mouth leaving a trail of heat that set her skin ablaze. She tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, their bodies pressed tight.

“You’re dangerous,” she whispered, voice trembling with desire.

He chuckled low, voice husky. “Only when I’m with you.”

The room seemed to shrink around them as the tension exploded into a frenzy of touches and whispered names. Clothes became obstacles to remove, kisses deepened, and the playful battles gave way to something urgent and consuming.

Every stolen breath, every shiver and sigh, told the story of two rivals who’d finally found the line between challenge and surrender.

You don’t know what you do to me,” he murmured, voice thick with longing.

Y/N’s breath hitched, her fingers trembling as they threaded through his hair. “Maybe I like that,” she whispered, her lips brushing his with a teasing smile that ignited a fresh blaze inside him.

Their kiss deepened, a slow, hungry exploration that left no room for pretense or games. Jungkook’s hands slid beneath her shirt, the warmth of his skin against hers setting her nerves alight. She pressed into him, heart pounding, every touch a promise and a question all at once.

He traced the curve of her spine with feather-light touches, sending waves of heat that spread through her like wildfire. Their breaths mingled, ragged and desperate.

Y/N’s voice was barely more than a breath. “I’m not just your game.”

Jungkook pulled back slightly, searching her eyes. “You’re so much more.”

Every inch of space between them disappeared as he lifted her, pressing her back against the cool metal wall. Her hands roamed freely now, tracing the lines of his strong shoulders, pulling him closer until their bodies were perfectly aligned.

The teasing was gone, replaced by raw, fierce need. Every kiss, every touch, was a surrender—both of them letting go of their walls, their fears, their games.

He pressed closer against her, their breaths mingling. “Maybe losing’s not so bad if it’s to you.”

Her smirk softened, a rare vulnerability slipping through. “Don’t get comfortable. I’m still winning.”

They laughed, the tension melting into something warm and electric—their rivalry evolving into a dance neither wanted to stop.

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celestialgloaming · 15 hours ago

Text

MCDM's Flee Mortals! Humans are some of my favourite 5e statblocks ever tbh. The "human" band ability is they get to choose to have advantage on 3 attacks a day. Essentially, humans are all variant humans with the lucky feat. Anyway as for the 2024 monster manual I do think there was a pretty good logic in removing orcs and deciding that normal humanoids can be represented by the humanoid npc statistics, but they really should have provided templates for species at the back of the book, and the new "line" between monster and not is just bizzare. To elaborate, it feels like they rules lawyered that whole discussion people had of "it's fine for like a demon or something not of this world to be inherently evil the problem is when you say something that's a person is" and transplanted some selection of previously "monstrous races" into other planes or made them other creature types without actually changing much. For example this works kinda okay for goblins - it's pretty easy to accept goblins as supernatural chaos gremlins that are human-like enough to talk to but ultimately don't live in a way that could reflect and real world people because they're not a society they show up and have chaotic fun that might harm people and then leave. That's a common trope of fey and works pretty okay imo. But you start to get problems doing that to hobgoblins - they're meant to reflect goblins by being feywild magical nonsense instead of "people", but "lawful" instead. Their thing is they're imperial conqueror fey spirits. Okay sure. But to be that they still have to be a society in a sense and thus can parallel humans in a way goblins can't here. And essentially you're leaving them the same except you're changing the justification for them being "inherently evil" from "idk it's their biology or just how it is or smth" to "an inherent drive for conquering" and only justifying it with them being fey. But that doesn't matter if they still functionally live like people they can still fulfil the same old "martial race" stereotype.

Then there's adjacent weirdness where they did the same. Kobolds are unchanged but are creature type dragons now. Why are they dragons and dragonborn aren't? Both are native to the material plane this time too, this is just classifying them as not people. Same kinda goes Aarakocra and Lizardfolk, but these are a little better. They make it clear with these ones that the elementally-aligned stat blocks are for ones attuned to their given elemental planes (air and earth). Particularly in the Lizardfolk case they explain this is done through a ritual. And it says normal guy versions of these should use the generic humanoid statblocks. I actually quite like this, though it's weird that they essentially parallel Merfolk and Azer now which aren't playable in 5e and realistically have too much overlap with existing things to ever become playable. To be honest I think if they were more sensible I think they could have done this for every species, a statblock that represents something to do with their culture and not inherent traits which is designed to lead normal guys.

So apparently they took orcs out of the new Monster Manual, and I get their reasoning. They’re in the Player’s Handbook now, and none of the others from that book, like elves or dragonborn, are in the Monster Manual.

But I think this was a mistake. There was actually another solution, something that literally every other edition of the game did. You want to be a return to the old ways, don’t you, 5e? I know you do you nasty little freak. So here’s what you should have done:

Put the other ones back in the Monster Manual.

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dreamerdoodles · 22 hours ago

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so I've been playing a LOT of visual novel demos

you know, since they STILL haven't fixed Date Everything on switch (sobs). but I thought I'd give them all a shoutout because damn these games are GOOD, the indie dev scene is killing it. these are in no particular order, I loved all of them :3

Our Life: Beginnings and Always by @gb-patch

I'm late to this party, of course. it's not even a demo!! it's a whole entire game that you can play FOR FREE with optional paid DLC!! it's a beautiful, heartwarming experience about growing up over multiple summers during your life with the boy who moves in across the street. the art is beautiful, the amount of choices and character customization is staggering, and the way you can truly be yourself without worrying about "messing up" and getting a bad ending has honestly spoiled me. Cove is my beloved, I love him so much.

2. Our Life: Now and Forever

the sequel to OLBA! the demo has a ton of content already and I heard they're updating it with even more later this year?? all my love to the absolute madlads over at gb patch. like the first game, it's about growing up, but it's autumn (my favorite season!!) and there are TWO leads to fall in love with or befriend or if you're a monster hold at a distance and stay only neighbors for your entire life. I'm only judging you a little I promise. it seems like the game will be everything I loved about OLBA and more!! I can already tell the full game is going to be 10/10

3. Touchstarved by @redspringstudio

trust one of five monstrous strangers as you try to find a cure for your curse... maybe fall in love, maybe they'll kill you, maybe you both die tragically?? this was actually the first one I found when I was looking for things that my stupid very old very weak not-even-technically-a-laptop can run, and it did not disappoint! it's VERY different from the two games above, as it is a dark romance, so just make sure you read the content warnings and take care of yourself first. the art is absolutely delicious, all 5 love interests are intriguing (Ais is my favorite so far), and I can't wait to see how the full game shapes out in the future.

4. OBSCURA by @rottenraccoons

not a curse this time, nope, you're actively dying of a super rare disease! how fun! you still gotta trust one of four people you definitely shouldn't, though, in a masked market underground where theoretically one can acquire anything. this game is honestly even darker than Touchstarved, so DEFINITELY read the content warnings first. but the game has a really awesome safe word system for you to nope out if things get too much! the demo covers the first chapter of all 4 love interests' routes, which is amazing, and there's more in paid early access, but I haven't played that yet, so I can't review it. the LIs and the story are what shine the most in OBSCURA in my opinion. each LI is unique and has a very fun dynamic with the MC, who is definitely not a blank slate and has a pretty defined personality (they are, as Keir my beloved says, "mouthy") but that works in this particular game's favor. you can still self insert if you want, or maybe I just have the superpower to self insert into anything haha. I'm so invested in the story that I'm even trying to avoid spoilers until I have the money to buy the game, so it definitely hooked me!!

5. Alaris by @crescencestudio

the world is in trouble, old lore about dragons and fae is stirring, and somehow you, a healer, is caught up in all of it. I. love. fantasy!!!! Kuna'a, Fenir, and Aisa were cooked in a lab to appeal to me, specifically. and there's 3 more love interests too who also all managed to win me over??? amazing. I loved the free time date feature and I haven't even played through all the possibilities yet. there's a lot! the demo covers the common route and I can't wait to see what happens next!

6. Intertwine by @crescencestudio

can I just say VAN MY BELOVEDDDD I just discovered this game tonight and played through it in one sitting. I devour stories about soulmates and past lives and this game did not disappoint!! it's short and sweet and you should go play it right this second actually go go go

7. Threads of You: Beyond the Bay by @lavendeerstudios

your car breaks down and you get stranded in the middle of nowhere, but don't worry, seven (7!!!!!) pretty boys are here to keep you company. this demo is a bit shorter than some of the others in this post but it's very fun!! I love the little character creator, it's the most adorable thing I've ever seen. also, it doesn't come up in the demo, but I'm VERY interested in the part of the game description that says "Maybe you want more than one partner or want to see them with each other?" because if I can create an 8 person polycule I am absolutely going to >:3 LOVE ME AND LOVE EACH OTHER PLS

8. Keyframes by @blank-house

what if Our Life, but college?? I say as the highest of compliments. it's a slice of life that starts with the spring semester of your second year, and I think it's planned to go all the way to graduation eventually, which is incredible and insane and I absolutely can't wait (except I will wait and be very patient actually <3). I LOVE slow burn romances and this game seems like it's gearing up to give me the tastiest slow burn of all time. the art is beautiful and charming and has SO much character, the characters themselves are so well written, and there's a ton of replayability with possible events and the order you do them in! I haven't even done them all yet and I'm in love. in love with Jamie Porter, specifically, despite my best efforts. damn you pretty boy!!

9. Lost in Limbo by @ravenstargames

a ritual sends you to another world ruled by seven deities. seven hot deities. I'm going to chase Envy around Limbo until they let me love them and NO ONE CAN STOP ME. ahem. the demo covers the common route and sets up an intriguing story! it seems like each route is going to be very unique from the others and each LI will have a different dynamic with the MC, so there should be something for everyone! also the art. THE ART. THE ARTTTTTT the sprites are beautiful and the backgrounds are INCREDIBLE I want to eat them?? they're partially animated and the lighting is so cool and colorful and they're just masterful honestly.

and that wraps up my list for now!! I've had so much fun with these and I can't wait to see all the full games eventually. hopefully I will have money for all of them (and maybe a proper laptop sobs). if I can beat my depression into submission long enough I'm going to draw fanart for all of them uwaaaaa

#our life beginnings always #our life now and forever #touchstarved vn #obscura vn #alaris vn #intertwine vn #threads of you: beyond the bay #keyframes vn #lost in limbo

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zepskies · 2 days ago

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awwww I'm blushing!! 🥰 Thank you so much, friend!! 💕

the opening itself was so good, you have such a way with descriptions it's so easy to get immersed and be able to visualize it all ✨

ehehe I'm so glad you enjoyed the steamy opener! 😘

prime example right here. the wordplay? the phrasing? the descriptions?? insane. chefs kiss. 🤌🏽💋 had me blushing, fanning myself, talking into the air — amazing ❤️‍🔥🫠

🤭💜🤭💜🤭 legit thank you so much!! Gotta admit, smut writing is my biggest challenge lolol

this is so sweet are u kiddingggg 😭

Aww that was my favorite part to write for this scene tbh 🥹 finally we get Mark's side of the missing her, wanting her, hurting without her. 💙

this had me cracking up

LOL I'll admit the "dropping the soap" was a bit cliché, but it still made me giggle 😂

aghhh my heart 😩 the bathroom scenes in the show have been making my chest ache fr, i'm worried for himmm 🥺 (and now i'm worried for him in this series-verse too... loll)

omg yesss, they're literally hurting my heart so much, so of course I had to inject one here lolll (oh, expect more of that kind of angst to come, unfortunately 🥲)

cryinggggggg i love this, and them 😭

Ok, thank you for highlighting my actual favorite line. It may be too sappy but I couldn't help myself 😂💕

I’ll admit this soft sequence with her mom made me cry a little 🥹 i've been missing my mom a bit extra lately and this really took me back to being in the kitchen with her :') lisette seems so sweet already, I loved her dynamic with the reader and with mark 💙 (even with rachel, ik that look of disappointment has gotta sting 😗)

I'm so sorry, hun. I didn't know you lost your mom. 🫂💙

Yeah, Lisette is a sweetheart for real. 💓💓💓 She def treated Mark like family (and was verrrry disappointed in Rachel)

i know that's right !!! now this i love to see, get her 🤣 I love that she went straight for the punch, that bitch deserved to get milly rocked hard lmao

Ohhhh get ready lmaooo. Reader is NOT playing - whem she said on sight, she really meant on sight 🤣

yikessss, i feel for him. traffic here is a nightmare but rush hour? blegh 😔

Ooh are you out in Cali? Forgive me if I ever misrepresent the state bc I've actually never been there loll

aaaand crying again. i love that he had that with her and I hope with time he can get that again 💙

aww don't worry, he'll get a piece of that again in this one-shot (and maybe more later on in the series) 🥹��

hooooooly shit lmfaooooo this is so much better than i could imagine. para que se le quite a la pendeja 🤣

ahahaaaaa exactamente! 😏

and she's stiiillll lying like oh my god girl, give it up 🤦🏽‍♀️ bien que tiene los cojones para hacer desmadre pero no para decir la verdad? wild.

por eso - ella necesita quantos cocotazos to get her head right. lying ass bitch 😂

man :(( I feel for them, I really do. hopeful for those second opinions...👀

oh we're gonna work on it! 😅

I hope this truly sits with her, and settles deep into her bones. not for a redemption arc, but so she can actually take the time and effort to self reflect and stop being such a nasty person with terrible intentions. like her apologies mean nothing considering it took over nine months and a face full of dog shit to admit to what she really did.

Yeah I doubt I'll write a true redemption for Rachel, but this is an important step for her realizing the scope of the damage of what she's done to both reader and Mark 💔💔 (and she doesn't even know about his diagnosis). She's truly damaged and vindictive

i'm glad the table setting ended up working out, with a much better third guest :p i'm truly obsessed with mark and this little series verse, 💙💙 i'm excited to see where you take this !!

Yesss exactly! Mark gets to be their #3, and he gets a home-cooked meal, even if it means he has to come clean to his second mom too 🥲

I'm so happy you love this storyverse because I'm having so much fun with it so far! 🥰 I can't wait to share more of it soon 💞💞

SISTER, SISTER

Pairing: Mark Meachum x F. Reader

Summary: You and Mark have an emotional reconnection after he finally comes clean. But that also means you have some unfinished business to take care of with your sister, Rachel.

AN: Wrote this last week because I guess I can't stop myself! 😂 So yep, these Mark stories have officially become a series of one-shots called — ‘Til When Do Us Part. This one is also a gif check requested by my friend @lamentationsofalonelypotato for the 5K Follower Celebration. I think this is an important puzzle piece to explore after Catastrophic Blues. 😉

Word Count: 4.6K

Tags/Warnings: [Set during 1x02] 18+ only! Reunion smut, fluff, an epic cat fight (lol), angst, hurt/comfort

Series Masterlist

His hair dragged through your fingers again. First soft and loose, then gripped tight—desperate, hot tingles across your skin.

It was almost too much.

A halting moan fell from your lips, his biting kiss along your throat as he moved inside you.

“Fuck. Takin’ me better than ever, baby,” he said into your skin, his words gritted out and tinged with smoke and relief. “Gonna feel me for fuckin’ days at this rate.”

The sound of his voice reached deep into your bones. The safety of his arms caged you underneath him on his bed, the old mattress creaking with every test of the springs. He wrapped an arm around your thigh like curling steel, opening you up more for him, making his rolling thrusts hit deeper. Harder. A man possessed.

You gasped, your pussy already throbbing in time with your heartbeat. Your words were barely syllables, but they escaped you nonetheless. "Oh, fuck. Mark..."

He smirked into your neck. His lips trailed down to your shoulder and nipped harder with teeth, just to feel you writhe against him. You whimpered, your sensitive nipples brushing against his chest when you arched back up into him.

His hot breaths further ignited your skin. Your nails raked down the back of his neck and down his shoulder as you held on for the ride—an obscene squelching of wetness and hot breaths, skin against flushed skin. Your fingers pressed into every divot of muscle, as if you could sink right through his skin and make him feel you. Not for days. Forever.

You didn’t have words to speak. It was all in your eyes when they met his. Raw, vulnerable, glassy with pleasure, your breaths unsteady with emotion.

He pulled back a little, just so he could slip his hand between your bodies and find your slick, swollen clit again. He swept the pads of his fingers in the angles and rhythm he knew would serve you best in between his thrusts.

He swallowed your gasp of his name, your whimpers as you shuddered and came. A sensation like kaleidoscope colors, bursting like so many stars. You fucking squeezed him from the inside out for the third time tonight, finally forcing a ragged groan from his own lips as he spilled into you. His hips stuttered a shaky and powerful release.

You grabbed his face and poured your soul into that kiss, a wet and filthy meeting of lips and tongues.

Panting breaths forced their way through his nose, but he wouldn’t break that kiss for all the world. He finally had you back in his arms. He had the scent of your floral soap in his nose, your familiar sweetness on his tongue, your hair threaded through his fingers. He had it all.

It wasn’t the faded memories he clung to in a brick-and-mortal cell, or the daydreams of what if that had been torturing him whenever he saw a girl in a white dress, or a family sitting at dinner with their little kids in highchairs.

It was you, solid and real.

Your kiss swollen lips dragged from his slowly, reluctantly, with shaky breaths in between.

He let your thighs slip down to rest more comfortably around his hips, but he didn't move just yet. He stayed buried deep inside you.

He brushed your frizzy hair away from your forehead, his eyes a little softer, less crazed. You sniffled as a tear rolled from the corner of your eye. He swept the wetness away with his thumb.

“I know it was good, but you don’t need to cry, sweetheart,” he teased lightly. There was a tender note in his voice though.

Your heart clenched to hear it. Part of you still couldn't believe this was real. Despite yourself, you laughed a little, breathless and boneless.

“I guess it’s just, um…it’s been a while.”

“Really? You haven’t, uh, been seeing anyone?” he asked, trying to hide the hope from his voice.

You snorted. “No.”

Plain and simple. He quirked a smile.

“And you?” you asked reluctantly, as if the answer wouldn't tear into you if he said any form of yes.

He almost laughed. “I was in lockup for nine months, remember?”

Relief allowed you to relax again. A smirk began to curve your lips as your fingers tapped an idle rhythm on his dewy arms.

“What, you didn’t get yourself a little boyfriend? No ‘drop the soap’ action?” you teased.

Mark’s jaw nearly unhinged. He stared down at you, disbelief and amusement warring for dominance at your cheek.

“Oh, you think you’re funny, huh?”

Your whole body shook in effort to contain your giggles, but you couldn’t help yourself.

His tongue poked the inside of his cheek as he tried not to laugh. Honestly, he should’ve expected nothing fucking less from you.

You were still kee-keeing when you caressed his bearded face with both hands, then twined your arms around his neck. But soon, you sobered up.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t… You had to live with those animals for almost a whole year. I can’t even imagine how deeply shitty that was. How scary,” you said.

Mark huffed, shaking his head. He rubbed your arm and pressed a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

“Heh. I was in hell long before I walked into Palmdale,” he said.

The confession slipped through his lips before he could think better of it, but there it was. Your expression fell even more. With a sigh, he stroked your cheek. Then he carefully withdrew, pulling out of your heat. You both felt the loss with soft groans.

He climbed out of bed just to grab a towel from his bathroom for the cleanup.

This was the first time you’d come to his place, just a couple of days since he took you home from that bar in Downtown. Two days since he came clean to you about what happened in Venice. Two days since you somehow found it in your heart to forgive him.

He still didn’t know what the hell he was doing with you. He hadn’t discussed it with you, hadn’t labelled it. It was almost as if you two had picked up from where you left off, except this time, there was an unknown expiration date.

That reminder literally hit him between the eyes. It forced him to pause in the bathroom and white-knuckle grip the edge of the sink. He grimaced and willed the pain away, stifling a grunt. Fuck...not even a moment's fucking peace.

"You okay?" your voice filtered over from the bedroom. Mark turned his face away from the mirror, just in case you could catch an angle of him.

"Yeah," he said, a little rougher. He breathed in deep, until the sharpest edges were passed. He padded back out and brought the dampened towel back to you.

It was late, but he still checked his phone on the nightstand for any missed notifications. He never knew when he might get called in by Blythe—another thing Mark couldn’t tell you about. He wondered if the taskforce was on your radar anyway, what with how D.A. Valwell was consistently trying to butt into their operations.

So far, you hadn’t mentioned anything weird going on with your boss in the office. Maybe Valwell was keeping you out of it. As he should.

You welcomed Mark back into bed and under the covers, luring him into a kiss as he settled in beside you. He drew you into his arms and couldn’t help but stare. He took in every contour of your face. Every shade of beauty.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Have I said that yet?”

A slight, sad smile twitched at your lips. Your heart pulsed sharply.

“What’s happening to you isn’t your fault. There’s no reason to be sorry,” you said.

“There is a reason,” he nodded. “I didn’t want to leave you twisting in the wind. I just…”

“I know,” you sighed. You watched his profile as he looked ahead, rather than at you directly. A deep breath ran through him, not altogether steady.

“I love you,” he said. He swallowed, jaw clenching. “Think it’s pretty obvious that I never stopped.”

You guided his face back toward you with a gentle hand on his cheek. Your thumb brushed over his lips.

“It’s become painfully clear to me,” you said, “that I’ll never love anyone like I love you.”

Morning came, and you weren’t ready. You didn’t want to leave this house with its familiar smell and its gray-blue walls, which you and Mark painted together. After he inherited the house from his mother, who passed away a few years ago, you helped him clean and touch it up without losing the character of the house.

You were going to officially move in with him after you two got married and let go of your Downtown apartment that was close to your job, but often so empty. Obviously, that move never happened.

“You’re having dinner with your mom tonight, right?” Mark asked, pulling you from your thoughts.

You finished tucking in your blouse into your skirt and began to fix your hair in his wardrobe mirror. You had to go into work, and so did he. He was buckling his belt over his jeans, already dressed in a dark green shirt and one of his favorite leather jackets—the black one you helped him pick out.

“Yeah, every Tuesday,” you nodded. You turned and reached for the edges of his jacket. “I know it’s your business to share, but…can I tell her about what you’re going through? That we’re back together? She would want to see you.”

Mark hesitated. “I’d like that too, but let's just keep this between you and me for now.”

You frowned. “I still can’t believe you haven’t told your precinct. How long do you plan to work like this? Mark, what if…what if something happens when you’re on the job? I mean medically.”

He couldn’t blame you for your worry and concern. He held you by your arms and gave a reassuring squeeze.

“You know I’m on a case right now. It’s important,” he said, trying to communicate the gravity of it through his eyes, the tone of his voice. “After that’s done…I don’t know. We’ll talk about it. That and the, uh, second opinion stuff.”

Despite your lingering worry, a small smile peeked through. “At least you said we.”

Mark flickered at a smile too. He bowed down to kiss you on the forehead, lingering there with a short sigh. Ever since he left you, he’d been operating with a reckless head and a worse heart. But if you were determined to stick this out with him, like you seemed to be, then it wasn’t just about him anymore.

He’d have to protect you too.

“Mmm, smells good, Mom,” you said, shutting the door of your childhood home behind you. Inside, the modest three-bedroom house was filled with the rich savory smell of something warm in the oven.

Your mom, Lisette, waved you over with her oven mitt hand.

“Hey, honey. Come ‘ere and taste this.”

She took out a large glass pan filled with beef pot roast, complete with carrots, little yellow potatoes, and charred sprigs of rosemary on top.

“Wow, all that for just the two of us?” you asked, kissing her on the cheek. She just smiled and gave you a forkful after she blew on it first. You took the bite and fairly melted.

“Ughhh, so good. It’s been a long time since you made a whole…” You trailed off as you realized it.

Lisette’s smile turned bittersweet. “Yeah, it was your father’s favorite.”

She took off her oven mitts and left the pan to cool on the counter. She braced a few fingertips on the edge of that counter, as if her mind contained too many memories to sort through. You brushed a hand against her arm, earning her attention.

“Thanks. I brought dessert too,” you said, raising the grocery bag in your hand. You set that on the counter as well. You gave your mom a hug, warm and comforting.

Lisette sighed and hugged you back gratefully. She rubbed your back, like good moms did. But when she pulled back, she noted the smile on your face with a raised brow. It was genuine, not the fake ones you gave to pacify her. In fact, you looked more relaxed, more like yourself.

“You seem…”

“What?” you asked in confusion.

“I don’t know. A little happier today, I guess,” she said. “Did something good happen at work?”

You huffed. “No. Valwell’s antsy and frustrated about something, but every time I ask what’s wrong, he tells me it’s fine. Nothing for me to worry about.”

Not to mention, he’d taken three long lunches at odd times in the past week alone. Every time he got back to the office, he seemed more agitated and upset, storming through the halls like they owed him rent money.

“Well, it’s probably above your clearance, honey,” said Lisette. “If he wanted you to know, he would tell you.”

You frowned thoughtfully, tapping a nail on the counter. Before you could think too hard on it, your mom subtly cleared her throat, the way she always did when she was a bit nervous. She busied herself with grabbing silverware for the dinner table. Your brows drew together.

“You grabbed three sets,” you pointed out.

“Mhmm,” she nodded. “We’re going to be three today.”

“Who else is coming?”

Lisette hesitated, didn’t seem to want to meet your suspicious gaze. “Your sister. I invited her.”

Your face fell. Stony and incredulous.

“You did not.”

“I did. You two haven’t spoken in almost a year.”

“For good damn reason, Mom!”

“I know,” Lisette said, in a sharper voice than you expected. After a moment though, she softened. “I know. What she did to you…it’s frankly incomprehensible. But she’s still your sister. Your father would be sick to know you two are fighting like this.”

A harsh sigh fell from your lips. You rubbed your temples with both hands.

“We’re not fighting,” you said. “I’m just choosing to pretend I’m an only child.”

Lisette gave you a sad frown that spoke more volumes than her words could. You felt a stab of guilt for it, but you didn’t take it back. If you had to see that hateful bitch today, then you wouldn’t hold back this time. It would be on sight.

And…of fucking course.

As if on cue, there was a commotion at the front door. The lock began to turn and click. Then the door slid open, revealing Rachel with her key to the house poised in hand. She was a personal trainer and yoga instructor, so she was wearing her skin-tight Halara leggings (yes, the “TikTok Leggings”), along with a breezy crop top.

She had a chain-link purse strung over her shoulder and oversized sunglasses on the bridge of her nose, but you could still see her eyes widen when she caught sight of you, her steps stopping short in the doorway.

You stared right back at her. Your teeth clenched, like a train grinding against the tracks at a hard stop and shooting off sparks. Everything Mark told you two days ago came rushing through your mind—every unwanted touch, every disgusting, manipulative word she used to try and spin him into her web while he was at his worst.

“What—What’re you doing here?” she said, a frightened little deer caught in your trajectory.

You didn’t even answer. You couldn’t speak.

You just moved, rounding the kitchen counter and cutting through the dining room with a purpose. Rachel squeaked, and she scrambled to back out of the house the way she came in. She flung the door open and retreated.

You followed.

“I know what you really did, you lying, psycho bitch!” you hissed. Your voice carried and seemed to slap Rachel upside the head. She stopped on the stone walkway leading up to the house. She turned around, lifted the sunglasses to the top of her head, and she glared at you warily.

“What’re you talking about?” she shot back.

You laughed in disbelief. “Oh, don’t act dumb now. What you did to Mark isn’t just reprehensible. I should file a report and get you fucking arrested for being a vile cunt.”

Rachel’s eyes flashed. Her face screwed up in anger, so much that she strode back up the steps and slapped you across the cheek. Your head twisted to the side at the stinging blow. You even stumbled a little, but your shock gave way to a grim smile.

Can we say, self-defense?

Her face dawned with realization, just a bit too late. She didn’t even have the instincts to duck your punch.

“Goddamn it. Fucking move, people!” Mark muttered uselessly at the cars in front of him.

It had been a long damn day. It also looked like he and the team were heading to Mexico in the morning. Doing a drug run for Javi, a local cartel boss, would hopefully get them one step closer to finding out who he carried a shipment of goddamn fissile material for. They had to find out who was trying to orchestrate another 9/11 in California.

Mark was on his way home, cutting through L.A. traffic the best he could during rush hour. His stomach was practically attacking his liver in hunger. He also wanted to see you before he left, hopefully for just a day or two.

Didn’t you say you were over at your mom’s for dinner? Damn, that woman could cook.

How many Sunday dinners had he spent with your family in the past five years? All those Christmases and Thanksgivings, birthdays, Fourth of Julys at the beach and Memorial Day backyard barbeques.

Your mom was a sweetheart, too. She always bought him gifts at Christmas, never forgot his birthday, always saved him a special cut of whatever she was cooking. Truth be told, she was like a second mother to him, especially after his mom passed.

Mark sighed. He closed his eyes for a moment and let his head slowly fall back against the headrest. A warning flash of pain echoed through his skull, like a small oyster knife on the twist.

Fuck me.

It would be good to see Lisette—and be able to share another one of those meals with you too, however many of them he had left.

The traffic light finally turned green. Mark found himself changing lanes, then changing directions. Another twenty minutes had him pulling up to your family home on a quiet residential street.

Well, it was usually quiet.

“Aw, shit.” Was that Rachel out there on the driveway? What the hell was she doing here?

She was beelining up those cobblestone steps right for you. She threw you a slap so hard it snapped your head to the right, making your hair fly in your face.

“The fuck?!” His angry brows furrowing, Mark parked the car and unclipped his seatbelt quick, but when he next looked up, he caught sight of your swift left hook.

“God-damn,” he couldn’t help but laugh. As a man of the law, he knew he should've been stepping in right about now, but this opportunity was a little too satisfying to give up. He stayed where he sat to watch the show.

Rachel went down like a sack of shit.

And you didn’t waste no time. You pushed her the rest of the way down into the grassy front yard and got on top of her, pinning her arms behind her back and wedging your knee in her spine. Before she could swing back and headbutt you, you shoved her face into the grass.

Your dad taught you pretty damn well.

Rachel screamed and cried for help, but all it did was fuel your ire. You felt crazy and deranged, but you also felt alive too, for the first time in a long time.

Meanwhile, your mom watched in worry from the porch. Her protests weren’t strong enough to reach you though.

“Get off me, you fat ugly bitch!” Rachel screeched.

You saw a nice little brown pile the neighbor’s dog must’ve left this morning. It was just close enough for you to grab (unfortunately) with your bare hand. You pulled her head back by her hair and smeared dog shit all over her face—her cheeks, her forehead and chin. Her shrill screech reached new heights.

The neighbors could’ve been watching with shocked open mouths and iPhone cameras raised high, but you didn’t give even half of a fuck. You did quiet her down though, by shoving her face back into the dirt. The lawn was still nice and damp from the afternoon sprinklers.

“Yeah? You like that? Keep talking shit and I'll break your fake-ass nose, which I helped pay for!” you shouted. “I waited in that fucking lobby for hours while they hacked off the old one. I gave you cold compresses for your swollen, puffy lobster face. Now how about I snap that shit off like you’re Mr. fucking Potato Head?”

She cried as if you were killing her. Dramatic, as always. But eventually she stopped wriggling and thrashing so much, just shaking her head and sniveling. Realizing she wasn’t about to get out of this so easily, she switched tactics.

"Okay." She splayed her hands out the best she could behind her back in surrender. "Okay! Jesus Christ, I'm sorry!"

“Oh, yeah? You’re sorry? What’re you sorry for?” you asked.

"I already told you I fucked him! I fucked your fiancé!"

"No, but you tried to," you seethed. "You just couldn't, could you? Because he's a good man, and you're a lying slutbag. Isn't that right?"

Rachel tried to deny it, but the harder you shoved her shit-stained face into the wet dirt, the more she coughed and spluttered. You eased up just enough for her to nod her head, lips trembling.

“I-I’m sorry. I-I was wrong. I didn’t mean for it to end up so bad,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, just let me go—”

Tears began to sting in your own eyes. “Do you know what you actually stole from me?”

Your breaths shook, along with the inner most depths of your soul. You bent closer to her ear.

“Time. That’s what you took from us,” you said, a coarse whisper. “Time we’ll never get back.”

Rachel continued to cry pitiful tears. You almost, almost started to feel bad for her.

But then, you didn’t. Too many memories were rising to the surface.

“Why’d you do it, huh? Danny Mendez wasn’t enough for you?” you said. “Oh yeah, you remember him, back in high school. You made out with my boyfriend the night of my senior prom, bitch!”

Oh yeah, that was a fun little memory to unlock from the brain bank. You realized now that it established a pattern of behavior, one you still couldn't completely understand. It hurt your heart.

“Why?” you demanded through blurry tears. “Why do you hate me so damn much?”

“Because!” she yelled. Her own tears had mixed with the shit smears on her face. Her lips wobbled. “Everyone thinks you’re so fucking perfect! Mom…Dad…he practically worshipped you.”

Your brows knitted together. “No, he didn’t. What the hell are you talking about? He rode my ass all the time! Way harder than he ever did to you.”

Your dad had been a good man, but he'd also been a fucking hardass. A former marine turned LAPD, from officer to Homicide Detective, and finally Captain. In typical firstborn syndrome fashion, you took on the brunt of his expectations, and even resented him for it at times. But you eventually saw the wisdom and the work ethic he was trying to instill in you.

Then again, it would’ve been better for everyone if he had paid closer attention to Rachel. She had been a wild child who even you had a hard time corralling. Your mom was a loving, nurturing person, but unfortunately, not much of a disciplinarian. Your father had too much on his plate at work to wrangle Rachel in as much as he’d wanted.

“Because he believed in you!” she said. “He didn’t just pick at you or criticize you or tell you what to do like you were one of his little soldiers. He talked to you like…like a person. Even…even when he was dying. He only ever asked for you, or for Mom. He never asked for me.”

You heard the resentment and immature selfishness in her voice, but you also heard the hurt. The deep kind of hurt that could make you lash out at others, just to try to mask the pain.

After a long moment of hearing her pitiful sniffles, you sighed.

“He did ask for you,” you admitted. “That day, when you and Mom went out to get coffee, and it was just me and him…I think he knew it was the end. He opened his eyes for the first time in days, and he said your name. His eyes went all around the room, like he was looking for you.”

Rachel’s body shook underneath you. Her quiet sobs of realization reached your ears.

“I called you, but you didn’t pick up. Maybe you had your phone on silent because we were in the hospital… Anyway, a few minutes later, he was gone,” you said. “But he loved you, Rachel. He just hated that he couldn’t stop you from becoming what you are. Selfish. Insecure. Immature and vindictive. A truly heinous combination.”

Rachel had long stopped fighting you. She just cried and shook like a leaf.

You jolted at a touch on your shoulder. You were surprised to find Mark, looking down at you with calm reassurance and a tinge of humor in his eyes.

“All right, sweetheart. Think she’s had enough,” he said.

Rachel gasped and craned her neck up as far as she could. Her eyes went impossibly wide, her mouth falling open in shock to see him.

Mark helped you up with one hand on your arm and another around your waist. He guided you away from your sister. Rachel pushed off the ground and scrambled shakily to her feet. She wiped at her disgusting face painted with three kinds of shit, but shame was what radiated the most when she looked up at you and Mark.

“I…I’m sorry,” she said.

It was the first time you actually believed her. You didn’t say anything, but you swallowed tightly.

Rachel shot one last glance at Lisette, who was teary herself with disappointment. Rachel grabbed her purse off the ground and retreated quickly to her car. You watched her go, releasing a deep breath and the rest of your fury.

Mark massaged the back of your neck, pressing a kiss to your temple. He felt a surge of pride well up in his chest for you. Not just for being a veritable badass and handling your business, but for still having the kind heart he knew underneath.

“You good, Rocky?” he asked with a note of teasing.

Your lips tugged reluctantly at a smile. You wondered how much he saw. How much he heard. All you knew was, you really needed to get cleaned up.

“I don’t know. I might still be a danger to myself and others,” you said, a little slyly as your gaze ran up to his. “Might even need you to restrain me.”

His brows rose, his resulting grin showing teeth. You still knew how to catch him off-guard, in the best fucking way.

“Mark, is that really you?” your mother asked from the porch.

You two had to put a little pin in your game, for now, but his green eyes were full of promise. His lips twitched upward and he squeezed your waist. Then he looked up.

“Hey, Lisette. Been a while.”

When you and Mark ventured up the steps to join her, Lisette welcomed him into a warm, warm hug. The kind that sunk into his bones and made his shoulders feel a little lighter.

She later sighed and pulled away, giving you both a raised brow.

“It looks like there’s more to the story of what happened last year,” she said.

“That there is,” Mark nodded. He shared a look with you, and with your clean hand, you rubbed his back in support. However he wanted to do this, you would back him up.

“Well, we can talk about it over dinner,” Lisette said. She opened the front door to the house, giving a small smile. “I made a pot roast.”

Mark’s face broke into a grin. “Oh, I’m excited.”

You and your mom had the same laugh, like sweet sunshine.

“You remember my pot roast?” Lisette asked.

“’Course I do. With the little potatoes, sprinkle a’ rosemary?”

Mark held the door open for you like the gentleman he was, and he shut it behind him.

AN: Sister, sister, dog shit eater. Amirite? 🤣

I have another Mark fic in this storyverse for you guys next week! I do have more ideas too (especially after watching 1x05 😭), so I plan to continue this little series as we get deeper into the season. 💜

But until then, I'd love to know what you guys think of this one! I think reader and Mark deserve a lot more "making up for lost time" moments lol. And was her confrontation with Rachel everything you wanted it to be? 😂

Next Time:

Your arms wrapped around his waist from behind. A smile began to tug at his lips on reflex. He felt your head resting against his dewy skin. Your hands inched up his chest and playfully teased with your nails. Little sexy scratch. Little kiss between his shoulder blades.

“Go back to sleep, baby,” he said. A teasing note crept into his voice, “It’s too early for you.”

“You got in late last night.” Again. He’d been pulling late hours all week. Whatever case he was on, you had a feeling it was a big one. He still wouldn’t give you any details though. Not even when he was gone for almost two days, coming back smelling like a rancid farmhouse and covered in sweat and grime.

“I want to see you,” you added softly. “Kinda the whole point of me being here.”

⋆˙⟡ 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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#lovely review! 💞💞#reader appreciation #lovely mutuals #zep replies

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queernyra · 2 days ago

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i respect everyone’s opinions… but seeing people say that lesbian spirk just “wouldn’t work” is offending my big fat lesbian heart! and i’ll start this off by saying that i am by no means the smartest person around to be talking about this but whatever. i think it’s easy to forget that women are just as complex as men, especially when female characters in tv are often flat and have little to no nuance. this one’s for all the women of the past (and present) who had to marry men and ended up having illicit emotional affairs with their girl best friends!

yes my takes are 100% biased but just imagine the comphet, their both being women in power who strayed from the paths that were laid out for them, feeling distinctly other than except for when they’re with each other. spock doesn’t mind being an aberration in the eyes of everyone else if (yes im using the name jane leave me alone lmao) jane can see past that and makes her feel like she’s right where she’s meant to be. it’s easy to ignore just what her feelings for her captain mean just like it’s easy to ignore the way she feels sick around men she should find herself compatible with. not wanting to disappoint her father more than she already has, but feeling like she’s already crossed the line of no return… PON FUCKING FARR?! repressed as fuck gay as fuck depressed as fuck pick a struggle omg.

when jim kirk brandished his bare chest to get his way, it sure as hell wasn’t because he felt like he HAD to, but for women the situation is different. something something deeply resenting men but still desiring their validation and wondering which parts of your actions are authentic. yes there’s power in her sexuality, and she gets shit done with or without it, but part of her deep inside wonders if this is all she’s reduced to. every relationship she’s had with men ends up being unfulfilling, especially intellectually. she’s always the smartest person in the room, and men underestimate her, but at least they’re a little fun to play with. she thinks that until she meets spock, someone who finally challenges her, and that rush of endorphins when the smartest vulcan you know values your opinions and thinks you’re intelligent… yeah. she finds her mind constantly drifting back to spock, and thinks that despite her reputation, she’d be fine never sleeping with anyone ever again as long as she had spock to occupy her time. any time she feels flutters in her stomach at the other girls voice or face, she immediately dismisses it. it’s easier that way.

i have so many thoughts about this and honestly i don’t care if people disagree bc my ass is just rambling opinions annoyingly and passionately, i just think that saying lesbian spirk wouldn’t work period is such a lame (and kind of lazy) take. obviously they wouldn’t be the same, they’d be something totally different because duh they’re women not men, but at the core is the same mutual codependency and deep commitment. i just think lesbianism is beautiful! and spirk transcends all of this! they are soulmates in every universe and every timeline!

#love women #love lesbians #pls #star trek #james t kirk #spock #spirk #fem spirk #queernyra

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leilasletters · 21 hours ago

Text

Kiss Me, Kill Me

🏈Jason Todd X Fem!reader📖

bad boy x smarter girl | detention glances & rooftop secrets | don’t fall for him, don’t fall for him, don’t—"he kissed her like a dare. she kissed him like it was the last mistake she'd ever make. and neither of them stopped."

masterlist

Chapter 5

The universe, in its infinite cruelty, has decided that you deserve suffering.

Because this morning, on a perfectly normal Thursday, your AP Lit teacher says the words that will ruin your entire week:

“For this unit, you’ll all be working in pairs for the final presentation on modern themes in romantic tragedy. I’ve already assigned partners.”

You already know.

And sure enough—

“Todd and (Y/L/N).”

You snap your head toward him across the classroom. Jason’s already looking at you. Smirking. Like he expected this. Like he manifested it with his criminal energy and cocky eyebrows.

You want to fling your annotated Wuthering Heights across the room.

You work in the school library during lunch that day. Or at least, you try to.

Jason, on the other hand, keeps talking.

Loudly.

“Okay, so I was thinking we do something easy. Like Romeo + Juliet. Baz Luhrmann style. I’ll grow sideburns, you get a gold gun. We’ll make out in a fish tank.”

You give him a look so deadpan it could bury him.

“No.”

“Come on. People love doomed love stories.”

“And I love not failing.”

Jason sprawls in the chair across from you, hands behind his head. The size difference between you is laughable—he takes up so much space without even trying. Meanwhile, your legs are crossed, your arms are folded, and your entire body is coiled like a trap every time he says something flirty.

He leans in. “What do you want to do? Something nerdy and depressing?”

You raise a brow. “Why, yes. How did you know?”

“Because you scream, ‘I wrote a college essay on Euripides for fun.’”

“And you scream, ‘I passed English because someone paid off the school board.’”

“Not wrong.”

You sigh and flip open your notes. “We’re doing A Streetcar Named Desire.”

Jason frowns. “That’s the one with the screaming guy, right?”

You blink. “You mean Stanley?”

Jason cups his hands to his mouth: “STELLA—”

You slap your hand over his mouth before the entire library kicks you out.

“Geez,” you hiss. “Shut up.”

His eyes sparkle with mischief under your palm. His mouth lingers a beat too long on your skin. You yank your hand back like it burns.

Jason’s smile fades a little.

And in the silence that follows, there’s something… charged.

Too quiet. Too heavy. Too real.

Over the next few days, things get strange.

Not bad.

Not good.

Just strange.

You and Jason actually work well together—annoyingly well. He listens more than you expect. When you bring up feminist theory and how Blanche Dubois is a symbol of post-war fragility and toxic femininity, he nods. He asks questions.

You almost forget who he used to be. Or maybe… you’re just seeing who he is now.

Sometimes your hands brush when you both reach for the same note card.

Sometimes you look up and find him already watching you.

Sometimes he says things like, “You’re a lot, you know that?” in this soft voice that doesn’t feel like an insult. Just a truth. One that he likes.

And sometimes—like today—it all goes to hell.

You're outside school after rehearsal, sitting on a bench, still in your uniform shirt and jeans, flipping through your notebook. Jason's late. Of course.

He finally shows up ten minutes before the bell rings for sixth period, wearing a black hoodie, jaw tight.

“You’re late,” you say, not looking up.

He sits beside you but doesn’t respond.

You glance at him.

His knuckles are bruised again. Fresh. His expression is locked down.

“What happened?” you ask carefully.

He shrugs. “Nothing.”

“Jason—”

“I said it’s nothing.”

You blink at the tone—sharp, cold. Not like him. Not like how he's been with you.

Your stomach knots.

“Don’t take it out on me,” you say tightly. “I didn’t do anything.”

“I never said you did.”

You snap your notebook shut. “You’re acting like I’m the one who ruined your day.”

“Maybe I’m just realizing this was a mistake.”

The words hit harder than they should.

You go still.

He exhales, dragging his hands through his hair. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Too late.”

Silence coils between you again—but this time, it hurts.

You stand up, arms crossed. “You don’t get to play sweet one second and snap the next like nothing matters.”

Jason rises, too. “I’m not playing anything.”

“Then what is this, Jason? What are we doing?”

He hesitates.

And that’s the worst part.

He doesn’t say nothing. He just doesn’t say anything.

You scoff under your breath and grab your bag.

“I’ll finish the project myself.”

You walk away before he can stop you.

He doesn’t.

[JASON]: I’m sorry.

That night, he texts.

And then…

[JASON]: Things are messy right now.

[JASON]: It’s not about you. It’s just stuff. With my family.

[JASON]: I didn’t mean to take it out on you.

You stare at your phone for a long time.

[YOU]: That’s not good enough.

You don’t expect him to show up to class the next day.

After all, Jason Todd is nothing if not consistent—consistently late, consistently charming, consistently someone who burns bridges just to see if you’ll still meet him in the smoke.

But when you walk into AP Lit, he’s already there.

At your table.

With the project folder in front of him.

His head is down like he’s reading something, but his eyes flick up the moment you approach.

You hesitate. You’re not ready to forgive him. You’re not even sure you want to. But there’s something about the way he’s sitting—shoulders drawn in, not trying to take up space like he usually does—that makes your chest ache in that slow, reluctant way.

You sit.

Silently.

Jason clears his throat. “Hey.”

You don’t answer.

He pushes the folder toward you. “I, um. I rewrote our scene breakdown. It was bothering me.”

You glance down, confused. Your last draft had been solid. You’d worked hard on it. Even stayed up editing it line by line. But when you start skimming his notes… your breath catches.

He didn’t rewrite it to erase you.

He rewrote it for you.

It’s neater. Clearer. Your analysis is still there, word for word—but now it’s supported by new sources. New formatting. Your scattered bullet points have been organized, with a clean structure that matches the rubric to a T. And in the margins—tiny, cramped handwriting in blue pen—are Jason’s own notes.

Blanche uses femininity like armor here. (Just like you said—v smart.)

I don’t think Stanley’s the villain exactly? But I like how you framed it—maybe he’s society’s consequence?

Added that thing you said about mirrors & fragility from class — good point.

You freeze.

This is… thoughtful.

Embarrassingly thoughtful.

It’s not flashy. It’s not public. It’s not a “look at me” performance with a marching band.

It’s just him. Quietly trying.

He watches you read, picking at a frayed thread on his hoodie sleeve. When you finally lift your eyes, his voice is low.

“I know you said that wasn’t good enough. My apology.”

You don’t say anything.

He licks his lips. “But I didn’t want to let the project die just because I suck at talking.”

You set the folder down carefully.

“You didn’t suck at talking,” you say, voice even. “You just sucked at not shutting me out.”

Jason exhales—half a breath, maybe even relief.

“I’ve got some stuff going on. With my brothers. And Bruce. And school, and—” he stops himself, shakes his head. “No excuse. I was just angry, and I didn’t want to feel like I had to explain myself. But you didn’t deserve that.”

You nod slowly.

The classroom is loud around you—papers shuffling, chairs scraping, someone whispering about the math quiz in third period—but none of it registers.

Not when he’s looking at you like that.

“I’m not gonna grovel,” Jason says softly. “But I’ll keep showing up. You can ignore me, yell at me, punch me in the face—”

“I’ve considered it.”

He smirks a little, but his eyes are serious.

“—but I’m not gonna stop trying.”

That shouldn't sound as good as it does.

Jason’s grin falters, turns crooked. “Yeah, well. Maybe I want to be more than ‘not a complete asshole.’”

You shift in your seat. “You shouldn’t have to try this hard just to convince me you’re not a complete asshole.”

He pauses. “At least to you.”

You hate the way your pulse jumps.

Hate the way it means something.

Your fingers brush the edge of the folder. “You really highlighted my points in blue.”

“Only the brilliant ones.”

“You wrote jokes in the margins.”

“You laughed at like two of them.”

“I snorted.”

Jason leans forward slightly. “Best sound I’ve heard all week.”

You shoot him a dry look.

“I’m still mad,” you say.

“I know.”

“I’m not ready to forgive you.”

“I can wait.”

There it is again—that damn patience of his. Like he’s not in a rush. Like you’re the only thing he’s willing to take slow.

You exhale and open the folder again. “If we’re going to survive this presentation, you’re annotating the second half of the text.”

Jason raises a brow. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, and you have to print it.”

“God, you’re ruthless.”

“You’re lucky I’m letting you live.”

He smirks. “Wouldn’t dream of it any other way.”

You don’t smile.

But your lips twitch. Just a little.

And Jason sees it.

—

The classroom lights are dimmed.

The chalkboard reads:

STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE — FINAL PRESENTATIONS TODAY

Group 3: Todd + [Your Last Name]

You pace in the hallway just outside the door, holding the stapled script like it might bite you. You’ve highlighted your lines, annotated everything, even color-coded your cue notes—but your stomach still turns.

This isn’t nerves. It’s something else.

It’s him.

Because ever since that damn apology, Jason’s been different.

He doesn’t flirt. He doesn’t push. He listens.

And worst of all—he’s… good at this.

You thought you’d be dragging him through this scene like dead weight, but Jason’s performance during rehearsal was tight. Tense. Devastatingly aware of you.

You hated it.

You kind of loved it.

The door creaks open.

“Hey.” Jason’s voice is low. “You ready?”

He’s in a plain gray tee and jeans—nothing flashy. Just that stupid leather jacket slung over one shoulder and the kind of look in his eyes that says he’s not just playing Stanley—he understands him.

You exhale sharply.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He tilts his head. “You sure?”

“Why? Scared I’ll outshine you?”

Jason grins. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

—

The class is quiet when you step inside.

Your teacher sits at the front, a clipboard in her lap.

You and Jason take your places at the front of the room. No costumes, no props—just raw scene work. The moment you face him, everything else disappears.

He opens his mouth and begins the scene.

“You come in here and sprinkle the place with powder and spray perfume—” Jason’s voice is low, controlled, heat simmering beneath the surface, “—and cover the lightbulb with a paper lantern, and lo and behold the place has turned into Egypt and you are the Queen of the Nile!”

He’s staring at you.

No—through you.

Your reply snaps out like a whip. “That’s not fair.”

Your breath catches. You weren't supposed to feel this.

But Jason’s voice softens—just slightly. “I’m not sayin’ you’re lying. I’m sayin’ you’ve got to be realistic.”

His eyes lock with yours. And that’s when it happens

The scene bleeds. The lines fade.

It’s no longer just Stanley talking to Blanche. It’s Jason, voice laced with something quieter—something raw.

“And I’m not gonna let you lie to me,” he murmurs.

That line wasn’t in the script.

You blink.

Jason’s lips part like he hadn’t meant to say it that way. Like maybe he’s not sure what just happened either. But he doesn’t drop your gaze. He holds it, steady.

The room doesn’t exist.

Just your heartbeat. Loud. Wild.

You go off script too. “Then stop pretending you know who I am.”

Your teacher clears her throat from the front. You both flinch.

Jason breaks eye contact, dragging a hand through his hair. You turn sharply back to the script and finish the last lines in a rush—something about light and shadows—but your voice shakes.

The moment you say the final word, your teacher claps.

“Well done,” she says. “That was… heated.”

The class titters.

Jason gives a tight nod. His ears are red.

You grab your folder and head back to your desk, heart pounding.

Jason catches up with you just before you sit.

He leans down, voice quiet. “That wasn’t… I didn’t mean to—”

You cut him off, refusing to look up. “Don’t explain.”

“I’m not.”

You finally glance up.

His face is too honest. His voice is too gentle.

“I’m just saying,” he adds, “maybe it wasn’t just Stanley talking.”

You open your mouth—but no words come out.

You hate that he’s right. You hate that you wish he wasn’t.

You hate that your chest is still burning where his eyes were. Jason backs off slowly. “I’ll… see you tomorrow.”

You nod.

But you don’t look away until he’s gone.

—

After the Streetcar presentation, you think maybe he’ll back off again. But he doesn’t.

Jason doesn’t try to kiss you. Doesn’t crack a joke or send a text at 2 a.m. saying “so what was that?” He doesn’t even sit beside you in class. Instead, he lets the moment settle like dust—quiet, slow.

You find yourself watching him when you shouldn’t.

The way he leans back in his chair like he’s too big for the room. The way he mouths along with poetry under his breath, like he already knows the ending. The way his eyes flick to you whenever someone mentions the word love—like he’s waiting for your scoff, like he wants to hear what you really think.

And maybe that’s the problem.

Because for once, you don’t know.

You don’t believe in love. Not the big, cinematic kind. Not the kind that makes people forget themselves. But the look he gave you during the scene? The line that wasn’t in the script?

It felt like something you shouldn’t touch.

So you do what you always do: you write it down. Three days before prom, your class gets a final creative writing assignment:

Poetry Slam Presentation.

Write a piece that explores a personal theme. Share aloud.

You pretend it’s stupid.

You pretend you don’t care. And then you go home and write until 2 a.m., your pen slicing across the page like it’s angry too.

Presentation Day.

You stand at the front of the room with your notebook. Jason’s in the back row, chewing the cap of a pen, legs stretched out like he’s not ready for this. You glance down at the title.

“Kill Me.”

You inhale.

Then begin:

kill me.

by [Your Name]

kill me with your stupid voice

your deep, careless, silver-tongued voice

that drips charm like oil on fire

too loud for a library

too soft when it counts.

kill me with your hands

that always hovered near mine

never touching

but never gone.

like you wanted to hold me

but didn’t think you deserved to.

kill me with the way you say my name

like it’s a dare

or a secret

or both.

kill me with your eyes—

kind and cruel,

like they want to read me

like they already have.

kill me because you don’t make sense.

because you’re the boy who made a bet

and then stopped smiling when i got hurt.

the boy who sang like a joke

and meant every note.

the boy who annotated my rage in blue pen

and said i was brilliant

like it was a fact, not a flirt.

kill me because you waited.

and i don’t know what to do with that.

no one’s ever waited.

kill me because i don’t believe in love,

but i’m starting to believe in

you.

Silence.

You close the notebook.

The room is silent.

Your teacher opens her mouth like she wants to say something profound, but even she is caught off guard.

Jason?

Jason’s just… staring. No smirk. No quip. Just his eyes on you. Locked.

You walk back to your seat like nothing happened. Like your heart isn’t about to cave in on itself. When you pass him, he whispers:

“…Was that about me?”

You don’t look at him.

You just say:

“If you have to ask, it wasn’t.”

And keep walking.

The day after you read “Kill Me,” Jason doesn’t show up to first period.

Or second.

He’s not in the cafeteria. He doesn’t text. And for someone who’s made a career out of being everywhere all the time, it feels… wrong.

The classroom feels colder without him slouched in the back row.

So when he finally shows up in English—five minutes late, hood pulled low—you don’t know what to expect. He doesn’t look at you. Not once.

But when your teacher calls his name for the Poetry Slam presentation, he stands.

And for the first time in forever, Jason Todd looks nervous.

He pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his back pocket, walks to the front, then pauses—eyes sweeping the room, landing on you.

“This is… uh.” His voice is lower than usual. “This is for someone. You’ll know who.”

He doesn’t wink.

He doesn’t smirk.

He just begins.

kiss me.

by jason todd

kiss me like you hate me.

because i know you want to.

i saw it in the way your hands shook

when you dropped your pen and didn’t want me to see.

i saw it when you called me a walking cliché

but still let me walk you home.

kiss me like it’s the only time.

because i’ll take it.

i’ll take scraps, i’ll take seconds,

i’ll take whatever you think you can give me—

and treat it like it’s everything.

kiss me when you're angry.

when your voice gets sharp,

when your eyes flash like fire alarms,

when you say you don’t believe in love

and still look at me like i might be

the first thing to change your mind.

kiss me because you wrote about me.

because every line in your poem was a bullet

and i still wanted more.

because even when you said you hated me,

you knew i’d be listening.

kiss me like it’s a bet.

kiss me like it’s revenge.

kiss me because if you don’t,

i’ll keep waiting.

and waiting.

because that’s the thing, isn’t it?

i’d wait a lifetime for a girl like you

to believe in something as stupid as

me.

The class is silent again.

But this time, your throat is.

Jason folds the paper once. Twice. Tucks it into his jacket and walks back to his seat. When he passes your desk, his hand brushes the edge—just once—and he doesn’t say anything.

You want to. God, you want to. But the words don’t come. Instead, you just watch him sit. And you realize—somewhere deep and awful—that maybe he was always telling the truth.

He was just waiting for you to believe it.

—

Two days before prom.

You find the note during detention.

The kind that shouldn’t exist anymore, passed like secrets in ruled paper, folded sharp and thin, slipped under your elbow as the teacher’s back is turned.

You uncrumple it without thinking. The handwriting is jagged. Familiar.

I wasn’t gonna ask.

Didn’t think I deserved to.

But you in that poem? You looked at me like I was already yours.So if you show up, I’ll be waiting.

If you don’t… I’ll still wait.

There’s no name. But there doesn’t have to be.

You press your lips together so you don’t smile.

And you fold the paper back up like it’s something you might want to read again later.

Prom night.

You don’t have a date.

You said no to everyone who asked, which wasn’t many—most too scared, a few too stupid. You told your mom you didn’t feel like it, that it was dumb, that you’d rather stay home and rewatch Little Women and scream about feminist rage.

But she made you the dress anyway.

It’s soft. The color is nothing like what you’d normally wear—something too pretty, too kind for the girl who argues with teachers and makes boys cry. But it fits. And it’s yours.

So you show up. For her.

Not for him.

That’s what you tell yourself.

The gym looks exactly how you expect: gold streamers, mismatched lights, a disco ball that spins like it’s trying to hypnotize you. There are too many people. Too many dresses. Too much laughter.

You hate it.

Until you see him.

Jason Todd, in a wrinkled black button-up and boots he didn’t bother to polish, leaning against the far wall like he belongs there. Not trying. Not performing.

Just waiting. Like he said he would. And when his eyes meet yours? He freezes. Like he didn’t think you’d actually come.

Like he can’t believe you look like that.

The song changes.

And suddenly, you hear it.

A slow, pulsing beat. Familiar.

Soft, dangerous, quiet at first—

But growing.

I wanna be your vacuum cleaner

Breathing in your dust…

Jason straightens. You take a step forward.

Neither of you says anything. Not yet.

And if you like your coffee hot

Let me be your coffee pot…

The room blurs. The music swells.

He’s standing in front of you now.

And you swear—for one breathless second—he’s going to say something stupid. Something like "I told you so,” or "You clean up okay.”

But he doesn’t.

He just holds out his hand.

You hesitate.

And then take it.

Because of course you do.

You don’t speak as he pulls you into the middle of the dance floor.

You don’t argue when his hands settle on your waist, unsure.

And you definitely don’t make a joke when you let your head rest lightly on his shoulder.

You just move with him. Breathe with him. Like maybe you’d been waiting too.

Let me be your 'leccy meter

And I'll never run out…

The words are ridiculous. You’d laugh, normally.

But Jason sways with you like he means every syllable. And suddenly, it’s not funny.

It’s terrifying.

Because if you look up now, you’ll say it.

All of it.

But then his voice—barely a whisper—cuts through the music.

“Why’d you really come?”

You lift your head.

And the truth spills out, small and brutal:

“Because you waited.”

Jason breathes in—sharp.

You expect him to kiss you.

But he doesn’t.

Not yet.

He just pulls you closer, like he’s memorizing the weight of you in his arms.

And murmurs: “I always would’ve.”

The lights spin.

The song ends.

But he doesn’t let go.

Neither do you.

The end.

[ ➤ taglist: @reagan707 @lassoinyourlap @ravenna-rvnclw @deadbeatphobos @freythecrazyfae ]

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bangchanplzbangme · 1 day ago

Note

can you please make a jealous idol seungmin after he catches you starting to bias a member more than him?

so creative!!! I love this because it matches his personality so well omg!! i’m sorry it took so long, but i went on a trip. guys please send me requests!! i have lots of fun with them. i hope u like it @hansxcheesecake

if u like this please check out my masterlist

warnings: MDNI, smut, suggestive content, jealousy sex, exhibitionism, sexual pictures

only me

he only really noticed when you replaced his picture. his photocard. the one that looked perfect in your phone and showed other men that he was your favorite. only him. and it was Changbin too. the man you spent the most time with besides him. but he wasn’t really jealous. not until the party.

appreciating changbin was one thing, but did you need to be all over him, in that dress that drove him insane? constantly talking to changbin, appreciating his muscles, and putting your hands all over him. that should be your boyfriend u were doing that to. not changbin!

by the end of the week, you were decked in dweakki merch, changbin photocards and other items. he was tired of it. tried to replace your dweakki with puppym? you put the pig right back on. he gave you a whole stack of exclusive seungmin photocards? you appreciate them for a while, but they just end up on your desk. at least he’s still your wallpaper. wait! you changed it???! to a picture of changbin?

his jealousy has been slow cooking for a whole week. boiling under the surface, just waiting to be let out. and on the day of han’s party, it was all let out. he walks in with you on his arm, only to immediately be abandoned for changbin. that was it. he fucking had enough. did u forget who made u scream into the pillow? who makes you breakfast when you had headaches and period cramps? because from the way you’re acting, he might as well be a candy wrapper compared to your bias changbin.

without a single word, he drags you to the bathroom when changbin leaves to get drinks. “what’s up with you ignoring me?” “ignoring you?”. “ yeah. you completely replaced me for changbin. i bet you want him more than me.” you cup his cheeks and kiss him softly “ baby, i could never want anyone more than i want you”. “prove it then. let me fuck you in this bathroom so that changbin hyung hears how much my girl loves me”

he doesn’t even give you time to protest before he props u up on the kitchen sink and starts furiously kissing you. hans house has paper thin walls, so you’re mostly sure the people in the living room can hear you collective groans and gasps. hopefully felix’s music drowns it out. your shirt is on the floor and your skirt is pushed up to leave your bottom half exposed and dripping for seungmin. “this is all for me baby. not for changbin. say it”. “a-all for you minnie”. he grins wickedly and you feel a flash of excitement.

he pulls you off the counter and bends u over the counter. pulling his pants and boxers down, his hard angry cock springs out. you salivate at the sight of it in the mirror. he thrusts it in with no warning or prep, just his achingly long dick working its way through you walls and turning your brain into mush. as you start going dumb on his cock, he puts a hand on your chin and makes you look at yourself getting wrecked.

“cmon baby, don’t hold back those pretty moans. let changbin hyung know exactly who has you like this”. you moan his name like a broken record, and you’re sure they hear, because most of the lively chatter stalls. as you finish while seeing stars, he pulls out and pauses. you see him pull out his phone and take pictures. you would ask, but right now, after he blew you back out, you can find it in yourself to care.

you both hurriedly clean yourselves up. wipe off the lipstick stains, tidy your hair, and clean up your outfits. as you both step outside together, you’re met with a snide remark from han. “hey guys? next time you want to fuck, please don’t use my bathroom. some people actually need to use the bathroom, and those same people have been standing outside waiting for you horndogs to finish for like an hour”. seungmin smirks and looks at you before pulling out his phone and sending pics to changbin along with a text. “my girl”

taglist: @m-325 please lmk if u want to be in my taglist

#seungmin smut #skz smut #skz x reader #stray kids smut #seungmin x reader #seungmin #seungmin stray kids #seungmin skz #seungmin fanfic

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simp-for-love · 2 days ago

Text

Little Things

Mattheo Riddle x femReader

It’s your birthday — a day you never expect much from — but your best friend Mattheo Riddle has other plans.

Warnings: Pure fluff, friends-to-lovers, mutual pining, one perfect and caring boy

Word count: ~ 1,4k

A/N: to my sweet and absolutely beautiful angel @ur-local-wizard. I wanted to give you something warm and soft like you do every time I talk to you. Love you, be happy today and always 🩷

P.S.: Check her works. She's not only kind and sweet, but also a really talented pookie.

You had never expected much from birthdays. A few texts, maybe a cupcake from a coworker, some calls from your family. You didn't mind it, not really. You were used to being the one who planned surprises, made lists and notes, remembered everyone else's special days. All those little things made them happy. So you were glad you could bring some joy to people's lives. It just felt easier that way — safer.

But Mattheo Riddle always had other ideas.

It started with a text at 8:01 a.m.

"Happy birthday, sunshine.

Hope u got some sleep. Big day ahead."

You blinked at your screen in confusion. Big day? That sounded oddly suspicious. But you brushed it off — he was certainly just being dramatic. He always had a thing for theatrical gestures and words. Mattheo was probably going to bring you a cake with silly wish and doodle on it or sing you a ridiculously bad version of happy birthday song.

With that thought you shuffled into your kitchen to find a little white bag waiting for you on the counter with your name scribbled on it in Mattheo's awful, jagged, but heartwarming in its familiarity handwriting.

Something warm stuttered in your chest. He'd been here?

You opened the bag carefully. Inside was your favorite coffee — from the one café that managed to make it exactly right — and a note:

"I know you always say you don't care about birthdays. But I do. So drink this and don't argue. — Yours, M"

You read it twice. Then again, like the paper in your hands was just an illusion of your still sleepy mind.

You didn't know what to make of it. He was your best friend. He teased you constantly, poked fun at your bad TV taste, stole fries off your plate, send you links to the most unhinged memes with cats at 2 a.m.

But this? This was... thoughtful. Almost soft.

And it made your cheeks warm and chest tighten gently — that quiet, fluttery ache that had started happening more often around him lately. Like your heart was trying to tell you something before your mind caught up.

You didn't know when it had started. Maybe the time he shared his last bite of your favorite dessert without being asked, or when he walked you home in the rain just because.

But he kept doing things like this. Little things. Gentle things. Things that made you feel seen. And it was getting harder and harder to pretend you didn't feel anything.

You drank the coffee with a silly little smile on your lips, but still, you truly expected that to be the end of it — coffee, note, maybe a sarcastic card later in the evening.

You were wrong.

At exactly 2 p.m., Mattheo showed up at your door. His arms were full of takeout boxes, a messily wrapped gift tucked under his arm.

You blinked in surprise, opening and closing your mouth a few times before managing, "Are you—?"

"Yes," he said with a proud nod, pushing past you. "Happy birthday, beautiful. Now move. I’m setting up."

You followed him into your own living room like a confused puppy. Your eyes lingered on Mattheo as he unpacked the food, casually taking over your table like this was just a normal Thursday occurrence.

"I—, you— what is happening right now, Matt?"

Mattheo didn’t look up, too busy with setting the table up. "You're having a good day. And I'm helping with it. That's what's happening," he said matter-of-factly.

"You got me four different kinds of pasta," you exclaimed, looking at the food with wide eyes.

He just shrugged. "Couldn't remember which one was your favorite. So I got them all."

Your brain and heart short-circuited once again in his presence.

You sat beside him, the scent of garlic, basil and lemon drifting in the air, making your mouth watering. He handed you a fork with triumphant gesture and a warm container of something that smelled heavenly.

"Try the gnocchi," he said. "You'll cry."

You took a bite. And, damn him, you almost did.

Halfway through the meal, your laughter bubbled out uncontrollably. He'd gotten sauce on his shirt and tried to wipe it with a paper napkin, only smearing it worse across the fabric.

"Don't look at me like that," he said, mock-scandalized. "I made a mess for you. It's festive."

"You're a menace," you replied with a smile, not being able to stop giggling.

"And you love it."

All you managed to do in response was to blush and look away.

He let it go and didn’t comment. But his eyes lingered on you a moment longer, quiet and warm.

Later, after the food and the laughter and the truly cursed attempt at karaoke to Beggin’, Mattheo grabbed the little maroon gift box from the table.

"I debated ten different things," he said, pressing it into your hands. "This one felt right."

You unwrapped it carefully, your stomach fluttering at the idea of him thinking so much about your gift. Inside was a custom vinyl record with your name etched on the label. The sleeve was personalized with a little doodle of you — stars in hair, a gentle smile on your lips — and inside was a playlist of Måneskin songs, curated "For the softest girl with the loudest heart."

You stared at it, blinking hard, trying not to cry. "Mattheo..."

"You like it?" he asked, suddenly looking genuinely nervous.

"I— I don't know what to say," you mumbled quietly as your fingers ran on the vinyl reverently.

"Say I'm a genius."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

You looked up at him, heart hammering in your chest.

He was so close. Closer than you expected. His knees brushed yours, and his eyes — usually gleaming with mischief — were unreadable but quietly genuine now.

"Mattheo," you whispered. "It's... Why are you doing all this?"

He tilted his head slightly, smile shifted into something softer. "You really don't know, do you?" he asked gently, almost like talking to a child.

You shook your head, small and uncertain.

He reached for your hand, thumb brushing your knuckles tenderly.

"I've wanted to do something like this for you since the day we met," he said finally. "You're always doing things for everyone else. You light up every room you walk into and never even notice. You make people feel seen — and you never ask for anything back."

Your breath caught. That quiet and gentle ache in your chest intensified again.

"I guess I just wanted you to feel special. Because you are. And not just today." His voice dropped lower. "You're special to me every day."

You looked down overwhelmed, not being able to hold his gaze that was shining with warmth and softness. The record clutched in your lap, his fingers laced through yours, your heart in your throat.

"But it's too much," you trailed off quietly. "You didn’t have to do all of this. We're just—"

"Friends?" he asked softly.

You managed to barely nod.

He smiled with a hint of sadness in it. "Since it's your birthday, let me tell you a secret. I think I've been in love with my best friend for a while now."

Silence stretched. Gentle, pulsing silence.

You looked up at him slowly, feeling your cheeks burning. "Me?" The question slipped out from your lips without thinking — surprised, hesitant, maybe a little hopeful.

He laughed softly, shaking his head a bit. "Obviously you. Who else would put up with me?"

Your cheeks burned even more now.

"I— I didn't know," you whispered, still trying to process the information.

"I guess I just didn't want to pressure you," he said, free hand rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "But it's your birthday. And I thought... if there was ever a time to tell you, it's today."

You stared at him. At the boy who remembered your favorite band, your favorite coffee, your little throwaway comments from months ago. The boy who made you laugh when you wanted to cry. Who was loud and ridiculous and impossible — and who, somehow, made you feel like you mattered more than anyone in the whole world.

You leaned in before you could second-guess yourself.

And Mattheo met you halfway.

The kiss was soft. Sweeter than you ever thought a kiss could be. A little clumsy. A little breathless. Like he'd been waiting a long time, and didn't want to rush a second of it.

When you finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours.

"So," he said, grinning like he'd just won in the lottery. "Best birthday ever?"

You laughed, heart full to the brim. "Yeah. It really is."

And he kissed you again, sealing your words with his lips.

#kat's write #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo x reader #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle

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queeleronwheels · 15 hours ago

Text

Biggest Byler proof is literally just the fact that Will and Mike are teaming up next season, because think about how that could play out (I'm probably not saying anything new here but it does feel good to see it all together in one post lol):

Mike unambiguously rejects Will early on, from like ep 1. But it's confirmed they're still teaming up well into later episodes, and Will's feelings are not magically going to go away when Mike rejects him, so what? His arc is "getting over Mike"? If that were the case (a criminally dull plotline that could have been avoided by not having Will fall in love with Mike in the first place, but let's entertain it for a second) they would not team him up with Mike this season. They would have paired him with someone else who helps him get over Mike. As it stands, it looks like he's going to be breathing the same air as Mike for the majority of the season. How the hell does that help him move on? It would essentially be nine episodes of watching Will pining and suffering over his confirmed unrequited love. Riveting television! Meanwhile, we're enduring Finn and Noah doing that shit they do with their faces when they look at each other, but instead of the fun will-they-won't-they tension that has provided thus far, it will just be irritating because we know they're supposed to be canonically platonic. Verdict: Absolutely ridiculous choice for the writers to make, 0/10 possibility of this.

Mike rejects Will toward the end of the season, after they've been teamed up for many episodes. So then the point of teaming them up was to let us bask in the tension—that the writers are fully aware exists given the popularity of Byler—only to pull the rug out from under us at the end? Not only is this just plain cruel to the queer community and those who want it to happen, but it also makes for completely pointless television even for the GA and Mileven shippers. Milevens would want to watch Mike with El this season, not Will, and the GA, having no investment in this ship, would not care for watching Mike and Will beat around the bush for 9 episodes only for it to come to nothing. NO ONE is asking for this. And they don't even have the old queerbaiter's excuse of "oh well we didn't mean to make them have sexual tension, that's on you guys for seeing things that aren't there" because one of them is canonically in love with the other. Verdict: NOT happening unless the writers' only goal is to be cruel to the queer community (which is honestly not even a possibility; go read @miwiheroes fantastic essay on the themes of stranger things if you need convincing of the writers' intentions.)

Mike never finds out about Will being in love with him and their relationship stays as is. Do I even have to entertain this one? This would go against the laws of storytelling. It would require an impossible lack of development, it would be a glaring loose end, and it would be just plain terrible writing. Chekov's gun, my friends. Or in this case...Byers' painting. They're pairing them up this season specifically so that this reveal can happen in an organic way. Verdict: Would bet my life on this never happening.

Will is no longer in love with Mike at the beginning of season 5. Their dynamic from the get-go is just broskis vibing in the Upside Down no homo. Will's arc last season was just because...because why? If they wanted to show us more explicitly that Will was gay, they could have done it in one shot last season. They could have shown him checking out some hot guy at his new school in Lenora. They could have had a coming out scene for him. Hell, he could have come out to his best friend. Being gay in the 80s is hard enough without being in love with your childhood bestie, they would have had plenty of material to work with for a queer character arc. But no, they made him secretly in love with Mike, only to say "never mind" in season 5? So essentially the whole purpose of that was for Will to 1) suffer for a bit, because he hasn't suffered enough yet and 2) prop up Mike and El's relationship? And now he's over it and maybe there's someone else in the picture that they're going to have to somehow develop in a satisfying way over one season? While Will is spending most of his time with Mike? Verdict: There is no world in which this makes sense and the writers would never.

I can't think of any other scenarios but feel free to send me an ask if you can think of one and would like me to comment on it. There is a possibility that all of this is a moot point if Mike and Will are not in actuality spending as much time together in season 5 as we think. After all, we don't know what season 5 holds. But to this I raise, along with the many BTS photos we've seen of Mike and Will together, this:

Which, if not byler proof (it is) is at least proof that they're teamed up together most of next season. Thus, the catalyst for this entire post.

SLEEP SOUNDLY, MY FRIENDS 💛💙

#byler #byler proof #st theories #my stuff

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ahavaas · 17 hours ago

Text

(sometimes we wank and sometimes we play. I'm playing! yeah this is an old one, plz be sweet to @kuntya, who's having fun too, I think.)

see, I don't hate the idea of (bad ending au, sorry, I will explain) Jiang Cheng promoting Wei Wuxian to idk Necromancer Supreme of Yunmeng Jiang, dressing him up all gorgeous, pointing him at anyone who looks at them funny, and telling him to kill.

(hold on: let's contemplate that. let's think about that for a second. picture it in your minds.

okay! focus!)

see, I think the story is really clear about what happens when one supremely powerful guy tries to take over the world (he gets stibbity-stabbed. in the back. by someone he trusted. One Really Powerful Guy still has to eat, and sleep, and drink water that hasn't been poisoned by all the people who hate and fear him, y'know?) and the longer you play "I can and will kill all of you if you fuck with me," the more opportunities you create for everyone to get Really Worried, band together and wait for you to fall asleep.

should Jiang Cheng have been *looking* for an excuse to go to war maybe 1-2 years after everyone in the cultivation world finished a bloody war specifically to curbstomp the last Guy Who Was Way Stronger Than Everyone Else?

ehhhhhhhhh. *gestures vaguely* not a historian (not that this matters in discussions about Vague Fantasy China) but my general takeaway is "no".

it's a hard sell, right? "hello everyone. not being at war has been pretty fun, right? anyways. you know my shixiong? yeah, the one who keeps getting daydrunk. the one who does the necromancy that's bad for your soul and spirit. him, yeah, hahaha. he just killed a bunch of jin. without my knowledge or permission, yeah.

I mean, they were doing some fucked up shit! he was right to be pissed about it.

so we're at war with the jin now.

yeah, the largest distinct post-war population with the most money. hear me out.

if we kill em all and take their shit, WE will be the richest sect around. they're definitely doing some evil shit and they're going to be a problem in the future if we ignore it.

we can definitely do it! unstable drunk shixiong is *really good* at killing people (this is a good thing). the people he just killed (without checking in with me) definitely deserved it!

well. when the lan and the nie see us starting another war, I have to assume they will accept the righteousness of our cause and cheer us on. why would they be concerned? the last wildly powerful guy Killing 'Em All was Evil, but Wei Wuxian is Good, so. y'know. I'm sure everyone will be chill.

if they're not chill?

crazy idea! we have the moral high ground.

but in that case I guess the plan is wei wuxian will Kill All of Them too.

we're keeping it simple, stupid: we're gonna kill people until they fuck off and leave us alone. wei wuxian is *really really good* at killing people.

if something happens to him?

hahaha we might be kinda fucked, yeah.

not super clear on how the necromancy works but presumably he'll die eventually, yeah. definitely a problem for future us!

you're raising some valid questions and concerns for sure. the thing is: it's way too late for that! what's done is done! wei wuxian got (righteously) angry and made the call. we've got to deal with the situation at hand.

haha will that happen again? maybe? impossible to say! I cannot stress enough how little control I have over the unstable drunk guy who's really good at killing people for good and moral reasons! he follows his heart!

understandable. good luck out there, man."

(am I being a little goofy? sure: if you want to play with this idea, you'd probably want to focus on the existential threat posed by the power-hungry Jin commiting war crimes with impunity. you still have to play the hand you're dealt, which any way you look at it, still includes "our secret weapon is my unstable drunk (very charming!) shixiong with a heart of gold, excellent morals, and very little impulse control, and our plan is: righteous murder".)

idk again, playing-not-wanking: I just don't think any scenario where yunmeng jiang claims wei wuxian, shelters the wens, and says "wei wuxian is the fantasy equivalent of a nuke and we will let him off-leash if you fuck with us" leads to any kind of stable political situation. is it a fun idea? indubitably. is it hot? 1000%. does it work? idk man maybe you guys can square this circle, I feel like it ends badly.

Literally the main schism between me and the people who keep @-ing me is: did you believe Jiang Cheng when he said, "if you insist on protecting them, then I can't protect you"? If you think he was lying and he did in fact have the power to publicly defy every other sect in general, and Lanling Jin in specific, and still keep his promises to his own people, but he just chose not to exercise it for convenience, then yeah, he sucks

If you believed the narration when it said that the Jiang sect was in a pathetic position, and accept that Jiang Cheng was the youngest and least experienced sect leader in the room who had zero support from the other sects during that time (Nie-Jin-Lan had just entered into a brotherhood and left him out! This was way before Yanli and Zixuan got married!), then every single take from the people in the first camp is insane goblin speak and we will literally never get anywhere

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dakusan · 1 day ago

Note

I have been drowning in your ask posts about the vampire AU and I am kind of obsessed now

I wanted to ask, and I apologize if you are not comfortable with the idea because I know it's not some people's cup of tea so feel free to ignore <3, but does the soulmate bond only work 1 on 1 or could people have more than one soulmate at the same time? I don't even necessarily mean any of the members specifically when I ask lol I just got really curious because I imagine the dynamics would be really interesting if it were at all possible to have more than one, specially considering the Normal vs Abnormal characteristics of the vampires in your AU, like would that make it worse for them because it means there's technically less blood to go around between them and that unlocks a "competition" aspect to their biology or does it mean they could form a camaraderie of sorts? Like, now there's someone who wants to keep their soulmate happy and safe as much as they do?

Anyways, your AU is just so detailed, it's a lot of fun to read what you post, thanks for sharing your stories with us <3333 (again, sorry if this is outside of your boundaries, I tried to check if it would be against any of the "rules before interaction" but it didn't seem like it, I could have interpreted them wrong though so 🥲 my bad if that's the case)

oh you sweet little drowned thing 🩰🕷️ come in. wipe the blood off your mouth. you’re welcome here.

first of all: thank you for being so thoughtful with your ask 🖤 you're right, it can be a sensitive topic in some circles, but you’re golden. and you asked so genuinely and curiously, i am absolutely gonna sink my teeth into this one. so—

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

✦ V A M P I R E ! S K Z S O U L M A T E L O R E : T H E O N L Y

🧬 LORE FACT: YOU CAN’T HAVE MORE THAN ONE SOULMATE.

This universe runs on blood law. Not dreams, not delusion, not desire. And in the core matrix of this world, you only get one soulmate — full stop. This is not a “choose your favourite route” situation. It’s coded into the marrow.

This applies across the board:

Abnormals? One soulmate. Their blood won’t even react to others.

Normals? Also one. They’re just slower to recognize it. More human in that sense.

Humans? They often don't feel the pull as intensely at first, but once bitten? They’re locked in.

Turned Vampires? Still only one. But theirs might be someone from before the turn. Unlucky bastards.

That means:

No harems.

No “soulmate A and soulmate B.”

🕯️ THE WHY: COSMIC DESIGN

The soulmate bond is soul-anchoring — a metaphysical override switch. It fuses blood resonance, memory, desire, and legacy into one. It’s not soft. It’s sacred violence.

Your soulmate exists to:

Tame your madness (especially for Abnormals)

Trigger fertility (because vampire reproduction is locked behind bond activation)

Unlock full abilities (particularly Abnormals who go feral without grounding)

If more than one soulmate existed, the whole system would collapse. Think corrupted data. Too many passwords to the same vault. Too many tethers trying to stabilize the same chaos. It doesn’t work.

❗FURTHERMORE: MULTIPLE ABNORMALS + ONE HUMAN = CATASTROPHIC

Let’s pretend — for lore's sake — that a glitch happened. Let’s say a single human somehow imprinted on two Abnormals. What would happen?

They’d tear each other apart.

Abnormals are already unstable. Sharing their anchor? Biologically impossible. Their blood would reject the bond, fight it internally, or go into bloodrage (a state of uncontrollable frenzy where they’ll destroy anyone who threatens the bond).

One soulmate. One anchor. One thread between madness and mercy.

🤝 BUT COULD THEY TEAM UP, LIKE YOU ASKED?

Now this part? Is ✨interesting✨. If two vampires share a purpose — say, protecting someone who isn’t soulbonded to either of them, but they both love? That’s where camaraderie comes in.

Like:

Minho protecting Chan’s soulmate because Chan is his oath-bound king.

Jisung watching over Felix’s bonded lover because he understands how fragile the bond is.

Seungmin helping a new human adjust after Jeongin nearly ferals from first bite.

So yes — vampires can team up. But not share.

🩸 BLOOD DOLL ≠ SOULMATE

but they can be.

Blood dolls are humans who allow (or are contracted) to let vampires feed from them.

Sometimes it's transactional (pleasure, payment, protection).

Sometimes it’s emotional (devotion, manipulation, obsession).

You’ll see vampires with multiple blood dolls. Especially aristocrats, entertainers, or those with hedonistic streaks. But they’re not soulmates.

Feeding ≠ Bond. Hunger ≠ Destiny.

💍 SOULMATE = BLOOD DOLL (sometimes)

But can a soulmate also be a blood doll?

YES. 100% YES. In fact, it’s very common — because vampires want their soulbonded partner to be their only source of blood. It's pure, unmatched, chemically euphoric.

Once the soulmate bond activates:

The vampire’s body rejects other blood.

The taste of others becomes ash in their mouth.

Only their soulmate’s blood soothes their instincts, anchors their rage, heightens their pleasure.

One bond. One bite. One ruin.

So if you see a vampire with only one blood doll and they’ve never fed from anyone else again? Yeah. That’s the soulmate. That’s the real thing. You can tell.

🩸 IN SUMMARY:

Vampires can have multiple blood dolls.

But they’ll only have one soulmate.

And when those two things align? → Feeding becomes sacred. → The bond becomes unbreakable. → No one else will ever taste right again.

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

thank you for such a thoughtful ask. the way you approached this lore question with care and genuine fascination? it means so much.

come back any time. 🦷 the door’s always open, and the candles never go out 💋🦇

#ask dakusan #vampire!skz series #vampire!skz lore #stray kids

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alexanderlightweight · 3 days ago

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Some more of in his wake, petals fall would be great cause that's some of the sweetest Malec I've read and it gets better each time I reread it. I hope you enjoy your day!

it's very fun to write, they're very much in love your honor. you see, they don't know any other way to be. last part here

i'm glad that it gets better with rereads, that makes me incandescently happy!!! it's been a very nice evening and that's been honestly just nice. i hope you have a good day whenever you see this and i hope you enjoy!

<3 lumine

in his wake petals fall

It’s a full moon and Alec can think of nothing more that he’d like to do than be able to enjoy it with Magnus. The night is still young, there might be time if he can get through the next three or four hours without anything too major going on.

There is always a risk when Simon, Jace and Izzy go out together. The three of them together attract only half as much trouble as a single Clary, but it’s trouble all the same. They’re especially untrustworthy when they go on patrol together.

Alec has shamelessly both bribed and commissioned Magnus with both sex and Institute treasures to check Simon for curses.

Twice now.

Not because he thought Magnus failed the first time, but he asked Magnus to look for neutral or ‘helpful’ spells the second time.

Despite all evidence to the contrary, Simon remains magic free and it’s just natural.

Thankfully he gets into far less trouble without Clary, but he gets into trouble all the same. In a way, that part of Clary’s legacy remains.

Unfortunately.

It’s not like Alec’s going to forget her anytime soon.

He really doesn’t need these unhelpful reminders.

He’d finally liked Clary before she lost her memories. If Alec doesn’t have new good memories to back up the constant resurgence of the old, that might change. Which feels harsh but Alec can’t help the deep annoyance, irritation and finally, just pure outrage on his own behalf when memories of those first two months resurface.

Now that Alec actually has a well working and well-run Institute, with competent people who listen to, respect and obey his commands, he gets even more furious.

So reminders of Clary, unhelpful.

Not that Alec will mention this to anyone but Magnus — who has similar feelings — because there’s no need to. If someday Clary returns, Alec will figure out then however he feels then. There’s no need to stir up emotions that don’t need to be touched and Alec would rather let them grieve in peace.

But that doesn’t stop him from adding an extra team to patrol an overlapping area, just to ensure he’ll be able to go home at a decent time.

Alec is not letting the Curse of Clary continue.

Alec will not be kept from Magnus by other peoples folly.

Or from showing Magnus the lunar bleeding hearts that were finally blooming in the moonlight.

Magnus will love to immortalize the flowers, still glowing with the light of the moon. They’ll make nice jewelry or hair adornments or even for clothes, if he wants. Alec doesn’t care what Magnus does with them, as long as Magnus is happy with them. He could enjoy the sight of them just once, and that would be enough for Alec.

However Alec knows his husband and Magnus will love the flowers, which is why it’s becoming more and more important to ensure Alec makes it home without losing any of the glow from the buds.

Time ticks by and while Alec wouldn’t say he’s any more brusque that he usually is, he does notice when Mirai walks in. A smirk on her face and her brown eyes gleaming with secrets.

“What is it this time?” Alec lowers his voice to a decibel only a shadowhunter with runes or close to him can hear.

“You’re scaring them. They can’t tell if you want something to happen, or if your scowl is because something better not happen.”

“Why would I ever want something to happen?”

“You could be having a fight with Magnus.” Mirai says and the twinkle of secrets makes sense now. Mirai's been listening to the chatter of the hunters and deciphering it for Alec.

“Who is stupid enough to start that kind of gossip?” Alec regrets asking immediately and doesn’t bother trying to soften the grimace on his face. “Never mind. Just please tell me it’s not Simon at least.” Alec really cannot deal with more idiotic rumors because of him.

“Thankfully not him. It was just chatter during sparing. That you were unusually grumpy today. Hunters throw out ideas to get their mind off things.”

Alec certainly isn’t going to smile without a reason and since Magnus isn’t here, there won’t be one. But he does try blanking out his face, which has Mirai sighing at him.

“Honestly, that sometimes is worse.”

Alec frowns at her, because he’s getting mixed messages and it’s easier.

Mirai laughs, because she’s not spineless and she actually knows how to read Alec enough that he can trust her to have his back. And actually listen to what he says, instead of interpreting it differently or outright ignoring it.

If she changes orders it’s because she’s gained information that Alec doesn’t have, not because she has an idea she’s not sure will even work.

“Something always happens when those three go out together. I don’t trust them to not ruin my night.”

"They're bad but they're doing better. They could just have bad luck, there's no proof they go looking for trouble." Mirai doesn't sound convinced and Alec wonders who she's trying to comfort.

Because he is not comforted.

“You have no idea what it was like.” Alec turns his head slightly and makes sure he’s keeping his voice low enough they can’t be overheard. “Magnus and I couldn’t even have a kiss without interruption. Our dates constantly had to be canceled, I almost got married to a woman because they interrupted every date Magnus tried to get me to go on. A few that I accepted and had to cancel or postpone! I won't blame them fore very stumble in our relationship but they caused most of them.”

Mirai laughs, quiet and low but Alec is serious.

“No, you see. If I had gone on a single date with him, I would never ever have let my parents push a marriage on me. One actual date with him, where we could converse and get to know each other without the pressures of everyone else's crisis being pushed on us. Burdens that were never ours to bear becoming problems we had to solve and unravel while we tried to get closer yet kept getting pulled apart. If I’d had even just a handful of real, meaningful moment with Magnus. Just us, without the world leaning over our shoulder and duty nipping at our heals, there never would have been a wedding for him to crash. And if we'd had a stronger start, been more secure in each other less rushed, we could have been stronger together.”

—

Mirai really hates when Alec says things like this.

It’s like he doesn’t even notice how he’s rewriting the reality of the world.

The reality is that very few people understand the poetry and revelation that is Alec’s love for Magnus. They see the political choices, the smiles and the laughter, they don’t see the obsession. The adoration. The devotion that would lead a shadowhunter to consider becoming a vampire and entering a hell dimension on purpose, planning to be there for eternity as an immortal. Just for another being.

That kind of devotion is the thing of legend and Mirai truly believes that Alec Lightwood will not and cannot love another as he does Magnus Bane.

However that doesn’t mean he needs to turn everything Mirai already knows about him even further on it’s head.

Alec Lightwood is an enigma on paper.

He’s worse in person.

Truly, Mirai isn’t sure exactly how someone as logical and blunt as Alec fell for — and so instantly and irrevocably — Magnus Bane, but she’s not going to shame it. That’s a sure way to die and Mirai both enjoys life and likes how she is living. Besides, there’s something both inspiring and terrifying about their relationship and also Magnus Bane helps her Commander be the best he can be. She has constant proof of that and so while she hadn’t actually believed it, she’s still relieved that Alec’s mood isn’t from an argument or a sour goodbye.

“I don’t mind taking over early.” She really doesn’t, is the thing.

Alec is inspiring to the entire Institute but he can also be overly intimidating. His reputation is only growing and even some of his original hunters — ones that Mirai knows at one point mocked or disrespected him — look at him with awe now. Alec barely notices, focusing more on results than gossip and thankfully he trusts that to Mirai. Alec is very good at finding out things in the shadows. He’s not always the best at putting them together.

So Mirai translates the gossip and reports back and Alec now locks the greenhouse when he’s in there half naked and covered in butterflies. Nephilim like rare and powerful and enthralling things and Mirai needs every hunter they have.

—

Alec steps through the portal with careful steps and Magnus is there, face already lit by the moon and of course, his love had portaled him to their roof. The perfect place for the flowers to absorb the moonlight and also a perfect place for Alec to place the vase of blooms down gently so he can take Magnus into his arms.

There are kisses, sweet and simple and blooming on his lips until he laughs and Magnus deepens the kiss. It’s soothing and comforting and familiar in the way that a steady heartbeat soothes the soul.

Magnus kisses like he never means to stop and never needs to and Alec can’t help but match him, eager to be devoured and consume in turn and insistently getting his fingers under Magnus shirt so he can finally press his palms against warm skin.

“Missed you.” He whispers when Magnus pulls back to kiss his jaw and cheek and the corners of his eyes. “Thought of being here with you the whole night.”

“You’re hours earlier than you should be, Alexander. Not that I’m complaining, but you were only gone four hours.” Magnus laughs and Alec grins at the helpless adoration in Magnus voice. “I missed you as well, darling. As delighted as I am, I truly thought you’d be longer. Is everything alright?"

“Mirai covered for me. Apparently I was a little too obvious in my longing to get home.”

—

Alexander shrugs, innocent as can be and Magnus narrows his eyes.

“And what aren’t you saying.”

Alexander sighs and looks away with a frown.

“Alexander.” Magnus croons, “what aren’t you saying, sweetheart.”

That tone never fails to work and Alexander melts for it, as always. Along with the way Magnus is cupping his jaw and letting Alexander nuzzling against his palm.

“Mirai informed me that gossip was we had an argument. Apparently I’m very angry looking when I’m worried I may not make it home to my husband in time. I just was worried that whatever caused Clary to constantly be or cause the interruption of our dates maybe infected Simon.”

Magnus laughs, because he can’t help it and also why should he? Alexander is as sweet as always and the thought of Alexander being angry at work because of their relationship is hilarious. Alexander goes cold when he’s truly upset. He would shut off the pieces and parts of him that were overwhelmed and exist on what is left.

Which considering how much Alexander adores Magnus and how it’s with the entirety of his very being, means that one is left with a very cold, stoic Alexander. More so than usual and personally, a sight Magnus hates to see and has vowed to never again.

Now that life has settled, they’ve been allowed to grow and flourish and Magnus doubts that they’ll ever have arguments against like they did in those first, fierce, fast months when they had to grab time before it was gone but the world tore at their relationship like it was a personal offense.

“And it’s what, bad for morale?” Magnus kisses Alexander again, because there’s no need to deny himself as many kisses as he’d like, whenever he’d like them. Alexander loves nothing more than being met with kisses when he comes home and now is no different, with Alexander ignoring the question. His lips are against Magnus, his tongue worshiping and his teeth gentle but nipping sharply whenever Magnus pretends to pull away.

It’s several minutes before Magnus remembers he wants an answer, just as a reference for what will get Alexander home to him more often.

And Alexander scowls at him.

Magnus really cannot imagine how other people look at his adorable, menace of a husband and think he’s dangerous looking.

Yes at times Alexander can exude a somewhat threatening aura but Magnus has always found it enticing and that it added to his allure. Beyond that, how can you look at Alexander’s down turned lips and sad eyes and think anything but darling!

It boggles the mind to a degree that Magnus is certain even Ragnor would agree with him.

AN:

the bribe was the sex. because alec insisted on either paying magnus extra for downgrading (checking a vampire for spells is below his paygrade but ofc he'd do it for alec even for free) and alec was like: no i need to pay extra and then had to convince magnus to let him pay at all and then alec is like, okay at least let me bribe you with sex

magnus... darling we could just have sex?? i'm happy to help you with any kind of problem. no need to bribe.

alec: ... please? so i feel less like i'm taking advantage of my amazingly generous and magical husband who has been taking advantage of way too often

magnus: oh so therapeutic roleplay?

alec: if that means you will agree then yes. we can call it that too

magnus laughing to himself in the middle of the night: we're married, we have sex all the time. how is this a bribe? you should have threatened to not have sex with me unless i did it.

alec who is a shadowhunter: it's the only thing i could think of that i knew you'd like and enjoy okay. besides people use sex for transactions all the time. it makes perfect sense. also i would never try that. you'd take it as a challenge and i'd break. we both know any threats i made like that wouldn't last past the moment they were spoken. i've never been able to resist you and marriage has made than less manageable, not more

a week later Alec bringing Magnus a really rare flower cutting for the roof.

Magnus: this would have made a good bribe

Alec, appalled: how dare you put monetary value on a priceless treasure that i just want you to have because i love you. who do you think i am?

magnus: but sex is fine? as a bribe

alec who is a shadowhunter: yes?

#lumine writes #writing wednesdays #writing wednesday #in his wake petals fall #petals vs #magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec #shadowhunters #Mirai Lakecastle

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