#time zones a bit different for some but whatever it's right for me

[is-it-funny-because-its-true]

[kisses4themissus]

Foreign 2 Me || Hwang In-ho X Reader

wc: 2.3k a/n: the long awaited pt 2!! js know i absolutely love reading your guys comments!! warning: not proofread, so beware of spelling errors

pt 1 | masterlist

Lyrics to fly me to the moon filled your ears as you awoken. You glanced around the bedroom, your eyes found your hands had been loosened a bit from the rope. You were now able to move them to your face.

You wiped your eyes before looking around the dark room. “Player 129.” A deep voice spoke from the door.

Your eyes flickered to see the same blacksuited manager from the previous day. You held your breath as he stepped into the room. “Frontman had to step out due to business, he wasn’t expecting you to wake up so early.” They explained. 

“What do you want?” You questioned as they got closer to you. “Frontman had taken a liking to a player, you enter the picture and the player began to loose his element.” they explained simply. They walked closer to the bed, making you scoot further away.

“So he took me?” You scoffed. The manager shook their head at you. With a huff you turned back on your side and faced away from the guard, a plan forming in your mind. You listened as the manager got up and clicked a button on a remote and the sleeping gas filled the room. You just relaxed and let the sleepiness wash over you.

The next time you had woken up, it was pink managers with the black suit one, they had entered the room and helped dress you, getting rid of your player uniform and into a black silk pajamas. You watched as one of them walked to the manager and grabbed the small tray and walked over once you were tied back to the bed.

You opened your mouth as they fed you the food; it was different from what you had ate in the dorm. “Why is he treating me so well?” You questioned, your tongue poking the side of your cheek. “He must have a special interest.” The manager in the black suit responded. 

“He said if you behave yourself, you’d be allowed to watch your new..friend, in the next game.” A worker explained, getting more food on the spoon before shoving it in your mouth. You had zoned out whatever they talked about; you had your mind set on your way out of this hell.

- - - - - - - -

The next morning, to the strange suited manager you had been well-behaved, therefore they’d allowed you to watch the next game, through the night you had slowly gained freedom, the workers had allowed you to move out of the bed and into the main room, even letting you feed yourself at the small kitchen table. 

You had been lucky enough to slip the fork into your sleeve of your pajamas and hid it, waiting for the right moment to strike your plan in action.

The manager clicked something on the remote, a live showing of a round platform with three small horses on top, it had reminded you of a carousel you’d see in almost empty malls. You watched confused as the manger switched to another camera that showed many colorful doors.

“The next game is mingle, players will gather into groups of whatever number is announced and make it into a room before the time runs out.” 

Your eyes widened as players walked into the room, the soldiers leading them. “How many rooms?” You questioned, looking over at the masked manager. “Fifty, more then half should be wiped in this game.” They said, though their face was hidden you knew they told you the game with a smile on their face.

“Could I get some water, i’m thirsty.” You asked, politely. The manager sighed, tying your feet together to ensure you couldn’t get up to bash the back of his head. 

You waited patiently for your water, you took a deep breath in as you tried soothing your nerves in order for your plan to work. He set down the glass cup beside you, with a grateful nod, he walked over and united your shackles and let you pick the glass up and drank out of it as the game began.

Minutes had passed of watching your fellow players run for their lives. You sighed, it was time.

You reached over and grabbed the cup and took a drink, you noticed the manger’s relaxed posture as he sat on a black chair. You began to cough and fold over. The manager glanced at you and ignored it at first til you began to force yourself to wheeze.

He shot up from his chair; knowing he’d be dead if you had tried to kill yourself while in-ho was away. 

You threw yourself on the floor and coughed hard, thanking whoever above as the manger hunched over you, trying to help you sit up.

On your back you brought up your knee and hit their genitals, hoping it was a man behind the mask. They keeled over and groaned in pain, you quickly popped up and took the fork out from your sleeve and raised it above your shoulder before driving into the masked man’s chest. 

Pulling out the fork, you shove his mask up. He wore another blackout mask underneath. 

He attempted to stop you but stopped as you threw punch to his nose, making his eyes begin to water, blocking his view as you brought the fork to his right eye and stabbed it, he tossed you aside and scrambled to get onto to restrain you once more.

You shakily smiled as he swayed, thanks to his vision being gone in one eye, you pulled the back of his head, making him fall back onto the ground. You got on top of him and managed to punch his jaw, he groaned, the room going dark.

“Goodnight.” You said panting, watching as he passed out on the ground. You glanced up at the screen and stopped as the cameras showed young-il in a room with jung-bae and another man, you gasped as young-il had snapped the man’s neck, his eyes darkened as he stared at jung-bae; you both had killed someone that day out of survival.

Once he was out, you got up from the floor and got to work tying him to the furniture around you. As you tied the man up, you paused as static filled the room’s silence. You searched the name and nodded as his communication device was sat perfectly on the table beside him. 

Quickly stripping him out of his uniform you placed it on, tossing the pajamas on the chair’s back, looking around the room for anything you might need to act as the black suited man.

You got up and took his mask from the floor and grabbed the device before walking to the elevators. You raised the mask, the elevator doors opened, you sighed, stepping in and slipping the mask on.

You had heard the workers talk about the second floor being the solider’s quarters. You quickly press the bottom level and walked out, it had been a purple hallway, you kept walking and sighed in relief as you found the stairway you had all walked through to get to the games, you began opening random doors, you stopped as you opened one, it had a dark hallway. You quickly walked down, having no other plan.

As you walked into the cold, quiet dark room you quickly made out another door and made your way over and opened it to show more stairs, with a deep breath you walked down them, the place had been a labyrinth, you had wondered how the workers didn’t get lost.

As you thought to yourself you finally walked down to a cave of sorts, you noticed oxygen tanks in the corner, you began to tear up, it had all lined up. You were going to get out.

You quickly geared up and thanked your family who had took you on scuba trips as a child for fun. You got ready and began diving and swam around for a underwater exit.

Popping out of the water, you took off the mouth guard, gasping; you had been swimming for awhile after you had left the cave. There had been a small island to your left, you quickly swam over and got out, catching your breath as you sat up against a rock. 

In-ho sighed, tiredly from the latest game, he needed to leave the games soon, you were safe and sound for his keeping up in his penthouse.

As he walked up to grab his food, he was stopped as a worker muttered to him. “She’s escaped.” 

In-ho stopped, staring at the worker as he took the food and drink. “Find her, she has to be somewhere in the building.” He commanded quietly, walking away, back towards his group of players.

- - - - - - - -

You sighed as you tried to form another plan, you didn’t see another island around; who knew how far the actually was from main land. As you blinked, your eyes grew heavy. You groaned trying to fight it off but lost, your body lulled you to a peaceful sleep. 

Jun-ho sighed as he scanned the water once more; nothing.

“Ready to go back yet?” The captain questioned, woo-seok scoffed at the older man and continued looking through his binoculars. “HEY! GET CLOSER TO THAT ISLAND!” Woo-seok yelled as he noticed a figure on the empty island.

The captain sigh and began to get closer, tensing up a bit as everyone noticed a body. “Is she alive?” Jun-ho questioned, grabbing his long coat as they docked at the island, the others began to fly a drone over the island to make sure it wasn’t a cover for an ambush.

“She’s alone.” They confirmed, jun-ho nodded and ran over to help you onto the boat, woo-seok helped carrying you. “Where do we place her?” Woo-seok asked, holding your legs while jun-ho held your back and head.

“Here, place her on the pull out.” Captain park, motioned. The two gently placed you down before finding to see your pulse, jun-ho sighed in relief you were alive.

“Cover her up, captain let’s head back for today. I’ll go signal the others.” Jun-ho commanded, walking away, leaving woo-seok who grabbed blankets and jun-ho’s coat to warm you up. While woo-seok watched over you, the captain’s nerves went up, where did you escape from, clearly you had been through something, he had hoped that night he wouldn't receive a call from in-ho asking for a woman.

- - - - - - - -

You roughly coughed, you sat up. The person beside you quickly jumped up with you. 

“Careful, they just changed your IV’s!” He lightly patted your back, once you stopped coughing you froze as you looked up at the male.

“Who are you, where am I?!” You asked, scooting to the back of the hospital bed. He held up his hands to show he wasn’t up to anything. “You’re at the hospital, i found you passed out on a rock in the middle of nowhere, I’m detective jun-ho!” He explained, slowly reaching for his wallet, you nodded, allowing him to do so.

He sighed and pulled out his badge. You grabbed it and read over the name before sighing and handed it back.

“Thank you, I guess…” You thanked, bowing your head.

“What were you doing on that island?” He questioned, scotting towards you. Throwing your head back you let out a shaky breath and held your head. “You won’t believe me..” You muttered, laughing a bit; you’d look insane if you tried explaining the games.

“I’ve heard some stuff, so again; why where you on that island?” 

You sighed at the detective, his sorrow filled eyes made you spill everything to him. The cruel killing of people, the children's game, the people stuck there on the island; The frontman. Jun-ho’s blood ran cold as you explained you were taken one night by his brother.

“And then the next day he was away for business, i did things on that island that i’m not proud of..” You confessed, looking down at your hands. Jun-ho stood up and placed his hand over yours.

“I believe you, a close friend of mine had a similar story, he went in but we haven’t found him.” Jun-ho sighed, pacing at the end of your hospital bed. “...Was his name seong gi-hun?” you asked quietly, jun-ho turned to you, not hearing what you had said.

“Seong Gi-hun, player 456.” You repeated, making jun-ho stop.

“You saw him?” He asked frantic. You nodded at him. “I joined his team for the second game, last i saw he was still alive.” You explained, jun-ho ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

“Would you be willing to help us find the island?” He asked, desperation in his voice.

You shook your head. “What if frontman catches me, hell he’s probably kill young-il for my stupid escape!” Your words slowed down as you realized young-il’s fate. You gasped and covered your mouth as tears built up, all of your friends must’ve been paying for your actions.

“I won’t let him harm you.” Jun-ho promised, looking into your watery eyes.

“I won’t go with you,” You informed as you wiped the falling tears, jun-ho sighed looking down at his shoes. “I can tell you everything in detail that happened.” You finished, jun-ho’s head popped up as he frantically nodded. “That’ll work!”

- - - - - - - -

In-ho sighed as he watched gi-hun get dragged back to the dorms after he had shot jung-bae in front of him, as he slipped off his mask, he walked over to his liquor cabinet and pulled out his whiskey.

As he took a drink, his landline phone rang. With a heavy sigh he walked over and picked up, before he opened his mouth a voiced stopped him.

“She’s found your brother.” The captain informed.

“Stop them. I’m on my way.” In-ho hung up, dowing the rest of his whiskey. He roughly slammed the glass down next to the phone.

You had slipped away and fell into jun-ho’s grasp, really it was only a matter of time before his baby brother had met his new sister-in-law.

Hwang In-ho taglist; @snowtargaryen @menabuser16 @azusdump @jspidey5 @annasnape7 @macnbriee @ookybatt @sasha-swftie @moonxnite @ninglovr

[misctf]

What You Wanted

Richard wanted to better himself. At first, as a wide-eyed new freshman, he was looking to make a change. Having always been more nerdy and unathletic, Richard prioritized his studies rather than his physical fitness growing up. But after years of fearing the gym, he took his first step. And the rest was history. He grew lean with muscle and learned the ins and outs of the gym routine. He found a gym buddy and quickly climbed the social hierarchy. Smart, fit, and now entering his junior year- he was living his best life.

“Richard!” Thomas’s nasally voice cut through the air, “Are you even paying attention?” Beady eyes narrowed behind his thick rimmed glasses.

Richard shrugged, “Sorry, I must’ve zoned out.” He was thinking more about his gym session earlier that day instead of paying attention to whatever nerdy movie Thomas picked, “I’m just not feeling it today.”

Richard and Thomas were friends since middle school. Both unapologetically nerdy, each surviving their fair share of bullying. But while Richard’s interests in fitness blossomed, Thomas remained entrenched in all things nerdy.

“You’re never feeling it anymore.” Thomas lamented, “I’m worried about you.” He looked at his friend closely, “Are you becoming like them? One of those stupid, smelly meatheads?” Richard knew Thomas never approved of his new friends- especially since many of them gave off the same vibes as their former bullies.

“Thomas, look.” Richard started, “I just... We’re obviously very different people now.”

“Not true! We both study Biochemistry! We’re both applying to graduate school in a few months!” Thomas interjected.

“Yeah, but Thomas, I’ve changed. I don’t really like superheroes and Battle Monsters and all that stuff anymore.” Richard sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I mean, its fun from time to time, but you’re obsessed with it.”

“Obsessed?”

Richard nodded, “Look, I need to get going. I have an exam.” He grabbed his backpack and started towards the door.

“Is that how it’s going to be?” Thomas yelled, “So you think you’re better than me too? Just like all those stupid jocks, right?” Thomas continued, “Fine, if you want to be a stupid, smelly jock so bad, go for it! Don’t come crying to me!”

“Whatever.” Richard said, “See you around.”

_________

Richard worked through his thermodynamics exam with ease. It became such a mindless activity that his thoughts wandered to Thomas. They had been close for years. And Thomas gave him an outlet for some of his more nerdier interests. Sure, he wasn’t as interested in all that nerd stuff like he was back in middle school, but Richard did value the time he spent with Thomas. He frowned. Maybe he was just a bit too harsh.  He’d apologize once he got done with his exam. But as he continued to write down the answers to these complex questions, he felt something welling up from within him. Something physical... something...

BUUUUURRRRPPPPP

Richard’s eyes widened and he quickly covered his mouth. He felt his cheeks flush red and looked around the room, noticing a few looks of disgust, as well as a few snickers from some of his classmates.

“Richard?” The professor said, looking up from her book.

“Yo, my bad dude.” Richard’s eyes widened, as did the professor’s, “Whoa, brah! Didn’t mean to say that!” His face reddened even more.

“Richard, please focus on your test.” She said sternly.

He nodded, trying to tune out the snickers from his surrounding classmates, ‘What the fuck was that?’ He thought to himself, trying to regain his composure, ‘Okay... just focus.’

But as he stared at the problems on his exam, he noticed small drops of water appearing on his paper. He raised an eyebrow as more drops appeared on his test, smudging his work.

“What the...?” He whispered, “Sweat?” He rubbed a hand across his forehead, “What the fuck?” He said aloud, again disrupting the class.

“Richard!” The professor slammed her book down.

“Dude, just back off.” Richard snapped back. He heard a few audible gasps from his fellow students and his face flushed red, “Bro, that came out wrong. I don't get why I'm sounding like this, bro.” His face flushed red again and he suddenly stood up and headed towards the door, “I gotta take a breather.” He said. But as he approached the door he could feel the same heaviness in his stomach, “No, no no... buuuuuuuuurrrrrpppppppp.”

He slammed the door behind him, and fled from the classroom.

_________

Richard walked across campus as fast as he could. He needed to get back to his apartment as soon as possible. Or maybe to a doctor. But wherever he went, he just needed to be somewhere private. The young man wiped some sweat from his brow and cringed.

“No way dude, I’m like a waterfall.” He whispered, “Oh fuck, look at my pits.” Dark pit stains rapidly formed beneath his arms and continued to grow larger. Richard stopped in his tracks and raised his arms, taking a deep whiff of his own stench, “Huhuhuh that’s ripe, dude.” He chuckled to himself. It was the judgmental stares of nearby students that broke him out of his train of thought, “I’m sorry!” He whispered, blushing deeply, “I didn’t mean to... burrrrppppppppp.” His face reddened even more.

“Haha nice one bro!” A nearby jock laughed.

“Yeah dude! Been dropping bombs all day.” Richard replied with a grin. He quickly shook his head and ran towards his dorm room, ignoring the jock's attempt for a fist bump.

_________

Richard slammed the door to his dorm room shut and threw his backpack across the room. At this point, he didn’t know what to do. His shirt had soaked through from his sweat and a new manly musk was clinging to his sweaty body.

“Okay, I just gotta go to an urgent care.” Richard whispered.

He walked over to his dresser to change his shirt, and he quickly stripped out of his soaked t-shirt. But when he looked down at his body, something wasn’t right.

“Yo dude, since when did I get abs?” Richard mumbled, “Oh shit, look at my boulders.” He rubbed a hand across his large shoulders, giving them a squeeze and chuckling dumbly, “Huhuhuh why do I need a shirt?” He flexed his bicep and watched as it bulged with strength, “Woah fuck look at that!” He watched as his bicep seemed to get a bit larger too, “Dude... that’s buuuuuuurrppppppp.” Richard chuckled, “Fuckin’ new protein powder. Makin’ my gassy as fuck.”

His plans to visit an Urgent Care were quickly leaving his mind. Instead, he continued to focus on his various poses, and amused himself with each growing muscle. Richard walked over to the couch and fell back onto it, grabbing his phone and posting a new picture of himself on his social media. All the white, he absentmindedly scratched as his massive chest, which was starting to sprout a light dusting of hairs. He grinned as various likes started appearing on his picture, and he felt his cock start to grow. He grabbed his massive cock and started stroking it, moaning with each tug.

“Fuck yeah.” He moaned, “Fuck people would be lucky to ride this dick.” He grinned, “Dick’s dick huhuhuh.” A knock at his door broke his concentration and he groaned with disappointment. His cock remained tented in his pants, but he didn’t care. He opened the door, casually scratching his hairy pit, “Oh fuck, Thomas dude! What’s up?”

Thomas grinned, “Richard?” He asked, “Wow.”

“Impressed broski? And don’t call me Richard. More of a Richy.” Richy grinned, “Come in, bro! Look, I’m like totally sorry about earlier. All that nerd stuff that you like. Didn’t mean to be a dick about it.”

“You don’t have to worry, Richy. You made it quite clear that you’re not a nerd anymore.” Thomas chuckled, “You wanted to be a stupid jock, well now you are.” 

Richy raised an eyebrow, “Stupid jock?” Something about that wasn’t right. Stupid jock? The words kept echoing in his head, “Stupid jock?” He repeated again, scratching his head, “That’s not... I...” Richy grabbed his head and looked at his friend. For just a second, the dull, dumb look in Richy’s eye was replaced by a knowing intelligence. A horrific realization evident in them. But it quickly lost its spark and his eyes dulled, “Huhuhuh yeah, I guess I’m pretty stupid. But doesn’t really matter when you’ve got this.” He grabbed his bulge and smirked, “Dude, you see that pic I posted? You think I could make it on OnlyFans?”

Thomas nodded, “Yes, I think you could. But I ought to go.”

“No wait bro!” Richy said, blocking his path to the door, “I mean... I know you always say you hate jocks. But its ‘cause you’re into us, right bro?” Thomas’s face reddened, betraying his secret, “So like...” Richy smirked and walked up to Thomas, who’s own khakis were now tented, “You wanna star in my first OnlyFans vid?”

_________

Richy stretched his hands above his head and sniffed his ripe pits. His dick twitched at the smell and he grinned. It’d been a few weeks since he posted his first video to OnlyFans. And yet here he was again, rewatching his first video: “buff jock fucks gay nerd.” Without fail, it always made his dick hard. And even though he posted several more videos since then, he always found himself coming back to this one. But even a masterpiece gets dull and Richy pulled out his phone. He ignored several horrified texts from his parents asking why he dropped out of school, as well as deleting multiple invites to interview for grad programs, whatever those were. Instead he found Thomas’s contact info.

“Hey bro.” He messaged, “Be at my place ASAP.” He took a quick selfie and threw in a few eggplant emojis to get his point across.

Afterwards, he tossed his phone somewhere on his bed. He didn’t need to see Thomas’s response. Sure he was stupid, be he did know one thing. No one, especially not Thomas, could resist this dick. And the knock on his door not even ten minutes later was all the confirmation he needed.

[rafayelxsylusho]

Hey love, your LADs fics are 🥵🔥🫠.

If you are accepting requests, could you pls write a College AU with the LADS men?

A study sesh leads to smut (can include love confession if not in established relationship).

Have a lovely day/night~ 💖

I hope I did it right. Enjoy!

College AU with the LADS men 🎓

Part 1: Zaynexreader

TW: SMUT

**Both reader and Zayne are Med students**

Zayne looks up from his textbook, his eyes meeting yours as you walk into his dorm room. His room is tidy, almost clinically so, really different from your own chaotic space down the hall. Zayne has always been the organized one, the responsible one, while you...well, you were something else.

"Your room is still a disaster zone, I take it?" he asks, arching an eyebrow. When you smile and nod, he laughs softly and shakes his head. "I don't know how you manage to live in such chaos."

Zayne's gaze drifts over your textbooks stacked in your arms, his eyes narrow slightly as he takes in your appearance, noting the dark circles under your eyes and the way you seem to be running on pure adrenaline. He sets his textbook aside and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees.

"Tell me you got some sleep last night," he says, there is concern in his voice. "You look exhausted, y/n. I know this semester has been tough on you." he looks at you like a parent waiting for their child to confess to staying up too late. "And your test?" he asks when you don't immediately answer. "How did it go?" Zayne knows you had an important test this morning. He's been quietly supportive, offering to quiz you or just listening as you vented about the material leading up to it.

"I survived," you sigh, as you flop down on the bed across from Zayne's desk. "But I don't think I did as well as I needed to. I swear, every time I think I've got it, I realize there's a whole other layer to learn."

You groan, burying your face in one of his pillows for a moment before sitting back up to look at him "I don't know how you do it Zayne. Don't you ever just want to give up?"

He stands and walks over to his mini fridge, pulling out a bottle of water. "Here, drink this. You look dehydrated." Zayne gives you the bottle before sitting on the edge of his bed next to you. His brow furrows with concern as he watches you drink deeply from the water bottle, his eyes searching yours.

"Y/n, how many hours of sleep did you actually get last night?"

"Two," you say quietly. " Maybe a little more". His expression softens as he listens to you. He knew you were pushing yourself too hard, but hearing the confirmation of just how little sleep you'd gotten hits him like a punch to the gut.

"Lay down for a bit. I'll wake you up in two hours, and we can continue with your study session then." There's a gentle authority in his voice, Zayne's not going to let you talk your way out of this one. He knows you need the rest, and will make sure you get it.

As you hesitate, he reaches out to take the now empty water bottle from your hands, setting it aside on the nightstand. His fingers linger on yours for just a moment, a silent plea for you to listen to him.

"Please," he murmurs, his eyes holding yours. "You can't keep doing this. You need to take care of yourself if you want to make it through this program." His other hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing softly over the dark circle beneath your eye. It's a tender gesture, full of care and concern. He's not just your study partner and best friend, he's the one person who truly sees you, exhaustion and all.

"Fineeeee, whatever you say Dr Zayne"

He watches as you lay down on the bed, your head coming to rest on the pillow. He feels a bit of concern seeing you so drained, but also a sense of relief that he convinced you to get some much needed rest. Almost as soon as your head touches the pillow, your eyelids flutter shut and your breathing evens out.

You startle awake, your heart racing. You're not used to sleeping so deeply, especially not in the middle of the day. As you blink the sleep from your eyes, you become aware of a warm, solid presence next to you on the bed. Turning your head slowly, you find yourself face to face with Zayne, his body next to yours. He must have dozed off while you were sleeping, still clutching his textbook in his hands, now lying open and forgotten. Soft snores escape his slightly parted lips, a light frown etched between his eyebrows as if even in sleep, he's focused on the complex medical diagrams. He looks almost boyish in sleep, the hard lines of his face softening, a lock of dark hair falls across his forehead, and there's a vulnerability to his stillness that makes your heart clench. For a moment, you just watch him, taking in the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the long lashes casting shadows on his pale cheeks. Then, carefully, you reach out and pluck the textbook from him setting it aside. Zayne stirs slightly at the loss of the book, but doesn't wake. In sleep, his hand finds yours, as he settles closer to you. Your fingers intertwine instinctively, and you feel a rush of warmth spread through you at the contact.

You feel the heat of Zayne's breath ghosting over your face. Even in sleep, he seems drawn to you, his hand tightening around yours as if he's afraid you might disappear if he lets go. A soft blush rises to your cheeks at the intimacy of the moment, at the way Zayne's face is inches from your own. Your heart starts to race for a different reason now, a fluttering sensation that has nothing to do with the sudden awakening and everything to do with the man next to you.

You've shared countless study sessions, late night talks, and inside jokes with Zayne, but this...this feels different. More intimate. More charged with a tension you've never dared to acknowledge before. His eyelids flutter, and for a moment you think he might wake. You hold your breath, but he doesn't wake. Instead, he just sighs softly, his breath fanning over your lips. You know you should pull away, give him space, but you find yourself rooted to the spot. Captivated. Your free hand comes up to brush a lock of hair from Zayne's forehead, your fingertips lingering on the soft skin. He's so warm. So real. So...inviting.

You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry despite the water Zayne had given you earlier. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and you see Zayne's eyes flutter open at the movement. For a moment, you're frozen, caught in the hazel gaze that seems to see right through you. Then, slowly, Zayne's eyes focus on you. Confusion clouds them for a moment before a flicker of something else, something hotter, sparks in their depths. His grip on your hand tightens.

"You're awake," he murmurs, his voice husky from sleep. His gaze drops to your mouth, stays there for a long, charged moment. You feel your heart pounding against your ribs, your breath coming faster. The air between you feels thick, heavy with a tension you've never dared to put a name to before. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a sensual caress that sends a shiver up your spine. "How are you feeling?" he asks, but there's something else to his question, a double meaning that makes your cheeks flush hotter. And you know you should answer, should break this moment with a silly comment or a joke but you can't seem to find your voice. You're too busy drowning in the heat of Zayne's eyes too busy wanting...wanting more. Wanting to close the small distance between you and feel his lips on yours, wanting to tangle your fingers in his hair and pull him closer until there's no space left between your bodies.

But you don't. You can't. Because this is Zayne. Your best friend, the one person you trust above all others. The one person you can't afford to mess this up with, so instead of giving in to the temptation, you take a deep, shuddering breath and try to gather your composure. You wet your dry lips again, your voice a bit husky as you manage to choke out an answer.

"I...I feel better," you whisper, your eyes still locked with his. "Thank you for...for letting me sleep." It's a clumsy reply, but it's the best you can manage in this moment.

Zayne's eyes search yours for a moment, as if trying to find the true meaning behind your words. Then, slowly, he nods and starts to sit up, his hand sliding from yours and leaving you feeling suddenly cold. "I'm glad, you needed the rest." He glances at the clock on the wall and frowns slightly. "I'm afraid I may have let you sleep a little longer than we intended though."

He starts to gather up the scattered pages of his textbook, his movements a little stiff, a little self-conscious. It's clear that he's feeling the shift in the atmosphere as much as you are. "We should probably get back to studying," he says, not meeting your gaze as he stacks the pages neatly. "You've got that big test coming up, and you need to be ready." He says it lightly, but there's a tightness to his voice that wasn't there before. A tension that has nothing to do with the impending test.

You nod slowly, sitting up as well and swinging your legs over the side of the bed. You feel a little unsteady, a little off-balance. And it's not from the sudden awakening.

"Yeah," you agree softly. "You're right. I should get back to it."

You stand up, stretching slightly to work the kinks out of your muscles. As you do, you catch Zayne watching you from the corner of your eye, his gaze intense and unreadable. A shiver runs down your spine at the weight of it, and you quickly busy yourself with straightening out the rumpled blanket on the bed, avoiding his stare. "I'll just...I'll just go freshen up real quick" You say, hurrying towards the bathroom, needing to put some space between you, to collect your racing thoughts and calm the frantic pounding of your heart.

Once you are in the bathroom you splash water on your face, and take a few deep breaths, trying to will the blush from your cheeks. But no matter how much cold water you use, you can't seem to banish the memory of Zayne's sleep-roughened voice, the heat of his breath on your face, the way his hand felt curled around yours.

You shake your head sharply, pushing the thoughts away. You can't afford to think like that, not about Zayne. He's your rock, your constant, the one person you know you can always count on. You can't risk destroying that.

Squaring your shoulders, you take one last deep breath and step back out into the bedroom. Zayne is sitting on the bed, his textbooks spread out in front of him, his glasses perched on his nose as he scans the pages intently. For a moment, he looks like a picture of concentration, the very image of the dedicated medical student. As you approach, he glances up, and you see the flicker of something else in his eyes. Something warmer. Something that makes your heart stutter in your chest. "Is everything all right?" he asks softly, a note of genuine concern in his voice. He stands up, taking a step towards you, and you find yourself looking up at him, your breath catching in your throat.

"I...yes," you manage to say, your voice a little steadier than before. "Everything is fine.

"Good," he says, and there's a quiet satisfaction in his voice. He gestures to the bed, "It will be good for us to review the material together," Zayne continues, his voice warm and encouraging. "We can go over the key points and make sure you've got a solid grasp of everything before the test"

He steps closer to you, his hand coming to rest lightly on the small of your back as he guides you towards the bed. The touch is innocent, a gesture of friendship and support "Sit down," his breath stirring the hair at your temple. "Let's get to work."

Zayne watches as you chew thoughtfully on a grape, your eyes scanning the medical text. Hours have passed, and despite the late hour, you're both still engrossed in the material, determined to ensure you're fully prepared for the upcoming test. As Zayne sits in his chair, he flips to a new page in his textbook, his brow furrowed in concentration. When he glances up at you, ready to ask a question, he notices a small, glistening droplet of grape juice on your lower lip.

For a moment, he's distracted, his focus torn between the anatomical diagram on the page and the tempting sight before him. He clears his throat softly, trying to regain his train of thought.

"Y/n," he begins, his voice a little rougher than before. "What are the primary symptoms of acute kidney injury?"

As he waits for your response, Zayne finds himself leaning forward slightly, his gaze still fixed on your mouth. The drop of juice on your lip, threatening to drip down at any moment.

He swallows hard, his heart beating a little faster in his chest. He knows he should look away, should focus on the important task at hand. But he can't seem to tear his gaze away from the mesmerizing sight of you.

Finally, as if sensing his stare, you glance up from the textbook. Your eyes meet his, and for a moment, time seems to slow. Zayne's breath catches in his throat as he realizes he's been caught staring, his pulse jumping at the realization.

"The primary symptoms are...decreased urine output, blood in the urine, swelling in the legs or ankles, nausea, and fatigue." You begin, your voice clear and confident despite the late hour.

As you speak, he watches, as the grape juice slowly slides down the curve of your lip. It leaves a glistening trail in its wake, a path that draws his eye like a magnet.

"And then there's the secondary symptoms," you say, unaware of the effect you are having on him "Hematuria, azotemia, electrolyte imbalances..."

As you speak, he feels a sudden, overwhelming urge to close the distance between you, to lean in and catch that glistening drop of grape juice with his tongue.

When the thought hits him it leaves him momentarily breathless. In this moment, with the late hour and the intensity of your study session, he finds himself fighting with a desire he's long suppressed.

As you wrap up your explanation, Zayne quickly looks down at his textbook, needing a moment to collect himself. He clears his throat, trying to will away the sudden tightness in his pants and the heat rising in his cheeks.

"That's...that's correct, y/n," he manages to say, his voice a little rougher than intended. "You've got a solid grasp of the material. That's impressive."

You smile at Zayne's praise, feeling a surge of pride and accomplishment. The late-night study session had been intense, but seeing the approval in his eyes made it all worthwhile. As your smile widened, the droplet of grape juice that had been perched on the curve of your lower lip began its descent.

Zayne, already on edge and distracted by his sudden surge of desire, doesn't hesitate. Acting on pure instinct, he reaches out and across the short distance between you, his thumb outstretched. In a soft gesture, he brushes his thumb along your chin, catching the errant drop of juice before it can fall any further. The touch is brief but electric, sending a shiver down your spine.

Before you can react, Zayne's thumb trails upwards, coming to rest gently on the plush, soft skin of your lower lip. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and in that moment, the air between you feels charged with a new energy. His gaze is intense, his eyes searching yours as his thumb lightly traces the curve of your lower lip. He's waiting for a reaction, for any sign that you feel it too this sudden, undeniable spark of attraction that's impossible to ignore.

His voice is a low murmur, almost a whisper, when he finally speaks. "You had a little... grape juice," he explains unnecessarily, his thumb still resting on your lip. "I just... I couldn't let it go to waste."

He feels his breath hitch in his throat as your small, pink tongue darts out and laps at the remnants of the grape juice on his thumb. The sensation of your wet, warm tongue against his skin sends a jolt of electricity straight through him, settling heavily in his lower abdomen.

"Now it won't," you say softly

As you hold his gaze, Zayne feels the last of his restraint slipping away. The walls he's built to keep his feelings locked away, crumble like sandcastles against a tide.

Slowly, giving you every opportunity to pull away, Zayne leans in closer. His other hand comes up to cup your cheek, his long fingers splaying gently against the warm, smooth skin. He tilts your chin up slightly, angling your face towards his.

"I've wanted to do this for so long, y/n," he confesses. The scent of his words is tinged with the faint aroma of the grapes you were eating, a heady and intoxicating combination. His eyes flick down to your lips, now glistening and parted slightly from your earlier actions.

"Tell me to stop," he whispers, his voice strained with tension. "Tell me you don't feel this too, and I'll stop. But god, I need to know if you want this as much as I do."

Your heart races as you feel Zayne's breath mingling with yours, his lips now centimeters away from your own. The heat of his skin, the intensity of his gaze, it's all so overwhelming and intoxicating.

"Don't stop," you breathe out, your voice barely above a whisper. It's all you manage to say before you close the final centimeter of space between you, your lips pressing softly against his. The moment your mouths meet, it's like a spark igniting a wildfire. Zayne's lips are soft and firm against your own, molding to the contours of your mouth as if he was made to fit there.

You hear a low groan escape from the back of his throat as you deepen the kiss. His fingers tighten slightly on your cheek, his thumb brushing over the apple of your cheekbone. You press closer, your hand coming up to tangle in the short, dark hair at the nape of his neck. Your fingers thread through the silky strands, anchoring him to you as you lose yourself in the sensation of his mouth moving against your own.

Zayne pulls back from the kiss just enough to hook his hands under your armpits. With a gentle but insistent pressure, he lifts you up and out of the bed, bringing your body flush against his own. As his lips claim yours again, his hands slide from your armpits down to your waist. He grips you firmly, his long fingers splaying across the small of your back as he pulls your curves snugly against the hard planes of his own body.

Still lost in the intensity of the kiss, he starts to walk you backwards, his body pressed against yours, until the soft give of a wall meets your back. He breaks the kiss just briefly as your back hits the wall, long enough to flash you a look that's equal parts hunger and desperation. His eyes are dark, the pupils blown wide with desire, and his chest heaves with each breath he takes.

"You drive me crazy," he rasps, his voice strained and rough with want. "If I take you to bed now, I won't be able to hold back. I'll lose control, and I don't want to rush this."

You close the distance once again and your teeth graze his bottom lip "Please Zayne" you whisper.

Unable to resist your urging, Zayne gives in to your demand. He leans into you, allowing you to tug his shirt upwards and expose the toned, muscular chest beneath. His abs are defined, each muscle group carved by years of dedicated discipline. As his shirt clears his head, Zayne captures your wrists in his hands, pinning them gently but firmly against the wall on either side of your head. He looms over you, his larger frame caging you in, his eyes roaming hungrily over your face and body.

"Please, what? Tell me what you want, y/n. I need to hear you say it."

His hips press against yours, the hard, thick length of him evident even through the fabric of his pants. He grinds slowly against you, letting you feel every inch of his desire. His hand releases one of your wrists to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your swollen bottom lip. His touch is gentle, a stark contrast to the rough, desperate edge in his voice.

"Tell me," he demands, his gaze intense and unwavering. "Tell me what you need, and I'll give it to you. I'll give you everything."

"Zayne," you breathe out, your voice trembling with desire. "I need you, all of you" You feel his hands grip the backs of your thighs, his long fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he hoists you up. He lifts you effortlessly, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist as he pins you against the wall with his hips. Once he feels your legs secure around him, Zayne's hands slide up, his palms skimming over your thighs and coming to rest on your hips. He squeezes gently, his fingers digging into your curves as he holds you in place. Sensing your movements, Zayne leans back just enough to allow you to remove your shirt. As the fabric falls away, revealing your bare skin and the delicate lace of your bra, his breath catches in his throat.

"Fuck" he breathes out, his gaze hungry as it roams over your exposed flesh. Unable to resist, Zayne leans down and starts to place open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. His lips and tongue map out the delicate skin, tasting you, teasing you, as his hands slide up your sides. They come to rest just below the band of your bra, his thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. He looks up at you, his eyes dark and filled with promise, silently asking for your permission to continue.

You reach back, fingers unhooking the clasp of your bra. The lace falls away, baring you completely to his hungry gaze. He takes a moment to drink in the sight of you, your chest heaving with each breath, your nipples pebbled in the cool air of the room.

"Perfect," Zayne murmurs, his voice a low, appreciative rumble. "Absolutely perfect."

He lowers his head and draws one straining peak into his mouth. His tongue swirls around the sensitive bud, teasing it, before he suckles hard. His other hand kneads the soft weight of your other breast, rolling and plucking at the neglected nipple. Zayne's hips press harder against yours, the thick ridge of his arousal grinding against your core.

"Zayne," you gasp, your head falling back against the wall as pleasure courses through you. "Please, I need more." Your hands fist in his hair, anchoring him to you as he lavishes attention on your breasts. Your legs tighten around his waist, urging him closer, silently begging him to take you.

Zayne releases your breast with a wet pop, his lips moving to your other breast to give it the same treatment. He suckles and nips, his teeth grazing your skin, marking you. His mouth never leaves your breasts as he carries you towards the bed, his lips and tongue continuing their relentless assault on your sensitive flesh. He walks backwards and as the back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress, Zayne sits down, allowing you both to tumble onto the bed in a tangle of limbs. He rolls you over, positioning you beneath him. Zayne's hands roam your body, caressing every curve and dip, as if committing your form to memory.

Still focused on your breasts, he kisses and licks, suckles and nips, until your back arches off the bed and your fingers tangle almost painfully in his hair. Your nipples are reddened and swollen, glistening with his saliva, and aching for more of his touch. Zayne pauses in his ministrations, glancing up at you with a playful smirk as he slowly unzips your skirt. As he removes it he takes in the sight of your blue panties adorned with a tiny snowman.

"I wasn't exactly planning on seducing you tonight," you admit with an embarrassed blush, biting your lower lip. "I didn't think we'd end up like this."

Zayne's eyes soften as he takes in the pretty blush coloring your cheeks and the swell of your breasts. He finds your embarrassment endearing, charming even. It's a rare sight, given how composed and put together you usually are.

Zayne shakes his head and smirks "I'm glad you didn't plan this," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "Because if you had, you might not have chosen such...cute underwear"

He glances down at the snowman grinning up at him, then back to your blushing face, his smirk widening into a genuine, boyish grin. "Don't worry, sweetheart. They're perfect. Just like you, but let's get rid of them, shall we?" he whispers, his voice low and seductive "I want to see all of you."

Zayne takes his time peeling your panties down your legs, his fingers grazing your skin. As the fabric slips past your knees, he tosses them carelessly aside, his dark eyes never leaving yours.

When you instinctively close your legs, Zayne pauses, his hands resting on your thighs. "Open them for me, pretty girl," his voice filled with desire. His hands start to slowly push your thighs apart, his thumbs brushing over your inner thighs and sending sparks of pleasure racing through you, and when your legs part for him, his gaze drops to your exposed sex, his eyes darkening with hunger and need.

"Fuck, love," he breathes out, his voice strained. "You're so beautiful. I could look at you for hours." He leans in closer, his breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh, making you shudder in anticipation. He inhales deeply, taking in your scent, before placing a soft, open mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh. His lips and tongue work their way slowly up your inner thigh. He places kisses to your skin, occasionally grazing it with his teeth, sending jolts of pleasure and pain straight to your core. He takes his time, savoring your taste and scent, drawing out your anticipation and desperation. The closer he gets to your aching, empty sex, the more your hips squirm and cant upwards, seeking his touch.

"Zayne, please," you whimper, your fingers tangling in his hair, trying to urge him on. He nips at the sensitive skin where your thigh meets your sex, making you gasp and your hips jerk involuntarily. He places another kiss, higher this time, his lips brushing against your lower lips. At the same time, he pushes your thighs further apart, opening you up to him completely.

"Tell me what you want," he urges, his breath hot against your cunt. "Tell me how you want me to touch you."

"Please, I need your mouth on me. I need your tongue, your fingers, something."

Without warning, he dives in, his mouth latching onto your sex with a hunger that steals your breath away.He kisses and sucks, his lips moving against your sensitive flesh as he explores every inch of you. His tongue delves between your folds, stroking along your slit and dipping teasingly inside you.

"Mmm, you taste even better than I imagined," Zayne rumbles, his words muffled against your sex. He looks up at you, his eyes glinting as he holds your gaze. "I could feast on this sweet cunt for hours, my love."

He then seals his mouth over your clit, suckling hard as he slides two long fingers deep inside you. He pumps them slowly, curling and twisting, stroking that spot that makes you moan his name. Your back arches off the bed as you cry out, your head thrown back in ecstasy. Suddenly he pauses, looking up at you with a playful glint in his eye. He smirks, his fingers still buried deep inside your throbbing sex. "How about we make this interesting, love? We can practice what you've learned today."

He starts to withdraw his fingers slowly, his thumb brushing over your clit and making you gasp. "Let's start with a simple one. What's the medical term for the heart?" He watches your face, his fingers poised at your entrance, waiting for your response.

"Fuck, it's c-cardio," you stutter out, your voice breathless and shaky with desire.

"Good girl," Zayne purrs, rewarding you with a slow lick along your slit. "What's the primary function of the kidneys?" His fingers dip back inside you, pumping shallowly, teasing you as he waits for your answer. Your hips twitch, trying to pull him deeper, but you force yourself to focus.

"F-filtration and secretion," you manage to say, your words coming out in a rush.

"That's right," Zayne murmurs, placing another lingering lick on your clit before suckling gently, rewarding your correct answer. "The liver's main function?"

"Nghh, m-metabolism and detoxification," you gasp, your head falling back as pleasure courses through you.

"Mmm, excellent. The brain's primary function?"

"I can't....Zayne please..." you pant, your fingers gripping the sheets as you fight the urge to grind yourself against Zayne's face. "I...its controlling and coordinating actions and..and ...activities,"

He wraps his lips around your clit and gently sucks it, his fingers pump faster, curling to stroke that special spot inside you with each thrust. You can feel your release building, your walls starting to flutter around his fingers.

"Lungs' primary function?" Zayne asks, his voice a low rumble against your sex.

"Res...respiration," you cry, your hips bucking up to meet his hand as your climax fast approaches.

"That's my clever girl," Zayne praises, sealing his mouth over your clit and sucking gently once again.

Zayne feels your walls fluttering and clenching around his fingers, knowing you are teetering on the brink of your climax. He looks up at you with intense eyes, his voice low and urgent.

"This is the most important question, my love. How many chambers does the heart have?"

His fingers pump faster, stroking that sensitive spot deep inside you with each thrust. His thumb rubs firm circles over your clit, the pleasure almost too much to bear.

"Four!" you scream, your voice breaking and cracking with the intensity of your impending climax. At your desperate scream of the correct answer, Zayne dives back in, his mouth latching onto your sex with renewed hunger. His tongue circles your clit exactly four times, each rotation perfectly measured and deliberate.

As he completes the fourth rotation, you finally shatter. Your body convulses as your orgasm crashes over you like, your sex clenching and fluttering wildly around his fingers.

Zayne groans, feeling your release gush over his tongue and fingers. He works you through it, his mouth and hands never stopping their assault, drawing out your pleasure until you collapse back onto the bed, boneless and spent.

Zayne crawls up your body, his eyes filled with satisfaction and pride. He cups your face, capturing your lips in a kiss that steals your breath away. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and it only makes you feel more desired.

"Good girl," Zayne praises. "You did so well, my love. I'm so proud of you."

You try to sit up, but Zayne gently but firmly presses you back down onto the bed, his hands resting on your shoulders. He shakes his head, giving you a playful smirk as he tucks you in snugly under the covers, pulling them up to your chin.

"Where do you think you're going, love? You need to rest now," Zayne says softly, his voice filled with a tender warmth that makes your heart flutter. He brushes a stray lock of hair from your forehead, his fingers lingering to caress your cheek.

"You've had a long day. I want you to sleep now, sweetheart. Let your body recover and recharge." He settles in next to you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and pulling you close, spooning you from behind. He nuzzles into your neck, inhaling the scent of your hair as he holds you possessively, protectively.

His hand rests on your stomach, his thumb rubbing gentle circles, a comforting, lulling motion. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your back and the soothing sound of his voice soon has you both drifting off into a peaceful sleep. Unaware that once you both become respected doctors in your respective fields, you find yourself transported back to this day every time someone mentions the four chambers of the heart.

It could be during a lecture, a patient consultation, or even a casual conversation with a colleague. The moment the words "four chambers" leave their lips, you're instantly transported back to that bedroom, with Zayne's head between your legs, his tongue circling your clit in perfect, deliberate rotations as you screamed out the answer that brought you to the most intense orgasm of your life.

You'll feel a rush of heat to your cheeks, and you'll have to bite back a smile, glancing over at Zayne to see if he was also transported to that moment. More often than not, you catch him looking at you with a knowing, smoldering gaze, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. You know he's thinking about the same thing.

I

[wakeup01]

Playing It Straight

“Roomieee. I need your help with something.” I hear the telltale high pitched cry from my twinky roommate Yuan’s bedroom. The last thing I need right now is his whiny ass distracting me.

“What it is? I have a date with this hot chick in half an hour. You better have clothes on this time dude.” My hand pushes the door to his room ajar and I see him laying down on the bed facing away from me. There was some upbeat trashy pop song playing on his sound system. Yuan begins to gyrate to the beat. “Don’t dance. No dancing.” I order bluntly, turning off his music.

There was being gay and then there was Yuan, who seemed to make it his whole identity. It was bad enough his room was colour coded in pastel purples to match his dusty lavender hair. But he had now painted the whole door too.

“It’s my big butt, I think there’s something wrong with it.” He announces with fake concern, rolling his hips on the bed sheet - revealing more of his smooth slim body than I ever dared wish to see. I make a internal note to ‘mace own eyes later’.

Yuan was not as innocent as he liked to make out and had on numerous occasions attempted to trick me into indulging in his fantasies. Gifting me a bright crop top and calling it a ‘fashionable tank top’ - it certainly turned heads at the gym the one day I wore it, or inviting me to a progressive club with the promise of scoring ‘lots of ass’. And the less said about ‘locktober’ the better, that was NOT a halloween costume. Only last week he had convinced me to listen to some gay as fuck audio tapes while I slept; obviously that crap didn’t work on a man like me. His justification always being ‘you’ll like it, I swear’. This one was a bit on the nose, even for him.

“Dude we talked about this, I’m flattered, really. I get it, I’m a gay bottoms wet dream. I can’t blame you for eying my superior meat.” I puff out my well built chest, barely contained in my tank top. “But fuck, it ain’t gonna happen.” I attempt to not make eye contact with him as he looks over his shoulder at me.

“No, like seriously. Something feels wrong, can you pleeease juth take a looksee. Pretty please.” He pulls down his shorts and moons me as I shield my eyes. It’s like the sun, you’re safe if you don’t look directly at it, right? Internal note: ‘buy more mace’.

“Serious like when you said we were in a ‘mandatory hand holding zone?” I hear muffled giggling coming from his pillow. “Bro it’s probably from all the things you shove up it.” I shudder, trying not to picture THAT in my head. “I’ll look but only if you promise me that you’ll drop that ‘I know you’re secretly gay bullshit.’ My friends at the gym heard that crap last time.”

“Hehe. Ooo thuch a manly jock. Geez, I pwromise. Meathead.” Yuan winks at me and I hated him for it. Hated the weird way it made me feel in my chest.

I sigh loudly for effect and bend down until the cleft of his…cheek is at eye level. I felt so self conscious, how on earth did he talk me into this? I look at my chiseled body just to remind myself, yes I am a man. A masculine man. God, here we go. My eyes briefly glance across his—ew—his raised butt before I quickly look away.

“Bruh I don’t see a thing. It’s a mans butt. Congratulations.” What the hell am I even looking for? I’m sat on the floor checking out a dude’s…posterior. And for what?

“Come on, look clother.” Yuan insists with a slight lisp, curving his back and pushing his rear higher.” Again, I look at my thick biceps, yes, still a man.

His hands pull at his buttocks and slowly part them, revealing his tight hole to me. Woah. One glimpse was all it took. I should have recoiled but instead I was fascinated. I’d never seen a man’s hole before, it was different…

I hear him say something to me but whatever it was, it didn’t seem too important. I couldn’t stop staring, it was like looking into a black hole, and the more I looked the more enraptured I became. It was distorting my worldview, it made me feel like I had been missing out on something all these years.

“Helloooo! See anything?”

“Uuhhh. Maybe.” I mumble, my head getting closer to his rear.

I pull away his hands and replace them with my own, laying my fingers across his round cheeks and spreading them wider. Wow, it was…dare I say, enticing? The rest of the room faded from my mind as my eyes fall deeper into his needy, winking hole. I lean in and my nose makes contact with his crack. I can’t help myself, I inhale and suck up his scent, it acts like an immediate aphrodisiac. My cock wakes up, poking against the edge of the bed.

“You have been lithening to your programming for me then. Good Meathead. Remember when you were the stuck-up clever one, going to college? That was thuch a bore.”

“Say what bro?” College? Did I…? Nah. That smart shit wasn’t for me bro, my head was like beef central. I haven’t a clue what he’s talking about but I was happy to be a good fucking meathead. Something in my mind told me I was supposed to be. It made me even more pumped about the gym session tomorrow, I gotta bulk up my pecs.

“Make sure to take lots of selfies tomorrow ‘bro’, I need to see your gains.” I continue to breathe in the sweet aroma emanating from his behind. What was I doing again? “So, anything there dummy? How about now?” giggle “Isn’t it likth so big.”

He wiggles his hips and pushes back into my face, my lips making contact with his boy pussy. My eyes go wide. Fuck, this was soo gay. I should be revolted, why am I still down here? I could get up and walk away whenever…whenever I wanted to. Suddenly my mouth felt parched, like I had spent a week in the desert. It became clear where this was going. I’m not sure if I could even stop myself at this point, one tiny thing could tip me over the edge and disintegrate my own self image. It was as If I was having an out of body experience, seeing myself pressed against him. I wouldn’t, I was stronger than this. I was straight. Straight as an arrow… straight as a…

“Eat up jock.”

F—fuck. My lips open and my tongue presses up against his rear, dragging up and down between his cheeks and then swirling around his inviting hole. It was like a dam breaking, once I started I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. He tasted too good. Ready for the main course, my tongue dives deep into him and begins to eat him out in earnest, my mouth sucking at his entrance like I’m slurping on a ice cream filling.

While giving him a very manly rimjob I think of a solution to our problem. I finish up indulging in his sweet cake and pull my face out, slapping his jiggly butt cheeks.

“So what’s the issue?” He asks impatiently.

“It’s empty for one. Huhuhu. But I can fix that bro.” I say confidently, rushing to remove my underwear so I can finally nut inside him.

I push his skinny back down against the bed and line up my monster cock with his lubricated hole. Yuan moans into his pillow like he should. I slide into him with ease and flex my arms, feeling proud at ‘conquering’ my roommates hole.

“Good Meathead.” He praises between loud panting. “Mmm. But I thought you were straight.”

“I am. Unff. Just helping a bro out. No homo. Though I do need to see if there’s anything wrong with your throat after I plant my seed in your hole.”

______________________________

The next day.

“Man that was a fucking lit workout.” I exclaim, marvelling at my bulging muscles. I tense my arms and see my veins pop, sweat dripping to the floor. “Though you losers sure focused a lot on your glutes today. Hey—aren’t you ‘queens’ gonna shower?” I turn as my gym bros stop behind me in the locker room.

“Well… we spoke to your roommate about your progress yesterday.” Xavier states, removing his damp muscle tee - his dark shiny skin reflecting the harsh lights from overhead.

Yesterday…for some reason my memories from the day before were a blur. For the life of me I can’t remember what happened. There was some strange taste lingering in my mouth that had been making my dick hard all day. My roommate was certainly in a suspiciously good mood this morning too and made some strange comments about me ‘being hungry for more’.

“About what bro? That Yuan can kiss my ass. Huhuh. Come on, stop checking out each others dicks and let’s go!”

“Uh see, he thinks you’re now ready to be our…” I’d never seen him so unsure of himself before, I roll my eyes at him and slam my locker closed.

“Y’all acting like a bunch of girls.” I swear if Yuan is back to spewing his gay bullshit again…

“Go on. Say it.” One of the others insists, nudging Xavier’s shoulder.

Xavier hesitates and then looks away from me, his cheeks flushing red. “There’s uh, there’s something wrong with my…butt…so could you?” The others fail to stifle a laugh.

I do a double take as Xavier turns and points his toned ass at me, his jockstrap framing it like a wrapped gift. “What the fuck? Bruh what are you doing? Put that shit away.”

“Be a good Meathead.”

I see a flash of my roommates butt cross my minds eye. Uhhh. My cock throbs at the image. Before I know it my legs are kneeling behind my friend, what am I doing? My body certainly seems to be one step ahead, my hands grab at his muscled legs for support. “What the actual fuck. Guys…” I’ve never felt so embarrassed, how am I ever gonna live this down?

A hand pulls on the strap hugging Xaviers left buttock and lets go, letting it snap back into place, a slight jiggle vibrates over his firm rear. Was it my hand? I couldn’t even tell.

“Holy shit. I can’t believe those tapes actually worked. He’s come a long way since he was that scrawny nerd, thinking he was above everyone. Now he’s dumber than all of us. We just need Yuan to join us next. Damn someone make sure to record this” It was hard to take in what they were saying, my mind was fixated…elsewhere. One of them leans down to my side and points their phone camera at my zoned out face. “Dude, we stink…I’m next after you.” Someone pats my back as another hand holds my shoulder in place. “Nothing more manly than licking the salty sweat off a bro’s butt.”

No….

Xavier bends forward, his pert dark cheeks pulling apart - sweat glistening on their surface. And then I see it. What my body craved. His hole. Everything falls into place, my mouth watering at the sight, my eyes entranced. I could no longer deny what I wanted, deny the inevitability of what I was about to do. The depravity would be immortalised on camera too, my dumb face shoved in a mans ass. Oh fuck.

The perfect black void nestled between his tight buttocks seems to suck away my shame as I lick my lips. “So manly.” I repeat to the crowd that had gathered around me. Mmm. Rimming a man’s ass was almost as good as fucking it. I wanted a taste of all the guys, their shiny sweaty bodies, their musk. It was my place in the group, I was their meathead after all. My cock was already throbbing at the thought. Maybe Yuan was onto something with this whole ‘gay’ thing. Yeah, let’s try going full homo. Huhuhuh. Anything for the bros, bro.

Looking down at me confidently, Xavier grips the back of my head.

“Clean my hole bruh.”

_____________________________

A few days later I check in on Yuan to see his progress after a few nights obliviously listening to his ‘jocking’ tapes. Dude, I’m going to enjoy watching him slowly bulk up and dumb down. He’s sat up in bed casually tugging at his cock, mouth agape. The heavy thumping bass of trap music is blaring from his speakers. His room is a complete mess.

“How’s it hanging lil bro?”

“Just…mm—wanking.”

“Can see, Meathead. Hung and dumb, nice. I think you’re about ready to join us at the gym.”

“Hmm. Roomie, I—I need your help with something. It’s my big dick…”

“Huhuhu, there’s something wrong with it, let me be a bro and give you a hand with that stick.” I climb over him and wrap my lips around his cock.

“Thuck…ahem. Fuck yeah brooo!”

[10yrratiolover]

Some of my, oh so many, Ratio Headcannons

he knows a bunch of languages, all of which he can speak fluently

^ this includes Latin

cleans his rubber ducks VERY thoroughly to make sure they don't mold

he HATES getting sweaty, it's the only thing he doesn't like about hot baths and working out

has very strict morning and nightly routines, gets genuinely upset if they're disrupted

I think he and Argenti would have great philosophical debates about beauty (please hoyoverse please see my vision)

just straight up hates bright lights

^ prefers warm lighting over cold

I think his skin is naturally clear but he's definitely got some kind of skincare routine anyway

missed out on a lot of social opportunities during his teenage years due to his studies and such, don't think he would have had many friends (at least not his age)

big fan of parallel play, mostly because he gets caught up in his head so often, he's completely content doing different things in the same vicinity

he also uses Aventurine (or others) as a canvas of sorts to throw ideas and thoughts on, he'll start explaining something, and mid explanation he'll run into the answer, thank whoever he's talking to even though they didn't do anything, and hurry off to write it down

frequent bruises around his collar/bottom of his neck from his alabaster

migraine sufferer, me too stay strong king (actually I think this is canon?)

he VERY rarely cancels his classes, it could be flooded up to his doorknob and he'd send out an email to his students like "Today's lecture is still on."

^ this includes when he's sick or otherwise unwell, he could be barely standing upright and he'd still give his lecture

he can't listen to music with lyrics when doing anything because it distracts him (he'll start zoning in on the words and stop doing whatever else he was doing (did I word this right? idk it happens to me all the time))

he sometimes wears the alabaster at home if sensory issues are really bad that day

^ he verbally shuts down sometimes, which sucks bc he's got a lot to say but he typically just writes things down instead

does actually throw chalk at his students, not as hard as his in-battle attack obviously but his aim is always on point

^ his perfect aim also applies to literally anything he throws, his keys, his phone, if he wants to throw something somewhere it's getting there

sometimes completely submerges himself in the bath and just holds his breath for a bit to fully clear his head

^ he can hold his breath pretty long so he sits under there for a bit (freaked Aventurine out the first time he walked in on him doing it tho)

call me crazy but I think he'd be good with kids

[redflagshipwriter]

Red Hot Ghouls 10 2/2

Masterpost

Jazz’s roommate Tiffany was fine and all that, but Danny didn’t feel that he was missing out on much when he phased from the stairwell directly into the little ensuite bathroom that connected to Jazz’s bedroom. He could hear quiet conversation from the living room– the TV, maybe?

But Jazz had clearly locked her bedroom door before she left. Danny made a note that Tiffany definitely wouldn’t be finding him and then he starfished on his sister’s bed. He set an alarm for 1 am with a smidge of guilt. It probably wouldn’t wake her up. Maybe she wouldn’t even stay home for the night, she had a boyfriend, right? Or was she the one with the girlfriend who worked downtown?

Whatever. Danny slept like the dead. In fact, he slept through his alarm and woke up to see 7 messages from Jazz. The one showing on the screen was “DANIEL FENTON Tiffany thinks my bedroom is HAUNTED because someone is snoring in there.”

“Oops,” Danny said under his breath. He opened up the clock app and made sure that the alarm wasn’t going to go off again. He quietly pulled open Jazz’s drawers to find a clean pair of socks and a hoodie that didn’t have his university name written on it.

The first thing he pulled out was a baby pink hoodie that had SQUAT written on it in white all-caps print. “I sure do,” he said to himself, and changed into it. It was a lie. He did not lift weights. That was Jazz’s hobby.

He did enjoy the thought of how pinched her face was gonna get when she saw him in her clothes. Danny had a little chuckle over it before he phased back out and nearly fell down the staircase. His arms wheeled for balance.

When he caught himself he looked around to be sure no one saw. The zone was clear. Danny smirked.

“Another perfect landing for the Phantom.”

Oh, duh. That was a thought. He didn’t have to hoof it.

It was dark enough that he reconsidered his plan to walk to Arkham on foot and ducked back into Jazz’s place to transform where no one could see the light show.

He made good time across the stretch of ocean that separated Jazz’s dream job from the rest of Gotham City. He knew where to go, based off of insider information.

Jeremy Waters had landed himself in Arkham, rather than standard criminal housing, because he would not shut the fuck up about the debt the Ghost King was going to owe him and how he would repay it in the blood of everyone who crossed him or whatever. He was in the low security end, given that he was just some dude, but Danny still spend a moment steeling himself to wake Jeremy and (ugh) talk to him.

‘He’s going to take this as positive feedback,’ Danny thought glumly. ‘He’s going to think he’s gotten something in his obsession with me. He’s probably going to be even more annoying.’

He wasn’t entirely sure that Jeremy’s focus on gifting him spouses wasn’t projection. The guy was kinda obsessed.

The weight class difference between the two of them was just absurd, metaphysically speaking. Jeremy was a 52 year old Poli-sci graduate who had ditched a middle of the road career in the Foreign Service at age 40 and started pursuing immortality. Midlife crisis and all that. He had a bit of boxing experience, but that was it. He was just a human guy.

Danny was king of the dead and he could shoot lasers from his hands. He was strong even for a ghost.

‘It’s pathetic that he creeps me out still. It’s just such bad vibes to be pursued by this old guy who won’t take no for an answer.’

Still, gotta do what you gotta do. He blew frost into the room to set a mood and scramble the fuck out of any surveilance equipment. Then he grimaced his way through calling out, “Jeremy. Jeremy. Jeremy!” until the jerk woke up.

…and immediately started genuflecting. “My lord Phantom,” Jeremy whimpered. His whole body was shaking.

Danny wished it was fear. But no. It was excitement, like he was some freaky little purse dog. He shuddered. “What did you do differently in your latest summoning?” he asked. His voice somehow came out cold and superior.

He could see Jeremy’s dazed grin even when the guy was still looking at the cell floor. “I am so glad that you ask, my lord,” he babbled. “I increased the number of ritual participants from 7 to 12. I changed from Kosher to Pink Himalayan salt. I was initially going to offer my humble self as a sacrifice-”

Danny’s stomach lurched.

“But when the Red Hood burst in, I knew that it was a sign!”

The red what now?

“Surely someone whose aura is so soaked in death and brutality would be a flavorful meal for one so horrendous and deathly as you, my Lord,” Jeremy babbled on.

Danny made a face.

‘He thinks I’m going to eat the sacrifice spouse?’ Danny paused. ‘...Was he lying, or does he want me to eat him? What does he think will happen if death eats him?’

He had a morbid curiousity that made him want to ask. But it was probably best not to know. He needed to sleep at night.

“It was the Pink Himalayan salt that was powerful enough to draw my attention,” Danny told Jeremy, because he really didn’t need any good information. “I reject your offering. Stop trying.”

He left immediately in hopes of not hearing the wailing and gnashing of teeth behind him.

[spenceragnewfics]

CLOSET MAKEOUT? i need details !!!

I ABSOLUTELY LOVED WRITING THIS!!! It was so fun and I hope you all love it!!

BABY I’M YOURS | Spencer Agnew x F!Reader

TW: Allusions to alcohol, making out, hickeys, 

Word Count: 1.4k

Description: During a Smosh company party, Spencer gets desperate to have some alone time with Y/N.

One thing about the people at Smosh, they love to party. It’s kind of surprising with most of them being introverts and liking to be alone. Y/N guesses it’s because they’re all like family which makes it easier but it’s not for her to understand, just enjoy.

The company had just finished a huge project and so everyone was getting a well deserved wrap party. Ian and Anthony fitted the bill for it all as a way to say thank you and to keep up morale as this was the first big project since the company had become independent again.

The drinks have been flowing for hours along with food and plenty of music that has kept people on the dance floor. Y/N is currently there dancing with Chanse, Erin D, Angela, and Courtney, enjoying being with some of her closest friends. 

Not too far away is the group of Shayne, Spencer, and Marcus V (Chanse’s boyfriend). The three are watching the group with different loving expressions, their significant others not too far away, enjoying themselves. “Marcus, I’m shocked you’re not over there with Chanse. You two usually kill the dance floor at these things.” Spencer says before taking a sip of his drink.

Marcus shrugs, “Eh, he seemed excited to dance with his girls right now. Also it’s cool to be in the partner circle now.” He says, making the two other men laugh. “Yeah, it was just me for a while until Y/N grew the extra ball to ask Spence out.” Shayne teases as the aforementioned man rolls his eyes.

“Okay, whatever, easy for you to say, Mr. Golden Boy. Cast members dating is one thing but crew dating is another.” Spencer says, leaning against a wall. “Yeah, but I’m glad you too finally broke the tension. It was killer, dude.”

“Yeah, I know, I was in it.” Spencer deadpans, making the two men next to him laugh. It was true, Spencer had liked Y/N for years but never took a chance because he would always psyche himself out with the whole crew members dating thing. Thankfully, Y/N told him how she felt, after many many talks with Courtney about if she should do it or not.

Zoning out of the conversation, Spencer focuses his gaze onto Y/N. He watches as her body flows with the music, her head back enjoying the music as if she’s in another world. Maybe she is as she looks over to her boyfriend, a silly smile on her face as she continues dancing.

The look brings his own smirk and he sets down his drink, “I’ll be back in a bit, guys.” He says, not caring to hear a response as he walks over to the dancefloor. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulls her against his chest as he leans down to her ear “Having fun, little peach?” He whispers in her ear before kissing her neck. The feeling of his lips making her giggle, “Very much, is there something I can help you with?” She asks as she leans her head back onto his shoulder.

“Yeah, you can come with me.” He says before grabbing her hand and walking away from the dance floor. “Spence, where are you taking me?” Y/N asks, them getting farther away from the music makes it easier for him to hear and the excitement is clear in her voice.

“Somewhere private, need to be alone for a bit.” Is all he says as they continue farther and farther away from the party. Looking around, he spots a closet and opens the door. He lets her in first before coming in and closing the door. “So what’s this all-Hm!” Y/N starts to say but is cut off as Spencer kisses her roughly.

His hands are cupping her cheeks as he pins them to the farthest wall. Her hands find place on his chest as her hands make fists with his shirt to keep some leverage.

The room is dark, not light except the small sliver coming from the door frame. That doesn’t stop the couple as the two only become more intertwined as moments pass.

Spencer moves his hands down to her waist, squeezing every few moments while Y/N has one hand tangled in his, once, nicely styled hair that is becoming messier as the seconds pass. Her other hand is on the side of his neck, gently scratching the back of his neck which gives him chills. 

Moving his lips down, he kisses her jaw then makes home on her neck. She sighs happily at the feeling, the sensitive skin becoming a lovely fire with his lips searching the territory.

Starting to leave open mouth kisses, he finds the most sensitive part of her neck. The attention to the area makes her whimper as he starts to suck and lick, making a mark to show the world who makes her feel good, loved, and safe.

“If you keep going like this, I think we’ll have to worry about staying quiet.” She teases as he continues leaving marks on her neck. He hums before pulling away, “I don’t we’d have to worry, it’s loud enough out there and no one would come down here anytime too soon.” He sounds like he is basically suggesting and she can tell the biggest grin is on his face.

She uses this moment as her opportunity to push him against the opposite wall. He lands with a gentle thud before he feels her body on him, “I thought it was time to switch it up a little.” She says before kissing him.

Their lips move together in a passionate furry as he pulls her as close to him as he can. Needing to feel her all over him, like he’s addicted which he just might be. Her lips move down to his neck, open kissings being the way of travel down before she starts to leave hickies in her own right on him.

The sounds of his groaning and moans make edge her on. It’s sounds that not many people have heard and it’s something she treasures and values so much during their time alone together.

Once she seems satisfied, her lips move back to his. His hands land on her hips as she starts to unbutton his shirt. Y/N starts to slide the shirt off his shoulders when a knock sounds on the door, both of them stopping suddenly. “Spencer, Y/N, are you two in here?” Someone asks, it sounds like Chanse.

Before either of them can answer, the door opens and light floods the room. Standing in front of them is Chanse, Angela, and Erin. The couple looks at them shocked as the three’s jaws drop. “Chanse, what the hell?!” Y/N yells, “You didn’t even give me or him a moment to say anything.”

“I-I-I just-” The boy stutters out, almost speechless for once. “You three, leave now.” Spencer says, using his stern director voice. Something he has developed since getting his promotion a couple years ago. “Yeah, yeah, we were just about to. Sorry!” Erin says quickly as Angela starts to laugh. The door closes but Spencer leans over to turn on the light.

“Welp, that just ruined the mood.” He jokes, rubbing his partner’s hip. “Ruined the mood? Love, you should know me better than that.” Her face pulls into a cunning smirk. “But we should probably head home, don’t want another cast member or worse Ian or Anthony walking in.” Y/N says as she removes herself from him.

“Yeah, I like showing you off but that’s a bit much.” He says as she starts to button up his shirt. “Hmm, you do dress up nice when you want to, Spence. I like this look on you.” She says, wrapping her arms around his neck when his shirt is buttoned up.

“I’ll dress like this more often if you want.”

“No, I like your George Lucas look more.” He rolls his eyes as she laughs, “I do not dress like George Lucas!” He stresses, all she does is tap his chest with a teasing smile.

“If you say so, baby Lucas.” He groans as she takes his hand. The two of them leave the closet before heading to the exit for a lovely and fun night at home without curious co-workers trying to interrupt.

[bunbun-mochi]

Jealousy - Queen of Onychinus

Sylus x MC

Warning: fluff, Sylus threatened someone. Just pure fluff.

Word Count: 1601, no proofreading

Preview: Sylus and you went on a vacation, far away from N109 Zone to get some new views. It was great until some girls started to hit on your husband. But Sylus only has his eyes on you.

"Sylus," I called out to my husband while flipping through the magazine. We are on a cruise for our vacation. Sylus said that we could get our very own cruise ship but I thought it was more fun with other people around.

"Yes, sweetie?" Sylus said without looking up from his documents.

"What's the difference between 'I like you' and 'I love you'?"

Sylus paused and looked up from his document. "I thought it's pretty self explanatory. The first one is more of an enjoyment and appreciation of someone while the second one is more intament with more intense affection to someone." Then he smirked, "Are you asking me to say 'I love you' to you?"

"No." I said plainly.

Sylus raised an eyebrow. "Enlighten me, why did you ask this question."

"Because I wanted to know if you like or love me."

Sylus stood up, walked toward me, and gently took my ring finger while raising his left hand showing the ring on his finger. "What do you think?"

"I think you like me. Because if you do love me, you wouldn't be working on our vacation." I huffed.

"Oh, so this is what it's about." Sylus chuckled. "I wasn't working, I was looking at the designs for your dress."

"Doesn't matter. It's still working. I need you next to me, holding me, and spend your time with me."

Sylus kneeled down on one knee and kissed the back of my hand, "yes, my queen."

I giggled, "Now, that's better. Let's go do some activities!"

Sylus stood up, "Yes, yes, whatever you say, my lady."

It was hard to decide what to do on a cruise. I tend to avoid outside because Sylus eyes are sensitive to the sunlight. I don't want to crazy activities like rock climbing because I know Sylus is disinterested in it and I'm not a huge fan of those activities. So we decided to take a cooking class. Sylus and I enjoy cooking together and I thought it was fun.

The cooking class was... not as great as I thought. There was a huge problem. My husband is the center of attention. Especially to the ladies. I can understand why. He is tall, muscular, handsome, and has a deep and sexy voice. He's like nearly all women's dream man.

I couldn't help but to feel a bit jealous. I know Sylus only have his attention on me. But I absolutely do not like other ladies batting their eyes at him, trying to get his attention.

"Hello there. Are you with someone?" One girl asked.

"Yes, my wife," Sylus answered nonchalantly.

"Do you want to hang out with us after this class?" a group of girls asked.

"No, I'm with my wife." Sylus answered without even looking at them.

I sighed, "This isn't fun anymore. I need a drink."

Sylus chucked, "This early in the day?"

"Shush you, you drink your whiskey as soon as you wake up."

"Such accusations. Have you seen me drink whiskey as soon as I wake up?"

I clicked my tongue. "No, but you do drink early."

"No, I drink during the evening."

"Which is your morning."

"So does that mean right now is my bedtime?"

I gasped. This man! I had fallen into his trap! "No!"

"Oh, dear. I am now confused." Sylus smirked, clearly enjoyed my reactions.

I huffed and change the subject, "It's lunchtime. I'm hungry."

Sylus chuckled and kissed the top of my head, "Whatever my wife says."

Lunchtime was a lot better. No eyes eyeing my husband, no ladies asking my husband out.

"Do you want to watch a theatre next?" I asked.

"I want to do whatever you want to do," Sylus answered, sipping on his red wine.

"But what if I picked out something you won't enjoy?"

"As long as I'm with you, I'm enjoying every moment."

His answer made my heart skip a beat and heat creeping up my face. None of this goes unnoticed when Sylus is here. He smirked, "Did you fall in love with me all over again? Sorry, I already have a wife."

I playfully slapped his arm and couldn't help but smile. "You're unbelievable."

"Too bad. You should've thought that before marrying me."

"Whatever. I'm going to use the restroom first."

Sylus nodded, "Can I watch?"

I rolled my eyes, "No, pervert."

When I got back from the restroom, my mood immediately turned sour. Sylus is now, once again, surrounded by women.

"Are you here by yourself?"

"I'm free, would you like to hang with me?"

"Want someone warm your bed?"

Sylus looked very uncomfortable and disinterrested.

My dear husband, you owe me one.

I walked toward Sylus and asked, "I'm going to watch a theatre. Would you like to watch it with me?"

Sylus' face lit up by the sound of my voice. He chuckled, "Would love to."

The ladies looked bewildered on how I can get Sylus to agree so quickly. I felt pride swell up in my chest. I grabbed Sylus' hand and quickly left the restaurant.

"You're right, we should've gotten our own cruise ship." I frowned.

"Really? I'm starting to enjoy this."

I stopped and crossed my arms. "Why? Because ladies flock to your side?"

"No, but there is one woman-"

My head snapped toward him, "I dare you to finish it."

Sylus smirked, "There is one woman who tends to get jealous very easily. But she also acts like a knight in shining armor, saving me from those people. She looks very sexy when she's angry. Like right now."

"You're lucky you're a sweet talker."

"I'm just stating the truth." Sylus took my hand and interlocked his fingers with mine. "The theatre is going to start soon if we don't hurry, wife."

I felt a smile creeping up my face and I tried very hard not to smile. Sylus chuckled at my facial expressions.

When the show ended, it was already early evening. It was a bit early for dinner so I proposed that we drink until dinner. We were standing by the rails that are exclusive for the VIPs, watching the sunset while we took sips of our drinks. I leaned onto Sylus and he got his arm around my waist. I know very well that Sylus loves moments like this. Where we just enjoy each other's presence.

"I want ice cream." I whispered, breaking the silence.

Sylus chuckled, "Why are you whispering?"

"I didn't want to ruin our moment."

"There's ice cream at the floor below ours."

"Ok, ok, I'll be right back!" I pecked his cheeks and I quickly rushed downstairs.

Sylus smiled as he watched his wife scrambling downstairs.

"Is she your sister?" A voice said, completely ruining the moment. Sylus' smile immediately faded.

"My wife."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know you're married." Sylus glanced over to the woman standing next to him. He move slightly further away from her. She did not get the message and scooted closer toward him.

"Your sister, oh sorry, I meant your wife. Your wife doesn't seem anything special."

Sylus' eyebrow twitched. "You got some nerves to speak of that about my wife."

She giggled, "I'm just stating the truth. She... doesn't have that, you know, hourglass body. Her face looks very mundane. Her-"

Sylus looked down at her threatening, "My wife has the body and the face of an angel. If you want to talk about mundane, there is one standing in front of me right now that is very mundane."

The woman frowned, "That's not very nice."

"Neither were you when you went criticizing my wife. My wife is my everything, I don't care what her body is like or how her face looks. I love every single part of her. So do me a favor and leave my wife and me alone. Or else."

The woman trembled a bit from Sylus' aura but decided to keep a brave face. "Or else what?"

Sylus smirked and lowered his voice, "I had killed men who dared to touch my wife. I had tortured people. If I kill you, you're just another body that is holding up the throne that I had for my wife. Do you understand me?"

She shakily nodded and quickly walked away. Sylus brought his glass to his lips, very annoyed with this situation. Anyone who dared to hurt his wife should die. That includes himself.

Over the railing, Sylus saw a familiar body, trying to swiftly move along the deck, with an ice cream bowl in her hands. He smiled at her clumsy movement.

Whatever she does or says, it's always beautiful in his eyes. Sylus became enchanted by this woman that he was lucky to have as his wife.

"Sylus!" His wife stepped up the stairs and ran toward him, out of breath. "I got you a piece too!"

Sylus raised an eyebrow, "There's only one bowl and one spoon."

She beamed, "Yes, you're sharing it with me." She took a scoop into her mouth. "Mmm, it's so good. Try one!"

Sylus leaned down and deeply kissed her. Tasting her mouth, the ice cream that lingered in her mouth. He slowly break off the kiss and licked his lips. "Yes, its very delicious."

His wife looked at him with wide eyes and a shocked expression. Then she pouted, "I meant the ice cream!"

Sylus smiled, "Sure, I'll taste some from your lips. It's more delicious this way."

His wife's entire face went red, "SYLUS!"

Sylus chuckled. He doesn't care about what his wife looks like. As long as she gets to enjoy life with him.

dividers, templates, headers, and banners are from @uzmacchiato

[kawoala]

DRIVEN BY ADRENALINE suna rintarou. chapter 010 ; sorry.

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২ 𓂅 ࣪ ೨ ; 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 (866)

২ 𓂅 ࣪ ೨ ; 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 (last episode of the season guys [probably], profanity, apologies, minor mention of bad past, forgiveness but not lightly yk, terushima bails on runa but it’s kind of funny - sorry to my teruna truthers, also i’m not too sure i like the way i ended this - like not the confession of it but the actual words that ended this chapter 😭)

“I’m so sorry for what I’m about to do.”

Your head moves before your eyes do, looking up to where Runa now stands in front of the door. You furrow your brows, mouth parting slightly in confusion. She takes a deep breath and opens the door, then slips out and pushes someone inside.

Oh. That’s why she’s sorry.

Rin replaces Runa in front of the door now, hands awkwardly shoved in the pockets of his sweatpants. You’re astounded. You sit up in bed, blanket falling off your top half just a bit, and stare at him, eyes blank. 

“What are you—”

“Can we—”

You press your lips together, forming a thin line and nod towards him. “Go.”

He licks his lips, opening his mouth to speak, but then hesitates and closes his mouth. “There’s—” he cuts himself off, eyebrows pinching together in the middle. “I needed to talk to you.”

“So you used my roommate?” Your eyes narrow almost involuntarily and the words feel foreign in your mouth— you’re not used to being mean to Rin.

“She’s my cousin before she’s your roommate, Y/n.” Your stomach drops to your stomach because, yeah, he’s right. Your eyes dart away from him, zoning out into the fabric of your blanket. “I didn’t mean to… Can we just talk like grown adults?”

You scoff, but don’t look up. “Grown adults don’t ghost a girl they just kissed and then get into a random fist fight because she rode with a different guy.”

It’s silent for a long time. Your eyes are glued to the blanket, his eyes are presumably glued to the side of your face. You can practically hear the gears turning in his head. He clears his throat and, for some odd reason, you look at him.

“I’m sorry.”

“You already said that.”

“I don’t…” He scratches the back of his neck. “I don’t say that a lot. You and Runa are the only people I’ve apologized to in the last ten years, probably.”

You stay quiet, waiting— and hoping— for him to continue.

“It’s hard for me to, uh, express how I feel because—” once again, he cuts himself off, this time groaning in frustration. “This is so dumb. Not, uh, not this, not you. I’m— I don’t tell people what I’m feeling because my dad and shit. It’s stupid, whatever. It’s just hard for me, okay? I’m sorry for ghosting you for a week, I just— Runa told you that the shit I do is dangerous, and that’s not an excuse, but it is dangerous. I don’t want you to be in danger because I like you. I like you and I don’t want you to get hurt or some bullshit like that.”

You bite the inside of your cheek as he talks. You heard from Runa about Rin’s dad, but hearing it from him makes it a little bit more real.

There’s a feeling at the base of your throat— the feeling one gets when they’re about to cry— but you swallow it and take a deep breath.

“I’m a grown woman, yes?”

“Yeah, but—”

“I am a grown woman,” you repeat sternly. “I can take care of myself and I definitely do not need you to protect me.” You take a pause, noting that he’s now looking down at his feet, like a child getting lectured. “That being said,” he peeks up at you, eyes hopeful, and you sigh, climbing out of your bed. You kind of forgot that he’s so tall, so when you walk closer and have to crane your neck, you almost laugh, “I… guess I like you, too.”

He looks up fully now, staring into your eyes like you hold the secrets to the universe, like he could stare at you for hours and not get bored. It takes everything in you not to shiver.

“Okay,” he says with a nod. “Okay,” he repeats, taking a deep breath. “What, uh, what do we do now?”

“Wait.” You hold a hand up in the space between the two of you. “I just want to say that this is not me just forgiving you, okay? What you did was bad and it really hurt my feelings. I don’t mean to talk to you like a child, but you understand that it was wrong, right? Like, I know you wanted to keep me safe and whatever, but you should have just told me that. Do you get that?”

“Yes.” His answer is immediate, his nod firm. “Yes. It was fucked up and I promise to never do it again.” There’s a pause— from you and him. “Does this mean you’ll never ride with fucking Oikawa again?”

You raise your brows, giving him an incredulous look that makes him laugh. You open your mouth to respond to him, but a knock on the door cuts you off.

“Hello? Can I come in now? Terushima bailed on me and I’ve been standing out her for twenty fucking minutes.”

You walk over to the door and open it, hand on your hip, eyes narrowed. She gives you an apologetic smile and shrugs. “At least you guys made up?”

“Right,” you hum, rolling your eyes.

২ 𓂅 ࣪ ೨ ; 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

@sahrii , @cherrysurf , @heartmaddie , @jpegarchives , @vertejay

@tiramizuloz , @gumims , @mybelovedvi , @chaotic-neutral-ig , @usbrous

@iheartamora , @iluv-ace , @xavlyzn , @reocidal , @mysticstrawberryballoon

@h0n3y-l3m0n05 , @aethersluvrr , @smiithys , @rriwyu , @twiishaa

@kissunday , @ilovejeansosomuch , @anqelkoz , @yiooobb37 , @renardiererin

@pookalicious-hq , @sunnyskiezzzz , @sharkissm @massacremars

[mi-i-zori]

A Tiny World

CoD - 141 x Snail (OC/Fem!Reader)

SYNOPSIS : Snail really likes to play Animal Crossing to relax. Turns out, Ghost does too.

WARNINGS : None. But please read the Author’s Note below.

Author’s Note : Snail is an OC that can be read as a Fem!Reader - I do my best no to describe her too much, but may sometimes say that she’s small (height) and has long hair.

I do not give anyone permission to re-publish and/or translate my work, be it here or on any other platform, including AI.

OC Masterlist

Main Masterlist

A Little Snail Under the Rain - Masterlist

Playing Animal Crossing is Snail’s way to escape the world whenever she can’t do or focus on anything else.

At the beginning, her first goal is to fill the museum to the brim - which she does pretty quickly, allowing her character to sit on a bench in front of the exhibits and enjoy the music playing in her ears. The aquarium is her go-to place to fully relax. Sometimes, she even falls asleep, leaving her little persona to bob her head left and right while watching the fishes.

When she really wants to empty her mind, she focuses on building her own little world. She’s quite indecisive about the theme she wants to follow to decorate her island, which leads her to divide it in multiple « regions ». Each one has an aesthetic that progressively gives way to another one, like a natural border that allows her to create a smaller theme in-between.

To go with these regions, she’s made different characters. They, too, live in a house and are dressed to fit a specific theme, and she enjoys crafting stories for each one of them. Her favourite house is like her own little museum, filled to the brim with curiosities of all kinds. Insects, fishes, plants, skeletons… The main room looks like an old apothecary shop, and a part of her longs to be able to make her own apartment a real version of this virtual house.

Ever since he stumbled upon her playing quietly in the common room, Ghost has been sharing this moment of peace with her, watching her play, learning about the game and the little world and characters she’s bringing to life. He rejected her offer to create his own character in there, but it doesn’t stop him from sitting next to her and throwing a few glances at the screen while reading or watching TV, or fully focusing on it while sipping on a cuppa.

« You sure you don’t even want to try playing a little bit, LT ? » Is what Snail keeps asking every single time - and, at some point, Simon gives in.

He finds that he really enjoys fishing the most, hunting bugs being a close second. Snail excitedly explains every single mechanic of the game to him, and the roles end up being reversed. She’s now the one watching him play as he keeps catching the most expensive things for her to sell as if he’s been doing this for his entire life, and he quietly listens as she blurts out random trivia about whatever fish or bug the little character is showing off.

There’s a moment when a neighbour actually manages to steal the expert’s target, immediately digging their own grave. Simon now sees a mortal enemy in them, and is ready to unleash hell on their life whenever he can. Snail taught him how to use the net as a weapon, causing him to whack the poor fellow on sight, despite her asking him to not be too mean. She likes this neighbour - it’s a frog, after all, and they’re nice to her. She does her best to keep them on her island, making it up to them after Simon’s spent at least an hour bullying them.

To try and salvage what’s left of her friendship with that neighbour, Snail introduces him to the islanders she actually wants to move away.

« LT, this one said the custom mushroom dress I made for myself wasn’t fashionable. Can you please help me unleash Hell on them until they leave ? »

« This guy put his house on the beautiful patch of rare flowers I’d made for my new zone. It took me weeks to get them all and now I have to remake everything ! »

« I don’t vibe with this islander. They’re mean to everyone, and made my best friend sad. »

« Equip your net, » is what he always says in return, settling comfortably on the couch before grabbing the controller.

Simon never realised how satisfying it could be to whack the characters of a cute video game on the head in-between a few sessions of fishing. So much that it’s become a little ritual now.

Though he still adamantly refuses to create his own character.

[byoldervine]

Motivation For Writing

Getting Off Your Butt:

1. Aestheticise it. Let the light in through the curtains, turn on your fairy lights, lay a blanket over your lap, light some candles, whatever you need to do to feel like a writer. The right vibes can go a long way

2. Picture that one scene. There’s almost always a moment you’re super excited about that basically inspired the whole book. Picture it, play it out in your head in full cinematic fanfare, gush to yourself about how cool it is and how everyone will love it, picture a future fanbase going nuts for it. You might get excited enough to go back to writing

3. Set a word count goal. During NaNoWriMo this year I think I wrote more than I ever have in one go. The thing that kept me coming back was the desire to not fall behind. I ended up with ~45K words after some complications irl caused me to drop off in the final few days, and that’s all just because I was adding up the 1667 a day word count goal and realising where I needed to be at to keep up. I definitely can’t stay as rigid as I did with 1667 words every single day, but seeing that you’re only a few hundred words off of a goal is super motivating - just be sure to set realistic, easy to achieve parameters for just general use, like 1000-2000 words per week. I know 200 words per day is a popular one for people trying to establish a writing routine that can’t dedicate forever to the craft

Maintaining Motivation:

1. Writing sprints. Writing sprints are a godsend for me, I like to set myself up in the living room with Abbie Emmons’ writing sprint video on. The video lasts two hours and is broken up into two parts; 25 minutes to write and 5 minutes for breaks between writing, so four 30 minute sprints overall. Having the timer and countdown with peaceful music and an aesthetic background is both relaxing and encouraging, as well as giving me a specific time for how much longer I have to push through. It’s easier for me to say “Okay, only ten more minutes, then you can take a break” then it is to say “Just keep going, we’re not stopping until I say so” which is too arbitrary for my brain to accept

2. Give yourself a choice. If you’re struggling to keep your focus, come up with a finish line and tell yourself you don’t have to do any more work once you’ve reached that point. Finish the paragraph, go for another five or ten minutes, keep it up until your next scheduled break. Whatever sounds realistic and doable without being overwhelming. And once you’ve met this goal, ask yourself if you still want to stop. With any luck, you’ll have gotten back into the zone and will choose to keep going. Maybe you’ll want to take a quick break but you’ll come back later on. And maybe you’ll decide that now actually is a good stopping point. Just remember that, if you do still want to stop, don’t force yourself to keep going. You can’t strike deals with yourself if you know you won’t keep your word and all you’ll end up doing is burning yourself out, which will lead to even less writing getting done

3. Try a new angle. If you can’t be bothered to write anymore, is there anything else you can do for your book? Plotting, editing, worldbuilding, character sheets, one-shots all that sort of thing can still be productive for your book while still being different enough to give your brain a slight respite. It also means less work in that particular area later on

Afterwards:

1. Organise. Clean up your workspace and put everything away so it’s nice and neat for when you come back to it. Or if you don’t need to pack things out the way, set it up in an aesthetically pleasing way so it will tempt you back next time. Let it give you the writer vibe

2. Take care of yourself. Get a drink, have a snack, walk about, stretch your limbs, take a breath, cuddle your pet. Something that gets you away from straining your eyes looking at text for a bit. This is also a good time to reward yourself if positive reinforcement is something you use on yourself. If you always feel shitty after your writing sessions, you won’t want to go back to it

3. Positive reflection. Make sure to tell yourself you did good, even if you didn’t get as much done as you would’ve liked or it isn’t up to a standard of quality you’re aiming for. That can all be fixed later on, and you’re infinitely better off than you would’ve been if you didn’t do it. Be proud of yourself. Tell yourself you’re proud of your hard work and your dedication and your effort. Remind yourself that this is a fun thing you like to do. Marvel over how insane it is that you’ve gotten this far - not many people do - and that you’ve got all this tangible work to prove you’ve accomplished something so many people wish they could pull off. If this isn’t fun overall, there’s no point

[zae-heeyyy]

Chiaroscuro

Summary: You're very fond of silk scarfs and Arthur Morgan. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader Word Count: 1,555 Tags: fluff, developing relationship, Horseshoe Overlook, kissing, affection

a/n: It's been 10 years since I've written and published any type of fiction, so I'm a bit out of my comfort zone. Also learned that they mostly used "scarfs" instead of "scarves" in the 20th century so I wrote accordingly. Let me know if you enjoy; thanks for reading!

( ´˘ᴗ˘)♡(´ ❥ `✿)

chiaroscuro: an Italian term used in art to describe the contrast between light and dark, often associated with dramatic lighting.

You let yourself indulge in one of the few simple pleasures you could afford: silk scarfs. Your clothing trunk was full of them; they were light and didn’t take up a lot of space, something you had to think about in your line of work. The often patterned and bright pieces of fabric were soft and delicate, two things you frequently wished you could be if your life had gone differently. You didn’t want to admit it, but you cared about looking pretty. You didn’t like to go out of your way to style your hair or put on makeup daily, so you settled on scarfs. Still, you didn’t feel like you were easily noticed, like Mary Beth or Molly, but you’d caught the attention of the only one you’d care to, Arthur Morgan. 

Arthur had started to notice your growing collection. He invariably knew when you were wearing a new one, always taking the time to acknowledge it. “New scarf?” He’d ask with his brows raised, or “That’s a nice one.” Sometimes, he’d tease you, “We’re gonna have to get you a whole wagon for all those scarfs.” More seriously, he had started complimenting you, “looks mighty fine, miss,” he’d say, tilting his hat. You’d flush and thank him shyly, and the two of you would go about your separate ways.

Then, the cowboy started seeking you out in the mornings, leaning casually against the wagon where your clothing trunk and scarfs were stored. The two of you would share small talk while you picked out your scarf for the day. He would smile and nod in approval of your choice, no matter what it was, and then he was gone again, disappearing like a whisper in the wind. Once, he leaned over you, grabbed a specific scarf from the pile, and held it out, “That one’s my favorite,” he’d say, making you work to maintain your composure when you were beaming inside. 

After a week or two, your communication was much less vocal. It was intense eye contact and shy smiles and nods. He’d silently look through your scarfs, pick one, and wrap it around your neck for you. He seemed so confident in the moment but would scratch his chin and look away right after, finding some excuse to swiftly depart. His sudden lack of confidence embarrassed him, but you found it endearing.

Finally, the tension had built. Arthur was wrapping your scarf around you like he’d started to do, and you grabbed onto his hands as he finished tying the knot. Both of you paused, staring intently at one another. You lifted up on your toes just as he bent to reach you. It was hard to say who kissed who first, but you’d never been kissed so gently and tender. You wondered if you’d made him want to be that way-- gentle and tender, words no one would usually use to describe the outlaw. You could’ve kissed him forever, but you had to breathe, and he had a job to do. But you’d been giddy, and your heart would flutter whenever he was around; it also ached for the following day when you’d have your moment with him again. 

Some mornings, he’d be there waiting before you’d even gotten completely dressed, still in your shift and bloomers from the night before. He’d hand you a metal cup of coffee, and you’d stand close together, shoulders touching, and you two would go on about whatever came to mind. When you couldn’t waste any more time, he’d pick out your scarf and tie it around your neck. You’d share your anticipated kiss before he went off on whatever errands Dutch wanted him to run for the day. 

You’d found him sitting alone another day, seeking solace from camp with his back against a large rock. His head was dipped into his journal, sketching so intensely that he didn’t notice your approach. You’d only caught a glimpse of pencil markings on the page when he looked up, saw you, and closed it. You’d wonder what he was always writing in that thing, but you respected him enough not to ask. He reached out for your hand and pulled you down to sit with him, not letting it go for the entirety of your conversation. You and he would spend hours behind the boulder, lost in conversation. The mystery of the leather-bound book’s contents would fade away, consumed by memories he’d share with you.

But you’d find out sooner than later by accident. Arthur hadn’t returned to camp in a few days, which was typical. However, it wasn’t normal for him to stalk straight to his tent on his return. His routine usually involved stopping by the donation box or sitting by the fire and, lately, seeking you out. You discovered him in his tent, digging through his satchel, his brows furrowed in frustration. His face softened as you approached, and he looked at you, scratching the back of his neck.

“Lost my damn pencil,” the brooding man murmured, looking around his tent.

You helped him look around his tent and through his satchel, taking the leap to dump all its contents onto the cot. Cigarette cards, documents, herbs, feathers, and his journal fell onto the bed. You’d started to give up when you noticed the gray tip of the pencil sticking out of the journal. You flipped the book open without thinking, too caught up in being the solution to his problem to realize you were about to invade his privacy. As you went to grab the pencil from the crease of the journal, your eyes fell on the bookmarked page. The markings on the paper were so detailed and intricate that you couldn’t help but draw your eyes to them. You’d gone quiet, and he turned to face you. His eyes landed on the open journal briefly before you closed it hastily. Handing it back with the pencil on top, you murmured a quick apology. You looked away from him, putting the contents of his satchel back and going to stand. He gently grabbed your wrist as you tried to leave, making you stop in place. Without resistance, you found yourself guided to the cot, where he sat down, pulling you beside him. His face was soft but riddled with thought as he opened his mouth to speak.

“I—“he paused, searching for the words but decided to show you instead. In your full view, he opened the book, smoothing the pages over his lap. Above an inscription, he’d drawn a flower. You recognized it instantly as a printed flower from a scarf you wore a few days before. Your fingers reached to absent-mindedly touch the fabric around your neck. Then the words caught your eyes and made them almost fill with tears, “That girl and her scarfs bring color to my dull, dull life.” You laughed and wrapped your arms around him. As surprised as he was, he wrapped his around you and held you close for a while

The gunslinger had been less shy after that, keeping the journal open when you’d come to sit beside him behind the rock. He’d sometimes tear a page out and hand it to you or leave it for you to find. You’d started finding them all over the camp. He’d leave one in your clothing trunk, caring to leave several if he knew he’d be away from camp for a while, or you’d find one tucked under your pillow when you went to lay down for the night. The sketches were always so identical to your scarfs that you knew exactly which scarf he was thinking about when he drew it. You’d study the drawings, noticing all the elaborate lines. You wondered how the images stuck in his mind so easily, but he’d confessed to you that every part of you stuck in his mind, always. 

You woke and walked to the wagon one day, but he wasn’t there. In his absence was a small box wrapped in twine with a bundle of English mace sticking out of the top. Your name was scrawled across a tag in his handwriting. You opened it to a pool of plain white silk. “Pure as you” was written on a piece of torn paper on the inside. You beamed but left it in the box and tucked it away with all your other scarfs. 

Arthur returned to camp in the evening just as Pearson had served the stew. As he approached, he smiled at you, but his smile fell when he noticed your unusual lack of a scarf. 

“Did you—“he started to ask, but you threw your arms around him and cut him off with a kiss. 

“‘Course I did,” you pulled him to the spot at the wagon and held the box to him, “Just been waiting for you to tie it on.”

His mouth formed into a slight grin, his chest rising and falling with a deep chuckle.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, darlin'.”

He enveloped you in the scarf, sealing his gesture with another affectionate kiss. As you sat together at the fire, you were engulfed by another type of warmth–– your feelings for Arthur. Though neither of you had said it yet, you knew you loved him, and he loved you too.

[adragonprinceswhore]

The Way I Feel Under Your Command

Chapter II: Magic Between You and I Prev I Next I Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Reader (she/her pronouns)

Summary: Aemond stays true to his promise, and hates himself for it. Our dance instructor does the best with what she's given, even if that is Westeros' most off-putting and pretentious Valyrian.

Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, Aemond is a condescending a-hole (but you already knew that), Aegon slander, sexual tension, dry humping, thigh riding, blue balls but make it AFAB

A/N: Chapter one and two are basically a deep-dive into the psyche of Aemond in this modern setting, but I promise some dirty dancing at the end of this chapter 🕺🏼 and just imagine how much better the smutty, sexy stuff will hit when we’ve built their dynamic 😙 bear with me! Enjoy!

Aemond would never admit to his brother that his goading got to him. 

He wouldn’t even fully admit it to himself. How different would his life be if he hadn’t allowed his temper to be dependent on Aegon? If he didn’t feel like being berated by his older brother sent him back to when they were kids and he’d do anything to impress him? To make him see him as a brother, an equal, and not a plaything? 

He shakes his head to kick the thought away. 

His head’s still pounding, just as it had an hour ago when he woke. Noticing how strange his tongue feels in his mouth, he realises that he’s thirstier than he’d been in a long time. 

Fucking Aegon. 

He’d never be here, walking towards the boathouse, if not for his brother dragging him to that party yesterday and force-feeding him alcohol. 

Pushing him out of his comfort zone. 

Making him feel less than.

As always.

There were several reasons Aemond didn’t like to get drunk. 

One was the gradual loss of control he felt as the alcohol made his usually sharp mind slow down.

Another was his temper; something he’d disciplined himself to control after years of practice. 

As a child, he’d been the kind to cry when his brother and nephews ‘jokes’ got to him, or when he scored low on a dressage test. 

Wearing his frustrations on the outside only taught him how awful being looked at with pity can be. That specific type of vulnerability and shame you feel when someone looks at you and thinks: “poor thing”. 

Therefore, he’s grown used to being in control of himself; of his moods and urges. 

Until he’s drunk. 

He spots her where she said she’d be, right next to the boathouse, stretching her legs. She’s definitely in better shape than him; hardly appearing different from yesterday evening. 

Locking eyes with her, she seems surprised to see him. 

Did she expect me not to come?

To Aemond’s recollection, she’d practically begged for a dance partner. He had said yes, mostly due to his intoxicated state, but also because of Aegon’s insults. 

She smiles as he comes closer, “How we feeling today?”

“Fine”

“Okay”, her smile falters at his short, unfriendly answer, 

“Let’s get started then”

Her routine is simple; an original piece she’d put together to showcase her greatest strengths as a dancer, 

“Despite only making the reserve list”, she jokes, but the forced smile doesn’t reach her eyes. 

She gives him a quick run-through of it; going into detail about the meaning behind her dance, how she got started, why she chose the movements she did. 

Aemond barely listens. 

His head is throbbing, pain elevated by the sharp sting erratically stabbing the nerves behind his left eye. His features don’t change as he half-heartedly listens to what she says, occasionally nodding. 

Whatever, can’t be that hard. 

“You’re posture is great”, she compliments him, eyes scanning him critically, “try to relax your shoulders a bit more” 

He does as he’s told, yet the tension in his back doesn’t fully ease. He can’t truly shake his internal stiffness; he’s always on alert. 

She continues to guide him, freely grabbing his hands to place them on her body, causing him to briefly recoil at the sudden heat of her skin. 

How long has it been since someone touched me like this? 

“I think we can finish here for today. Great work!”

Her hand is still holding onto his as she gives him an approving smile. There’s something different about how she looks at him now; she seems more relaxed, like they’re familiar with each other. 

“I really appreciate you doing this for me”

Aemond feels his cheeks heat up. His mouth is drier and palm, still in her grip, damper. 

He jerks away from her, causing her hand to slip out of his. His head is still pounding furiously, and without a word, he turns around to go back to the Targaryen villa. 

Every corner of Red Lake Resort is carefully curated. 

It may not seem like it; in the way the vibrant flowers appear to grow widely on the sides of the houses, stretching all the way up to the pillar-enclosed balconies reminiscent of a time when the castle ruins, now hosting the elite of Westeros each summer, used to host House Crane of the Reach. Still, every flower, every branch, every leaf, was there for a reason; for the ‘Monet-esque’ beauty created by the slight chaos of stoney ruins, colourful greenery, and sporadic ponds scattered between the large buildings. 

There is an understanding that, at Red Lake, residents can forget the stressors of their everyday lives. For the esteemed guests 'comfortable’ enough to afford a stay there, such stressors might include running an enterprise, hosting a charity gala, or berating an underpaid maid for not polishing the silver thoroughly enough. 

It was a place where ‘the customer is always right’ got hammered into the staff with such ferocity that they could almost feel the nails of submission penetrate their skulls. 

The perfect place for those who did not wish for the hierarchy they sat at the top of in their everyday lives to sway even in the slightest. 

A comfortable place for the current head of Targaryen Holdings to spend sparse time with his family. 

Ever a man of comfort, Viserys Targaryen’s distaste for change means that the Targaryen-Hightowers always stay in the same villa, big enough to host not only the family but any guests they may invite. 

Aemond always stays in the same room, located at the end of the hallway of the second floor, tucked in a corner. He had chosen that exact one since it was the only room dark enough for him to comfortably hide in when his head hurt from an old eye injury he had since childhood, and one of the privileges of being the ‘broken’ child was that he got first pick of trivial things such as room assignment. 

Aegon and Daeron share the room next to his, and Helaena’s is next to theirs.

As an anxious child, the only downside of his secluded corner had been the nights he woke up in cold sweat, mind plagued with night terrors and head pounding. Then, the short distance walking past his siblings' rooms to his mother’s felt colossal. 

Now he revelled in the privacy, preferring to stay in and get lost in his thoughts as often as possible. Spending time with his family was just too draining. 

Yet for some reason, today he craves distraction from his pounding head and strange inner sensation. And if there’s something that can pull him out of his thoughts, often by force, it’s his family. 

Most times when he sought a distraction, he’d bury his head in work, preferring to stay ever productive. 

He knows that there’s always something that needs to be done; some nearly disastrous hypothetical fire threatening to burn the Targaryen empire down to ashes. 

That’s one of the reasons why Viserys insists on staying in the same villa each year; the large office on the first floor is the perfect place for him and Otto Hightower, Aemond’s grandfather, to spend the entire holiday working. 

It has always been Otto that’s been keen on having Aemond join the company, proudly laying a hand on his shoulder as he showcases the skills he’s acquired to please his father. Viserys, on the other hand, is not as easily impressed, nor does he seem to think much of Aemond’s diligent work. 

In his current state, however, Aemond knows that he won’t produce the results he’d want, and that kind of embarrassment and potential spiralling into an afternoon filled with dwelling in self-hatred was better avoided. 

Entering the large open-plan kitchen and living room of the villa, he spots the family menace snoring with an open mouth on the sofa, TV turned on to some brain-dead reality show and an open bag of crisps resting on his stomach. 

His older brother is somewhat of an enigma to Aemond. How could someone with so many opportunities, so much handed to him on a silver platter, fumble everything given to him so badly? 

Aegon’s always been volatile, and prone to getting into trouble, but his destructive tendencies have mellowed out somewhat since he promised to not do drugs anymore, a lifestyle change prompted by his mother telling him she’d revoke his access to his trust fund. Aemond knew better than to smile at his brother's misery in front of his mum, but seeing her scold him for his pathetic life choices felt so gratifying he’d had to hide the grin breaking out across his face behind his hand. 

Something about seeing Aegon miserable made Aemond feel a sick sense of satisfaction, like the one you have after indulging in too many sweets and consequently left feeling like you’ll be sick. 

Overindulging in self-righteousness.  

He spots Helaena in the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of sparkling water and placing it in the crocheted bag hanging off her shoulder.

“You alright, Aemond?”, her gentle voice asks, smiling faintly as she observes him.

“Yeah”, he says, too exhausted to even begin to explain the whirlwind of occurrences happening in the last 12 hours, “Where are you off to?”

Her eyes light up in an instant, “Oh, I heard from Grandfather that the large oak tree we saw by the restaurant yesterday is positively teeming with bugs”

Aemond spots the art supplies in her bag; acrylic pastel colours, brushes of varying sizes and a block of thick, white paper. 

“Mind if I join you?”

“Actually, I need some time alone. You understand”, she replies in her usual sweet tone, leaving her younger brother alone once again. Helaena had always been blunt, maybe even a bit too much so for most people’s liking. Aemond knows that she means no harm by it, she just prefers to communicate her needs frankly with him. 

Still, he wishes she’d had entertained him by allowing him to join her, if even just for an hour. 

His search for distraction continues, leading him to wander around the large villa in hopes of running into his younger brother. 

When Aemond left his room at 6.45, looking more similar to a ghost than his usual carefully curated image, the only other family member awake had been Daeron, always cheery and on his way to meet up with some guys he’d acquainted days prior for an early morning rock climbing session. 

He’s probably not even back yet. 

Aemond curses himself for the second time today. His usual instinct would be to go with his younger brother; to do sometimes productive and fulfilling rather than attending a party filled with senseless idiots looking for no more stimulation than that of an easy fuck. 

Fucking Aegon! 

His footsteps grow harsher as he heads up to his secluded room to grab his pack of Marlboros, half-running down the stairs again to quickly get out of the villa and onto the gratuitous patio. 

His mother hates when he smokes too close to the inside living space, but seeing as she’s not here, he doesn’t bother to walk the extra metres he usually grants her. 

Instead, he slouches against the facade of the extravagant holiday home, gazes out over the resort and inhales the strange mixture of cigarette smoke and roses. The entire front of the building is covered in heirloom rose bushes, causing not only the patio, but the kitchen and living room as well, to bathe in the familiar scent. 

To Aemond, roses mean summer homework, family dinners, swimming in Red Lake, looking for bugs with Helaena, playing tennis with Daeron, listening to Aegon chat his ear off, 

And her. 

There she is again. Surrounded by a group of elderly guests dressed in flower-printed dresses, linen suits, and trilby hats. 

She’s in the arms of some melting, old skinbag, with a belly so round it prevents the geezer from truly pressing her body against his. 

The smile on his face causes Aemond’s hungover stomach to flip, and the hand he’s placed on her waist seems to want to squeeze her flesh a bit more than necessary. 

She laughs at something he says, giving the old man a friendly pat on the shoulder. 

To Aemond, it looks like she enjoys the attention. 

Revels in it. 

He crushes the bud of the cigarette against the white, stone wall, exhaling a low scoff before turning around. 

Figures. 

“So, yesterday I noticed you were a bit stiff” 

She has to stretch her neck to meet his eyes; one lilac and one deep blue. 

Does he have heterochromia? 

They’re in the same place, at the same time. This morning, however, Aemond has pulled his long, Valyrian hair back into a low bun, causing her gaze to shamefully flicker down to his sharp jaw and strong, masculine neck. There’s one delicate, blue-green vein running down the side of it; from his ear to his shoulder, and for some reason the sight of it makes her flustered. 

His eyes stay trained on hers, waiting for her to continue. 

She already feels like she has a good grasp of who he is. 

He is a man of few words, preferring to answer in grunts and hums. 

He is intense, evident from his stare never leaving her; evident in how it emits from him like smoke; latent vehemence. 

It excites and frightens her in equal measure, a strange cocktail of sensations and impressions swirling in her stomach after only knowing him for less than 72 hours. 

She’d initially gone with her regular approach to new dance partners; flattery in the form of exaggerated praise, so that the inevitable criticism doesn’t sting as badly. 

It had not worked on Aemond Targaryen, however, who’s stoic face and nonchalant attitude did not waver or crack down even after the 20th “Great work!”

Might as well enjoy the straightforwardness of going right into the critique. 

“When you dance you need to be precise”, she explains, 

“You need to have good posture, and be aware of your entire body, but it still needs to seem like you are just naturally moving this way out of coincidence”, her voice falters somewhat as she sees his eyebrows raise ever so slightly in question, 

“It's not supposed to look as calculated as it is”, she clarifies. 

Aemond hums. The non-verbal standard reply almost irks her, but she bites her lip and forces it into a smile. 

If she had any other option; any other person who could help her with the audition, she’d probably thank Mr Targaryen for his time and ask him to go back to being sulky and rude at parties. Regrettably, he happens to be one of the few men at Red Lake who’s under 60 and has the physique and the durability to actually do her routine. He doesn’t need to be perfect, he just needs to be her sturdy backdrop. 

Besides, she’s more than used to demanding dance partners. 

He’ll budge too. 

He has to. 

“You know at the party… Did you see how we were dancing?”

“Hm”

“It’s a great way to get you to loosen up and really use those hips, you’ll need to learn how to move like that for the routine to work”

His gaze almost makes her cower; incredibly stern and thoroughly unimpressed. 

Still, she stands her ground, moving closer to him to place her legs on either side of one of his. 

“Like this”, she says, voice coming out far lower than she’d planned for. 

Don’t let him intimidate you! 

“A-, and then you place your hands on my hips”, she continues, grabbing his hands and placing them on herself. 

His hands are soft and hard at the same time; roughened with strength yet his skin is soft. And warm. Her fingers linger on his for a second too long before she places her own hands on his shoulders.

His eyes never leave her face.

Is he studying me? 

Waiting for a mistake?

“Since you’ve done horseback riding, I’m sure you’ll catch on quickly”, she says with a anxious smile.

Fuck, why does he make me so nervous!?

“When you gallop, you move together with the horse in a steady movement, right?”

One of her hands slip down the side of his arm, travelling from his shoulder to his hip. 

Roughened with strength yet his skin is soft.

She moves her body slightly in a slow rhythm, pushing on his hip to guide him with her, “Like this”

His persistent eye contact burns; surely leaving a hole in her head. His features don’t change, but she knows he’s paying attention to her instructions from the way his hips start to move in tandem with hers. 

She has danced with so many people, in so many settings, yet this makes her cheeks heat up.

Her tongue comes out to wet her drying lips, eyes still locked with his. 

“Good, you’re getting the hang of it”, she praises, hoping he’ll relax a bit at the compliment. 

In truth he’s still quite stiff, but not in the uncomfortable way she cannot help but be. He’s still on alert, refusing to let his guard down, even as he stands with her between his legs and grinds. 

One of his eyes, the lilac one, appears to darken, narrowing in challenge at her. 

She feels his hands on her hips tighten as he picks up the pace, dancing with more vigour than before; than her. Suddenly he’s leading them as he rolls his hips at her and moves her body to match his pace with his firm grip. 

His demanding hold on her forces her closer to him, and with each movement a spark of pleasure runs up her core. 

Panic washes over her like a cold shower at the realisation, still she can’t abruptly stop. 

Do I want to stop? 

With every push of his leg against her hidden, swollen clit, she feels hot; on edge.

She’s no longer on the grass field by the boathouse. She’s somewhere else, somewhere he’s taken her. 

All she senses is him. 

His lean arms on each side of her, flexing as he moves her body. His eyes, looking down at her with that same intensity that has her head spinning. 

They’re locked together. It’s all too fast, too slow, too long, too short. 

Aemond, after what feels like an eternity, breaks eye contact to duck his head down, body still dancing with hers. 

His lips ghost over the shell of her ear. She feels his breath fan over the delicate skin there. Another bolt of want shoots through her.  

Fuck!

In a low, borderline mocking voice, he softly asks, “You think I don’t know how to do this?”

He delivers one final, harsh and precise thrust between her legs before withdrawing completely, turning around to grab his bag and hastily walk away from her panting silhouette. 

Left is the smell of cigarettes, sandalwood and.. roses?

A/N: This is your sign to put on Hungry Eyes and lose your shit at the fantastic saxophone solo! Thank you for reading, kisses!

[mechanicalpiper]

Hey so I know your busy doing important things (And hearts out for whatever your doing) but I just had another idea come to mind that maybe you could put in a catalog for the future!

"Villain has just been defeated in a long battle by Hero and has decided to try a bit of seduction to win the day. However, Hero is Touch Starved to hell and back and cries at the slightest nice touch/caress"

Bonus points for some heart clenching fluff

Yours truly!

Cooper

You ever procrastinate so hard you start and finish an entirely different project?

By FAR the sappiest and most hurt/comfort-y I've done and was stupidly fun to write. Enjoy :3

Snippet #8

The sounds of strike after strike rang out through the empty city street.

Hero and Villain were once more locked in a tense brawl- nothing new, of course. It had become second nature to them by now- when you spend almost every other day scrapping with the same person for years, it's not hard to get used to it. Hell, with how familiar the two had gotten with each other's fighting styles by now, it was easy for either of them to just let their mind wander while they brawled if they just weren't feeling too up to it that day.

Hero was certainly having one of those days.

They semi-consciously blocked Villain's strikes and threw blows back, less like they were brawling for the safety of the city and more like they were doing a boring day job. An entirely different focus was on their mind... one that had stuck around for a while now. A thought? A worry? A feeling, or the lack of one? Hero couldn't tell by now.

They quickly ducked out of the way just in time as Villain threw a kick at their head, knocking them out of their train of thought and back into full consciousness.

Yeah, fuck, they were fighting Villain. Almost forgot.

Villain certainly took notice of their sudden attention. "Oh, THERE you are. C'mon, can't you at least focus? It's so much less fun when you zone out like that."

"Whuh-? Pff, fun? I'm here to stop you from committing murder, not for a little playdate." Hero grumbled back at their rival, still not fully back at attention.

"Hm. Certainly not the attitude from our first battle. Losing your touch, maybe?" Villain taunted back.

"You wish."

"I don't think I need to. You seem to be dulling just fine without help."

"Still sharper than you. I was winning without paying attention! You couldn't beat my subconscious, how do you expect to beat the rest of me?" As Hero shot back, a tiny smile began to form on their face. Wow, it's been a while since they've bantered in combat like this... it felt nice to just speak with someone, even if that someone was Villain, of all people.

"PFFFF. Winning? The only reason you're not bleeding out on the concrete right now is because I'm having fun with this. I spared you there, y'know~" Villain taunted, a confident grin on their face.

"Yeah, riiiight. How about you actually do something threatening before making simple empty thr-"

Hero was cut off by a sudden feeling- they brought a forearm up to block a strike from Villain, but instead of the expected punch, they felt a grab.

A... grab?

Hero froze in place for the slightest moment.

It was only a split second, but it felt like ages, as if their brain was desperately trying to to cling onto the brief moment. The slightest sensation.

Villain's touch was soft.

Yet, despite everything, the moment was still over far too quickly. Hero hardly even considered why Villain would go for a grab in the moment- by the time they processed the fact it was an attack, it was far too late.

Villain turned around to throw Hero against the concrete wall of the building behind them.

They let out a yelp of pain as they slammed backwards into the wall. After the touch, the motion of being thrown, the hard hit... Hero was far too disoriented to get back into action, let alone stay balanced. Unable to stand up, they just slid down against the wall with a small groan of pain until they found themself at a sitting position, defeated.

Villain let out a small, cocky giggle, stepping closer to Hero to look down at them.

Hero, while still rather disoriented, looked up to see Villain towering over them. ...Wow.

"Is that 'threatening' enough for you, sweetie~?" Villain taunted once more, looking down at the defeated Hero with cocky confidence. God, they loved the feeling of the weakened Hero looking up at them. Always felt nice to win against them.

Hero was already ignoring the pain.

Their brain latched onto that one word- one Villain didn't so much as emphasize saying, like it was nothing special.

Sweetie??

A pet name. A pet name??? Villain called them a pet name??? Sure, they've heard of it being used for taunting before, and really never thought much of it, but- but something about it felt so, so different. When was the last time they were acknowledged like that? Was there a last time? Why did just being acknowledged feel so good? Fuck, they shouldn't like this, they were beat up and lying against a wall with their arch nemesis towering over them, taunting them, but- but not k-killing them? It shouldn't feel... c-comforting, should it?...

...'Sweetheart'...

Villain just looked down at Hero, their cocky expression switched to mild confusion. They certainly didn't react like they were in much pain... Hero's face wasn't that red before, was it?

"Hm. Losing focus agai-"

Hero shook their head 'no' almost instantly, cutting Villain off in mild surprise. They were definitely paying attention, alright, but...

Villain slightly cocked their head at Hero, thinking for a moment. The pause was only a second or two, though. They were quick to get back to teasing, assuming they were simply overthinking a weird reaction.

"Hmmm~" they muttered, crouching down to get level with their defeated rival, keeping that same smug, satisfied look.

"See? I could've taken you out like that aaany time I wanted~"

Hero looked off to the side, as if trying to hide from the other's gaze- Villain's confidence only grew seeing the embarrassment they wanted out of Hero.

At least, what they saw as embarrassment. While that certainly was an aspect of it... it wasn't why Hero's attention diverted like that. Their thoughts weren't the feelings of humiliation and defeat Villain assumed.

An entirely different focus was on their mind.

A thought?

A worry?

A feeling, or the lack of one?

It could be any of them. It could depend on the circumstance. It could technically fall under every one of them, with the right logic.

Hero didn't know nor care.

All they knew is what it felt like right now.

It's a fear.

A fear of this. This emotion.

The first time in memory they've felt so... acknowledged, so strangely comfy- the only time they could have this feeling was when their nemesis was using it to taunt them. The only thing they were ever really seen or known for is their protection of the city. The Agency was obviously impersonal and corporate, other Heroes saw them as an antisocial business partner, the citizens of course only liked them for the protection, and they had nobody else outside of that despite their years of previous efforts.

The only value others saw in them was the tangible benefit they provided. The only value they saw in themself was just that. They so, so badly wanted this feeling of comfort, but they so, so deeply believed they didn't deserve it.

Believed the only way they could ever be worth loving is when it was a punishment like this.

All Villain saw was Hero looking off to the side. Zoning out again? They mumbled something to themself, leaning down just a little more.

Hero didn't always used to do that. It had them worried, honestly. It only began somewhat recently, but it was absolutely constant.

Villain felt bad. Yeah, their public motive was always money or power or whatever evil plot they had for the week would accomplish, and while those certainty were good benefits, they weren't the reason they did it.

They did it for Hero.

They weren't joking when they said they were messing with them for fun earlier. It started as just a want to fight, but the second they came across Hero, they couldn't keep themself away. At first it was simply their fighting style being fun, as Villain justified it to themself. Then the wit in their banter was more entertaining than others. Then they provided the biggest challenge. Then... well, Villain couldn't deny a sense of warmth when they were around Hero.

They had so much personality, so much energy, but as time passed it felt like they got less so. Villain was almost scared to watch it. Not because it was more fun to fight them, but rather... well, they had to admit to themself they just didn't want to see Hero so thoroughly unhappy. So sapped of life.

Villain took one hand and gently swooped it under Hero's chin, turning their head back to face them and lifting their chin a little. Hero flinched a little, but didn't pull back.

"Hey. Pay attention, sweetie."

Hero's breathing got slightly quicker. Shallower. Starting off subtle, it ramped up.

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, hOLY SHIT, HOLY SHIT.

The feeling of Villain's hand was the best thing they'd ever felt. In their life. They didn't know anything could be this soft, any temperature could be this comforting and warm, that any grip could be so firm yet gentle, that any gaze could be so powerful yet soft- they were completely hyperventilating, tears welling in their eyes. They didn't want to trust it, but they wanted the comfort too badly to treat this rationally. They'd never felt anything so unbelievably wonderful. They wanted it so, so bad.

Villain couldn't stop themself from gasping. They certainly weren't expecting that reaction, but seeing Hero just break down like that, they were absolutely overcome with the heat of the moment need to just... protect them. Comfort them.

Only a moment later, the two simultaneously fell into an impulsive hug.

Villain squeezed Hero tightly against them as Hero buried their face in Villain's shoulder. Hero completely stopped thinking about their doubts- only one thing mattered right now, and that was Villain. It was so unbelievably comfy, warm, happy, soft, safe... years of built up serotonin was flooding out all at once, and it only got better as Villain brought one hand up from the hug to run it through Hero's hair.

They'd never been this much of an absolute mess. They'd never been this happy in their life.

Villain just continued holding Hero tight.

Minutes passed. Neither wanted the moment to end.

But finally, after what felt like years, Hero's breathing finally began to get deeper again. Villain let out a relived sigh, though didn't quite let go yet, allowing Hero's tears to dry and breathing to fully steady. Villain stayed patient as Hero got calmer and calmer until their desperate squeeze against Villain finally relaxed.

Hero felt the safest they ever had, and Villain couldn't be happier. The idea that they were rivals didn't even cross either of their minds- it just felt so right.

"...How're you feeling?"

Hero answered in a quiet, vulnerable, satisfied whisper, more emotion in their voice than Villain had ever heard.

"...n-needed this."

For the first time in ages, an entirely new focus was on Hero's mind.

A thought?

A worry?

A feeling?

They were certainly leaning towards it being a feeling.

That feeling was love.

[sturn777]

skater!chris x painter!reader . | ( female reader ) ( fluff ) + ( established relationship ) ( masterlist )

lana's note : random idea i had, nothing special just fluff 🤍 they're so cute tho ;(

the living room was chaos, but it was your favorite kind of chaos. sheets of paper covered nearly every inch of the hardwood floor, splattered with abstract sketches and half-dried swatches of various colors. a half-finished canvas rested on the easel in front of you, vibrant streaks of paint bleeding together, your hands moving quickly to fill in the details. brushes were everywhere, some balancing on the rim of your paint palette, others rolling onto the floor as you reached for the next color.

you were in the zone, completely immersed, your mind racing as you tried to finish your final project before the midnight deadline, which was only two hours away. the pressure was intense, but somehow, it didn’t feel overwhelming, not with chris there.

he was sprawled out on the couch, legs stretched out on either side of you, his skateboard leaning against the wall nearby. the faint smell of weed lingered in the air as he took a slow drag from his blunt, the smoke curling lazily around him. every so often, his free hand would come down to run through your hair, his fingers grazing your scalp in a way that made you momentarily forget about the time crunch.

“it looks perfect, baby,” he said softly, his voice a little raspy from the smoke. you hummed in response, not looking up from the canvas but feeling your cheeks heat at the compliment.

“it’s not, though,” you muttered, dabbing a bit of paint on the edge of the canvas to fix a mistake that had been bothering you. “it still feels off. like, something’s missing, but i can’t figure out what.”

chris leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched you work, his hand rubbing your shoulder soothingly. “it’s just in your head. you’re too close to it right now. step back for a second.”

you sighed but set your brush down, stepping up and standing straight to take in the piece from a different angle. chris was right, it did look better than you’d been giving yourself credit for.

he must’ve noticed the slight shift in your expression because he grinned, leaning over to press a kiss to the crown of your head. “see? told you. you’re a genius.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “thanks, chris.”

he chuckled, leaning back into the couch again. “you’re welcome, baby. just let me know if you need anythin'…”

“you’re already doing plenty,” you said, glancing back at him. “just… keep sitting there and looking cute or whatever. it’s helping.”

his grin widened. “anything for my favorite artist.”

you turned back to your canvas, feeling the pressure ease just a little. with chris there, the chaos of the deadline didn’t feel so overwhelming anymore.

🏷 : ( @emely9274 ; @bluestriips ; @loveparqdise ; @flouqissss ; @st4rcs ; @starwebber9 ; @conspiracy-ash ; @sweetrelieef ; @chris-hallelujah ; @leoslaboratory ; @matttsangel ; @awnmaneez ; @heartss4clauu ; @mattsstarlet ; @madisturni ; @marrykisskilled ; @beautyloves ; @mattsdemi ; @sturnioloangell ; @scream6fanxx ; @amelia-sturniolo3 )

divider : @issysh3ll