#was having a conversation with a friend earlier about how different we are on this matter and it made me start thinking about it again

[nilnether]

There are a lot of similarities between these two shots - from the room set up to the way Spider holds himself refusing to looks at Quaritch. But there are also a lot of differences - from the way Quaritch is presented (he doesn't loom over Spider in the second picture) to the setting itself.

@jeanniebug623 noticed Quaritch is sitting on something covered in material this time and this BTS shot of Cameron shows what it is - an examination bed. This is an examination room. There is actually some kind of lab set behind that window.

It may even be this lab below. I've seen it called lab in Bridgehead but it wasn't anything official so it can still be on the Factory Ship. I would expect Bridgehead to have bigger examination rooms. And that curvature. No need to do that in Bridgehead.

I've also seen this set be called Bridgehead lab but those are clearly the High Camp lab we saw in A2.

It's the same as in these A2 screenshots below

There is way more clutter here, especially around the tank and there are no thick pillars like you see behind the tank in the earlier photos. So the avatar tank Spider is looking at is unlikely to be here.

Especially, that is looks like they will clear some of this space to put a separate room inside the lab where they'll have Pandoran atmosphere. This photo shows JDM in the mask in a room inside the room that we know had Earth's air before. I bet they built that to examine Spider after he gets the upgrade. They try to figure out what's up with him.

I think this is where Spider is when Jake and Neytiri have their conversation about him.

What's interesting is that Spider would be in Pandora's air when in this lab but when we see him captured by RDA he doesn't need a rebreather with CO2.

He doesn't have it when he lands back in the NeuroSect room. It seems like Quaritch is with him and they are not staying the time.

Those white lights are on the side of the thing itself as we saw in A2.

Spider certainly doesn't have it in the A3 still they released but Quaritch does so they are in Earth's atmosphere.

Maybe Spider will actually get the upper hand even over the Na'vi with his new gift and is able to function in both atmospheres without any issues. This would make sense with the symbiont theory as it would probably be less sensitive to low CO2 than something complicated like a full Na'vi.

There is one more thing but it is pure speculation on my part. All I have is a guess but it is very spoilery of true.

It is possible that these photos with Spider looking into avatar tank and lying in it are in the same lab we see behind the window in the Empire Magazine still. It has thick pillars behind it that look very current RDA architecture and nothing like the thin supports of the High Camp lab.

People always said this is just BTS and Jack and JC are just playing with props but now I wonder that maybe Quaritch will actually be offering Spider and avatar. We don't know how long it actually takes to grow and avatar so it maight be possible in the few months Quaritch and Spider are apart.

On one hand it would just be Quaritch going back to his old ways. He has tendency to find what the other person wants the most and buy their loyalty this waay. For Jake it was his legs back. For Spider it would, of course, be something he wanted basically his whole life. Even now with his gift there are things that would be easier if he had Na'vi physiolgy and size.

Spider migh have to chose between trying to keep running from RDA for the forseeiable future as they want to have his gift for themselves. Or he can have what he always wanted but he would have to stay with Quaritch and abandon his friends.

On the other hand Quaritch is probably completely genuine with this gift and just wanting to give his kid all he ever wanted. No intention to ask him to change or betray anyone.

And yet this is still a manipulation because he's finding a way to get what he wants and keep Spider with him. And he puts Spider in complete turmoil. But then what's a deal with the devil if it's not truely tempting?

Maybe this is why Quaritch looks so pleading and excited in that still. Maybe that's why Spider is not happy at all.

[jellybeanjellyfishblog]

The "stay the night" prompt for Nessian?

@c-e-d-dreamer Here is a little Modern Nessian for you. I made him a hockey player just for you.

“We have done this before Cassian. We just don’t work together.”

The worst part was that Nesta had been right.

Cassian had been in love with her the moment they met Freshmen year. That kind of all-consuming teenage love they make movies about, and adults tell you that you will grow out of. He had spent two years trying to get her to date him. When she finally agreed to go to their school’s Fall Festival with him it was better than the first time he put on skates and took to the ice. But teenage Cassian had been worried about which University would offer the best scholarship. He hadn’t known what to do with a Nesta grieving a horrible mother and a family crumbling apart around her.

The breakup had almost destroyed the group. He hadn’t spoken to Azriel for three months- long after the black eye he had given him had healed. Rhys and Feyre had almost broken up over it both wanting to side with their sibling.

But that was ten years ago. They were different people now. Cassian had been traded to a team closer to home and Nesta was working on the next book in her best-selling series.  The one thing that hadn’t changed was that he was still stupidly in love with her. He had tried to move on, but you just didn’t get over Nesta Archeron.

Watching her laughing with Azriel as he talks about how some fight scene in one of her books is horribly inaccurate filled him with warmth that had nothing to do with the alcohol in his cup. Nesta had offered to host his official welcome home party at her place. No one was allowed to know when Azriel lived and Nesta claimed that she was allergic to how gaudy Rhys’s place was.  

The place screamed Nesta. Soft furniture and overflowing bookshelves. There were some paintings that he suspected came from Feyre and a dying plant or two that looked as if they were hidden away. He had been surprised when Mor told him the party would be at Nesta’s downtown apartment.

After the conversation where he had tried to get them back together he was expecting her to run, pull away and make some excuse why she couldn’t be around anyone. Instead she had greeted him at the door with a smile and a warning that Mor was mixing drinks.

Now as the night was winding down Cassian could stand by the wall and watch the family he had missed and the woman he was sure was his soulmate. Rhys and Feyre had taken Mor home.  Amren and her husband had left earlier in the night. Varian had apparently just come back from a month long work trip and no one was sad to see them turn in early.

“Is leaving you two alone going to be a problem?” Az’s voice spoken up from his right. Cassian had been not busy watching Nesta and Gwyn exchanges book over by one of the shelves closet to the front door.

It was a fight to pull his eyes away from her. With Ax and his girlfriend leaving Cassian wouldn’t have an excuse to stay any longer without making himself look pathetic. “I’ll probably head out soon myself.” Clasping his hand on his brother’s shoulder Cassian smile. A real smile because despite not wanting to leave he was so happy to be home again. “You and Gwyn will have to come out to Illyria for a weekend. I can regal her with stories of you falling on your ass.”

“Sure thing, asshole.”

Then it was just him and Nesta.

 He had offered to help her clean up, their friends were animals, and he kept he conversation light. Just friends catching up.

So, he hadn’t planned to be on her couch two hours later finishing off the last bottle Mor had left in the kitchen and telling her about some of the crazy things him and his old teammates use to get up to. It was just so comfortable. So easy to sit them and ramble on while she stared at him. wine glass empty and head propped up by her fist.

“Do you want to stay the night?” Cassian was convinced that he had drunk more than remembered if he had started hallucinating.

Cassain was ready to move in if she would let him. It was an hour from his new team’s stadium, but the commute would be worth it. But that was what he wanted. Not a one night stand with the love of his life.  Not a last fling because they had exploded instead of having an actual ending. “Nes” He didn’t want to reject her but he couldn’t stay

 Nesta leaned back, putting some space between them but not running away. “So we can talk.”

“Talk?”  He called the look on her face ‘Cassian has taken one too many pucks to the head.’ God he had missed that look.

Nesta didn’t look away from him, meeting his gaze head on as if issuing some kind of challenge. “Yes. Talk. About us. And if this would work this time.”

“You said...” Nesta cut him off before he could repeat her words from just three days ago.

“I know what I said. But maybe I was wrong.”

‘Just shut up and stop being difficult.’ It was his second favorite look of hers.

“Okay. But only if you let me make pancakes in the morning.”

[elyonz]

𝗕𝘂𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗦𝗾𝘂𝗶𝗿𝗿𝗲𝗹𝘀

nobara kugisaki x fem!reader

not so brief synopsis: after moving to the large city that is tokyo, you manage to reconnect with a past classmate, nobara kugisaki. back then, you used to bicker over crayons and swings with sticky hands, but now she’s confident and effortlessly beautiful, and has seemed to have left everything of that village in the past. everything except for you. despite your personality, which is quite frankly the opposite of hers, you become closer friends and end up discovering things you never thought you would.

word count: 2.5k

content: fem!reader, wlw, fluff, not proofread 🥲

a/n: i haven’t written anything in so long so i apologize for how bad this is

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Epilouge

“No! Bunnies and squirrels can both get along!” Little you chirps at the tiny Nobara, who sits there pouting.

“No, they can't! Squirrels like me, and they told me that they can’t.” She persists.

“Whatever. My bunny friends said otherwise.” You say and pretend to hop around like a bunny.

“Squirrels and bunnies don’t get along.” Nobara insists before dashing away, not letting you say anything else.

Present Time

As you stroll through the streets of Tokyo, your eyes catch a trio of 2 boys and a girl. The girl being your old classmate, Nobara Kugisaki.

“Is that really her?” You mutter to yourself, trying to get a better look. Same short hair and sassy presence. The spiky-haired boy glances over and catches you staring. You turn a bright shade of pink and start speed walking in the opposite direction.

“Oh my gosh, she’s going to think I’m stalking her.” You think and start to pick at your nails. The sound of fast footsteps trails behind you, making you pick up the pace. You feel a finger tapping on your shoulder and hear a familiar voice.

“Y/n?? Wow! ” Nobara calls in a tone way too loud for the close proximity. You spin on your heels, donning an awkward expression.

“Oh, hi, Nobara.” You mutter, fiddling with your cream knitted cardigan.

“So, do you live in Tokyo now?” She asks, eyeing you up and down.

“Yeah, I just moved here, though. When I left the village, I moved to the Miyagi prefecture area, but now I’m here.”

“Hm, well, how are you liking Tokyo?” She asks.

“It’s fine, just way different than where I’ve lived before. All the stores are nice, tho.” You reply. The last sentence raises a brow. The two boys from earlier appear behind her.

“Hi! I’m Yuji Itadori!” The boy with the oddly pink hair says and gives a slight bow. “That’s Megumi Fushiguro.” He continues and gestures to the boy with sea urchin hair. He also gives a slight bow.

“I’m Y/n L/n.” You say and bow to both of them.

“We were just about to get lunch, you should come too, Y/n,” Yuji offers with a large grin. You nod sheepishly.

“I appreciate the offer, but-”

“Great! We can show you a good place.” He says and gestures to follow him and Fushiguro, who have already started walking.

“Jeez, Yuji, let her finish next time,” Kugisaki says while scowling at the back of his head.

You all follow the waitress into the small cafe, who points you to a small booth. Yuji slides into the booth next to Fushiguro, you following suit, but next to Kugisaki. Yuji starts bickering with Fushiguro over which menu item is better, which leaves you to talk to Kugisaki.

“When did you come to Tokyo?” You ask, turning to face her.

“Only a few months, I’m only here for school. So glad to get out of that damn village.” She replies. She then buts in on the bickering to give her opinion. You watch as the 3, but mainly Yuji and Nobara, argue over what's better. Fushiguro glances over to see you studying the arguing. He gives a slight chuckle, and you suddenly become aware of how much you stare. The waitress swoops in and takes everyone's orders, the prior argument getting completely dismissed. Small conversations bubble up, most being questions about how you like Tokyo and how they like school. The rest of the lunch wizzes by, and soon you are all leaving the small cafe. As you all file through the single door, Nobara compliments your earrings, which starts up a long conversation about jewelry, then clothes, and ends with shopping. You end up getting her phone number.

“We should go shopping together sometime!” Nobara says as you head your separate ways. You walk away with a small smile, the large city not feeling as empty as before.

BZZ BZZ BZZ

Your phone lights up at the notification, which makes you roll off your bed to grab your phone.

022-5683-1250: hey! it’s nobara!

You: oh hiii

Nobara: did you manage to get back home?

You: haha yes i didn’t get lost this time. is jujutsu high far?

Nobara: not necessarily but yuji said “we have to watch this new movie,” so megumi and I are stuck watching some worm movie. 😒

You: ew those movies are so gross

Nobara: i have to go yuji said he’ll make us watch the others if we don't pay attention

You: okay bye lol

You shuddered at the thought of those wretched worm movies, goosebumps forming on your arms and legs. Flopping back onto your bed, the plush pillows and thick comforter engulf you. You try to stay up and wait for her opinion on the movie, but sleep envelops you and leaves you a snoring mess.

After about a month of constant texting, FaceTiming, and multiple shopping trips with Nobara you could call her one of your closest friends. Despite the opposite personalities, her confident and outspoken personality and your shy and nervous one, you clicked. She brought out a confident and bubbly side of you that you didn’t even know existed. A chirping noise sounded from your phone, a ringtone specifically for Nobara.

Nobara: hey im free for the rest of the day and i wanted to know if you wanted to go shopping?

You: yesssss i’d love to

Nobara: perfect does by the metro work?

You: yes! Ill see u there then

You clicked off your phone, a small smile plastered on your face. Jumping out of bed, you throw on a tank top with lace around the edges, a knitted sweater to go on top, and a pair of jeans. The stool in front of your vanity squeaks as you sit down and get to braiding one messy braid. Swiping on a bit of mascara and lip gloss, you spring up and dash to the front door. You slip off your inside slippers and lace up a pair of brown Converse before bounding out of the house and to the metro station.

“Y/NNNNNN” A confident but still soft voice calls out. You spin around to see the effortlessly beautiful girl standing in front of you. You smile and give her a small side hug. The chatter is effortless as you both practically skip to the stores. You both scan through racks of clothes, holding a shirt up for the other's approval.

“Yes! That would look so good with your hair!” You suggest while she shakes her head at the shirt you're holding.

“I’ll just say it, that shirt looks like something a cursed spirit would wear.” She says and trys to stop her laughter. You laugh too, but only because of the contagiousness of her laughter. You aren’t able to see cursed spirits, but Nobara decided she needed someone to confide in who wasn’t a teenage boy or Maki. She whips out a pink, frilly babydoll top.

“Try this on, puh-leaseeee!! It will look so good on you!” She ushers and shoves it into your hands. You look at it skeptically. The shirt is completely out of your comfort zone, low cut, cropped, and on the snugger side. Nobara practically drags you into the dressing room. You let out a dramatic sigh and change into the top. When you spin to look in the mirror, you let out a small gasp. It hugs your chest perfectly and fans out perfectly at the waist.

“I heard that gasp, let me see!!” Nobara squeals. You let her into the dressing room, and she gasps too.

“Holy shit girl.” She says, which immediately makes a small smile creep onto your face. “You genuinely look like a model. If you don’t buy that, I might cry.” She doesn’t mean to stare, but her eyes can't help but linger on how perfectly the shirt hugs your curves. She blinks quickly and hurries out of the dressing room. You quickly change back into your sweater and leave the dressing room. You’re hauled to the checkout counter, where you buy the babydoll top and a purple graphic tee.

“Oh my god, Bara, look!” You squeal and point to the little blind bags of Calico Critters. You grab 2 of them and set them on top of the shirts. “These, too, please.” Nobara smiles at the nickname and your excitement, watching you pay hurriedly. You hurry out of the store and to the nearest bench, Nobara trailing behind you. You put one of the blind bags into her hands.

“For you. They can be best friends too.” You said quietly, expecting her to cringe at the title.

“Yesss!” She exclaims as you both simultaneously rip them open. A cute white bunny sits in your palm as Nobara sets up her tiny squirrel to sit in her palm. You giggle at the throwback.

“They’re soooooo cute!!!!” You squeak. You slip it into your pocket, and Nobara does the same.

“Hold on. This is so perfect, I need to take a photo!” You exclaim while fishing your digital camera out of your tote bag. You snap a photo of the two critters in the two pockets, your hips pressed together. You both navigate through various stores, the animals staying in your pockets, of course, before ending the trip with boba. Nobara ends up getting brown sugar, and you get strawberry. She holds out her cup for you to try. You smile at the gesture and take a small sip. Your eyes light up.

“Holy shit, that is so good. Where have I been?” You question while holding yours out for her to try. She shakes her head with disgust.

“Not a strawberry girl, whatsoever.” She replies, a look of disgust still painted on her face. You both continue to chatter before having to go your separate ways.

“Bye, Bara!” You call out and wave goodbye. She waves back, trying to hide her massive grin. The nickname pulls at something in her heart, and she can’t help but smile once her back is turned.

Nobara lies on the bed of her dorm, scrolling mindlessly on her phone.

KNOCK KNOCK

“What’s up?” She calls, and Yuji saunters into her room. He plops down onto the chair in front of her desk, inspecting her and the desk. She raises an eyebrow at his intense searching.

“This is new.” He says and picks up the little squirrel. “Where did this come from?” He spins around in the chair to look you dead in the eye, way too serious.

“Oh, it’s just something Y/n got me.” She answers, a slight blush creeping onto her face.

“You’re hanging out with Y/n without me?” He asks. “She’s my friend too, you know?” Yuji crosses his arms, trying to act smug and one-up Nobara. She scowls at his attempt.

“Yep, but who does she have matching critters with?” Nobara asks with a smirk. Yuji frowns and throws his arms up.

“Whatever.” He grunts and stomps out of your room. The thought of you brings a small smile to her face.

After many more days of hanging out with Nobara, you couldn’t help but start to think a little differently of her. You started to notice the way she brushes hair out of her face, how she always keeps her phone in her right pocket, and the way her eyebrows pinch together when she scowls. That’s normal for friends to notice! You tell yourself, despite the way your stomach flutters when your fingers touch or when she texts you. You decided to go on a walk to clear your head, dashing out of the house. You circle the block, trying to clear your head. The cherry blossoms, falling smoothly, caught your eye.

“Nobara’s favorite tree.” You muttered as you brushed petals out of your hair. A squirrel ran in front of you, Nobara's little squirrel you got for her, popping into your brain. Just the thought of her made you smile. You groaned and collapsed onto a small wooden bench.

“I need to talk to her; this is going to eat me alive.” You thought, and as if on cue, your phone played the ringtone you made just for her.

You: hi

Nobara: hellooo

You: can you meet me here? location

Nobara: yes i’m otw

“Oh god. Why did I do that?” You mutter and hurry home. You change into the pink babydoll top and apply a little makeup, wanting to at least look decent for her. You practically run to the park. You couldn’t tell if you were sweating because you were nervous or because of your rapid pace. As you strolled through the park, you spotted Nobara, in a light blue hoodie and navy sweats, sitting on a bench.

“I’m so overdressed.” You thought and started to pick at your nails as you made your way through the park to the bench. Nobara was staring at a nearby cherry blossom tree when you sat next to her.

“Hi.” You whispered, trying to hide your smile.

“Y/n! Hi, wow,” She muttered, her eyes going from your chest, to your lips, to your eyes. “Not wow, I mean, uh, you look pretty.” You practically turned the color of your shirt.

“Thank you, ‘Bara.” You replied, fidgeting with your fingers. “I need to tell you something.”

“Me too.” She said, avoiding eye contact, complete opposite of her normal self.

“Don’t hate me.” You start.” But… You’re all I can think about. I can see anything without thinking of you. You make me smile and laugh, and no one else does that. My heart beats whenever I think of you, and my stomach turns, and I just…” You stare at your feet, a sudden wave of embarrassment crashing over you. You got all dressed up and just said all of that.

“Oh my god, ‘Bara. I’m so sorry.” You murmur, covering your face with your hands.

“Don’t be.” She whispers and cups your cheeks with her hands. You put your hands in your lap and meet her eyes. She glances at your lips again before slightly leaning in. You fully lean into her and press your lips against her soft and pink ones. You pull back, face even pinker.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that?” Nobara whispers before kissing you again. It’s needier this time. One of your hands cradles, and the other braces yourself on her thigh. When your lips part, her tongue slips into your mouth before she slightly bites your lower lip. You squeal, which causes her to lean back and burst into a fit of giggles.

“Oh my god, Y/n,” She laughs and slaps her hand onto your thigh. You join in on her laughter, both of you drowning in a fit of giggles. Nobara stands up abruptly, and you follow suit. She grabs both of your hands and takes a deep breath.

“Soooo, does this mean I can be your girlfriend?” She asks, pressing both of your hands to her heart. You just smile sheepishly before nodding like a lunatic in love. She presses her lips to both of your hands before intertwining her fingers with yours and leading you through the cherry blossoms. A white bunny hops across the path, and an orangey brown squirrel chases after it. You glance at Nobara to see she’s already looking at you and smiling, already thinking the same thing. Maybe bunnies and squirrels do get along.

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a/n: i sorta dislike this but idk. if you have any requests pls lmk bc i love to write but i don’t have any ideas lol.

[s-soulwriter]

Things Real People Do in Dialogue (For Your Next Story)

Okay, let’s be real—dialogue can make or break a scene. You want your characters to sound natural, like actual humans talking, not robots reading a script. So, how do you write dialogue that feels real without it turning into a mess of awkward pauses and “ums”? Here’s a little cheat sheet of what real people actually do when they talk (and you can totally steal these for your next story):

1. People Interrupt Each Other All the Time In real conversations, nobody waits for the perfect moment to speak. We interrupt, cut each other off, and finish each other's sentences. Throw in some overlaps or interruptions in your dialogue to make it feel more dynamic and less like a rehearsed play.

2. They Don’t Always Say What They Mean Real people are masters of dodging. They’ll say one thing but mean something totally different (hello, passive-aggressive banter). Or they’ll just avoid the question entirely. Let your characters be vague, sarcastic, or just plain evasive sometimes—it makes their conversations feel more layered.

3. People Trail Off... We don’t always finish our sentences. Sometimes we just... stop talking because we assume the other person gets what we’re trying to say. Use that in your dialogue! Let a sentence trail off into nothing. It adds realism and shows the comfort (or awkwardness) between characters.

4. Repeating Words Is Normal In real life, people repeat words when they’re excited, nervous, or trying to make a point. It’s not a sign of bad writing—it’s how we talk. Let your characters get a little repetitive now and then. It adds a rhythm to their speech that feels more genuine.

5. Fillers Are Your Friends People say "um," "uh," "like," "you know," all the time. Not every character needs to sound polished or poetic. Sprinkle in some filler words where it makes sense, especially if the character is nervous or thinking on their feet.

6. Not Everyone Speaks in Complete Sentences Sometimes, people just throw out fragments instead of complete sentences, especially when emotions are high. Short, choppy dialogue can convey tension or excitement. Instead of saying “I really think we need to talk about this,” try “We need to talk. Now.”

7. Body Language Is Part of the Conversation Real people don’t just communicate with words; they use facial expressions, gestures, and body language. When your characters are talking, think about what they’re doing—are they fidgeting? Smiling? Crossing their arms? Those little actions can add a lot of subtext to the dialogue without needing extra words.

8. Awkward Silences Are Golden People don’t talk non-stop. Sometimes, they stop mid-conversation to think, or because things just got weird. Don’t be afraid to add a beat of awkward silence, a long pause, or a meaningful look between characters. It can say more than words.

9. People Talk Over Themselves When They're Nervous When we’re anxious, we tend to talk too fast, go back to rephrase what we just said, or add unnecessary details. If your character’s nervous, let them ramble a bit or correct themselves. It’s a great way to show their internal state through dialogue.

10. Inside Jokes and Shared History Real people have history. Sometimes they reference something that happened off-page, or they share an inside joke only they get. This makes your dialogue feel lived-in and shows that your characters have a life beyond the scene. Throw in a callback to something earlier, or a joke only two characters understand.

11. No One Explains Everything People leave stuff out. We assume the person we’re talking to knows what we’re talking about, so we skip over background details. Instead of having your character explain everything for the reader’s benefit, let some things go unsaid. It’ll feel more natural—and trust your reader to keep up!

12. Characters Have Different Voices Real people don’t all talk the same way. Your characters shouldn’t either! Pay attention to their unique quirks—does one character use slang? Does another speak more formally? Maybe someone’s always cutting people off while another is super polite. Give them different voices and patterns of speech so their dialogue feels authentic to them.

13. People Change the Subject In real life, conversations don’t always stay on track. People get sidetracked, jump to random topics, or avoid certain subjects altogether. If your characters are uncomfortable or trying to dodge a question, let them awkwardly change the subject or ramble to fill the space.

14. Reactions Aren’t Always Immediate People don’t always respond right away. They pause, they think, they hesitate. Sometimes they don’t know what to say, and that delay can speak volumes. Give your characters a moment to process before they respond—it’ll make the conversation feel more natural.

Important note: Please don’t use all of these tips in one dialogue at once.

[iamasaddie]

AN HONEST MISTAKE

Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: swiping left and right on tinder, you think you match with Joel Miller, a handsome single dad in his late 30s. Feeling enamored and horny you decide to meet in person, only to be met with an almost completely different person. warnings: darkfic, dub-con eliments due to alcohol intoxication, gaslighting, very big age gap [Joel is 61], switching POVs, explicit sexual content. Some tags are not added to avoid spoilers, dm me if you need the full list. reader description: afab she/her, has hair long enough to be pulled; has boobs and ass; reader mid to late 20s-early 30s. word count: 6,2k

a/n: thank you for all of the excitement and interest you'd shown to this idea, i have been working on it for some time and i'm finally happy to show you part one. huge thanks to @arcanefox207 , Ally helped me to polish this chapter and shown me a lot of support which i truly appreciate <3 READ ON AO3

MASTERLIST | part 2

Dating wasn’t fun. It always felt like an inescapable chore for you, and you tried to avoid it at all costs. Hiding your face in your morning cup of tea when attacked by your mom’s questions, her voice distorted by poor video connection. Joking only to avoid the topic of boyfriends and girlfriends when your friend kept nagging you about it. Losing yourself in an unsatisfactory myriad of hands that belonged to faceless people when the nights got too cold for empty sheets.

You looked at your table, a small hand-made sign read “do better” in your own handwriting. And that was exactly what you were going to do. You were going to kill not two, but three birds with one stone, and that stone was going to be going on a date. A real, proper date, with excruciatingly predictable questions and awkward first touches. And you were going to have fun. 

On the fourth hour of swiping Tinder, you were a breath away from ghosting everyone you knew and hiding in the Peruvian Amazonia for the rest of your life. The few conversations that you managed to have quickly died out when the person you talked to learned what you were there for. A month ago you’d find a pretty face and invite them over to smoke and have some fun, but that wasn’t a great start for an actual relationship. No, your fuckgirl days were over, so you went back to swiping. 

And that was when you saw him.

Joel M., 39 Southern gentleman with a beautiful daughter. Work in construction, so I can build you a house. I am looking for a real connection, please, respect that.

God, he was handsome. Your mouth started salivating as you swiped through his pictures. He was broad, tall and had a tool in his hand. Not the one you immediately started wondering about, but it looked like at least he didn’t lie in his description. Feeling like a complete creep, you screenshotted his profile. If you weren’t a match, at least you’d have someone pretty to think about before going to bed tonight.

Gently, as if afraid, you swiped right. Your screen lit up, and so did your face, you gave a wide grin to your phone. “It’s a match!”

He was too good to be true. A gentleman, he didn’t lie there. Joel gave you the exact amount of attention to make you run towards your phone whenever it rang. It was definitely nothing like you expected. He was attentive, remembering what you said and when, never shied away from your questions, and on top of that he was devastatingly hot.

You heard a blip of a new message and unlocked your phone, a smile already plastered on your face like a Pavlovian reaction.

[Joel M.]: I was thinking, we seem to have a nice connection here, don’t we? [You]: I think so, too. A little unbelievable, but I am feeling hopeful. [Joel M.]: Unbelievable how?[You]: Unbelievable that no one snatched you up earlier. From where I am sitting, you look like a full package. [Joel M.]: Well, you’re sitting awfully far away, so I see how it looks like that. Why don’t we meet in person and find out if you still think the same, darlin? [You]: Joel, are you inviting me on a date? [Joel M.]: Only if you’re accepting. How about a dinner at my place? I am a pretty decent cook.

Your hand hovered above the screen. It wasn’t smart, going to a man’s place for your first date. He could be a creep, he could be a murderer… But then again, you could never brag about your self preservation instincts, sometimes you just thought with a little kitty purring between your legs. 

You tapped on his profile again, looking at the zoomed in picture of his face. His brown eyes looked sad, but kind. A half-smile tugged on his soft-looking lips. Just a few sprinkles of salt and pepper in his hair. Even if he turned out to be a creep, you’d never had such a handsome lay before, and you were planning to check all of his tools as soon as you could, you thought to yourself before typing your reply.

[You]: I’d love that. Send me the address?

You weren’t worried, not really. You never struggled with too low of self-esteem. You knew your strong suits, and you wore them like armor. The upcoming date sent a pleasant shiver down your back, anticipation made you giggle into the void of your lonely apartment. The closer the day came, the giddier you became.

So on the fateful night you had enough confidence to pick out the dress that was a bit uncomfortable but looked gorgeous on your body. You smacked some lipstick that complemented the shade of your skin, grabbed a small purse and a bottle of wine and winked at your reflection in the mirror. You looked good, you felt even better.

August kept tricking you with its weather, the days still suffocated you with heat while the nights were unpleasantly chilly. You hugged your naked shoulders and rubbed your skin in an attempt to warm up as you waited for your Uber to arrive. 

You got inside the white Honda Civic, the smell of cigarettes unpleasantly soaked into the seats so you opened up the window praying that it wouldn’t stink up your dress. The driver acknowledged you with a small grunt and a nod, you did the same, not willing to start a conversation. The estimated forty minutes dragged out and became an hour in the man’s GPS, of course you got stuck in traffic it was just your luck. And on your way to a literal dream man, no less. 

Your kitten heel kept tapping on the car floor, the annoyed-looking driver gave you a stern look in the rear view mirror that you completely ignored. You needed to warn Joel that you were going to be late, and it made you want to grind your teeth. You hated being late, be that a party, a dentist appointment or a walk in the park with a friend. It made you feel guilty, leaving your palms sticky with cold sweat. You clearly weren’t going to make a good first impression, and with the way you chewed your lip bloody, you might not even get a kiss. You looked at the picture of him you shamelessly saved to your camera roll. Out of the two of you, you were definitely winning the creep competition, while he was just a dream come true. 

You zoomed in on his face, your thumb caressed the pixels of his skin. There were smile lines around his lips, and you wondered what made him laugh so hard throughout his life that the remnants of the gesture permanently cut themself into his skin. Joel’s eyes were gleaming with youthful mischief, something you’d thought a person loses after having a child, but he clearly proved you wrong. Sun made his brown look like amber, adding to the overall handsomeness of the man. You imagined yourself next to him – yes, it was way too early, but you couldn’t keep your mind from wandering – he’d be taller, bigger than you, his strong hand on your lower back as you walk through the city. The eyes of men and women hungry to have what’s yours, but he’d only look at you. Yes, he was a bit older, but still young enough to have you on his arm without dealing with accusatory stares and venomous whispers behind your back.

A loud honking from the car behind you made you jump in your seat. The line of cars finally started moving and it brought a sense of relief to you. You had 20 more minutes, maybe you were still going to make it.

The sound of your heels kissing the pavement echoed like gunfire through the neighborhood. When your taxi left you at the needed address, you looked around. It wasn’t too late, the small houses still looked alive with yellow lights and muffled voices. You took a deep breath, straightened your back and looked in front of yourself, examining the location. 

From the outside, Joel’s house looked nice. Nothing too fancy, the white paint a bit chapped, but the porch looked recently freshened up. A sturdy looking rocking chair covered with a blanket and a pillow gave the place a cozy feeling. His lawn was perfectly trimmed, and you imagined watching him mow it from that same porch with an iced tea in your hand. He’d be sweaty and shirtless, you’d drag him inside to fuck before he finished even a third of the territory. You clenched your thighs, a small pool of wetness gathering in your thongs. You better keep that thought away or you’d jump the poor man’s bones before he had the chance to say hello.

You checked your phone, 8:27 PM. Not too late, even acceptable in some countries, you tried to cheer yourself on. You hoped he wasn’t as insane about being late as you were or here went your first date in years. Gently, you tapped on the wooden door, the sound of someone approaching from the other side made you squeeze the bottle neck harder.

When the door flew open, you stretched out the hand holding the wine and fired out an apology in the most comical way you could, your eyes tightly shut.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, the traffic was horrendous. I promise I am usually never late, ever.” When no reply followed, you opened your eyes, a smile still tugging on your lips as you took in the man in front of you. It was both Joel and not. With your hand still outstretched, your mouth dropped with a hundred different questions, but you only managed to ask one. “Joel?”

“Hello, darlin’.”

“Is this some kind of a joke? Are you his dad or something?”

The man in front of you was not in his late thirties, hell, he wasn’t even in his late forties! The Joel that was staring at you looked pretty old, mid-fifties at least, you thought to yourself. His hair was mostly salt, no pepper in sight. It was inches longer than in the picture, soft-looking, it curled at the bottom. He was as tall and broad as you imagined, and it did give a little pang to your core that you quickly shut off. His face was ridden in wrinkles, prominent crows feet near his eyes that were still sad, still brown. You had half a thought to turn around and order yourself an Uber home, but the bewildered look on his face made you stop where you were.

“Darlin’, I know what’s going through your head right now, because I promise I didn’t expect you to be this young either! It must’ve been Sarah, my baby girl. She set up this thing, said she was tired of seeing her old man sad an’ miserable. Guess she didn’t think I was mighty attractive anymore.” He says with a self-deprecating chuckle. “She just straight up told me today that a nice woman would come over for a dinner, said she’d be here too, and if I loved her I had better prepared my nicest shirt an’ all. Christ, what was that girl thinking?” 

You caught yourself feeling bad for the man, your heart clenching. He was still definitely handsome. His stomach was slightly more prominent and his was shirt hugging him tightly in the middle. His hand that tucked a little white strand of hair behind his ear matched his face in little sun spots, skin that had been kissed by the burning star for longer than you’d been alive. But he still got it, in a silver fox kind of way. Poor man, put into such an embarrassing situation by his own daughter. Being willingly childfree had never looked more appealing to you. 

“You came all the way here just to be disappointed, I can’t tell you how-“

“I’m not disappointed,” you interrupted him quickly and stepped forward, an unknown force drove your hand to squeeze his forearm in a reassuring gesture. His eyes dropped when your manicured nails dug into his ironed flannel. “Just surprised, but that’s not a bad thing. We both unknowingly catfished each other.”

“Catfish? Ain’t that a type of fish?” 

“No,” you laughed lightheartedly, the man was adorable. The cold breeze picked up, and you were reminded that you were still on the porch, if any neighbors were out they were definitely getting a fresh batch of gossip to discuss before sleep. “It’s when you… You know what, no matter, it’s not important.”

Joel looked hesitant, his jaw ticked and you noticed him look you up and down before swallowing hard. Was he blushing? 

“I want to make it up to you before you go. I made us a nice dinner when I thought you were umm… age appropriate,” Joel tightened his lips and gave you an apologetic smile. “It ain’t catfish, just a steak, but I swear on my mama, it’s good.”

Before you could respond, your stomach growled making the decision for you. Your hand jumped to it, fisting the material of your dress as if trying to silence the embarrassing sound.

“Well, I don’t see any harm in that,” you smiled, accepting Joel’s invitation. The man looked harmless and you didn’t want to leave him sad and miserable, it seemed like he felt guilty enough. “It was quite a long drive.” Maybe it all could become a funny story you both would tell your friends. Separately. 

He stepped aside and you waltzed inside his house. It was big enough to still be cozy without making you feel trapped. The warm light made everything look safe and homey, hardwood floor creaked gently under your footsteps. The door lock clicked behind you and you turned around.

Joel was looking at you, a more confident smile now stretching his lips. The soft lighting took a few years off his face, and once again you noted that the man aged like a fine wine. That reminded you of the bottle you were still tightly gripping in your hand, and you stretched it out to Joel for the second time that night. He accepted with a muttered ‘thank you’.

“Feel at home, sweetheart, I’ll just grab something real quick.” Joel pointed towards his kitchen, the space was open, luring you in with a mouth-watering smell. 

You felt awkward walking around a stranger’s house, but followed his instructions. 

You didn’t see the way his eyes lingered on the exposed skin of the back of your thighs, his tongue flicking over his lower lip in anticipation. 

He disappeared further into the hallway, and you made your way towards the dining table. 

Alone, you took the opportunity to study the place you were allowed in. Unfortunately, it wasn’t very unique, or maybe you were just a shitty detective. Joel’s kitchen that spilled out into a dining room was disappointingly ordinary. Walls painted a soft yellow; polished doors of wooden cupboards and kitchen cabinets that looked old but taken care of; a four-person dining table that was now set with a few plates, simple utensils, napkins and wine glasses. You narrowed your eyes trying to see the pictures that were stuck to the fridge with small butterfly magnets. Your long ride and empty stomach must’ve taken a toll on your eyesight so you could barely make out Joel in those. There was a picture of him with another man, and… You leaned over the table as if trying to get closer, to see better.

“You know, you can just come closer to the fridge.” Joel’s chuckle made you jump in your seat.

“Sorry, I was just,” the right explanation failed you, and you surrendered. “I was just being nosy.”

“Didn’t catch you going through my drawers, so no harm. Can’t really snoop if it’s out there to see, right?” Joel set the opened bottle of the wine you’d brought on the table and waved a bottle opener in his right hand. “Haven’t had wine in some time so had to go look for this guy,” he explained. 

“Whatever you made, it smells delicious,” you smiled at him. The sucking feeling in your stomach became uncomfortable, and you cursed at yourself internally for skipping lunch.

“Well then, let’s get some of it in you, shall we?”

Joel seemed way more relaxed, maybe your agreement to spend time with him made him feel less guilty for his daughter’s actions; or maybe it was the confidence of being a host. Either way, it looked good on him. 

You didn’t stop your eye from wandering over his frame while he looked away, putting food on your plates. His dark green shirt was snug around his broad shoulders, the soft-looking material translated the feeling of warmth and comfort you lacked in your dress. He had blue jeans on, and you felt your cheeks heat up when you noticed a firm ass hidden behind the rough fabric. Your hand left the table, and you tugged at your bottom lip absent-mindlessly. What was twenty more years? He turned around and since your eyes hadn't moved, you were now shamelessly staring at his crotch. The jeans did not hide much.

You snapped your face up immediately at Joel’s quiet cough. There was a barely hidden smirk on his face, so you decided that no harm was done. So what if you gave the man a quiet compliment? You’d been doing that for the last two weeks, even though apparently his daughter was the one responding to them. You could spare some flirting for the poor guy, he looked like he enjoyed a bit of your harmless attention.

He didn’t lie, he was a decent cook. The meat melted on your tongue and the wine you brought complimented it nicely. You didn’t notice the way your glass was always full, Joel’s stories from the past kept you too entranced.

Heat was creeping up your chest, settling in your cheeks and you moved the wine glass away. You could tolerate a full bottle without being visibly affected, not your proudest trick but it was what it was. Yet, now you felt like you’d emptied at least a couple of bottles on an empty stomach, even though the bottle on the table proved otherwise. You felt dizzy, but not in a bad way, just more relaxed than you were planning to be. Joel looked more handsome every minute, his syrupy thick voice lulled you into a trance-like headspace.

“Can’t lie, you look mighty pretty, darlin’. Had I been thirty years younger it’d be hard to keep my hands to myself.” 

Wine dimmed your instincts, so you just giggled. Joel’s eyes darkened as he tripped his gaze from your face to your bust, your breasts straining against the silk fabric of your dress. You noticed him looking and cleared your throat, tits jiggling slightly. 

“Forgive an old man, sweetheart?” There was nothing sorry about his tone, but it slipped your mind completely, your guard almost all the way down. “As I said, haven't had a pretty thing like you here in ages.”

You tried to study his face, your brain foggy as you struggled to figure him out. “You compliment like a man deep in the dating pool,” you smirked, “makes it hard to believe it’s all an accident. Maybe you actually lured me in here

intentionally?” You raised your eyebrows, but couldn’t handle your own silly accusation, breaking down in giggles.

“Don’t worry, darlin’, this old dog is all bark no bite.” His smile looked sincere, kind laughter leaving his wet lips and he gave you a wink.

“You’re not that old,” your voice dragged the words out like you wanted to convince yourself more than him. You felt hot all over and you weren’t sure if it was the result of the wine you drank.

“You’re too kind, sweetheart, no need to spare my feelings. My prime is long behind the horizon.”

“No, you’re actually very handsome,” you didn’t lie, anyone with a good working set of eyes would see his attractiveness, and you had two weeks to cement it in your brain. “You have a very nice smile, and your hands,” your eyes dropped on the table where a giant fist was curled around his fork. “A lot of women appreciate a good set of hands.”

“Learned to work with them pretty well, too.” Joel nodded and smirked. “Leaking faucets, clogged drainage. Can fix it all.”

In your mind that phrase sounded naughtier than you were sure the man intended it to, and you reprimanded yourself, feeling a different kind of heat rise from your belly. With one swift movement you’ve emptied what was left in your glass of wine, forgetting about your need to somehow get home after dinner. Joel only poured some more in your glass, smiling softly.

He learned the dance moves long ago. Pretty birds like you were comfortably predictable, and even though you oozed a different kind of odor, he knew exactly what to say. He watched you sip your wine with ease, his own glass barely touched on the table.

When the last piece of salad was cleaned off your plate, you felt a pleasant fullness in your belly. Your head was heavy in a sleepy kind of way, and you looked around, trying to find something to hold your attention on. Your eyes skimmed the living room, from where you were sitting you could see an old couch, in some spots it was now more beige than brown, its big cushions looked soft and the blue quilt draped over the back of it was calling your name.

There was a guitar leaning against one of the armrests and you moved your eyes back at Joel who was silently studying you.

“You play that?” You blindly pointed your thumb towards the strategically placed instrument and Joel curtly nodded.

“I pluck the strings, sometimes something bearable comes out.” He joked, the apples of his cheeks saturated with color and you reached your hand to take his

and gently squeezed it. Joel’s skin turned out to be warm and dry, the sensation of giving him such an innocent touch tingled on your fingertips.

“I noticed you tend to undersell yourself. Would you play something for me?” You didn’t want to leave yet, and your empty plate didn’t really leave you a reason to stay. You tilted your head to the right and gave Joel a sweet smile, hoping he’d succumb to your charm. He didn’t wait long before returning the soft gesture. Slowly, he got off his seat. His figure loomed above you for a quiet moment before he outstretched his palm.

“I’d never be able to refuse you,” he admitted. Your hand drowned in his and he tugged you up. You almost crushed into his broad chest, but to your own dismay he took a step back. Your insides throbbed, the smell of his cologne mixed with his own odor awoke every single receptor on your skin.

“Do you like old stuff?” 

“I’m still here,” you quipped and shrugged your shoulders innocently. Joel stopped, making sure you saw him roll his eyes in fake annoyance. He couldn’t contain the breathy laugh, though, so you knew he got your joke. 

You moved towards the couch, while Joel walked a step behind you, enjoying the view of your ass in a skin tight dress. The outline of your thongs was visible to him, and he smiled to himself, maybe you weren’t as innocent as you pretended to be. Joel bit the inside of his cheek to refrain from any comments.

His hand hugged the neck of the guitar confidently, while you made yourself comfortable on the couch.

“I think I know just the thing.”

Your eyes never left his fingers as he started to hum an unfamiliar melody.

His voice lulled you in, deep vibrations as he plucked the strings reverberated in your chest. You felt so warm inside, the heat that was pooling in the depth of your belly rose and touched your chest, neck, the tips of your fingers. The dress clung to your skin unpleasantly and for a moment you wished you could take it off. Was it so wrong?

Your eyes traced Joel’s face, the sharp angle of his nose, the tip of it twitching as he sang gently. His lips caressed the words with a tenderness of a lover and you wondered when was the last time they did the same to a woman. Your thighs tightened as your body already knew something your mind only danced around. You shifted in your seat, moving closer to Joel, letting your knees touch.His eyes found yours, a question burning in his browns. You shrugged your shoulders and gave him a small smile, he smiled back. The melody continued, his warm timbre embracing the words.

Maybe tomorrow, honey, Some place down the line, I’ll wake up older So much older, mama, I’ll wake up older, and I’ll just stop all my trying

Your fingers drew patterns on your dress, nails picking at the seam with nervousness. The fire in the center of you gave you confidence to follow through, and your hand ended up on Joel’s knee, slowly moving up until your pinky touched the wood of his guitar. The melody didn’t falter, but his voice did.

“Whatcha doin’, sweetheart?”

“It is a date, isn’t it?” The shreds of your confidence only allowed you to squeeze his thigh with a hint, yet your eyes looked anywhere but his face.

“You shouldn’t do something like that to an old man like me, will break my heart when you leave,” he sounded so painfully sad, it made your heart ache as bad as your pussy. You looked him in the eye then, god, he was so handsome. 

“What if I don’t leave?” You challenged him like a mouse challenging a lion. Joel shook his head, his hand gripping the guitar’s neck viciously.

“Stop playing with me, darlin’.”

“What if I’m not playing?”

You expected another sad plea, another crack in his voice. But instead, he put his guitar to the side and spread his legs wider than before. “Then prove it.” He husked out. “Prove that you know what you’re doing.”

There was no mistake in what he meant. His voice added a new depth into it, eyes glowed with something dark. Passion, you thought. Need. The one that was pushing you to your knees at that same moment. The one that numbed your skin when your bones hit the hardwood floor between his spread thighs. The one that guided your hands to his zipper before you could even steal a kiss off his tantalizing lips.

He was hot underneath his clothes, his skin was burning like he had a fever and you were almost too impatient to be gentle. Joel lifted his hips just enough to help you tug his jeans down, his grey cotton boxers followed. He watched you intently, and you watched his half-hard cock lay heavily on his full balls. They were hanging low, their size intimidating. But no more intimidating than the main course.

You weren’t offended that he wasn’t fully hard yet, still, Joel took you by the chin and made you look at him. “Sorry, darlin’, you’re the prettiest girl I’ve seen in a long time, but at my age, it’s just not enough anymore.”

You nodded, your mouth flooding with saliva at the thought of him growing under your tongue. He was thick, veiny, more veiny than the dicks you’d seen

before so you thought it was an age thing, however the vines surrounding his shaft only made you whimper harder, thighs squelching with your arousal. 

You leaned forward, inhaling full lungs of him. It was heady, strong, and made you dizzier than all the wine you drank. You reached your hand out with the intent of touching his cock, but Joel stopped you.

“Touch yourself.” For the first time you heard something dark in his melody. Commanding.

“What?” You were confused. Did he want you to just play with yourself? Because you were on the verge of bursting if he didn’t let you get closer to his cock.

“Put your little hand in your panties and slick it up with all the sweet juices that have been leaking out of you since the moment you saw me, darlin’.” Your mouth fell open, hand following his order under Joel’s dominant gaze. “Then you can wrap it around my dick, and prove to me that you really want this.”

It was so easy to just do what he said, without questioning the moral, the consequences. Your hand was wet with your arousal, pussy begging to keep it

there, to give some attention to your clit, but your mind was set on the man before you. 

He hissed when you wrapped your slick hand around his shaft and started jerking it slowly, feeling the girth of him thrum with growing desire. You looked at his cock, entranced. His shaft was shining with your own juices, a pink head became deeper in color as more blood rushed to his cock. You swiped your thumb over it, a tiny drop of precum glistening in his slit. 

“You’re doin’ such a good job, angel.” Joel’s hoarse voice was almost a whisper. You felt the steam coming from him, it made you sweat, your breath hitching. “Why don’t you put that mouth to use, hm, darlin’? You speak awful lot with it.”

It almost made you giggle, a plan forming in your head. Instead of letting his cock in the scorching wetness of your mouth, your head dropped lower. You

stuck your tongue out, lathering his heavy balls in your saliva. They were fuzzy, like a ripe peach, and you massaged them with the wet muscle. 

“Fuck, ain’t nothing angelic about you, huh?” Joel’s voice was barely recognizable, hungry and low it vibrated in your pussy. You opened your mouth wider, sucking his balls in turn. “That’s right, making me feel so good, sucking on my balls like that. Come on, baby, use your tongue.” 

You tried to alternate between licking and sucking on his ballsack, your spit drooling over your chin while you were panting like a rabid dog. The only thing that mocked your ladylikeness was your goddamn dress, and it was almost drenched in your own slick at this point. 

“Good girl, sucking on my balls like it’s what you came here for. Came here to make an old man cum? What a perverted little girl you are, sweetheart.” Your pussy tingled with your praise. The mouth on him made your head spin, like a newfound drug that affected only you he seeped under your skin making you pant and moan as you continued pleasuring him. Your hand jerked his thick cock in tandem with your mouth on his balls. Joel’s eyes never left you, as he continued praising you. “Mmhm, that’s good, drench ‘em, fuck you’re a dirty one.” 

You felt his hand at the back of your head as it pressed you harder into him, your nose was forced into his perineum and he almost humped your face with his groin. Your tongue hung out, and he managed to slide his balls across it before it almost went too low. The tip of your tongue almost touching his puckered hole covered in more hair. 

“Not today,” you heard him grumble before tugging you up. “Come on, darlin’, don’t make me waste a load.” He pushed on your cheeks with his hand, feeding you his cock in one movement. It was a lot to take, your teeth barely scraping his shaft, and you used your tongue to protect the underside. “Take it all, come on, darlin’, you’re the one who wanted it.”

Intoxication and arousal didn’t mix well, as you just moaned pathetically around him, letting him deeper in your throat. It bulged with the sheer size of his dick, you felt it, uncomfortable, but you couldn’t move, your body too heavy and tired. Instead, your hands found his wet balls, already tight and ready to blow every drop of cum he’d been saving for you. You tried to fit them in your hand, gently tugging at his sack to stimulate him further.

“Ready, sweetheart? I better not see you waste a drop.” His hips bucked, and your nose was pressed into the soft tuft of his grey pubes. Joel pressed your head into him harder as his hot load trickled down your throat. You tried to breathe through your nose, the lack of oxygen blackening your vision.

He pulled out seconds before you were ready to pass out.

“Gotta tap my leg or somethin’, sugar. I don’t need you dying with my cock still in your throat.” You chuckled, not sure why. Joel placed his hand on your cheek, his thumb tracing your lower lip, slippery with your saliva. His whisper sounded gentle, “God, you’re a mess. Beautiful.”

You didn’t trust your throat to work, so instead, you tried to get up on your trembling legs. Your pussy still screamed for release, so wet you could feel your arousal escaping your thongs and dripping down your leg. You hiked the skirt of your dress up, not an ounce of shame inside, and straddled Joel.

“Whoa, darlin’, slow down,” his hands dropped to your hips, keeping you in place. Your brows furrowed. He didn’t look like a man who’d let a lady down. “Why don’t we change our location?”

You didn’t get an opportunity to look around, your feet scrambling as he tugged you into a dark room. His pants were up, but undone, and you lost your heels somewhere along the way, your dress still hiked up like a common whore.

Everything was spinning, so when he dropped on the bed at first you thought he fell. His voice was navigating you through the darkness, but you could barely concentrate on it.

“Come here, angel, let this old man take care of your pretty pussy.” Joel smacked his lips, and guided you to climb on top of him, legs on each side of his body until your pussy hovered over his face.

“Panties,” you whimpered and heard an immediate crack of fabric ripping.

“Sorry, darlin’, can’t make you wait any longer,” his face pressed into the side of your thigh, sticky with your own juices, and you whimpered pathetically at the texture of his scruff scratching your sensitive skin. “Smell so good, fresh, like a new doll.”

You couldn’t understand what he meant, you didn’t even try to. When his lips latched onto your clit, your head tilted back and you let out a loud moan. Joel only moaned back, the sound penetrating your pussy alongside his tongue.

His hands gripped your asscheeks painfully, forcing you to grind on his face. His tongue slipped in your wet hole, and you felt yourself shaking on top of him, your legs giving out as he kept fucking you with his tongue. 

Joel growled in your skin, making you crawl to your orgasm faster and faster with every swipe of his tongue. 

The tip of his nose kept hitting your sensitive clit, as he pushed his tongue further and further in your fluttering hole. He kissed his way up, pinching your clit between his tightly clasped lips and sucked, punching a cry out of you with his raw vigor.

“Come on, sugar,” he commanded, “I feel her cryin’, give her what she wants.”

With doubled passion he flickered his tongue over your throbbing bud, and you felt sweat trickling down your neck and soaking into your dress as an orgasm rushed over you.

Your body felt powerless, and if not for Joel’s strong hands still holding you up, you’d have fallen back. But he kept you somewhat steady, lapping up all that your wasted body could give him until every swipe of his tongue started being painful and you had physically push his face away with trembling hands.

“Got too enthusiastic, my bad. Ain’t every day I get to drink from a fountain of youth.” Joel joked, helping you settle next to him in his bed.

Your tired body was half laying on top of him, fully drained yet still unexplainably insatiable. Forced by something deep in the pit of your belly, you dragged your nails over his soft stomach until you touched his soft cock again. Joel quickly stopped you, grabbing your wrist and bringing your hand to his chest. You felt the sparse hairs on his nipple tickle your palm. His heartbeat was hard, but steady.

“Sorry, angel, ain’t that young anymore.” He said, kissing the crown of your head. His fingers found their way into your hair and he tugged at it gently. “If you want me to fuck that pretty hole of yours, you’ll just have to agree to a second date.”

Your words were slurred, eyelids too heavy to keep them open. “Maybe I will, old man.” 

He chuckled, the grip of his fingers in your hair tightened as he looked in the distance. A couple of flickering street lamps visible from his window were providing minimum light in his room and a possessive smile creeped onto his lips as he listened to you snoring lightly into his chest.

You weren't the first mouse to get trapped so easily, but something told him you were special. He wasn't ready to discard you just yet.

LEAVE A COMMENT, YOUR FEEDBACK IS MY MOTIVATION <3

[vivitalks]

don't get me wrong if there are no figayda defenders then i am dead but equally important to me is the fact that adaine was the one who reached out to ayda in the first place. from the very first moment, while the other bad kids were either unsure if ayda was even a person or if she was a bird or something else altogether, while they were making jokes, adaine was the one emphasizing ayda's personhood and acknowledging her as an individual deserving of respect. minute one, adaine has clocked ayda's deal and is completely on the level with her.

like, just to break down their interactions solely from the episode where they meet (2x07):

Adaine: Oh yes, I have a piece of paper.

Ayda: Why, are you bragging? I have many slips of paper.

Adaine: It's a specific piece of paper with a letter from Garthy on it.

> speaks too vaguely, sees that ayda did not understand her meaning, and immediately clarifies with specific language, without being glib or making a joke out of ayda's response

Ayda: Do you give this as a gift or as a message?

Adaine: I give it as a message. I would never give you a gift, you've made it clear that you do not want one.

> heard ayda's clearly expressed opinion on gifts and took her at face value, once again without any hint of mockery

Ayda: I wish for no gifts.

Adaine: But if you would like to buy this message off of me, you're more than welcome to.

> reframes the offering of the message as a transaction to eliminate any concern ayda may have about putting herself in debt, something she'd just expressly communicated she did not desire to do

jump to:

Adaine: I can teach you a spell if you teach me a spell. Then the transaction is clear.

> says in no uncertain terms what the transaction is. she is communicating on ayda's terms.

jump to:

Adaine: We can hang out if you like.

Ayda: What?

Adaine: I don't have any wizard friends.

Ayda: Why? [...] Are you hard to be around?

Adaine: No, I, no? Are you hard to be around?

Ayda: Yes.

> you just know ayda is repeating back words she has been told.

Adaine: Oh, do you want a friend?

Ayda: (pauses, intense stare) Desperately.

> this entire exchange is spoken in clear words and without subtext. adaine says what she wants and why she wants it. she is not put off by ayda. she doesn't find ayda hard to be around, but she also doesn't say anything to give ayda something to argue against. on the heels of ayda saying she's hard to be around, adaine asks anyway, "do you want a friend?" which communicates (1) the answer to whether or not you're hard to be around does not in any way modify my desire to be your friend, but also (2) i don't want to force friendship on you so i will ask you a clearer question: do you want a friend?

Adaine: I'll be your friend. Would you like to hold my frog? It's not a gift.

> "i'll be your friend" = adaine clarifying the result of the preceding line of questioning. "do you want a friend" could be taken by ayda to mean that adaine will present her with some third party friend, and adaine puts that to rest: she will be the friend. also doesn't assume ayda will remember adaine's earlier words or generalize her earlier sentiment of never offering ayda an unwanted gift; this is a new situation and conversation so adaine simply repeats her promise

Ayda: What level spell is this?

Adaine: Oh, it's just Find Familiar, it's—

Ayda: How?

Adaine: I can teach you it. It'll cost you 50 gold per level.

Ayda: (laughs screechingly) Very good.

> friendship notwithstanding, adaine does not assume that the transaction of spells for money is negated, but suggests it in such a way that ayda laughs, potentially sensing that adaine has created an inside joke for them, and potentially not being on the inside of too many of those.

all of this is FIRST MEETING. and the difference between how the other bad kids interact with ayda vs how adaine interacts with her in this episode is so stark. when adaine learns that they're both divination wizards, she is genuinely delighted. she thinks ayda is cool from basically their first interaction. adaine doesn't have any wizard friends!! and she's respectful towards ayda and meets her where she's at without any hesitation or difficulty. day one ride or die.

brennan likes to say that fig was the one who brought ayda out of side quest territory and into the main story, but it was adaine who extended the offer/request for friendship, it was adaine who reached out when she needed help at the row & the ruction, and it was adaine whom ayda immediately dropped everything to go and rescue the moment she knew adaine was in trouble. fig was an incredible friend and eventual partner for ayda, but adaine was ayda's first friend, the hand that reached out and grasped ayda to bring her into the bad kids fold in the first place, and nobody better forget it.

[starcurtain]

A Closer Look at the Phaidei Memory

I've seen so many people talking about this scene with Phainon and Mydei and making fun of how blatantly obvious Phainon is about his... respect for Mydei's... conspicuous body, but one thing I feel like a lot of people missed (or at least I haven't seen anyone discussing) is that this memory seems to come from very early on in their acquaintance.

Looking at it closely, it's clear that the two aren't particularly familiar with each other yet in this memory sequence. For one, Phainon questions things that he should easily know if he was well-acquainted with Mydei already.

First, very comically: "Do you even bathe, bro?"

And second, Phainon questions why Mydei isn't immune to the black tide:

This suggests that, up to the point of this memory, Phainon had not been in enough battles with Mydei (or at least close enough to Mydei) to see him be affected by the black tide. Apparently, this memory-Phainon-and-Mydei don't have years of rushing into battle side-by-side to defend Okhema yet.

It's also hilariously clear that the Phainon in this memory has absolutely no idea how to talk to Mydei.

Breaking this scene down, it's literally Phainon just trying really hard to strike up conversation, doing his best to try to crack the tough exterior and get Mydei to actually interact with him. He jumps around through topics rapidly--the baths, the black tide, their personal sparring--looking for anything that will catch Mydei's attention.

Meanwhile, we can tell that Mydei is not particularly familiar or comfortable with Phainon yet because his dialogue is so different from any of his other scenes in the game. Although Mydei is obviously not the game's biggest yapper, he does always have full sentences to contribute to other conversations and banters readily with Phainon whenever he's baited into it.

In this memory, he instead starts off polite but also completely aloof:

This is the exact sort of response you'd have to a vague acquaintance coming up and trying to talk to you like you're best friends. Phainon skipped at least four steps of familiarity here, and Mydei is obviously at a loss for why the conversation is even happening.

He responds by blatantly stonewalling, answering Phainon's (slightly pathetic) attempts to start an actual conversation in nothing but single word answers:

You can even see Phainon recognize how bad he's failing half way through the conversation, which prompts him to vocally declare that he's going to make a complete topic switch:

And this time, it works!

When Phainon brings up their personal duel or spar, whichever it was, finally, finally Mydei caves and engages in the conversation with him:

Which prompts Phainon to laugh (in relief? lol) and flat out crow about how he's finally cracked the code and figured out how to get Mydei to notice him:

Poor Mydei, however, did not seem to realize his slight display of interest was going to lead him into a full conversation, and he responds to Phainon's blatant invitation to keep talking with a confused:

Witness Mydei accidentally turning down Phainon's request for a date in real time.

The only thing that complicates the situation is what Phainon says late in the memory: that they've battled "all this time." However, looking at his earlier comments, this last statement may just be in a general sense, as in "two Chrysos Heirs who have been fighting the titans for years," especially as the rest of the line "How do you train? Would you consider teaching me?" once again indicates a lack of close familiarity.

(It's also possible this line is just poorly translated in English, and was actually meant to refer to their legendary ten-day-long duel: "We battled all that time, yet I never saw you fatigued." Given the rest of the lines in the memory, I think "dodgy translation" honestly makes the most sense here, and would also just have really funny implications: Phainon and Mydei didn't fall in love at first sight; they fell in comically-long-duel at first sight. Okay, maybe for Phainon it was both.)

Phainon's earlier statements in the memory make it clear that he isn't very experienced with fighting Mydei specifically, with the overall implication of the dialogue being that they've just had their first duel against each other recently:

So anyway, where I am going with all this?

I know a lot of people got distracted by Phainon's (accidental?) pass at Mydei in the first line, but I think taking a step back and looking at the scene as a whole, in context, makes it even more hilarious and off-the-cuff:

Phainon and Mydei aren't well-acquainted in this scene.

Phainon literally walked up on a guy he barely knows and the first words that fell out of his mouth were "Dan Nicky your bobbies." "I would know that body anywhere."

Even Mydei was weirded out at first!

Like, Phainon has absolute foot-in-mouth syndrome around his new "friend." He spends the whole conversation narrating his own attempts to communicate ("Ah, I see I am unwanted. Instead of leaving, I shall try another tactic. Is it working yet?" and "Yes, yes, yes, it worked!") like this is a remotely normal thing to do around a person you're not even close with yet.

You can see his puppy tail wagging. He wants to be friends with Mydei so bad.

He is actively making up excuses to try to get Mydei to spend time with him here--first the comment about "Yay, you're here!" at the baths like he expects them to bathe together, then the whole "Why don't we go somewhere and have a long conversation about the insights we gained from rolling around in the dirt together?" to finally just flat out asking Mydei to train with him.

It's so charmingly earnest, straightforward, and even a bit awkward that I think this scene is really under-rated by the fans. It's not just another example of Phainon commenting on Mydei's muscles--it's a glimpse into what they were like before they were close and just how much Phainon wanted to connect to Mydei, how willing he was to explore to discover exactly what Mydei would be interested in so that he could seize that common ground between them.

Really a masterclass in showing us fans characterization right on the cusp of changing, and for showcasing both Phainon's charming audacity and Mydei's surprisingly-reserved-around-strangers behavior.

And, since we know the future that memory-Phainon-and-Mydei are headed toward... we also know it worked! Mydei is smiling by the end of the conversation! He and Phainon are going to become vitriolic best buds--er, rivals--and Phainon is going to get all the spars he wants.

Persistence pays off!

[whosashan]

I'VE GOT MY EYES ON YOU

PAIRING: Love and Deepspace men x reader

SYNOPSIS: How you and him started dating.

A/N: Hope you enjoy!

Xavier

The moment you laid eyes on Xavier, you knew you had to have him. How could you not? That strikingly handsome face, those curious blue eyes, and an effortlessly captivating presence—it was impossible to resist.

The first time you approached him was at a grocery store. Your heart pounded against your ribs, threatening to break free from your chest, but you forced yourself to remain composed. Summoning your courage, you struck up a conversation.

He didn’t seem particularly interested, responding with brief, lackluster answers.

‘It’s fine, he’ll warm up to me,’ you assured yourself, determination flickering in your gaze. You had never pursued a man before, but this time was different. There was something about him—something magnetic—that refused to let you walk away.

Somehow, you managed to secure his phone number, and you wasted no time texting him, attempting to revive the conversation from earlier.

With persistence, you chipped away at his guarded demeanor, gradually uncovering bits and pieces of who he was. One particularly useful detail you learned? He lived close by. Another? His cooking skills were, to put it lightly, atrocious.

‘Perfect,’ you mused, making a beeline for your kitchen. It was time to put those cooking classes to good use.

Weeks turned into months, and an unspoken routine formed between the two of you—you would cook, and he would eat. As cliché as it was, the old saying held true: the way to a man’s heart really was through his stomach. Your bond deepened, not in a whirlwind of passion, but in slow, comfortable moments. And you didn’t mind one bit.

Late-night arcade outings, spontaneous hangouts, and occasional movie nights became the norm. And every time he fell asleep beside you, his face soft, his messy hair falling over his slightly flushed cheeks, your heart stuttered in your chest.

But with familiarity came a new problem: you had started to care, truly care, and with that realization, your once-unshakable confidence wavered. Flirting had been easy before, playful and teasing, but now? Now, every word felt heavier, every glance more meaningful. And the worst part? You were sure he didn’t even notice.

The final straw came when you noticed a certain colleague of his getting too close for your liking. That was it. You couldn’t put this off any longer.

“Hey, Xayxay, can you meet up? I want to talk to you about something,” you texted, before promptly throwing your phone onto your bed as if that would somehow lessen the weight of your nerves.

You waited. And waited.

It felt like an eternity.

Then, a sudden knock at your door.

You nearly tripped over yourself in your rush to open it. And there he was—Xavier, slightly breathless, eyes laced with concern, like he had practically run to get here.

“Did something happen?” he asked, stepping inside with the ease of someone who had long since made themselves at home in your space. And you loved that.

You sighed, wringing your hands together.

“Look, I don’t want to put this off any longer…” You hesitated, biting your lip. “Xavier, I like you. More than a friend.”

You braced yourself for rejection. But instead, you were met with his puzzled stare.

“…Aren’t we dating?”

“…What?”

“…What?”

So, it turned out you had nothing to worry about after all.

Zayne

On your way home, you stepped into a charming little pastry shop near the hospital. The aroma of freshly baked goods filled the air, making your mouth water in anticipation. You could already picture yourself sinking your teeth into a rich, decadent cake.

As you stood in line, your gaze landed on a man whose face was so strikingly handsome it felt almost unfair. There was an air of quiet composure about him, an effortless grace that made it nearly impossible to look away. You found yourself studying him, mind racing with ways to strike up a conversation. How often did you come across someone this captivating?

"Excuse me, sir." Your voice took on a honeyed sweetness that made you cringe internally, but desperate times called for desperate measures. "You seem like quite the pastry connoisseur. I don’t come here often, so I’d love a recommendation." A harmless lie.

He turned his gaze toward you, expression unreadable. Crossing his arms, he seemed to consider your question carefully before responding.

"If you’re looking for something light, the macarons are an excellent choice. If you prefer something more substantial, the caramel cheesecake is exquisite." His tone was smooth, assured—like a man who always knew the right answer.

At least he had good taste.

"Ahh, thank you! I’ll definitely try both," you said, flashing him a bright smile. Then, before you could lose your nerve, you added, "If you’re not busy, maybe we could enjoy them together here?"

Where had this sudden boldness come from?

He studied you for a moment, as if weighing his options. Then, with a small nod, he answered, "I do have a break from work right now. Alright."

You nearly leapt with joy, but just as you were about to celebrate internally—

"Ahh, Y/N! My favorite customer! What can I get for you today?" the cashier called out cheerfully.

You froze. Busted.

Despite the momentary embarrassment, the interaction led to an exchange of phone numbers. You didn’t get to see Zayne often due to his demanding career as a doctor, but he always found time to text back, even indulging your occasional rants. Sometimes, he even called. The slow progression of your relationship was something you treasured, a delicate dance of growing affection.

Time passed, and though you longed to ask Zayne out, you hesitated. He almost seemed too good to be true. Would he ever truly be interested in you?

Then, there were the little things—how his gaze lingered a second too long, how his hand seemed to hover over yours before pulling away, how, despite his overwhelming schedule, he always carved out time for you. Were those hints? Or were you reading too much into it?

Your thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the soft ping of a notification. Your heart jumped as you picked up your phone. A message from Zayne.

"Are you free tonight?"

Such a simple text, yet it sent heat rushing through your body.

"For sure! What do you want to do?" you replied, fingers trembling slightly as you awaited his response.

"I’d love to take you out."

Your breath hitched. Take you out. As in… a date?

You stared at the message, searching for any alternate meaning, but there was none.

"I would love that, Zayne," you finally typed, hands shaking.

"Lovely. I’ll pick you up at 7."

You practically sprinted to your room to get ready.

The evening was nothing short of perfect. He took you to a refined restaurant, surprising you with a bouquet of your favorite flowers—proof that he had been listening all along. The air between you was charged with something different, something new yet thrilling.

After dinner, the two of you strolled beneath a sky blanketed with stars, the crisp night air adding an almost cinematic touch to the moment.

"You’re shivering," he observed, his voice as calm and measured as ever. Without hesitation, he slipped off his coat and draped it over your shoulders, the warmth of the fabric—and of him—enveloping you.

"Thank you…" you murmured, smiling softly but avoiding his gaze, afraid he’d see just how deeply he affected you.

"Y/N." He came to a halt, prompting you to stop as well. His tone was composed, yet there was an unfamiliar weight behind it.

"I would love to take you out more… What I mean is, would you do me the honor of being my girlfriend?" His face remained impassive, but you swore you caught the faintest hint of a blush gracing his cheeks.

Your heart nearly exploded.

"I would love nothing more, Zayne."

Rafayel

Being an art enthusiast, you often found yourself wandering through exhibitions, losing yourself in the beauty of each piece. Tonight, however, felt different. This was Rafayel's exhibition—a name that had long held a certain power over you. His art possessed an almost hypnotic quality, evoking emotions so profound that you struggled to put them into words.

As you moved through the gallery, your gaze inevitably found him. Rafayel stood amidst a small group of admirers, answering their questions with an effortless confidence. His voice was smooth, steady, rich with an underlying intensity that made it impossible to ignore.

But it wasn’t just his voice that captivated you. He was a masterpiece himself—dressed in a crisp white blouse, his dark hair slightly tousled, his sharp eyes carrying a quiet depth. There was something about the way he carried himself, as if knowing the effect he had on people.

You didn't want to appear as just another admirer swooning over the artist. Your fascination went beyond that—you were genuinely intrigued by his mind, his process. So, when the crowd around him began to disperse, leaving him momentarily alone, you took a steadying breath and approached him. He stood before one of his paintings, his gaze heavy with contemplation.

"You truly know how to capture a moment," you mused, your voice steady but tinged with admiration. "This piece in particular—it feels almost melancholic, like someone longing for something just out of reach."

Rafayel’s eyes flicked toward you, scanning your face, weighing your words. For a brief moment, you feared he might dismiss you with the same aloofness he granted others, but instead, his lips curved into something almost thoughtful. And just like that, an unspoken understanding passed between you, giving way to a conversation that carried on far longer than you had expected.

That first meeting was the spark. You found yourself returning to his exhibitions more often, drawn not just to his art but to him. It became a quiet routine—the two of you engaging in deep discussions, learning the intricacies of each other's thoughts and mannerisms. At first, Rafayel maintained his usual air of arrogance, teasing and enigmatic, but with time, you glimpsed something more—something raw and unguarded beneath the facade.

It wasn’t long before your admiration deepened into something more. You had fallen for him, hopelessly so. And you liked to think, in stolen moments of lingering glances and fleeting touches, that perhaps he felt the same.

One evening, you found yourself in his studio, sitting on the floor as he worked, the only sounds being the occasional stroke of his brush against canvas. The atmosphere was comforting, intimate in a way words couldn’t quite capture.

“You’re unusually quiet,” he remarked, his tone laced with amusement. You rolled your eyes, looking up at him from your spot on the floor.

“And you’re talkative, as always.” A soft smile played on your lips as you stood and walked toward him.

“Rafayel, can I ask you something?” The hesitation in your voice made him pause. He turned to face you, one brow arched in curiosity.

“Why so serious?” he asked, studying you intently.

You scoffed lightly. “Never mind, then.”

He let out a small sigh. "You’ve already started. Might as well finish."

You hesitated for a beat before finally speaking. “Do you… have someone you like? More than a friend, I mean.”

For a fleeting second, something unreadable passed through his gaze. Then, a slow smirk tugged at his lips. “Curious, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

He exhaled a quiet chuckle before answering, “There is someone. She’s insufferably stubborn, a little reckless, and quite possibly the clumsiest person I’ve ever met.” His gaze softened, a rare warmth creeping into his tone. “And yet, she’s also the most endearing.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs. “You need to be more specific.”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “If you weren’t so oblivious, you’d figure it out.”

A teasing smile spread across your lips. “Wait—are you talking about me?” You nudged him playfully.

He said nothing, his focus returning to his painting.

Oh.

“YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT ME?” you blurted, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Don’t flatter yourself. It’s just a small crush,” he scoffed, though the faint pink dusting his ears betrayed him.

A laugh bubbled out of you, pure and unrestrained. “Aww, Rafayel! I like you too.”

His expression flickered with surprise before he quickly masked it with his usual confidence. “Of course you do. Who wouldn’t?”

Despite his words, his actions spoke differently—pulling you into his arms, he pressed a tender kiss to your temple, lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

Perhaps, just this once, he didn’t mind wearing his heart on his sleeve.

Sylus

Sleep had eluded you, leaving you restless and craving the crisp night air. The city was bathed in the gentle glow of streetlights, the sky an endless expanse of inky black adorned with shimmering stars. Their quiet brilliance was captivating, an ethereal distraction that kept your gaze skyward as you wandered aimlessly through the quiet streets.

Lost in thought, you didn’t notice the figure in your path until you collided with him.

“Oh! I’m so sorry—” you started, but your words caught in your throat as you looked up at him.

The man before you was striking. Towering in stature, his silver hair gleamed beneath the moonlight, tousled in a way that made it appear effortlessly elegant. But it was his eyes that truly seized your breath—deep crimson, piercing and intense, as if they could unravel every secret hidden within you. His features were sharp, sculpted to perfection, and his presence exuded an air of undeniable dominance.

He regarded you with a smirk, his amusement evident.

“Worry not, sweet thing,” he murmured, his voice a velvety caress against your senses. The smoothness of his tone sent a shiver down your spine, deepening the warmth blooming in your cheeks. His gaze flickered over your face, noting your reaction, and his smirk grew ever so slightly.

Only then did you realize what else you had stumbled upon. A few feet away, a man knelt on the pavement, head bowed, his entire posture trembling before the silver-haired stranger. The sight sent unease prickling up your spine.

What exactly had you just walked into?

The silver-haired man followed your gaze before exhaling softly. “Ah,” he mused, as if debating what to say. “A young lady like you shouldn’t be wandering alone at this hour. The night is filled with monsters, after all.”

The way he said it, with that knowing glint in his crimson eyes, sent a fresh wave of unease through you. Somehow, you knew he wasn’t speaking metaphorically. But instead of pressing for answers, something in you decided it was best not to ask.

“I was just out for some air. I should…probably head home now.” You forced a steady voice, willing your body not to betray the apprehension creeping into your bones. Every instinct in you screamed to run, yet your legs remained locked in place, unwilling to reveal your fear.

He tilted his head slightly, watching you. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Allow me to escort you.”

Your breath hitched. “You seem more dangerous than whatever else is lurking out here.”

A rich chuckle escaped him, dark and amused. “A fair observation.” He leaned in slightly, his gaze never wavering. “But that decision, my dear, is entirely yours.”

Despite every warning sign flashing in your mind, you hesitated. There was something about him—his presence was undeniably commanding, yet oddly reassuring. And then, there was the nagging feeling that he was familiar, though you couldn't place why.

Eventually, you gave a small nod, curiosity overpowering reason.

And so began your entanglement with Sylus. The enigmatic man came and went like a shadow, slipping in and out of your life at his whim. Some nights, he would appear unexpectedly, gifting you your favorite sweets or leaving a new dress draped across your doorstep with no explanation. Tickets to your favorite concerts would mysteriously find their way into your mailbox, the sender unstated but obvious.

It was infuriating. It was intoxicating. He was impossible to understand, yet he made you feel desired—seen in a way no one else ever had.

But after monthsof his unpredictable vanishing acts, your patience wore thin. So when he strolled into your apartment one evening, pouring himself a glass of the wine you had bought earlier, you finally snapped.

“You’re confusing me,” you blurted, frustration lacing your tone. “What am I to you, Sylus?”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. He raised the glass to his lips but paused, considering your words. Slowly, he set the drink down and approached you, his crimson eyes locking onto yours. When he reached out to cup your cheek, you instinctively pushed his hand away, resolve burning in your gaze.

He sighed. Vulnerability did not come easily to him; that much was clear. But you were different. You had made him a little softer, a little weaker in ways he didn’t quite understand.

“I can’t keep living in uncertainty,” you continued, voice steadier now. “Either tell me what you want, or leave me alone.”

A beat of silence stretched between you before he spoke, his voice low, certain.

“I want you.”

The simplicity of the statement sent your heart racing. You hadn’t expected him to be so direct, nor for his words to carry such weight.

Your face grew hot. “You’re an idiot.”

A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest as you sighed, resting your head against him, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He smelled of something rich and warm, a scent you couldn’t quite place but already found comforting.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you mumbled, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Sylus merely hummed in amusement, his arms wrapping around you with the quiet possessiveness of a man who had no intention of letting go.

Caleb

After your reunion with Caleb, an unfamiliar feeling took root in your chest—no, not unfamiliar. It had always been there, buried beneath layers of friendship and denial. But now, it was impossible to ignore. Suddenly, you were hyper-aware of just how much of a man he had become.

His kind yet brooding eyes, that boyish grin, the intoxicating scent that lingered on his clothes—had he always smelled this good? Broad shoulders, strong arms, hands that had always handled you with ease, lifting you effortlessly whenever. The thought alone sent heat creeping up your cheeks, and the man sitting across from you clearly took notice.

“What’s got you all blushy-blushy, pipsqueak?” he teased, pinching your cheek with that infuriatingly smug smirk.

You scoffed, turning your face away. “Don’t touch my face, Caleb! I have makeup on.”

Lately, you’d found yourself caring more about your appearance around him. It was absurd. He’d seen you at your absolute worst—bedhead, tears, even the aftermath of too much liquor. Yet now, every glance he sent your way made you feel… shy? What was happening to you?

He only chuckled in response, leaning back against his chair.

The two of you had met up at a café to play Kitty Cards, an old favorite. He always let you win, though he never admitted it. You pretended not to notice, but every time you did, it made you smile—just a little.

“Alright, come on. The movie’s gonna start soon.” He stood, extending his hand toward you. Without hesitation, you took it, savoring the warmth of his rough palm against yours.

The movie of choice was a horror film—Caleb’s idea, of course. You had agreed, partly to humor him and partly because any excuse to spend more time with him was welcome.

Inside the theater, you sat beside him, the glow of the screen illuminating his sharp features. The flickering light made his eyes glimmer, and for a moment, you were caught staring. You quickly looked away, but not before he noticed. Of course he noticed.

“You’re acting weird.” His gaze lingered on you, his voice laced with curiosity.

“I—uh—I’m on my period,” you blurted, grasping for an excuse. “That’s all. I just feel a little unwell.”

His expression softened instantly. “You should’ve told me. Do you want to go home? I’ll cook you some soup, and we can watch something there instead.”

There he was again—always caring, always thinking of you. It made your heart race, and you hated how easily he could do that to you.

“No, it’s fine. Let’s just watch the movie.”

As the film progressed, it proved to be far scarier than you’d anticipated. Without realizing it, you had latched onto Caleb’s hand. He chuckled at your reaction but didn’t pull away.

Then came the jump scare.

Out of reflex, you turned toward him, seeking comfort. But at the same moment, he turned toward you.

Peck.

Your lips brushed against his.

Your breath hitched. His eyes widened slightly, and for a few heart-stopping seconds, neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. Just stared.

“I’m so sorry!” you yelped, whipping your head away in mortification.

“Hey, it’s fine, pipsqueak.” He gave you a reassuring smile. “It was an accident.”

You didn’t know why, but his words stung a little.

“…Yeah.”

By the time you returned home, your shoulders were weighed down with something heavy, something unspoken. It gnawed at you, clawed at your chest.

Caleb, as if sensing your turmoil, placed his hands on your shoulders, turning you to face him. “Alright, that’s enough. Tell me what’s wrong.”

You swallowed hard, your gaze dropping to the floor before gathering the courage to meet his eyes.

“Caleb… would it be selfish of me if I said I want to kiss you again?”

Silence. A single, tense moment stretched between you, thick enough to drown in. Then, without a word, he reached for you. His hands cupped your face, disregarding your earlier complaint about ruining your makeup, and with a quiet exhale, he pressed his lips to yours.

The kiss was brief, tender—yet it held the weight of something long overdue.

In that moment, you knew he was no longer only your best friend.

[tpwk-formula1]

Kinktober Day 1 - Hickeys - LN4

It is day one of my first Kinktober! I have been wanting to do one for years on different accounts and in different fandoms but I have finally started earlier enough to actually pump out an imagine a day!

All posts will be made at 12 PST according to the day

Lando Norris X Reader

TW - Hickeys, use of word whore, jealous sex, shower sex, unprotected sex, creampie

WC - 1400+

Y/N POV

"We're leaving," Lando said while pulling me away from the conversation I was currently having with Max.

"Lando! Stop, I'm trying to have a conversation, stop being rude," I said while pulling my arm out of his grip and trying to make my way back to Max.

"You've had enough conversation with him to last a lifetime! I've watched you giggling with Verstappen for the past 10 minutes. He cannot be that fucking funny! We are leaving now," Lando said while taking ahold of my hand and pulling me towards the exit.

Once we got outside and the loud blare of the noisy club behind us I can finally talk to Lando without having to shout.

"Lando, what the actual fuck was that?" I questioned him while we were waiting for our car to arrive from Vallet.

"I have barely seen you tonight and when I finally located you, you're practically on top of Max!" Lando replies back clearly mad about the situation.

"Lando Norris... Are you fucking kidding me right now? You're jealous of Max!" I reply back trying to hold my laugh back. Lando and I had been together since his rookie season so watching him get jealous over someone I had never once shown an interest in was quite funny.

"I'm not jealous of him, Y/N. But you don't need to all over him in a public setting like that!" Lando replies back before grabbing the keys from the young man who just returned the Porsche to the front of the club.

Once we got into the car it was fairly silent other than the noise of our breathing.

"You're ridiculous" I break the silence making Lando scuff.

"You're the ridiculous one! I don't understand how you aren't seeing the problem! You're over there flirting with my closest rival on the grid while you're in a very public relationship! You know how the media can be," Lando replies back. I just roll my eyes at how ridiculous his behavior has gotten.

"Lando you know damn well I would never even LOOK at Max like that! I have never once been interested in him, and I NEVER will be! You have never once had a problem with me being friends with the grid, do not start acting like this now because you are in a championship battle with him," I tell him while we pull into the garage of his Monaco appartment.

When I get out of the car I slam the door and make my way to the elevator trying to avoid Lando as much as possible.

The ride up to Lando's apartment was silent and awkward, both of us reflecting on the actions of the night.

When we finally get into the apartment I make my way into the bathroom before stripping down and getting in the shower knowing I need to clear my head before Lando and I can have a mature conversation.

I'm not even halfway through my shower before I hear the bathroom door open making me turn around and find Lando coming in shirtless and starting to unbutton his pants. Once he is stripped down he climbs into the shower with me.

I roll my eyes at him before turning my back towards him.

This was Lando's final straw because the next thing I know I am pushed up against the shower wall with Lando's chest pushed against my back.

"Drop the fucking attitude! I wasn't the one whoring myself out," Lando seethes out into my ear. When I don't respond to him he starts kissing behind my ear and down my neck.

Once he finds my sweet spot it leaves me gasping in shock before I feel his teeth sink into my neck and start sucking.

"Lando," I moan out. Once Lando pulls away from me I turn my head slightly to watch him observe the mark that is inevitably starting to darken on the side of my neck.

Without words, Lando takes my hips into his hands before aggressively spinning me around so we are face-to-face.

When I look into Lando's eyes I can see the lust swimming through them.

I grip onto Lando's neck pulling him down for an aggressive make-out session. It's not long before Lando is pulling back and trailing kisses down my jaw and neck again.

The feeling of Lando's teeth sinking into my warm skin has my knees growing weaker. Once Lando makes it to my tits I feel myself give out to the pleasure and if Lando wasn't holding me up I definitely would have been on my knees from the pleasure.

"Fuck," I gasp out when Lando takes my nipple between his teeth and biting down softly.

When I glance down at Lando all I see is his wet curls and little purple marks trailing down from my neck to my tits. I can't remember the last time Lando had given me a hickey let alone a whole collection of them.

"Lan please," I whine out trying to push him lower.

I get no response from Lando but he does start making his way lower down my body. All I feel is Lando continuing his trail of hickeys down my stomach leading his way to my soaked pussy.

When he finally reaches the spot I wanted him most instead of diving right in like he normally does he starts leaving hickeys all over my thighs. He has one of my legs in his hand giving him the perfect space to continue to tease me.

With the death I have on his hair I try to pull him close to my dripping core but instead, he makes his way to my other thigh but not before leaving a long lick from my dripping hole to my throbbing clit. This has me gasping for air thinking I was finally going to get what I wanted but Lando had other plans.

"Please, Lan," I whine out not knowing how much more of this teasing I can handle.

"Patience," All Lando says before starting his trail of hickeys again.

It feels like forever before I can feel Lando slowing making his way back to my soaking pussy. When he finally gets to the spot I needed him the most I let out a loud shrink when I feel Lando's teeth sinking down softly on my throbbing clit, before releasing it with his teeth and starting to suck on it.

"Fuck Lando," I moan out knowing I won't be lasting long if he continues this assault on my overly sensitive clit.

"I'm close," I moan out. This had Lando pulling away making me whine out from the loss of contact.

Lando doesn't say anything before he flips me back around so my chest is pressed against the shower wall.

It doesn't take long before I can feel Lando teasing my entrance with his hard tip. When he finally pushed in I let out a loud moan not knowing how to handle the overwhelming pleasure of being so full.

Lando starts thrusting in and out at a quick and rough pace. It doesn't take me long before I can feel my orgasm building again.

"Fucking, cum," Lando aggressively moans out making me explode all over Lando's cock.

"Fuck," I moan out feeling the early signs of overstimulation start to take course.

"Lan, fuck, please," I moan out not really knowing what I want.

"You're going to cum again," Lando grunts out making up my mind for me. I can already feel my second orgasm start to build when Lando reached around and started rubbing my clit which threw me over the edge again. This orgasm was stronger than the first leaving me shaking all over Lando's cock.

"I'm gonna cum in you," Lando whispers in my ear before I felt him slow his pace down but continue with the strong thrusts. When he finally spills into my still throbbing pussy I can feel how much cum he is pumping deep into me.

"Fuck," Lando groans out before slowly slipping out and allowing some of the cum to drip out of my pussy.

When we finally came down from our strong orgasms we finish our shower together before getting out. Lando gets out first and wraps his towel around his waist before grabbing the second towel and wrapping it around my body before helping me out.

When I finally get a good look in the mirror I can see just how much damage Lando had done to my skin. Just from my neck to chest I can see at least 8 hickeys ranging from small light purple marks to bigger deeper purple marks.

When I make eye contact with Lando in the mirror I see the smug look he is giving me.

"Well now he knows you're mine," Lando says with a small shrug before walking out of the bathroom, leaving me shaking my head at his petty jealousy.

[sosakali]

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mutualfriend!jisung x f!reader

SCENE : jisung has always had a crush on you ever since his friend introduced you to him , obviously you were oblivious until a drunk truth or dare game goes left .

TW: smut

WC: 5.7k

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the night air is thick with leftover bass and the scent of sweat and perfume . your group stumbles out of the club, laughter echoing under the orange streetlights . someone yells for fries, another argues that they should walk home to "burn off the alcohol." you just want to take your heels off and collapse somewhere soft. you’re walking ahead, jacket wrapped tight around your shoulders, phone clutched in one hand, when you hear footsteps catch up beside you . it’s jisung.

he’s got that nervous energy again , eyes flicking between the ground and your face , hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets like he’s afraid they might betray him . there’s a slight flush on his cheeks, though it could be the cold or the vodka from earlier. "you danced a lot tonight," he says, voice a little too soft, like he’s unsure if he should’ve spoken. you nod, smiling. "yeah, it was fun. haven’t had a night like that in a while." jisung chuckles, barely audible. "you looked like you were having fun." he adds something under his breath, but you miss it .

"hm?"

"nothing," he says quickly . his hand brushes against yours and he jerks it back like he touched a flame . you barely notice .

you’re talking about the DJ now, about how weird the remixes were, and jisung is walking beside you like always. that’s the thing , you don’t even register how he’s always beside you . how, at the club, every time you turned around, he was never far . how he brought you water before you could ask , how he told that one guy who got too close to back off .

"i think I left my charger at your place," he mumbles .

"you have like three chargers at my place," you say, laughing .

he shrugs, bashful . "guess I keep leaving stuff on purpose."

you grin. "then you're definitely doing it for attention."

he looks at you , eyes wide for a second , then he quickly looks away, smiling to himself . "yeah. something like that."

the group is behind you now , their voices fading as they joke about someone almost tripping over the curb . the night feels quieter, more intimate . you notice how jisung keeps opening his mouth like he’s about to say something , then stops . like he's fighting with himself . you slow down near your street, and Jisung matches your pace.

"hey," he says , suddenly sounding a bit more serious . "do you… remember that time we were out and some random guy asked if we were together?"

You laugh. "oh yeah! that was hilarious. you turned so red."

he scratches the back of his neck. "yeah, well… i mean. i didn’t think it was that crazy of a question." you blink, confused. "what do you mean?" he glances at you. "nothing. just… never mind." you smile at him again , clueless , brushing it off like always . and jisung, poor boy, just nods and kicks a pebble into the street.

he wishes you’d catch it, just once . the way he lingers when you speak . the way he always makes sure he’s the one walking you home. the way he’s memorized your laugh, your favorite drink, the way your nose scrunches when you're drunk and happy .

two blocks from the bar , the night feels different . softer . the chaos has dulled into something quieter , like everyone's riding that mellow wave after the high . streetlights flicker above you , casting long shadows on the pavement . the group’s a little scattered now , some ahead , some behind , conversations happening in pairs and bursts of laughter.

you’re walking in the middle , pace slow and easy . tour heels aren’t killing you yet , but they’re threatening to . jaemin’s up front with a few others , spinning around every few seconds like he’s hosting a reality show. “yo!” he shouts back, grinning . “let’s go to your place! truth or dare night . classic . i'm feeling chaotic.”

You roll your eyes. “didn’t y’all just say you wanted food?”

“we can walk and decide! i want to embarrass Jisung again like i did last time,” haemin cackles . you glance at jisung , who’s walking quietly beside you again , hands shoved into his pockets , his hoodie bouncing with each step . He chuckles, barely .

“can’t wait,” he mutters, eyes low .

you smirk. “you alright?”

He nods. “yeah. just… thinking.”

about two steps go by in silence before he adds , “you ever notice how different everything feels right after the club?” you raise an eyebrow . “Like how?” "like…” he searches for the words, his eyes still on the pavement . "like everything’s quieter, but louder at the same time . You hear stuff better . feel stuff more.”

you look at him for a second . his jaw’s tense, lips slightly parted like he’s debating what to say next .

“You get like that too?” he asks.

You shrug. “sometimes . depends who I’m walking with.”

that gets him . his mouth twitches like he’s about to smile, but he doesn’t . he just nods .

“you looked good tonight,” he says suddenly .

you turn your head, surprised . “Huh?”

jisung keeps his eyes forward. “at the club. you looked really good.”

it’s not the first compliment you’ve ever gotten from him , but it’s different . there’s something in the way he says it , soft but weighty, like it almost slipped out . like it mattered to him too much . you laugh lightly, not knowing what else to do with that tension blooming in your chest . “thanks.”

“i mean it,” he says quickly.

you glance at him again . his face is turned just enough for you to catch the faint pink on his cheeks . he’s biting the inside of his lip now , and for some reason it makes your heart stutter a little. before you can respond, jaemin yells again from the front, “yo! y/n! are we going to your spot or not?”

You blink, like you’d just been pulled out of something.

“yeah!” you call back . “we’re almost there!”

and then the group starts turning the corner up ahead . jisung nudges your arm gently as you walk beside him again, his voice just low enough for only you to hear .

“i keep hoping you’ll notice.”

you glance at him, but he’s already looking away, eyes fixed on the sidewalk like it’s safer there . you don’t say anything. not yet. but suddenly, the sound of your heels on the pavement, the late-night air, and the hoodie wrapped around you all feel like pieces of something you hadn’t been paying attention to until now .

and you keep walking , side by side , two blocks further from the bar… but maybe one step closer to something else.

by the time you all reach your apartment, your feet are screaming, someone’s complaining about how hungry they are , and jaemin’s still on a mission like it’s his birthday. you unlock the door and everyone pours in like it’s tradition . shoes fly off, music’s cued on low, and within minutes someone’s already digging through your kitchen for snacks .

the living room shifts into chill mode , blankets thrown around, pillows dragged to the floor , lights dimmed low. red cups start getting filled with whatever’s left in the fridge: wine, vodka, juice, whatever mix works. It's a mess , but a fun mess. giselle plops down beside you on the floor , cross-legged , her long nails wrapped around her cup . she pulls out her pineapple vape and takes a slow pull , exhaling that sweet scent like she’s in a perfume ad.

“okay,” she says , lips already curved into a smirk, “who's tryna get exposed tonight?”

jaemin claps his hands once , loud. “TRUTH. OR. DARE. let’s gooo.”

everyone groans and cheers at the same time , and suddenly you’re all forming a messy circle , knees touching, red cups in hand, half of y’all already buzzed, the rest getting there. you’re between giselle and jisung. of course. his leg brushes against yours when he shifts, and neither of you move . it’s not on purpose… but it also kind of is .

the bottle jaemin pulled from your kitchen starts spinning in the center . it lands on one of the guys first , and the game kicks off. the usual dumb stuff at first : “text your mom and ask her if aliens are real,” “do ten jumping jacks while chugging your drink,” all laughter and chaos .

Then the questions shift.

giselle spins next. the bottle lands on you.

she grins. “truth or dare, baby?”

you lift your cup to your lips. “truth.”

she leans in with that devilish look . “alright. when’s the last time you hooked up with someone?”

everyone hollers . you laugh, shaking your head .

“damn, y’all are messy already.”

"answer the question!” felix says, pointing.

you sip. “like, two months ago . nothing serious.”

someone says “ooh,” someone else fake coughs “boring,” and the bottle moves on . the laughter stays light , but you feel jisung tense beside you a little .

your turn to spin . it lands on him .

you look at him over your cup. “truth or dare?”

he meets your eyes for the first time since sitting down . his gaze lingers. “truth.” you think for a second , then smirk. “alright, Jisung… have you ever caught feelings for someone in this room?”

he freezes for just a beat . the group gets quiet .

giselle exhales a puff of pineapple that floats between you and him like fog .

he glances around the room, slow . then, finally, his eyes land on you.

“…yeah.”

the air shifts. you feel it. heavy and warm.

jaemin’s eyebrows shoot up , but he says nothing. the bottle spins again .

the next few turns barely register , someone gets dared to take a shot off someone’s stomach , another person admits they still stalk their ex . but your mind’s not on any of that . you feel jisung next to you, quiet but not distant . his thigh’s still brushing yours . he hasn't looked away since he said it .

giselle nudges you with her knee and whispers low , “girl… you felt that too , right?”

you don’t answer . you just take another sip of your drink .

because yeah , you felt it .

and you don’t think this night’s done revealing things yet .

the bottle keeps spinning . people are getting bolder now . the kind of bold that only red cups and low lights can bring out . someone just admitted to hooking up in a dressing room. another dared jaemin to post “i miss you” on his story for five minutes. the whole circle’s buzzing with chaotic giggles and wild side-eyes .

you’re sitting there , heart still tangled from jisung’s little “yeah” answer , trying to play it cool. every time you glance at him , he’s either looking away fast… or already looking at you .

then the bottle spins again.

jake’s turn.

he leans forward, eyes gleaming. “alright, I’m feeling messy.”

the bottle does its slow, dramatic spin ,click ,click ,click ,and lands right on you. “oooooooh,” the group sings, already hyped .

jake grins. “truth or dare, y/n?”

you tilt your head. “dare.”

jaemin gasps. “she’s brave now.”

jake doesn’t hesitate. “i dare you to kiss Jisung . ten seconds . full makeout.”

the entire room EXPLODES.

“jake!” yuna shouts.

“oh my goodnesss,” giselle squeals , clutching her vape like it was a pearl necklace .

you blink. you open your mouth to say something , maybe protest, maybe joke it off , but then you glance at jisung .

he’s already looking at you.

face flushed, lips slightly parted . frozen . but not backing out.

you laugh, nervous. “are y’all serious right now?” jake holds up his hands. “a dare’s a dare. you can forfeit if you want…” you glance back at jisung . and this time , something shifts in you .

“nah,” you say, setting your cup down . “he can handle it.”

that gets the whole circle screaming.

jisung swallows , nods once , slow. “yeah. I-I can.” he shifts , turning toward you . the circle goes quiet . music still plays in the background, but it’s faint now . everyone's holding their breath .

you lean in at the same time he does , and for a second, it’s awkward , like two people who’ve thought about this way too much but never had the nerve .

then your lips meet .

and everything else drops out .

his hand finds your cheek , soft at first , then bolder as he kisses you back , slow, warm, nervous but deep . like he’s been holding this in forever . his lips move against yours like he means it.

because he does.

someone whispers “damn,” and you vaguely hear someone counting.

“six… seven…”

it feels like longer . feels like it should’ve happened forever ago. when you finally pull back , breath caught in your throat , you open your eyes and his are already on you , wide, searching, kind of stunned. everyone starts shouting again, clapping, laughing, making jokes .

but you and jisung?

you’re both still staring.

neither of you say anything.

because that ten seconds just changed everything.

the game rolls on, but the pace slows . people start slouching into pillows, giggling in half-asleep slurs, heads falling onto each other’s shoulders . the red cups are nearly empty. someone’s passed out on your couch with a dorito stuck to their cheek .

giselle’s curled up in a blanket , still vaping pineapple clouds into the room like fog , her eyes fluttering closed between turns. jaemin’s in the corner scrolling through his phone , occasionally yelling “WHO STILL WANTS TO PLAY?”

you’re still in the circle. barely. the air feels thick, warmer now. that kiss with Jisung still lingers on your lips , and every time your shoulder brushes his , your chest tightens.

then felix , who’s somehow still wide awake and grinning , spins the bottle . it lands on you.

he leans back with that chaotic smile of his. “y/n. dare.”

you raise an eyebrow. “again?”

“you wanted to play bold,” he says . then he glances at heeseung across from you, who’s lying back with one hand behind his head, looking entirely too relaxed. “i dare you to give heeseung a hickey.”

the silence hits like a record scratch.

You blink. “you’re ... what?”

heeseung smirks. “you don’t have to, obviously. i’m not tryna die tonight.” you glance over at jisung. he’s not looking at you . not moving . just sitting stiff, jaw tight, staring at the half-empty bottle like it personally betrayed him .

everyone else is either laughing nervously or whispering , too tired to realize the weight of what felix just did.

you look back at heeseung. he shrugs, offering his neck like it’s a joke. And then , maybe it’s the alcohol, or the pressure, or the heat crawling up your spine , you lean forward and do it. quick, just enough. Nothing slow, nothing deep. but enough for the dare to be done.

you pull back. everyone kind of gasps, half-impressed, half-drunk.

and jisung stands up.

doesn’t say anything . just quietly rises , stepping over someone’s legs , heading toward the bathroom with his hands in his hoodie pocket. you freeze for a second. then you’re up too , following him, slipping past felix and ignoring the knowing look he gives you. you catch jisung right as he closes the bathroom door. you grab it and push it open before he can lock it .

“jisung.”

He turns around , eyes wide like he didn’t expect you to follow him. “what’re you ...?”

“why’d you walk off like that?” you ask , stepping in and closing the door behind you . the soft hum of the party fades outside. he runs a hand through his hair . his cheeks are flushed, jaw still clenched.

“i just needed a minute.”

you lean against the sink. “are you mad?”

he scoffs. “nah.”

you tilt your head. “you sure? ‘cause you didn’t even look at me after felix said that.”

he looks at you then . really looks. “yeah, ‘cause i didn’t wanna lose it in front of everyone.”

you blink.

he shakes his head. “felix knew. he knew I liked you. he’s known. everyone knows . and he still dared you to do that like it was funny.”

you stay quiet.

he steps forward , eyes darker now . tired. frustrated. honest.

“i’ve been trying so hard to play it cool,” he says , voice low, raw . “dropping hints, walking you home, giving you my hoodie, thinking maybe you’d see me.”

your breath catches.

“and then you kiss me like that,” he says, softer now, “and i swear to God, i thought maybe, maybe, it meant something to you too.”

you can feel the pounding in your chest. it's loud.

he looks away, hands gripping the sink now . "but maybe I was just fooling myself.” you step closer. “jisung…”

he finally meets your eyes again. “i like you. like, i really like you. and i’ve been holding it in because i didn’t wanna mess up our friendship, or make you uncomfortable, or come off like just another guy trying to shoot his shot after a few drinks. But tonight just ..” he pauses. “i couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

the silence stretches thick between you.

and then you move , slowly, carefully .. until you’re right in front of him.

you reach for his hand .

and this time… you lean in first.

it’s not a dramatic kiss . it’s soft .. almost like a question. like is this okay? like can i show you i feel it too?

but jisung doesn’t hesitate.

he kisses you back with all that pent-up energy that’s been simmering since the night started . his hands come up , one to your waist, the other gently cupping the back of your head like he’s scared you’ll pull away . he tastes like whatever was in his cup, a little sweet, a little reckless. when you tug just a little on the hem of his hoodie, that’s all it takes .

his grip tightens.

then, in one smooth move, he lifts you .. hands gripping your thighs as he picks you up and sets you on the edge of the sink like it’s muscle memory . you gasp softly, more out of surprise than anything, but you don’t stop him . you wrap your legs around him , pulling him closer between your thighs, your core heating up .

“goodness,” he breathes against your lips, voice shaking just a bit. “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted this.”

your hands are in his hair now , tugging gently. “you should’ve said something sooner.” “i tried,” he whispers, kissing down the line of your jaw. “you didn’t see me.”

“i see you now,” you murmur, breath catching as his lips brush your neck . he pauses, forehead pressing against yours for a second, grounding himself. “this isn’t just some drunk thing for me,” he says low, almost like he needs you to know. “i don’t just want you for tonight.”

you nod, your voice a whisper. “i know.”

he pulls back enough to look you in the eye again , his gaze soft but hungry, full of things he’s been holding back for way too long.

“you sure?”

you reach for his hoodie, fisting the fabric gently as you pull him back in .

“i’ve never been more sure.”

and with that , he kisses you again .. deeper, slower, like he’s finally letting himself feel everything he’s been bottling up. the bathroom fades away. the party outside could fall asleep or fall apart , it wouldn’t matter. right here , right now , it’s just you and him , breathless and warm under dim lights and late-night confessions .

you’re sitting on the edge of the sink, legs wrapped tightly around jisung, your lips still pressed against his, and his hands are everywhere .. on your back, your waist, pulling you closer until there’s barely space between you two . his breath’s hot against your neck, making your skin tingle as you feel him shift between your legs, his body pressing into yours .

“god, you feel so good,” he mutters between kisses, his voice husky, almost desperate. his hands move to the hem of your shirt , tugging it up, and you don't stop him. you pull back just enough to let him slip it off, your pulse thundering in your chest.

as the fabric leaves your body, his lips trail down your neck, and he’s kissing you like he’s been starving for this moment for far too long . one hand slides down to your thigh, lifting it up just a bit, getting closer. his touch feels electric , like it’s setting you on fire from the inside out.

you meet his lips again, deeper this time, and the kiss is messy, frantic, like both of you can’t get enough. you can feel his heart pounding as he presses against you, and every movement of his body against yours feels like it’s syncing with your own heartbeat. he pulls away for a second , lips wet and swollen from kissing you, and he looks at you like he’s unsure of something .

“you’re sure?” he asks again, voice barely above a whisper .

you can see the vulnerability in his eyes now, the raw need, and it makes your chest tighten . he’s not just asking for tonight . he’s asking if this is what you want . if you want him . and that’s the moment you can’t take back. you nod, pulling him in by the collar of his hoodie. “i’m sure.”

and just like that, he moves faster. he’s pushing your thighs wider, his hands sliding underneath you, lifting you slightly off the counter. his lips move down to your collarbone, nipping gently, and you can’t stop the soft gasp that escapes your mouth .

you reach for his shirt, yanking it over his head, wanting to feel his skin against yours . he shudders, and that little sound drives you insane . his fingers slide to the waistband of your jeans , and for a second , he hesitates, looking up at you for approval.

you press your hips against his, feeling the heat between you two, and with that one movement, he’s on fire. his fingers unbutton your jeans swiftly , slipping them down your legs , and your breath hitches in your throat . you’re not stopping now .

his lips meet yours again, and his hands are everywhere, pulling you closer, making you feel everything he’s got . you’re both moving so fast , so hungry for each other , that the world outside that bathroom doesn’t exist anymore . it’s just you and him , tangled in each other, breathing heavy.

he shifts, standing up, pulling you with him. he guides you to your feet, hands trailing to the back of your thighs as he lifts you .. his lips finding yours again , hungry , but this time there’s more . you can feel his chest press against yours , and you let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding.

“i’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmurs against your lips , his hands slipping to your waist , moving lower .

“then take it,” you breathe, urging him on.

and that’s all the permission he needs.

a stark contrast to the heat blooming in his chest. jisung envisioned this moment a thousand times , each iteration slightly different, but always culminating in this .. the soft curve of your neck, the way your breath hitched in a gasp against his lips. the bathroom mirror , usually a harsh judge of imperfections, reflected only the soft glow of the dim overhead light and the intense focus in your eyes .

his hands, initially hesitant, now pulling your jeans down your legs and pressing his two fingers on your wet and heated core . his fingers circling your panties , setting you over the edge while you shut your eyes close instantly . he leaned in, his lips feather-light against yours, tasting the faint sweetness of the vodka your have previously digested. the kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, quietly begging for more .

jisung felt a shudder run through you that mirrored the one shaking his entire body . he tasted you, fully, savoring the moment with a breathless intensity, now he needed to taste you in other ways . the world outside the bathroom disappeared , replaced by the intimacy of this stolen moment . the silence after the kiss was a comfortable, expectant pause, the lingering taste of you still on his lips.

he looked into your eyes, finally seeing the reflection of his own longing mirrored back, a silent confirmation of everything he’d ever hoped for. then, jisung slowly scoots you off the sink and puts you on the floor , your back aganist the sink cabinet . the gesture felt both intimate and strangely reassuring, solidifying the reality of this moment, a moment years in the making, finally, deliciously, his.

the air in the bathroom feels charged, heavier with every breath you take. all that matters is the heat between you and jisung. the way he’s looking at you, like he’s been waiting for this moment forever, and now he’s not letting go.

he lifts your panties slightly to the side and takes in the beautiful sight of his thats he's been waiting for , his lips crash onto your core and this time, it’s different. no more games, no more teasing. this is raw. his hand comes up to reach into ur shirt, gripping and playing with your boobs with his cold hands until they were sore . other arm pulling you closer to his face. your back arched against the sink now, you respond without hesitation, you moan loudly .. not caring whos behind the door listening, only caring about how good jisung is making you feel .

jisung groans softly into your cunt, a feeling that sends a shiver down your spine . his tongue is urgent, demanding, but there’s this tenderness in the way he moves with you, like he’s scared to mess up, but it feels like to you .. he's had experiences and experiences .

your bodies are pressed so close now, you can feel the growing pressure as he eats you out as if he was starving . both your groans and moans clashing together like melodies .

the way he looks at you makes your chest tighten . jisung manages to find a part of you, a part that nobody has even discovered , he feels you twisting his hair into a ball . he knew he was almost there . he slows down his tongue action making you groan lowly , whining practically .

you start pulling his face closer, begging for more friction , your body craving more, the tension between you two unbearable . his hands find their way to your hips, drawing small circles with his thumb. every touch, every movement is more intense than the last, pushing both of you closer to the edge .

“jisung…” you whimper, he looks up at you with his low brown eyes

“i’ve wanted this,” you says softly, your voice husky. i’ve wanted you for so long.” "please make me come."

those words sent a rush of heat through his veins. before you can say anything else, he cuts your sentence off once he moves his hand from your hip to your clit .. rubbing frantically and speeding up his tounge, pulling you in tighter , as if he never wants to let go. in this moment, there’s no going back. just you and him, wrapped in the heat of everything, the intensity of his mouth on your core, and the world outside fading into nothing.

you couldnt hold it in anymore , you grab onto his hair tighter than ever .. letting out a pornographic moan as you come down from your high . jisung starts slowing down , observing your scurnched up face and mouth wide open , chuckling into your cunt . he moves his mouth to your inner thighs, giving them soft pepper kisses .

the bathroom’s quiet now , save for the distant thump of music still bleeding in from the living room and the sound of both of you heavy breathing , both of you slow, steady, as you come down from everything that just happened .

the mirror’s fogged. the cool tile beneath you is grounding, but it’s the way jisung’s fingers are lazily tracing patterns along your thigh that really makes the moment settle in.

your back still leaning lightly against the sink, your legs tangled up , his hair bunched up and messy, and both of you are sweating . neither of you had the energy or desire to fully put yourselves back together just yet.

jisung pulls your panties back up, “you good?” he asks, voice low and just a little rough from everything. you nod against him, exhaling a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. “yeah… i’m good.”

there’s a pause ... a quiet, weightless moment where you both just exist together . his hand’s now running slow up and down your thigh, his thumb making lazy circles on your skin.

“i can’t believe that just happened,” you murmur with a soft laugh, your voice somewhere between disbelief and that post-everything high. he chuckles too, but there’s a softness in it. a kind of awe. “me either,” he says, tilting his head back to rest against the wall. “but… also, i’ve been dreaming about it for months, so part of me’s like .. finally.”

you glance up at him. he’s flushed, sweaty, but somehow still ridiculously beautiful . his hair’s a mess, his lips soft and swollen, but his eyes? they’re completely clear. focused. on you.

“really?” you whisper.

jisung nods, meeting your gaze. “yeah. it wasn’t just… this. ,i’ve wanted you. like, all of you. just didn’t know if you saw me the same.” your fingers move to his jaw, thumb brushing along the edge of it. “i do now.”

that little smile he gives you right then ... it’s sleepy, a little crooked, and so full of warmth it makes your heart ache a bit .

“good,” he says softly, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple. “because i don’t think i can pretend anymore.”

he shifts a little, pulling you into his lap now, both of you curled up like this bathroom is your own little world. you rest your head on his shoulder, and he wraps his arms around you like it’s the most natural thing in the world .

you don’t say much after that.

you don’t need to.

it’s all in the way he holds you , the way your fingers stay laced together even when your eyes start to flutter shut, and the way he whispers “mine” under his breath, like he’s claiming the peace you just created together.

giselle steps out of the guest room, hoodie slung over one shoulder, eyes still half-shut, her pineapple vape dangling between two fingers. she blinks at the dark living room, bodies knocked out in random positions .. felix curled up on the floor with a pillow over his head, jaemin and jake snoring softly from opposite ends of the couch. one red cup’s tipped over near someone’s foot, and someone else’s sock is just… chilling on the lampshade.

she’s headed to the bathroom , half-asleep, half-thirsty ,when she stops. freezes .

muffled voices. soft giggles. the unmistakable sound of lips meeting.

she squints at the bathroom door, cracked open just barely .

and hears it. everything.

the kissing. the breathy talking. the soft moans. the whispering. the "i’ve wanted you for so long."

giselle’s eyes go wide as hell.

she gasps , quietly ... but slaps her hand over her mouth in pure shock . then she tiptoes backward like a cartoon character , eyes still stuck on the door like it’s possessed. she bumps into the hallway wall and mutters, "no. way. no. WAY."

she spins around, rushing back into the living room, looking at all her drunk, unconscious friends like:

“Y’ALL!! GET UP!! WAIT . NO OMG THEY’RE—” she whisper-yells.

but no one stirs.

not even a twitch.

she stands there, both hands in her hair, pacing in small circles like she just witnessed a government secret. she looks at jaemin. he’s drooling. she looks at yujin. she’s hugging a couch cushion like it’s her soulmate.

“no, no, no ... y’all gon’ make me hold this in all night?” she hisses, looking around like someone has to be awake.

nobody is.

so giselle flops face-first onto the empty recliner, lets out the biggest dramatic sigh, and mutters into the cushion:

“...i can’t believe I just heard y/n and jisung doing the nastiest in the damn bathroom and i got NOBODY to talk to about it. this is evil . this is war.”

She pauses, then grabs her vape and hits it once with a tragic look in her eyes.

"pineapple-scented trauma,” she mumbles, exhaling dramatically.

MORNING

The bedroom door creaks open.

jisung enters the living room .

hair wild. shirt halfway on. sleepy. slightly limping. clearly just woke up from the best dream of his life.

he freezes .

the whole squad?

staring.

silent.

like a wildlife documentary and he’s the prey .

and from the couch, jaemin, dead serious, just lets the first words drop like a mic:

“what the fuck.”

AUTHORS NOTE: THANK U SM FOR READING !! i swear i spent like 4 hours on this i fear .. MAYBE WE'LL GET A PART 2 MAYBE NOT IDK !! (excuse the spelling mistakes , this was written at 10 pm - 2 am)

PART 2: https://www.tumblr.com/sosakali/781493404476571648

[etherealvampire6]

Shota Aizawa Headcannons

|дﾟ)ﾉ Most of these headcannons are not mine and I do not take credit for all of them. But I just remembered reading them from many different platforms, so credit to the people who did think of most of these!

If he has a crush on you ೃ⁀➷

● At first, Aizawa would be in complete denial.

●The realization wouldn’t hit him all at once—it would creep up on him over time. Maybe he catches himself thinking about you on his way home or noticing when you’re absent more than he would with anyone else.

● At first, he rationalizes it. Your a close friend. We work together all the time. It’s normal to think about you.

●But then it keeps happening. He finds himself anticipating your reactions in conversations, noticing when you seem off before anyone else does, and feeling a little more at ease whenever you’re around. That’s when it starts to bother him.

●He became hyper aware of you. Listening intently on whatever you had to say.

● He doesn't remember a time when he'd actually liked ANYBODY romantically. So it was a surprise to him when Mic told him he was feeling 'butterflies'for you. And that he was developing a big fat crush.

● His initial thought? This is a problem.

●Aizawa isn’t the type to welcome strong emotions, especially ones that make him vulnerable. He’s been through too much, lost too many people. Letting someone get that close is dangerous and he doesnt know if he could take it. So his first instinct is to push it down, to convince himself it’s nothing.

●He’d shut down any thought of it being more than respect because admitting otherwise would mean confronting something he’s not ready for.

● Every time he catches himself watching you too long, he forces himself to look away. If his heart picks up when you smile at him, he ignores it. If he feels a little lighter when you’re around, he tells himself it’s just because you’re easy to talk to.

● He’s would have to have been your friend for a while to actually find a connection with you to feel this way, but your just his friend—of course, he cares. That’s all it is.

● He notices how his mood shifts depending on how you’re doing. If you’re stressed, he finds himself wanting to ease the burden, even if it’s just by taking an extra task off your plate. If you’re laughing, he finds himself more at ease, like the tension in his chest loosens just from hearing it. And when you’re in danger—even in a controlled training scenario—there’s a sharp, involuntary spike of protectiveness that he can’t explain away.

● Still, he crushes it down. He’s lost too much already. Letting someone in like that? That’s not something he can afford. So he tells himself, over and over:

● Your just a close friend. And it stays like that for a while.

● At some point, no amount of rationalizing works anymore.

●Maybe it’s a quiet moment—just the two of you, sitting in the teachers' lounge after a long day, the air thick with exhaustion but comfortable. You’re rambling about something, maybe venting about paperwork or laughing at a dumb joke Hizashi made earlier, and he realizes—this is different.

● He’s not just protective of you because you’re a coworker. He doesn’t just respect you because you’re strong and capable. He likes you. In a way that terrifies him.

● When he accepts his feelings for you, he also starts realizing why he likes you. You care for his students the same way he does, you want to push them to their limits to ensure their prepared, people feel safe in your presence, and best of all. You were kind. There were so many things he didn't even think were special about you at first.

●But the second that realization settles in, so does something else: He can’t do anything about it.

●If he did, it would change things. Right now, you’re his closest friend, someone he trusts completely. If he confessed, and you didn’t feel the same, it would make everything awkward. And even if you did like him back, it would mean opening himself up to something dangerous—something fragile. He’s lost people before.

●He knows what it’s like to let someone in, only to have them ripped away. If you were just a friend, it was easier to pretend you were safe. But if you were something more? If things were official, then losing you would mean losing a part of himself.

● So he keeps his feelings locked up, refusing to risk it.

● Instead, he settles for what he can do. He talks to you like normal, acts like nothing has changed.

● But if someone were paying attention, they’d notice the little things—how he always makes sure there’s a chair open next to him when you walk into the room, how his usually tired voice gains just a bit more energy when you’re involved in the conversation, how he watches you more than he should, like memorizing your presence without realizing it.

● You never notice the way his fingers twitch, like he wants to reach out but won’t let himself. Or how he lingers for a second too long when you say goodnight after a late shift, like he’s reluctant to watch you leave.

● You’re still his closest friend. And as much as it hurts, that has to be enough.

● But when he does accept it, nothing changes. He still has his mind set on keeping you as just a friend, just his coworker or whoever you are.

● A lot of fics involving him have him pounce on you just because you do something he likes or you did something on 'purpose' he likes just to flirt with him. He is not that lustful, especially if he's not even dating you.

● Some fics also don't look into what it would mean if he did have a crush on you. It'd take some time for him to accept it, and even more time for him to express those feelings. I can see him wanting to be careful with these new feelings and act rational about it, not randomly pinning you against the wall and being aggressive while confessing.

● You would only stay a crush for a long time. Your somebody he respects and somebody important. He'd make sure he knows you might even consider him a dating option. He would think about your feelings as well.

If he was dating you ೃ⁀➷

● It took him a while to even consider a relationship. He was convinced no problems would be created if he'd just left his feelings alone and continued life the way it was.

● But he'd realized it wasn't very rational of him to be pushing you and his feelings away because of fear. Afterall, being rational was his whole motto.

● I can only see him dating somebody he has a real connection and past with. If you were somebody he'd just met a few months ago I doubt he'd feel any strong feelings for you.

● At the start of the relationship, he didn't feel like anything changed. You both knew tons about each other so nothing really felt awkward, you didn't have to start out like normal couples do.

● He would talk to you as he normally did, but now that he's accepted that he might actually love you, he's definitely more affectionate when speaking to you. He wasn't just your friend anymore.

● He's in it for the long run. Hes already in his 30s. He doesn't even know what a situationship is. Hell, girlfriend didn't even sound right to him. You were unofficially his wife.

● He doesn't entertain any unnecessary drama. If your committing acts that he finds disloyal or crude just to get his attention, or for the sake of it. He wouldn't think twice about leaving you, maybe even forcing himself to forget you. But he wouldn't be dating you if that was the kind of person you were.

● Doesn't feel the need to constantly check on your location or ask where you are. he'll ask once, and then he'll go about his tasks when you two are apart. If he didn't trust you could take care of yourself he wouldn't be dating you. Your grown and he trusts you completely. He shouldn't have to check on you like a child.

● He shouldn't have to feel he might lose you constantly even more than he does. You should be able to keep yourself safe if he's not around, so his fear of losing you isn't 10x worse.

● He isn't overly protective of you outside of battle, and he isn't controlling. If you need his assistance he'll be there as long as you voice your need for him to step in, or he'll step in himself if he can tell you might need help.

● Same goes for in battle, he fully trusts in your abilities to protect yourself. But if he knows he can help and protect you in any way he's already there. He can't lose you.

● He isn't controlling. Once again, you're a grown adult who can make your own decisions. And if you do something he isn't comfortable with you doing, he'll tell you,

But he wouldn't want to have you follow his every request and demand. plus, he doesn't really mind the stuff you be doing, he trusts that you would never cheat or do something harmful.

● He doesn't show you off outright, he prefers to keep his private life PRIVATE. But he also isn't afraid to talk about his wife to others, he's quite fond of you. and would immediately put a stop to any disrespect towards you (he almost expelled mineta for this)

● He isn't overly affectionate, but he also isn't afraid to show his love for you. having a bad day? he isn't afraid of hugs.

● He isn't a big fan of PDA. Hes a very private man. but he'll occasionally guide you with his hand on the small of your back or holding your wrist or hand for a short amount of time in public.

● Away from the crowd, though, is when he really shows you how he feels. Holding your hands, cupping your cheek, brushing hair out your face, and hands on your waist occasionally.

● He's never felt romantic feelings for anybody until you stole his heart. So he found himself learning new things about what makes his heart skip a beat. Which is almost everything. (He's a very touchstarved man, has always been reserved)

● His favorite form of touching is you sitting on him on the couch or the bed, your arms around his neck and face tucked into his hair or scarf, with his arms hugging you tight. It doesn't even have to be dirty. He loves hugging you this way.

● He knows what things you like, he has never felt pressured by you to impress you with exquisite dates and fancy and expensive gifts.

● You'll go on a date once every 2 or 4 months, and the date is meaningful instead of pricy, so are his rare gifts. He won't say its a gift, just something he picked up that made him think of you.

● Yes, he's a tired man, but that doesn't make him a bad boyfriend. I dont know why people make him out to be a slacker when it comes to putting any effort into a relationship. He's fully capable of having a balance in his life that doesn't clash with your relationship. Yes, he does push people away out of fear, but after he made up his decision to love you, he wouldn't ruin it by being a jackass.

● He can appear rude to others, mainly because he doesn't filter his words or ideas for others. He often comes off as cold, apathetic, and impatient, exerting very little energy in most situations. But really his interior is different from how people view him. He wouldn't be as cold and distant after deciding on having a relationship, if he wasn't ready he wouldn't be dating you.

● He doesn't keep up with his appearance but he still keeps up with his hygiene. There's a difference. And after his first shared shower with you, it turned into one of his favorite things. (Secretly he loves your fancy soaps)

● The both of you shared your boundaries long ago, and they seemed to be working well. You needed space? That's perfectly fine. He needs to get some stuff done anyway.

● He takes naps all day in school, and he knows you don't. so when it's time to come home, you're already asleep while he's cooking for you or grading papers. You graded your papers during the school day, and he did it while you were asleep or on your patrol. Usually your routines never clashed in a negative way.

● Though sometimes he's able to put his work aside for come join you. He loves sleep more then work anyways.

● But don't think he'll disregard his job as a teacher at your request. You wouldn't, and one of his favorite things about you is that your passionate about your work as well.

● cooking! A hc I love was that his mama was a foodie. and he was forced to learn all types of cooking styles. but before you moved in he lived off occasional small snacks and Ramen. not anymore! he cares way more about your health then his, your the same way. So dinner is prepared once in a while when you both have time.

● He wouldn't be jealous of any guy or women that talks to you, but if it was downright obvious they were flirting with you. He'll glare at them, sometimes even using his quirk to scare them, and the flirter usually gets uncomfortable just from the intensity of his gaze. If not, either you shut them down or him. And his way might not be as nice.

● He values silence as much as your presence. You don't always need to talk; just existing in the same place is enough for him. But when he does talk, his words are thoughtful and deliberate if not in a sarcastic manner.

● Life with him is pretty uniform, but never boring. His job is full of chaos and unpredictability, so he craves consistency. He likes knowing you'll be there at the end of the day.

● He isn't blind, he analyzes the thing you do and like and remembers them. He knows how you like your coffee, your habits, your weird need to reorganize the bed pillows everyday (which he doesn't mind as long as it doesn't interfere with his nap time) and the things that comfort you or make you feel excited about.

● He might not say I love you often, but you know he does. he shows it to you everyday through his actions.

● him calling you kitten as a nickname feels cringe. Kitten is a baby cat and calling a grown adult it makes it feel like a predators fetish. He would call you Y/n, maybe even call you baby (yes baby is for young children but its been more normalized fas being a nickname for someones sweetheart) or even call you honey further into the relationship. You'd have to initiate it at first though, then it'd become normal for him.

● he won't say he misses you, but will say something like "you were gone for too long"

General Headcannons ೃ⁀➷

●He let's eri do his hair, never his makeup. Only when she's feeling down.

● He needs reading glasses but refuses to wear them in front of others. Having a quirk that messes with the healthy part of his eyes made glasses a need.

● He dislikes when people are unpunctual (Present mic in most cases)

● Shota likes cats. In fact, he still owns the cat Shirakumo rescued back in high school when it was a kitten.

● His room is quite empty, which reflects his apathetic behavior.

● Shota's specialty is short-length sneak attacks.

● Shota is a social drinker. (I believe this is actually cannon but I forgot what Manga panel showed this)

● He's the mayor of a Minecraft world class 1A created and regularly plays (he's never joined, not once)

[willbyersabyss]

So what are Will's flaws?

Is Will totally perfect in every way? Is he a jealous saboteur? Or a secret third option... neither. Let's discuss Will's flaws and nuances!

1. Emotional suppression

Will avoids his problems. He hates talking about both his emotional and physical danger because he doesn't want to be treated differently. From a young age, he was taught by Lonnie that he shouldn't express his emotions because that makes him "sensitive" and "weak." So now he likes to hide.

This emotional suppression causes his feelings to worsen over time. Once he finally lets it out, he explodes. Instead of healthy conversations, he says and does things that he'll probably regret later. He blows up at Mike, he yells at Jonathan, he destroys Castle Byers, he shows his hand (what about us?)

Will's avoidance doesn't only have consequences on him, but others. If he had told someone he was feeling the Mind Flayer earlier, they might've been able to save some of the Flayed. But he couldn't tell someone because that puts him in a place of emotional vulnerability. That's exactly why he waited until after he fought with the boys to mention the supernatural. He traded one vulnerable situation for another, allowing him to avoid opening up about his true feelings. It was a distraction.

This also doesn't let others to heal from their altercations. Both Lucas and Mike try to apologize to Will, but he brushes them off. Will thinks he doesn't deserve consideration. The walls he puts up forces others to hold onto their own guilt, leaving a sore spot in their relationship. We can see this soreness in Will and Mike's relationship in s4. They never healed from the rain fight. Well... not that Mike tried to apologize after the Mind Flayer debacle. Again, distraction on Will's part.

Will’s inability to handle change is also due to him bottling up his feelings. His trauma and suppression makes him stuck in the past. He doesn’t let himself move through each day where these emotions would be felt.

It's interesting how Will is deemed the emotional one when his sensitivity is actually a result of him keeping his emotions in. Once that dam is opened, it's hard for him to stop. He breaks, just as he fears.

2. Self-hatred

And all that emotional suppression leads to Will internalizing other people's view of him. Will's self-hatred stems from bullying and his father's abuse. He thinks he's to blame, that he's a mistake. As more people distance themselves from Will, he believes there's something wrong with him.

When he thinks he deserves mistreatment, his relationships crumble more. They're unable to reconcile. True forgiveness can't be achieved if he doesn't think he should be apologized to in the first place.

Will's hatred is the reason why he tried to sacrifice himself in s2 to save his friends. He doesn't think he deserves to be saved. This makes him an easy target for Vecna. It's very likely that Will's self-hatred will factor into his upcoming supernatural plot.

The more Will hates himself, the more he hides, the more he suppresses his emotions.

3. People pleaser

If Will is anything, he's a people pleaser. He's selfless. So much so that this is the first thing we find out about him. While admirable, it actually leads to more bad than good. His people pleasing tendency goes hand in hand with his emotional suppression. Will doesn't like to take up space and inconvenience other people.

Will's never ending effort to please others leads to him making assumptions. Wrong assumptions. Whether it be letting Max join them on Halloween or pushing Mike to give a love confession, Will tries his best to use his mediator role to give people what they want.

But he doesn't know what they want, does he? Will wanted to make Dustin and Lucas happy, but this created a rift with Mike. He thought Mike was itching to profess his love for El, but that wasn’t what either of them needed. In an attempt to help, he's making it worse.

He must be successful sometimes, though, because there's an expectation from his friends that he'll fulfill their needs at the flick of a wand. This vacancy from Will makes him a pushover. They think they can make fun of him and he'll just take it because that's what he does. When Will finally stands up for himself, they're shocked. That's out of character for him. It's like they want to say: “Why isn't he letting us be mean to him? :(”

Mike even expected Will to tell him that his own girlfriend was being bullied. Will's people pleasing explodes in his face. So now when he's unable to read their needs and fix it for them, he's to blame. Will takes on the weight of their problems too much. While it's good that they rely on him, there shouldn't be pressure for him to judge their every whim. But it's not exactly their fault because Will set the stage for this behavior.

Weirdly, Will's need to please others is the reason why he didn't call Mike. He thought Mike wanted nothing to do with him, so he didn't reach out. There he goes assuming things again! But Will was there, waiting for the rare occasion where Mike did want him. He went so far right that he ended up left.

Will's behavior towards El is also an instance of wrong assumptions. Will didn't like being treated differently in s2, so he assumed El would feel the same way. He used his own experiences to inform how he should treat others. Babying El would make her feel more ostracized. Instead, he offered emotional comfort, similar to the comfort he received, after the bullying. This doesn't really help her because she doesn't have the same emotional mechanics as Will.

So Will assumes things, pushes his own wants down, and lets people walk all over him all in the name of being pleasant.

4. Freeze, fly, fight. In that order!

When Will is scared, he freezes. This flaw is so significant that they talked about it textually multiple times. I'm not sure I would consider it a flaw since it has saved him more than it's harmed him, though.

The few times Will has decided to fight instead of freeze, he was kidnapped and possessed. Confrontation isn't an option for him. His body believes he'll be put directly in danger if he does anything but freeze/fly. Fight is only used as a last resort.

It only really enters flaw territory when it's an inconvenience. He froze during the sauna test, when El was being bullied, and when he should've shot the creature in the shed. Will is unable to help himself and others when he's scared.

When he snaps out of it, he cries and feels guilty for being so hesitant. He wishes he could do more but he can't. This wraps back around to his self-hatred.

5. Jealousy

When his best friend of 10 years that he's in love with starts to ditch him for some random girl, it's not shocking that there would be some jealousy! Will is the silent jealous type. His jealousy doesn't really manifest into resentment or outward action against the other person. Unlike a certain someone...

Will only shows it through rolling eyes, a snarky comment here or there, or an outburst at his most emotionally vulnerable. I mean, if Will really wanted to see El crash and burn, he could've kept his mouth shut the entire Rink-O-Mania day. Or he could've ignored her in the courtyard as she picks up the pieces of her project. But he didn't.

The worst we've seen Will's jealousy was during the rain fight. He called El stupid. There's no beating around the bush, he was in the wrong for that. But this came out of Will because his emotions were at an all time high. Why? Emotional suppression!

A lot of Will's snarky comments towards El are out of genuine confusion. He doesn't understand how El can have exactly what he wants, but she's willing to ruin it by lying. Unfortunately, he later learns that exact lesson. He's envious that she can do what Mike hates without major repercussions, while he's somehow blamed for her lies. And why does he get blamed? People pleaser expectations!

Will waited until a quiet moment to inform El of her mistakes. Will's goal isn't to humiliate El. He doesn't let his jealousy lead to resentment. Instead, he tried to (snarkily) lead her to make better decisions because it's not fair! It's not fair that she can have it all without working for it!

And now we're back at self-hatred. Some of his jealous moments make it bubble back up. He bends his painting, something he put his blood, sweat, and tears into, because he isn't enough for them. Their ideal day is without him. Will's art is an extension of himself. He's aiming his anger back at himself by hurting his art.

All of his flaws connect back to his low self-esteem in some way. This is why it's important for Will to receive and accept love in his life. A big part of his arc is self acceptance.

So there it is in all its glory! All of Will's main flaws in one post. What did we learn? Will suppresses his emotions, hates himself, pleases others to a fault, freezes, and is green with envy. And he wouldn't be Will without 'em!

[leriexoxo]

A Hot Mess 2

Chan x Possessive! Reader

Tags: smut, MDNI, friends to lovers, possesive behavior, angst, fighting, hot angry sex, confession, unprotected sex, cursing

Word count: 4k

Summary: Neither of you ever talked about that night. But something changed. Chan became the one hovering, watching, touching too much, acting like he had a right to be mad when you pulled away—when you danced with someone else. He never asked to be yours. But now he’s furious that you belong to anyone else

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

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You were at his place again.

Not because you wanted to be, not because he asked, but because pretending things were normal was easier than being alone with your thoughts.

Chan sat across from you, one leg bouncing restlessly as his eyes flicked between the muted movie and you. He hadn’t touched the popcorn between you, hadn’t laughed once, hadn’t said much beyond, “You want the remote?” earlier.

You hadn’t said much either.

It had been four days since that night. Four days since you pulled him into that room, fought and clawed at him like a wild animal, fucked him like you hated him—and then cried in his arms while your fingernails left angry little half-moons in his skin.

But since then? Nothing.

No conversation. No “what are we?” No real acknowledgment that it even happened. You had slipped back into old routines with painful effort—like walking on a broken ankle, pretending it was fine.

Except he wasn’t fine.

He was acting like nothing had changed, like you were his something—but in small, insidious ways. The way he hovered behind you in the kitchen. The way his hand always rested on your back when he passed you. The way he stared. Hard. Like he was thinking things he didn’t know how to say.

And now, sitting in his hoodie with your legs curled up on his couch, you could feel him watching again.

You didn’t look at him. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

His voice broke the silence, soft but a little too controlled.

“You going out tonight?”

Your eyes stayed on the screen, pretending you were actually watching it. “Nah. Think I’ll just stay in.”

A pause.

You felt the pause, heavy and deliberate, like he was waiting for you to flinch but you didn’t.

He nodded slowly, and you didn’t need to look at him to know he didn’t believe you. His knee stopped bouncing.

“Didn’t Jeongin say there was some party?”

“I’m not in the mood for a party,” you said simply, standing up like you needed water even though you didn’t. Your throat was dry for a different reason entirely.

Chan watched you walk toward the kitchen, eyes dragging over you like a curse.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“No,” you said, just loud enough that he’d hear it and just quiet enough that he couldn’t respond to it.

The air tensed again.

He didn’t follow you. He never used to give you space, not like this. He used to trail behind you like a shadow, laugh in your ear, drape himself over your back while you poured cereal just because he could.

Now he just watched.

And you hated it.

—

You left early.

Didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t linger like usual. Just grabbed your things and left his apartment like it wasn’t the only place that still felt safe.

Chan sat in the silence long after the door shut behind you.

He stared at the TV, still playing some half-watched movie neither of you cared about. The popcorn bowl sat untouched beside him.

He ran a hand down his face with a long exhale.

Maybe it was time to let you go.

Clearly, whatever had happened that night—whatever he’d let happen—had only made things worse. You wouldn’t look at him the same way. Wouldn’t talk to him. He thought, maybe if he gave you space, if he didn’t push, if he just waited… things would fall back into place.

Maybe he could forget how it felt to have your hands clawing at him, to hear you cry his name in the same breath you cursed him, to see you break and realize he’d been the one to shatter you.

But hours passed, and forgetting didn’t come easy.

He grabbed his phone to distract himself. Mindless scrolling. Cat video. Meme. A reel of someone’s new tattoo. Until—

His thumb stopped.

A familiar background. A mutual friend’s story. Bright lights. Loud music. A party.

Jeongin’s party.

His chest already felt tight before he even spotted you.

But then—there you were. Just a blur at first, moving behind a group selfie. Laughing. Head thrown back. A dress he hadn’t seen before.

Grinding on someone.

The video looped.

His breath punched out of him. Not anger. Not even jealousy. Something uglier.

He tapped the screen, trying to catch another glimpse. Rewatching. Zooming.

You were pressed up against some guy he didn’t even recognize—your hand resting on his chest like it belonged there. Flirting. Smiling. Dancing on him.

Chan’s jaw locked.

He dialed your number without thinking. It rang.

And rang.

No answer.

He called again. Still nothing. Third time. Voicemail.

His hand curled tight around the phone.

‘She lied.’

‘She fucking lied to my face.’

Another story popped up on his feed—a different angle, a better view. The guy had his hands on your hips now.

Something in Chan snapped clean in half.

—

You felt him watching you before you even saw him.

It was like a sixth sense—skin crawling, chest tightening, heart skipping a beat for all the wrong reasons. You were laughing, lips brushing close to some guy’s ear, your drink half-gone and your body swaying with the music when everything around you suddenly… shifted.

The air changed.

Your smile faltered, barely noticeable to anyone but you. Your heart thudded once, hard. Your eyes lifted just in time to see the front door swing shut behind him.

Chan.

He was standing there, still, stone-faced, chest rising and falling like he’d run here. His eyes locked onto you instantly—no scanning the room, no polite greetings. Just you. Only you.

And then he moved.

Not toward you. Not at first. Just into the room, slow, deliberate steps that made your breath catch in your throat.

You tried to laugh again, like nothing was wrong. Like your spine hadn’t just turned to ice.

The guy next to you leaned in, oblivious. “You okay?”

You nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I just—need some air.”

You slipped away before Chan could reach you, heart pounding.

⸻

He watched you run. Coward.

He followed, silent and seething. Every step he took echoed with the sound of your laughter in that video. Your body on someone else’s. Your voice lying to his face.

He found you in the hallway near the back of the house—dim lighting, low music, empty space.

When you turned, he was already there. Followed you when you entered the room at the end of the hall and locked the door.

“Having fun?” he asked.

Your mouth opened, but the look on his face knocked the words from your tongue. He looked wrecked. And dangerous.

“I—”

“You lied to me.”

“I needed space.”

“So you lied.” His voice was quiet, sharp. “You needed space to grind on some fucking stranger?”

You bristled, crossing your arms. “Why do you care? You’ve barely said two words to me since that night.”

“Oh, I haven’t said anything?” He took a step closer. “You cried in my arms and then acted like I was a stranger the next day. You wouldn’t even look at me.”

“I was trying to forget it happened!”

His jaw clenched. “You looked real forgetful tonight.”

You scoffed. “Don’t flip this on me. You didn’t call to talk about it. You didn’t ask. You just watched me fall apart.”

“What I did watch was you fucking me and then pretending it meant nothing.”

Silence.

You flinched, but your pride didn’t let you back down. “It probably didn’t.”

He laughed—short, humorless. “You think I don’t know you?”

He took a step forward. “You don’t get to act like you hate me and then use me like that.”

Another. “You don’t get to lie to my face and let some guy put his hands on you like—”

“Like what?” Your voice cracked. “Like I’m fair game? Cause I am”

He was in front of you now. Chest heaving. Eyes dark and hungry and furious.

“You’re fucking mine,” he growled.

You shoved him. Hard. “You don’t get to say that. Not when you left me in the dark. Not when you—”

He grabbed your wrists and pushed you back into the wall, breath hot against your face.

“You’re mine.”

You squirmed. “Let me go.”

“Say it.”

“Fuck you, Chan.”

“You already did,” he whispered. “But I’m not done.”

You shoved at him again, and this time he let you—barely staggering back, but his eyes never leaving yours.

“God, you’re such a fucking asshole,” you snapped. “You don’t get to show up and act like I belong to you after leaving me in limbo for days, Chan. What the fuck do you even want from me?”

“Are you fucking serious right now? You clearly wanted space,” he hissed, “but I gave it to you and you ran straight into some random guy’s lap.”

“I only did that because you started acting weird! You wouldn’t talk, you wouldn’t even look at me—”

“I wouldn’t look at you?! I was trying to keep my fucking hands off you!”

Your mouth snapped shut.

His chest heaved, sweat glistening along his collarbones. “You think it was easy? Pretending that night didn’t change anything? I’ve been going insane.”

“You think I haven’t?” you shot back, voice trembling with rage. “I’ve basically been obsessed with you probably for months, Chan. I hated every girl you talked to, every time you left me on read, every time you acted like we were just friends—and then we finally crossed that line and you shut down.”

“I didn’t shut down,” he snarled. “I shut up. You didn’t want to talk about it. You wanted to act like nothing happened.”

“So I could protect myself!”

“No,” he snapped, voice low and dangerous now. “You wanted control.”

You stared at him. Stunned. Speechless.

“You started this whole fucking possessive game,” he continued, voice shaking now with emotion. “You couldn’t stand seeing me with other girls. You made scenes. You dragged me away like you owned me—and now that I feel the same fucking way, you can’t take it.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is.” He stepped forward again, finger pointed right at your chest. “You want me to chase you, to want you, but the second I act like I need you, you start fucking running.”

“That’s not fair.”

“You’re a fucking hypocrite.”

You slapped him.

Or at least—you tried.

He caught your wrist before your hand even landed.

His grip was hard. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to warn.

“Don’t,” he breathed.

You thrashed in his hold, and he stepped in close, using the force to spin you—bending you sharply over the back of the chair behind you.

You gasped, hands flying to brace yourself. “What the fu—”

“Shut up,” he growled into your ear, chest pressed to your back, his body caging you in. “You want to fight? Then fucking fight me. But don’t pretend this isn’t what you wanted.”

“Fuck you,” you spat.

“You already said that,” he whispered, voice dark and fraying. “Now let me show you what it means.”

His hands were already on you, dragging up your dress like he didn’t care who saw, like he was stripping the lie off your body piece by piece. His breath was hot against your neck, his hips pressed hard against your ass, and his voice—low and venomous—melted right into your spine.

“Next time you grind on someone else,” he said, voice a threat and a promise, “you better be ready to crawl home.”

And then he snapped your panties to the side like they offended him.

The first swipe of his fingers between your legs dragged a broken moan from your throat.

“So wet,” he sneered. “Fucking knew it. You came out tonight wanting to be punished, didn’t you?”

You bit your lip hard, eyes squeezed shut, your hips involuntarily grinding back into his hand.

“Say it,” he ordered, rubbing slow circles over your clit like he had all the time in the world. “Say you wanted me to see you.”

“I didn’t,” you whispered.

He sank two fingers inside you without warning.

You gasped, lurching forward over the chair.

“Liar,” he hissed into your ear. “This pussy doesn’t lie. It knew I’d come for you.”

His free hand curled into your hair, yanking your head back until your spine arched and your chest was pressed against the cold leather. You were panting now, legs trembling.

“You lied to my face,” he growled. “You let him touch you. You wanted to piss me off, didn’t you?”

You whimpered when he curled his fingers just right, hitting that spot that made your knees buckle.

“I—wanted to forget.”

“No, baby,” he said darkly, licking the shell of your ear. “You wanted to test me.”

He pulled his fingers from you slowly, watching your slick glisten under the dim light. He held them to your mouth.

“Suck.”

You hesitated.

His other hand smacked your ass, hard.

You gasped, and his fingers slipped past your lips.

You moaned around them like a fucking sinner.

“That’s what I thought,” he muttered, unzipping his jeans like he’d waited long enough. His cock slapped against your ass, already hard and heavy, already dripping.

You turned your head to speak—to beg, maybe, or curse him again—but the second he pushed inside, the words died in your throat.

“F-Fuck—Chan—”

He bottomed out in one brutal thrust, forcing a strangled cry from you.

“Yeah,” he growled, gripping your hips like a man possessed. “That’s it. That’s what you need, huh? You needed to be fucked stupid.”

You couldn’t answer.

He was already moving—deep, fast, merciless.

The chair creaked beneath you. Your moans turned into cries. His name fell from your lips like a prayer, like a plea, like a curse.

He slapped your ass again, grabbing it after like it belonged to him. “Look at you. My perfect little slut. Throwing a tantrum just so I’d ruin you.”

You clawed at the leather, your voice cracking. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he growled, fucking you harder, meaner. “You hate that you love this.”

You were soaked. Squelching wet. And his cock dragged against every sensitive inch of you like he was trying to mark the inside of your body.

“You gonna run after this too?” he bit out. “Or do I have to fuck you until you stay?”

“Keep going,” you gasped, head falling forward. “Please—just—don’t stop.”

His breath hitched. Just for a second. Something changed in him then—like all the rage had been swallowed by something even darker.

He leaned over your back, voice right in your ear.

“I won’t stop ‘til you can’t fucking walk.”

Then he did just that.

He bent you lower, fucked you deeper, ruined you so thoroughly you saw stars. Your thighs shook. Your voice went hoarse. He fucked you like he was mad at your soul.

And when you finally broke—when you came hard around his cock, sobbing his name into the leather—he didn’t let up. He chased his own release like it owed him blood, biting down on your shoulder as he emptied himself inside you.

He stayed there, breathing hard, sweat dripping from his temple onto your back.

Neither of you moved.

Because this? This wasn’t just sex. This was possession.

He didn’t pull away. Not when he came. Not when you sagged forward, limp and leaking, still braced over the back of the chair.

He didn’t move.

He stayed inside you—forehead resting between your shoulder blades, hands trembling where they clutched your hips. Still breathing you in like your skin was the only thing keeping him alive.

“Come here,” he whispered, eventually. “I’m not done.”

He didn’t say it like a threat this time.

He said it like a confession.

You let him guide you down to the floor. He didn’t rip your dress. He didn’t drag your body. He touched you with reverence now—laying you out flat, curling his big hand around your jaw like you were something he never thought he’d get to hold like this.

His eyes flicked down your body, dark with need but soft, too. Almost scared.

“I need you again,” he murmured, voice husky. “But not like before.”

You nodded, barely breathing. “Okay.”

His mouth met yours—slow, open, hot. His tongue licked into you like it missed you. Like it knew you.

And when he slid inside again, your body opened for him like you were made to take him. You moaned into the kiss, your hands curling around his shoulders, your legs spreading without thought.

It felt too good. Too deep. Too much.

His hips rolled, long and smooth, like he was trying to press his feelings into the walls of your body. Like he didn’t know how else to say it.

And then—his voice broke.

“I don’t know how to stop,” he whispered against your mouth. “You’ve ruined me.”

You blinked fast. The tightness in your chest suddenly unbearable.

“You were the one who started it,” you whispered.

“I know. And now I can’t breathe without you,” he said, thrusts picking up just enough to draw sharp moans from your throat. “I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t even look at you without losing my mind.”

You clutched at him. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because we’re best friends!” he groaned, fucking into you harder now, his emotions spilling through his thrusts. “Because I didn’t wanna fuck it up. But you—you drove me fucking insane.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist like you needed him to anchor you. His pace was messy now—frantic, like he couldn’t control it. Like he didn’t want to.

“You made me like this,” he breathed. “You made me need you. You knew what you were doing.”

“I didn’t know it’d go this far—”

“But it did.” He grabbed your hands and pinned them above your head, his forehead against yours, breath ragged. “Now I can’t get out.”

You were already crying.

He didn’t stop.

“Why do you keep doing this to me?” he whispered, voice breaking. “Why do you have to be everything to me?”

Your sob escaped, loud and sudden.

He froze, eyes wide. “Hey—hey…”

“I’m okay,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face, chest trembling. “I’m okay. I just—I love you.”

He choked. His whole body tensed above you.

You gasped when he started moving again—slow and deep and shaking.

“You love me?” he whispered like he didn’t believe it.

You nodded, lips brushing his. “I love you. I’ve loved you for so long it hurts.”

He fucked into you like that broke him. Like he’d been waiting years to hear it. He kissed you so hard you couldn’t breathe, hips rutting into yours with a need that felt like home and war all at once.

You came with your whole body.

Sobbing, shaking, clinging to him like if you let go, you’d die.

And he followed, groaning your name like it was a confession, like a vow.

He collapsed into your arms, heart pounding against yours, still buried deep inside.

You didn’t speak.

You just held each other, tears drying on hot skin, breath slowing.

For the first time—it wasn’t hate, It wasn’t lust, It was love, buried in the wreckage.

—

The air was thick with sweat and sex and silence.

Chan didn’t move. Not for a long time.

His body stayed curled around yours, one hand stroking your hip, the other tangled with your fingers above your head like he was scared to let go. His chest was still heaving, skin hot against yours.

But it was quiet now. And in that silence, there was no more hiding.

You turned your head, cheeks sticky with dried tears, eyes swollen.

“Chan…”

He looked down at you. His expression wrecked. Vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before.

“You meant it?” he asked softly. “What you said?”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah. I meant it.”

He closed his eyes like it hurt. Like it healed him, too.

You traced a finger down his chest, voice small. “Did you?”

He opened his eyes again. “I don’t think there’s ever been a version of me that didn’t love you.”

Your throat closed up.

He leaned in, kissed the tip of your nose. The corner of your mouth. Your jaw. “I just didn’t know how to say it without losing you.”

You breathed him in. “And now?”

“Now I’ve already lost control,” he whispered, brushing hair from your face. “And I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to pretend we’re just friends.”

Your hand gripped his. “Then don’t.”

His eyes searched yours, desperate and soft all at once. “So what are we now?”

You swallowed, voice breaking. “Yours. If you want me.”

Chan let out the softest, most broken laugh. “I’ve always wanted you.”

He kissed you again—no lust, no pressure. Just quiet certainty.

And when he pulled you onto his chest, fingers drawing patterns across your back, it wasn’t about sex anymore. It was about belonging.

“Promise me we won’t run from this,” you whispered against his skin.

“I promise,” he said. “Even if it gets messy. Even if we fight again.”

You smiled faintly. “We definitely will.”

“Good,” he murmured, kissing your forehead. “Because I’m yours too. Every feral, possessive, jealous inch of me.”

You exhaled like you hadn’t breathed in years.

You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring.

But for the first time… you both wanted to find out—together.

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Authors note: hi guys, so i extended the story a little more cos i couldn’t get enough of them and i felt part one was a bit unfinished.

If you enjoyed this, please leave comments and a like, i always look out for feedback! Thanks for reading and following! Love you guys!

[solelifauna]

Definitely NOT Invincible (Yandere Invincible & Reader)

Pt.3

When depression hits hard.

Later that day, you and your friends gathered at the usual spot behind the school—an old, forgotten storage shed that had become your makeshift meeting place. It was secluded enough to keep your conversations private, and right now, privacy was exactly what you needed.

You all sat in a circle, the air heavy with unspoken tension. The reunion earlier had been emotional, a moment of pure relief in the chaos, but now reality was crashing down on all of you. The weight of the situation pressed on your shoulders as you faced your friends, each of them looking as shaken as you felt.

“How the hell are we going to do this?” Hallie muttered, running her hands through her hair in frustration. “We have to stop the world from being taken over, fight off Demogorgons, and—” she gestured wildly, “go to school like nothing’s wrong? My mom’s already noticed I’m acting different. I’ve barely been back a day, and she’s asking questions.”

You winced. Hallie had always been the one who had a close relationship with her family, and hiding things from them wouldn’t be easy. If her mom was already suspicious, it was only a matter of time before she started digging deeper. “What did you tell her?” you asked quietly, dreading the answer.

“I told her I wasn’t sleeping well, which, I mean, isn’t a lie.” Hallie sighed. “But it’s more than that, you know? She can tell something’s off. I can’t just pretend everything’s fine. I’m… different. We all are.”

Connor, who had been sitting silently up until now, finally spoke up, his voice shaky. “My family knows something’s wrong too,” he said, staring down at his hands. “I had a full-blown panic attack yesterday when I heard explosions on the TV. It was just a show my brothers were watching, but… I freaked out. My parents had to spend half an hour calming me down and coaxing me out from under the table.”

His face was pale as he recalled the moment, and you could see his hands trembling slightly. The trauma of being in an active warzone, of watching the world fall apart, had left scars that none of you could hide. It wasn’t just the physical scars from fighting; it was the emotional ones, the kind that didn’t heal easily.

You all exchanged grim looks. None of you had really considered just how hard it would be to hide what you’d been through. Surviving in an apocalyptic world, facing death at the hands of the people who were supposed to protect you, and then actually dying—it was too much. Too much to carry, and now you were back, thrust into your old lives, expected to pretend like none of it had happened.

“I guess we didn’t think about the trauma,” Weston murmured, breaking the silence. “It’s not like we didn’t deal with it before… I mean, fighting Demogorgons wasn’t exactly easy on any of us, mentally or physically.”

He was right. In your previous life, the constant battles with Demogorgons had already left you scarred. You’d all had nightmares, sleepless nights, and moments of pure terror even back then. But now? Now there was another level of horror you had to contend with. The memory of your skull being crushed by your own father, the feel of death creeping in—it wasn’t something you could just shake off.

“And now we have even more to deal with,” You said grimly. “It’s not just the Demogorgons. We have to stop Omni-Man and Invincible from taking over the world. How the hell are we supposed to do that while we’re still dealing with all of this?”

You didn’t have an answer. No one did.

“It’s not fair,” Weston muttered, and all eyes turned to him. “Why does everything always fall on us to solve? We’re just kids! Freshmen in high school, for crying out loud! We should be–I don’t know, playing, going to parties, worrying about homework and who’s crushing on who.” He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “Instead, we’re stuck trying to save the world, fighting monsters, and keeping it together so our families don’t figure out we’ve been dead. It’s not fair.”

His words hung in the air, the truth of them sinking into everyone’s minds. It wasn’t fair. Not in the slightest. You were all supposed to be worried about grades and fitting in, not about war, apocalypse, and death.

You sighed, nodding in agreement. “You’re right. It’s not fair. None of this is. But we don’t have a choice.”

“We never really did, did we?” Hallie said quietly. “Even before this—before all the time travel and Viltrumite stuff—fighting Demogorgons wasn’t exactly a normal kid thing.”

You sighed. He had a point. None of you had ever really been kids, not for a long time. While everyone else your age had been worried about tests and dances, you were out there fighting for your life, battling creatures that no one else even knew existed. The things you had seen, the things you had done—no child should have had to face that. You hadn’t felt like a kid in years.

“Feels like we never got to just be kids,” Connor murmured, his voice strained. “We’re always the ones stuck with the impossible. Every time, it’s on us to fix everything.”

You bit your lip, the anger inside you simmering. It was like the universe had decided to heap every impossible task on your shoulders, expecting you to carry the weight of the world while everyone else went on living their normal lives, oblivious. And now, even with the chance to live again, to be back in time, it still wasn’t really your life, was it? Not with everything you knew.

You were forced to be soldiers in a war that hadn’t even started yet, while everyone else was blissfully unaware of the destruction to come.

“I’m just tired,” you admitted, your voice softening, the exhaustion you felt finally bubbling to the surface. “We should’ve gotten to feel normal, at least for a little while.”

The group fell silent, the truth of your words settling in. No one argued with you because they all felt it too. The unfairness of it all was suffocating. None of you had been kids in a long time, even though, by all rights, you should’ve been. Life had robbed you of that, forcing you into roles you never should have had to take on.

“But,” you said, swallowing the lump in your throat, “it doesn’t matter how tired we are. We don’t have the luxury of being kids anymore, do we?”

Hallie looked down at her feet, her lips pressed into a thin line. “We haven’t been kids for a while.”

You nodded, looking around at your friends—your teammates, your family. “And I guess we’re never going to be. So we have to handle this the way we always do.”

“We fight,” Weston said quietly, but with conviction.

“Yeah,” Connor agreed, though there was a distant, haunted look in his eyes. “We fight.”

It wasn’t fair. It never had been. But deep down, you knew you didn’t have a choice. You’d survived worse before, and now you had a second chance. As much as you wished things could be different, the reality was clear. The world needed saving, and once again, it was up to you to do it.

The conversation eventually shifted from emotions to logistics. You all knew what needed to be done, but the how of it was trickier. “We need to tip off the Guardians,” you said, glancing at your friends, who nodded grimly in agreement. “The sooner they know what’s coming, the better.”

Hallie bit her lip, thinking it over. “But it can’t come back to us,” she said, her voice firm. “If the government finds out it was us, we’re screwed. They’ll lock us down, probably treat us like we’re a threat or something.”

Weston nodded, his brow furrowed. “Yeah, and if Omni-Man and Invincible find out…” He didn’t need to finish that sentence. You all knew what would happen. If your father and brother found out you were behind the warning, they’d kill you without hesitation. You couldn’t afford to be sloppy about this.

“So we’re agreed then,” Connor said quietly. “No one can know it’s us. We have to figure out a way to warn the Guardians without leaving a trace. But… how?”

You all sat in silence for a moment, the question hanging in the air like a dark cloud. It wasn’t just about warning the Guardians—it was about doing it in a way that kept all of you safe. There were so many risks, so many things that could go wrong. You’d have to plan carefully, every detail accounted for.

“We’ll figure it out,” you said, though you didn’t sound nearly as confident as you wanted to. “We just… need more time. We can’t afford to mess this up.”

Hallie sighed. “Yeah. But we can’t wait too long, either. The Guardians don’t have much time. We don’t have much time.”

Connor let out a shaky breath. “We’ll come up with something. We always do.”

The conversation continued for a little while longer, but there were no concrete solutions yet. The weight of everything was heavy, and the longer you talked, the more overwhelming it felt. Finally, you all came to an agreement—you’d figure out the details later. Right now, it was getting late, and school was looming over you like a grim reminder of the double life you had to live.

You hated it. The thought of going back to school, pretending everything was fine, acting normal when nothing was normal anymore. But for now, that’s what you had to do.

With another emotional goodbye, none of you really ready to leave each other, you finally parted ways. It was always hard to say goodbye these days, even though you knew you’d see each other the next day. Still, after everything you’d been through, every goodbye felt a little too final.

As you made your way home, the cool night air helped clear your mind a bit. But as you approached your house, you glanced at the time on your phone and cursed under your breath. It was late—too late for you to just walk through the front door without raising suspicion. You’d have to sneak back in, the way you’d done so many times before.

Luckily, your bedroom window was right next to a large tree, its thick branches stretching out toward the house. You’d used it countless times to sneak out during the night—mostly for Demogorgon hunts, other emergencies, or just moments when you needed to breathe. No one had ever noticed you were gone before, and you hoped tonight would be the same.

You scaled the tree easily, slipping through your window with practiced quietness. Your room was dark and empty, just as you’d left it. You landed on your feet with a soft thud, shutting the window behind you and breathing out a sigh of relief. Another successful sneak-in.

As you peeled off your jacket and kicked off your shoes, your mind buzzed with everything that had been said tonight. The Guardians. The warning. Your double life. You were exhausted, but sleep didn’t feel like an option. Your thoughts raced too fast, the weight of everything too heavy to ignore.

But you’d have to manage. You had school in the morning, and you had to act like nothing was wrong. Like you weren’t living on borrowed time in a world that had no idea what was coming.

You stared at the ceiling, the darkness of your room feeling more suffocating than comforting.

We’ll figure it out, you reminded yourself.

But you couldn’t help wondering if there’d be enough time for that.

Sleep didn’t come easy. Your mind was racing with everything you had discussed with your friends—plans, risks, the weight of the world. You tossed and turned for hours, until at some point, exhaustion finally claimed you around 1 AM. But it wasn’t peaceful. Your sleep was fitful, plagued by nightmares that wrapped around your mind like chains.

Suddenly, you jerked awake, a small scream ripping through your throat. You bolted upright, cold sweat drenching your skin, your heart pounding in your chest as if it were trying to escape. For a moment, you couldn’t remember where you were—your mind still trapped in the vivid images of your dreams. It took a few seconds to realize you were in your bedroom, safe in the quiet of the night.

You took a few deep breaths, clutching your chest in a futile attempt to calm your racing heart. Your hands shook slightly as you ran them through your hair, trying to shake off the lingering terror of the nightmare. It had been so real, like you were reliving every moment of your death, your father’s hand crushing your skull all over again.

Carefully, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, your feet touching the cold floor as you nudged the door ajar. You peeked through the crack, listening for any signs of movement in the house. The hallway was dark and still, and after a few moments, you sighed in relief. It seemed like your scream hadn’t woken anyone up. The last thing you needed was to explain why you were screaming in the middle of the night.

You checked the time on your phone. 3:17 AM.

With a frustrated groan, you realized there was no way you were getting any more sleep tonight. You felt too wired, too shaken, the adrenaline still rushing through your veins from the nightmare. Instead of lying back down and risking another round of restless tossing, you decided to head downstairs.

The kitchen was your destination, and you had every intention of making yourself a cup of tea or coffee—anything to calm your nerves. But once you made it to the dining room, something inside you crumbled. You found yourself sitting down at the table instead, your head falling into your hands, elbows resting on the worn wood surface.

You zoned out, your mind going blank as you stared ahead, your hands cradling your head like you were trying to hold yourself together. You felt small. Pathetic, even. You couldn’t even bring yourself to make coffee, let alone deal with the impossible task that lay ahead of you. Everything felt too heavy, too overwhelming. For all the strength you had shown fighting Demogorgons and surviving the apocalypse, right now, in this quiet house, you felt more fragile than ever.

Unbeknownst to you, someone was watching.

From the shadows of the staircase, Mark stood silently, his eyes locked onto your hunched figure as you sat there, lost in your own world. He didn’t make a sound, didn’t move. He just watched.

From where he stood, you looked so small, almost frail. It was crazy to him that the two of you were even related, considering how different you were. You, with your fragile human body, your easily bruised emotions. He, on the other hand, had grown stronger, more powerful. The gap between the two of you had widened so much over the years that, in his eyes, you weren’t even in the same league anymore.

But that’s what Mark had always obsessively loved about you. His precious little sister. You were human, weak, and that meant you relied on him and Dad to protect you. To him, that was your role—to be the one he could shelter and protect. The one who couldn’t do it on her own.

At school, he had made it very clear to everyone: you were off-limits. No one dared lay a hand on you, not with Mark’s reputation looming over them. If anyone even thought about hurting you, they’d meet his fist—and death—before they had the chance to follow through. That was the silent promise he had made. Nobody was allowed to hurt you.

Except him and Dad.

As he stood there watching you, a strange mix of emotions twisted inside him. He couldn’t help but feel a strange satisfaction knowing you were dependent on him, that your weakness kept you under his protection. But at the same time, something about the way you looked tonight—hunched over in that chair, lost in your thoughts—stirred an odd feeling in him.

He wouldn’t admit it to himself, but something was off about you lately. He’d noticed it. The nervous energy, the odd silences, the way you seemed to be… slipping away from him somehow. But it didn’t matter. Whatever was going on, he’d keep a close eye on you. You were his sister, his responsibility.

And no one could take that from him.

Morning arrived far sooner than you would have liked. The first rays of sunlight filtered through the window, cutting through the quiet of the house and landing directly on your face. You groaned, blinking against the harsh light, realizing you hadn’t moved from the dining table. Your body ached from sitting hunched over in the chair for hours, your mind still foggy with the weight of your sleepless night.

Today was going to suck. A lot.

You rubbed your eyes, feeling the heaviness beneath them, the exhaustion settling into your bones. You could practically feel the bags under your eyes, the dull ache of tiredness seeping into your skin. You didn’t even need to look in a mirror to know you probably looked like a mess. Red-rimmed eyes, pale skin, and the exhaustion you could never quite hide.

Just get through the day, you told yourself, trying to muster some kind of resolve.

You slowly pushed yourself up from the chair, every muscle in your body protesting. The kitchen felt too quiet now, the soft sounds of the house waking up adding to the strange stillness of your thoughts. 

Gods, you need a warm shower. Or maybe a baseball bat to the head.

With a tired groan, you shuffled toward the stairs, deciding a shower might at least help clear the fog in your mind. You hoped the hot water would be enough to wash away the exhaustion clinging to your body. Maybe it could ease the tightness in your chest.

You stripped off your clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over your shoulders, washing away the cold sweat from last night’s nightmares. The warmth soothed your muscles, but it did little to ease the knot in your stomach. The events of last night, the conversation with your friends, the weight of everything still hung over you like a storm cloud.

There was no escape from it.

You sighed, leaning your head against the cool tile. The shower wasn’t helping as much as you had hoped. You were still exhausted, both physically and mentally. The knowledge that you had to face school today, pretend everything was normal while juggling this monumental responsibility, was almost too much to bear.

But you don’t have a choice.

You had to go on like you always did. Put on a brave face, go through the motions, act like everything was fine, and then meet with your friends later to figure out how to save the world. Again.

The water began to cool, and with another groan, you reluctantly stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel and drying yourself off. You stared at yourself in the mirror, wincing at your reflection. Red-rimmed eyes, pale skin, and exhaustion etched into every line of your face.

You look like a wreck, you thought, shaking your head. But there was no time to dwell on it. You had to get through the day, no matter what.

You sluggishly dried yourself off, the warm water doing little to shake the exhaustion clinging to you. Once you were dry, you threw on some clothes, not really caring much about what you wore today—just whatever was clean and comfortable. You glanced at the clock on your dresser. 7:00 AM.

School wouldn’t start until 8:20, so you had some time. Normally, you’d still be asleep, trying to squeeze in the last few minutes of rest before rushing to get ready. But after last night, sleep wasn’t really an option.

For the next thirty minutes, you just sat on your bed, scrolling through your phone absentmindedly. You weren’t really looking for anything specific, just trying to remember who you used to be. Pictures of you and your friends popped up—Hallie, Connor, Weston. The four of you, smiling at the camera, carefree, before everything went to hell. Then there were other photos—random shots of acquaintances from school, parties you barely remembered attending, school dances where you smiled like the biggest worry in your life was whether your shoes matched your dress.

How different things had been. How different you had been.

The sound of movement from down the hall snapped you out of your thoughts. You heard Mark getting ready in his room, the familiar sounds of him moving around as he prepared for the day. Right. He drove you to school most mornings, and today would be no different.

You used to be excited about these car rides. Before, it was one of the few times you could really spend with Mark. He was a senior, always busy with schoolwork, football, or hanging out with his friends, so the drive to school was a guaranteed window of time where you could talk, laugh, and catch up.

But now? Now you dreaded it. The idea of sitting in a car with Mark, pretending everything was fine, made your stomach churn.

With a sigh, you got up from your bed, scrambling around to find your school bag. You mentally checked off the things you’d need for the day—binders, notebooks, pens—but your mind was elsewhere. Without thinking, you checked the small hidden compartment of your bag, making sure it was still packed.

A small knife. A bottle of hairspray. A lighter.

For the Demogorgons. Their biggest weakness was heat, especially fire, so you and your friends always carried around something to ignite them with. It had become second nature by now—packing your school bag with both homework and weapons. Sure, if the school ever found out you were carrying that stuff, you’d be expelled without question. But you were usually one of the good kids, known for being respectful and doing your work. That bought you a bit of leeway.

Did you occasionally miss class, ducking out to handle Demogorgons or chase down whatever creature was lurking nearby? Yes. And when you got caught? Detention. You smirked a little at the memory of you, Connor, Hallie, and Weston all sitting in detention together, exchanging looks across the room, barely holding in your laughter after a particularly difficult hunt. You had spent more than a few afternoons in those detention rooms, trying to explain your absences in ways that wouldn’t raise suspicion.

Grumbling at the thought, you slung your bag over your shoulder and headed downstairs. You grabbed a protein bar from the pantry as you slipped your shoes on, trying to push the nerves out of your stomach as you mentally prepared for the car ride with Mark.

You could hear him coming down the stairs behind you, and for a second, you froze, bracing yourself for the interaction. It felt like every moment with him now was tinged with tension, with the unspoken knowledge of what was to come.

“You ready to go?” Mark’s voice was casual, as if everything was normal.

“Yeah,” you replied, forcing a smile as you glanced over your shoulder at him.

He smiled back, though there was something in his eyes, something you couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was the weight of everything you knew, or maybe it was just your paranoia creeping in, but for a brief second, you felt like he was watching you a little too closely.

You pushed the thought away and grabbed your jacket, trying to act like everything was fine. You think you’d gotten pretty good at lying and pretending everything was okay, i mean, you did successfully hide the fact that you hunt Demogorgons in your past life.

So, it should be no different this time around, right?

Taglist: @plsfckmedxddy, @marsmabe, @leiiasurez, @shycreatorreview, @naina326, @neverano, @couldeatthatgirlforlunch,

[spookypete-94]

So Imagine...

Just a little blurb. Simon solves something by bringing Johnny around.

Simon Riley having to be a total gentleman when around you while home. Watching his mother being mistreated most of her life causing him to make the conscious decision to be better.

Simon Riley walking on the outside of the sidewalk, hand and arm wrapped around your back to keep you safe. Walking a little faster to beat you to any doors that need opened in your path. Thinking you're going to carry any of those groceries he just paid for inside? Yeah right. While on that thought, you keep your pretty shiny debit card in that condition. Don't even worry about sliding it because Simon's already paid for whatever it is you were going to purchase.

So imagine the conversation when he comes to bed, and you are slyly smiling, pulling the covers up to your chin- all because you are laying on the side he was so possessive of.

Reaching underneath you, he grabs the blanket you are on top of, rolling you to the otherside of the bed.

"Come on, Si! Let me lay on your side! I wanna stick my leg out."

Simple, and articulate, he answers with a, "No."

"Whyyy?" You whined and pouted getting under the covers on your side snuggling into a pillow.

"Closer to the door if someone breaks in."

You blinked at him, realizing he was worried about your safety at all times.... But instead of being thankful about it, you smarted back.

"I lay next to a window. You think someone can't come in from there?" Sly smile returning, voice coy in nature. All you were trying to do was be cheeky, still trying to get your way.

He hadn't thought about that... No worries he will come up with a solution.

"Still no, love. Go to sleep, we have company in the morning."

The next day, you welcomed and greeted Simon's long time best friend. Soap, Johnny Mactavish.

The day was full of laughs, stories, and food.

But you see, it was also full of surprises. The guest room had been made up the day before by you just for Johnny. When you found his bag in your room, you brushed it off and he just picked the wrong room. No worries.

So imagine... Night had settled into your bones. Tired and weary, you all headed up stairs to the sleep quarters. Johnny not too far off the entire time. Finally, it had been clocked onto your radar as strange. Every turn, he was not far off. Noticing the excited gleam and shimmer in his eye.

You see, you had failed to hear about their conversation earlier. Simon expressing to Johnny how you pointed out the open window next to your shared bed. How could the love of his life be so exposed to a threat?? Don't stress it though. Who better to fix that thought then the person who does that out in the field for Ghost? Only difference Johnny was now doing it for you, instead of Simon.

So imagine the look of confusion as you faced Simon when Johnny followed you into your bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

"Simon?" Your quiet voice called out to him looking for an answer.

"Still worried about that window, love?" Simon asked backing you up to the bed.

Two unknown arms feeling foreign to you wrapped around your waist, tucking you closer to him. Turning as best you could, you saw Johnny.

He laid closest to the window, Simon closer to the door, and you sandwiched in the middle. No safer place you could be... After they were done with you of course.

Simon Ghost Riley Masterlist

[mariacallous]

On a blustery spring Thursday, just after midterms, I went out for noodles with Alex and Eugene, two undergraduates at New York University, to talk about how they use artificial intelligence in their schoolwork. When I first met Alex, last year, he was interested in a career in the arts, and he devoted a lot of his free time to photo shoots with his friends. But he had recently decided on a more practical path: he wanted to become a C.P.A. His Thursdays were busy, and he had forty-five minutes until a study session for an accounting class. He stowed his skateboard under a bench in the restaurant and shook his laptop out of his bag, connecting to the internet before we sat down.

Alex has wavy hair and speaks with the chill, singsong cadence of someone who has spent a lot of time in the Bay Area. He and Eugene scanned the menu, and Alex said that they should get clear broth, rather than spicy, “so we can both lock in our skin care.” Weeks earlier, when I’d messaged Alex, he had said that everyone he knew used ChatGPT in some fashion, but that he used it only for organizing his notes. In person, he admitted that this wasn’t remotely accurate. “Any type of writing in life, I use A.I.,” he said. He relied on Claude for research, DeepSeek for reasoning and explanation, and Gemini for image generation. ChatGPT served more general needs. “I need A.I. to text girls,” he joked, imagining an A.I.-enhanced version of Hinge. I asked if he had used A.I. when setting up our meeting. He laughed, and then replied, “Honestly, yeah. I’m not tryin’ to type all that. Could you tell?”

OpenAI released ChatGPT on November 30, 2022. Six days later, Sam Altman, the C.E.O., announced that it had reached a million users. Large language models like ChatGPT don’t “think” in the human sense—when you ask ChatGPT a question, it draws from the data sets it has been trained on and builds an answer based on predictable word patterns. Companies had experimented with A.I.-driven chatbots for years, but most sputtered upon release; Microsoft’s 2016 experiment with a bot named Tay was shut down after sixteen hours because it began spouting racist rhetoric and denying the Holocaust. But ChatGPT seemed different. It could hold a conversation and break complex ideas down into easy-to-follow steps. Within a month, Google’s management, fearful that A.I. would have an impact on its search-engine business, declared a “code red.”

Among educators, an even greater panic arose. It was too deep into the school term to implement a coherent policy for what seemed like a homework killer: in seconds, ChatGPT could collect and summarize research and draft a full essay. Many large campuses tried to regulate ChatGPT and its eventual competitors, mostly in vain. I asked Alex to show me an example of an A.I.-produced paper. Eugene wanted to see it, too. He used a different A.I. app to help with computations for his business classes, but he had never gotten the hang of using it for writing. “I got you,” Alex told him. (All the students I spoke with are identified by pseudonyms.)

He opened Claude on his laptop. I noticed a chat that mentioned abolition. “We had to read Robert Wedderburn for a class,” he explained, referring to the nineteenth-century Jamaican abolitionist. “But, obviously, I wasn’t tryin’ to read that.” He had prompted Claude for a summary, but it was too long for him to read in the ten minutes he had before class started. He told me, “I said, ‘Turn it into concise bullet points.’ ” He then transcribed Claude’s points in his notebook, since his professor ran a screen-free classroom.

Alex searched until he found a paper for an art-history class, about a museum exhibition. He had gone to the show, taken photographs of the images and the accompanying wall text, and then uploaded them to Claude, asking it to generate a paper according to the professor’s instructions. “I’m trying to do the least work possible, because this is a class I’m not hella fucking with,” he said. After skimming the essay, he felt that the A.I. hadn’t sufficiently addressed the professor’s questions, so he refined the prompt and told it to try again. In the end, Alex’s submission received the equivalent of an A-minus. He said that he had a basic grasp of the paper’s argument, but that if the professor had asked him for specifics he’d have been “so fucked.” I read the paper over Alex’s shoulder; it was a solid imitation of how an undergraduate might describe a set of images. If this had been 2007, I wouldn’t have made much of its generic tone, or of the precise, box-ticking quality of its critical observations.

Eugene, serious and somewhat solemn, had been listening with bemusement. “I would not cut and paste like he did, because I’m a lot more paranoid,” he said. He’s a couple of years younger than Alex and was in high school when ChatGPT was released. At the time, he experimented with A.I. for essays but noticed that it made easily noticed errors. “This passed the A.I. detector?” he asked Alex.

When ChatGPT launched, instructors adopted various measures to insure that students’ work was their own. These included requiring them to share time-stamped version histories of their Google documents, and designing written assignments that had to be completed in person, over multiple sessions. But most detective work occurs after submission. Services like GPTZero, Copyleaks, and Originality.ai analyze the structure and syntax of a piece of writing and assess the likelihood that it was produced by a machine. Alex said that his art-history professor was “hella old,” and therefore probably didn’t know about such programs. We fed the paper into a few different A.I.-detection websites. One said there was a twenty-eight-per-cent chance that the paper was A.I.-generated; another put the odds at sixty-one per cent. “That’s better than I expected,” Eugene said.

I asked if he thought what his friend had done was cheating, and Alex interrupted: “Of course. Are you fucking kidding me?”

As we looked at Alex’s laptop, I noticed that he had recently asked ChatGPT whether it was O.K. to go running in Nike Dunks. He had concluded that ChatGPT made for the best confidant. He consulted it as one might a therapist, asking for tips on dating and on how to stay motivated during dark times. His ChatGPT sidebar was an index of the highs and lows of being a young person. He admitted to me and Eugene that he’d used ChatGPT to draft his application to N.Y.U.—our lunch might never have happened had it not been for A.I. “I guess it’s really dishonest, but, fuck it, I’m here,” he said.

“It’s cheating, but I don’t think it’s, like, cheating,” Eugene said. He saw Alex’s art-history essay as a victimless crime. He was just fulfilling requirements, not training to become a literary scholar.

Alex had to rush off to his study session. I told Eugene that our conversation had made me wonder about my function as a professor. He asked if I taught English, and I nodded.

“Mm, O.K.,” he said, and laughed. “So you’re, like, majorly affected.”

I teach at a small liberal-arts college, and I often joke that a student is more likely to hand in a big paper a year late (as recently happened) than to take a dishonorable shortcut. My classes are small and intimate, driven by processes and pedagogical modes, like letting awkward silences linger, that are difficult to scale. As a result, I have always had a vague sense that my students are learning something, even when it is hard to quantify. In the past, if I was worried that a paper had been plagiarized, I would enter a few phrases from it into a search engine and call it due diligence. But I recently began noticing that some students’ writing seemed out of synch with how they expressed themselves in the classroom. One essay felt stitched together from two minds—half of it was polished and rote, the other intimate and unfiltered. Having never articulated a policy for A.I., I took the easy way out. The student had had enough shame to write half of the essay, and I focussed my feedback on improving that part.

It’s easy to get hung up on stories of academic dishonesty. Late last year, in a survey of college and university leaders, fifty-nine per cent reported an increase in cheating, a figure that feels conservative when you talk to students. A.I. has returned us to the question of what the point of higher education is. Until we’re eighteen, we go to school because we have to, studying the Second World War and reducing fractions while undergoing a process of socialization. We’re essentially learning how to follow rules. College, however, is a choice, and it has always involved the tacit agreement that students will fulfill a set of tasks, sometimes pertaining to subjects they find pointless or impractical, and then receive some kind of credential. But even for the most mercenary of students, the pursuit of a grade or a diploma has come with an ancillary benefit. You’re being taught how to do something difficult, and maybe, along the way, you come to appreciate the process of learning. But the arrival of A.I. means that you can now bypass the process, and the difficulty, altogether.

There are no reliable figures for how many American students use A.I., just stories about how everyone is doing it. A 2024 Pew Research Center survey of students between the ages of thirteen and seventeen suggests that a quarter of teens currently use ChatGPT for schoolwork, double the figure from 2023. OpenAI recently released a report claiming that one in three college students uses its products. There’s good reason to believe that these are low estimates. If you grew up Googling everything or using Grammarly to give your prose a professional gloss, it isn’t far-fetched to regard A.I. as just another productivity tool. “I see it as no different from Google,” Eugene said. “I use it for the same kind of purpose.”

Being a student is about testing boundaries and staying one step ahead of the rules. While administrators and educators have been debating new definitions for cheating and discussing the mechanics of surveillance, students have been embracing the possibilities of A.I. A few months after the release of ChatGPT, a Harvard undergraduate got approval to conduct an experiment in which it wrote papers that had been assigned in seven courses. The A.I. skated by with a 3.57 G.P.A., a little below the school’s average. Upstart companies introduced products that specialized in “humanizing” A.I.-generated writing, and TikTok influencers began coaching their audiences on how to avoid detection.

Unable to keep pace, academic administrations largely stopped trying to control students’ use of artificial intelligence and adopted an attitude of hopeful resignation, encouraging teachers to explore the practical, pedagogical applications of A.I. In certain fields, this wasn’t a huge stretch. Studies show that A.I. is particularly effective in helping non-native speakers acclimate to college-level writing in English. In some STEM classes, using generative A.I. as a tool is acceptable. Alex and Eugene told me that their accounting professor encouraged them to take advantage of free offers on new A.I. products available only to undergraduates, as companies competed for student loyalty throughout the spring. In May, OpenAI announced ChatGPT Edu, a product specifically marketed for educational use, after schools including Oxford University, Arizona State University, and the University of Pennsylvania’s Wharton School of Business experimented with incorporating A.I. into their curricula. This month, the company detailed plans to integrate ChatGPT into every dimension of campus life, with students receiving “personalized” A.I. accounts to accompany them throughout their years in college.

But for English departments, and for college writing in general, the arrival of A.I. has been more vexed. Why bother teaching writing now? The future of the midterm essay may be a quaint worry compared with larger questions about the ramifications of artificial intelligence, such as its effect on the environment, or the automation of jobs. And yet has there ever been a time in human history when writing was so important to the average person? E-mails, texts, social-media posts, angry missives in comments sections, customer-service chats—let alone one’s actual work. The way we write shapes our thinking. We process the world through the composition of text dozens of times a day, in what the literary scholar Deborah Brandt calls our era of “mass writing.” It’s possible that the ability to write original and interesting sentences will become only more important in a future where everyone has access to the same A.I. assistants.

Corey Robin, a writer and a professor of political science at Brooklyn College, read the early stories about ChatGPT with skepticism. Then his daughter, a sophomore in high school at the time, used it to produce an essay that was about as good as those his undergraduates wrote after a semester of work. He decided to stop assigning take-home essays. For the first time in his thirty years of teaching, he administered in-class exams.

Robin told me he finds many of the steps that universities have taken to combat A.I. essays to be “hand-holding that’s not leading people anywhere.” He has become a believer in the passage-identification blue-book exam, in which students name and contextualize excerpts of what they’ve read for class. “Know the text and write about it intelligently,” he said. “That was a way of honoring their autonomy without being a cop.”

His daughter, who is now a senior, complains that her teachers rarely assign full books. And Robin has noticed that college students are more comfortable with excerpts than with entire articles, and prefer short stories to novels. “I don’t get the sense they have the kind of literary or cultural mastery that used to be the assumption upon which we assigned papers,” he said. One study, published last year, found that fifty-eight per cent of students at two Midwestern universities had so much trouble interpreting the opening paragraphs of “Bleak House,” by Charles Dickens, that “they would not be able to read the novel on their own.” And these were English majors.

The return to pen and paper has been a common response to A.I. among professors, with sales of blue books rising significantly at certain universities in the past two years. Siva Vaidhyanathan, a professor of media studies at the University of Virginia, grew dispirited after some students submitted what he suspected was A.I.-generated work for an assignment on how the school’s honor code should view A.I.-generated work. He, too, has decided to return to blue books, and is pondering the logistics of oral exams. “Maybe we go all the way back to 450 B.C.,” he told me.

But other professors have renewed their emphasis on getting students to see the value of process. Dan Melzer, the director of the first-year composition program at the University of California, Davis, recalled that “everyone was in a panic” when ChatGPT first hit. Melzer’s job is to think about how writing functions across the curriculum so that all students, from prospective scientists to future lawyers, get a chance to hone their prose. Consequently, he has an accommodating view of how norms around communication have changed, especially in the internet age. He was sympathetic to kids who viewed some of their assignments as dull and mechanical and turned to ChatGPT to expedite the process. He called the five-paragraph essay—the classic “hamburger” structure, consisting of an introduction, three supporting body paragraphs, and a conclusion—“outdated,” having descended from élitist traditions.

Melzer believes that some students loathe writing because of how it’s been taught, particularly in the past twenty-five years. The No Child Left Behind Act, from 2002, instituted standards-based reforms across all public schools, resulting in generations of students being taught to write according to rigid testing rubrics. As one teacher wrote in the Washington Post in 2013, students excelled when they mastered a form of “bad writing.” Melzer has designed workshops that treat writing as a deliberative, iterative process involving drafting, feedback (from peers and also from ChatGPT), and revision.

“If you assign a generic essay topic and don’t engage in any process, and you just collect it a month later, it’s almost like you’re creating an environment tailored to crime,” he said. “You’re encouraging crime in your community!”

I found Melzer’s pedagogical approach inspiring; I instantly felt bad for routinely breaking my class into small groups so that they could “workshop” their essays, as though the meaning of this verb were intuitively clear. But, as a student, I’d have found Melzer’s focus on process tedious—it requires a measure of faith that all the work will pay off in the end. Writing is hard, regardless of whether it’s a five-paragraph essay or a haiku, and it’s natural, especially when you’re a college student, to want to avoid hard work—this is why classes like Melzer’s are compulsory. “You can imagine that students really want to be there,” he joked.

College is all about opportunity costs. One way of viewing A.I. is as an intervention in how people choose to spend their time. In the early nineteen-sixties, college students spent an estimated twenty-four hours a week on schoolwork. Today, that figure is about fifteen, a sign, to critics of contemporary higher education, that young people are beneficiaries of grade inflation—in a survey conducted by the Harvard Crimson, nearly eighty per cent of the class of 2024 reported a G.P.A. of 3.7 or higher—and lack the diligence of their forebears. I don’t know how many hours I spent on schoolwork in the late nineties, when I was in college, but I recall feeling that there was never enough time. I suspect that, even if today’s students spend less time studying, they don’t feel significantly less stressed. It’s the nature of campus life that everyone assimilates into a culture of busyness, and a lot of that anxiety has been shifted to extracurricular or pre-professional pursuits. A dean at Harvard remarked that students feel compelled to find distinction outside the classroom because they are largely indistinguishable within it.

Eddie, a sociology major at Long Beach State, is older than most of his classmates. He graduated high school in 2010, and worked full time while attending a community college. “I’ve gone through a lot to be at school,” he told me. “I want to learn as much as I can.” ChatGPT, which his therapist recommended to him, was ubiquitous at Long Beach even before the California State University system, which Long Beach is a part of, announced a partnership with OpenAI, giving its four hundred and sixty thousand students access to ChatGPT Edu. “I was a little suspicious of how convenient it was,” Eddie said. “It seemed to know a lot, in a way that seemed so human.”

He told me that he used A.I. “as a brainstorm” but never for writing itself. “I limit myself, for sure.” Eddie works for Los Angeles County, and he was talking to me during a break. He admitted that, when he was pressed for time, he would sometimes use ChatGPT for quizzes. “I don’t know if I’m telling myself a lie,” he said. “I’ve given myself opportunities to do things ethically, but if I’m rushing to work I don’t feel bad about that,” particularly for courses outside his major.

I recognized Eddie’s conflict. I’ve used ChatGPT a handful of times, and on one occasion it accomplished a scheduling task so quickly that I began to understand the intoxication of hyper-efficiency. I’ve felt the need to stop myself from indulging in idle queries. Almost all the students I interviewed in the past few months described the same trajectory: from using A.I. to assist with organizing their thoughts to off-loading their thinking altogether. For some, it became something akin to social media, constantly open in the corner of the screen, a portal for distraction. This wasn’t like paying someone to write a paper for you—there was no social friction, no aura of illicit activity. Nor did it feel like sharing notes, or like passing off what you’d read in CliffsNotes or SparkNotes as your own analysis. There was no real time to reflect on questions of originality or honesty—the student basically became a project manager. And for students who use it the way Eddie did, as a kind of sounding board, there’s no clear threshold where the work ceases to be an original piece of thinking. In April, Anthropic, the company behind Claude, released a report drawn from a million anonymized student conversations with its chatbots. It suggested that more than half of user interactions could be classified as “collaborative,” involving a dialogue between student and A.I. (Presumably, the rest of the interactions were more extractive.)

May, a sophomore at Georgetown, was initially resistant to using ChatGPT. “I don’t know if it was an ethics thing,” she said. “I just thought I could do the assignment better, and it wasn’t worth the time being saved.” But she began using it to proofread her essays, and then to generate cover letters, and now she uses it for “pretty much all” her classes. “I don’t think it’s made me a worse writer,” she said. “It’s perhaps made me a less patient writer. I used to spend hours writing essays, nitpicking over my wording, really thinking about how to phrase things.” College had made her reflect on her experience at an extremely competitive high school, where she had received top grades but retained very little knowledge. As a result, she was the rare student who found college somewhat relaxed. ChatGPT helped her breeze through busywork and deepen her engagement with the courses she felt passionate about. “I was trying to think, Where’s all this time going?” she said. I had never envied a college student until she told me the answer: “I sleep more now.”

Harry Stecopoulos oversees the University of Iowa’s English department, which has more than eight hundred majors. On the first day of his introductory course, he asks students to write by hand a two-hundred-word analysis of the opening paragraph of Ralph Ellison’s “Invisible Man.” There are always a few grumbles, and students have occasionally walked out. “I like the exercise as a tone-setter, because it stresses their writing,” he told me.

The return of blue-book exams might disadvantage students who were encouraged to master typing at a young age. Once you’ve grown accustomed to the smooth rhythms of typing, reverting to a pen and paper can feel stifling. But neuroscientists have found that the “embodied experience” of writing by hand taps into parts of the brain that typing does not. Being able to write one way—even if it’s more efficient—doesn’t make the other way obsolete. There’s something lofty about Stecopoulos’s opening-day exercise. But there’s another reason for it: the handwritten paragraph also begins a paper trail, attesting to voice and style, that a teaching assistant can consult if a suspicious paper is submitted.

Kevin, a third-year student at Syracuse University, recalled that, on the first day of a class, the professor had asked everyone to compose some thoughts by hand. “That brought a smile to my face,” Kevin said. “The other kids are scratching their necks and sweating, and I’m, like, This is kind of nice.”

Kevin had worked as a teaching assistant for a mandatory course that first-year students take to acclimate to campus life. Writing assignments involved basic questions about students’ backgrounds, he told me, but they often used A.I. anyway. “I was very disturbed,” he said. He occasionally uses A.I. to help with translations for his advanced Arabic course, but he’s come to look down on those who rely heavily on it. “They almost forget that they have the ability to think,” he said. Like many former holdouts, Kevin felt that his judicious use of A.I. was more defensible than his peers’ use of it.

As ChatGPT begins to sound more human, will we reconsider what it means to sound like ourselves? Kevin and some of his friends pride themselves on having an ear attuned to A.I.-generated text. The hallmarks, he said, include a preponderance of em dashes and a voice that feels blandly objective. An acquaintance had run an essay that she had written herself through a detector, because she worried that she was starting to phrase things like ChatGPT did. He read her essay: “I realized, like, It does kind of sound like ChatGPT. It was freaking me out a little bit.”

A particularly disarming aspect of ChatGPT is that, if you point out a mistake, it communicates in the backpedalling tone of a contrite student. (“Apologies for the earlier confusion. . . .”) Its mistakes are often referred to as hallucinations, a description that seems to anthropomorphize A.I., conjuring a vision of a sleep-deprived assistant. Some professors told me that they had students fact-check ChatGPT’s work, as a way of discussing the importance of original research and of showing the machine’s fallibility. Hallucination rates have grown worse for most A.I.s, with no single reason for the increase. As a researcher told the Times, “We still don’t know how these models work exactly.”

But many students claim to be unbothered by A.I.’s mistakes. They appear nonchalant about the question of achievement, and even dissociated from their work, since it is only notionally theirs. Joseph, a Division I athlete at a Big Ten school, told me that he saw no issue with using ChatGPT for his classes, but he did make one exception: he wanted to experience his African-literature course “authentically,” because it involved his heritage. Alex, the N.Y.U. student, said that if one of his A.I. papers received a subpar grade his disappointment would be focussed on the fact that he’d spent twenty dollars on his subscription. August, a sophomore at Columbia studying computer science, told me about a class where she was required to compose a short lecture on a topic of her choosing. “It was a class where everyone was guaranteed an A, so I just put it in and I maybe edited like two words and submitted it,” she said. Her professor identified her essay as exemplary work, and she was asked to read from it to a class of two hundred students. “I was a little nervous,” she said. But then she realized, “If they don’t like it, it wasn’t me who wrote it, you know?”

Kevin, by contrast, desired a more general kind of moral distinction. I asked if he would be bothered to receive a lower grade on an essay than a classmate who’d used ChatGPT. “Part of me is able to compartmentalize and not be pissed about it,” he said. “I developed myself as a human. I can have a superiority complex about it. I learned more.” He smiled. But then he continued, “Part of me can also be, like, This is so unfair. I would have loved to hang out with my friends more. What did I gain? I made my life harder for all that time.”

In my conversations, just as college students invariably thought of ChatGPT as merely another tool, people older than forty focussed on its effects, drawing a comparison to G.P.S. and the erosion of our relationship to space. The London cabdrivers rigorously trained in “the knowledge” famously developed abnormally large posterior hippocampi, the part of the brain crucial for long-term memory and spatial awareness. And yet, in the end, most people would probably rather have swifter travel than sharper memories. What is worth preserving, and what do we feel comfortable off-loading in the name of efficiency?

What if we take seriously the idea that A.I. assistance can accelerate learning—that students today are arriving at their destinations faster? In 2023, researchers at Harvard introduced a self-paced A.I. tutor in a popular physics course. Students who used the A.I. tutor reported higher levels of engagement and motivation and did better on a test than those who were learning from a professor. May, the Georgetown student, told me that she often has ChatGPT produce extra practice questions when she’s studying for a test. Could A.I. be here not to destroy education but to revolutionize it? Barry Lam teaches in the philosophy department at the University of California, Riverside, and hosts a popular podcast, Hi-Phi Nation, which applies philosophical modes of inquiry to everyday topics. He began wondering what it would mean for A.I. to actually be a productivity tool. He spoke to me from the podcast studio he built in his shed. “Now students are able to generate in thirty seconds what used to take me a week,” he said. He compared education to carpentry, one of his many hobbies. Could you skip to using power tools without learning how to saw by hand? If students were learning things faster, then it stood to reason that Lam could assign them “something very hard.” He wanted to test this theory, so for final exams he gave his undergraduates a Ph.D.-level question involving denotative language and the German logician Gottlob Frege which was, frankly, beyond me.

“They fucking failed it miserably,” he said. He adjusted his grading curve accordingly.

Lam doesn’t find the use of A.I. morally indefensible. “It’s not plagiarism in the cut-and-paste sense,” he argued, because there’s technically no original version. Rather, he finds it a potential waste of everyone’s time. At the start of the semester, he has told students, “If you’re gonna just turn in a paper that’s ChatGPT-generated, then I will grade all your work by ChatGPT and we can all go to the beach.”

Nobody gets into teaching because he loves grading papers. I talked to one professor who rhapsodized about how much more his students were learning now that he’d replaced essays with short exams. I asked if he missed marking up essays. He laughed and said, “No comment.” An undergraduate at Northeastern University recently accused a professor of using A.I. to create course materials; she filed a formal complaint with the school, requesting a refund for some of her tuition. The dustup laid bare the tension between why many people go to college and why professors teach. Students are raised to understand achievement as something discrete and measurable, but when they arrive at college there are people like me, imploring them to wrestle with difficulty and abstraction. Worse yet, they are told that grades don’t matter as much as they did when they were trying to get into college—only, by this point, students are wired to find the most efficient path possible to good marks.

As the craft of writing is degraded by A.I., original writing has become a valuable resource for training language models. Earlier this year, a company called Catalyst Research Alliance advertised “academic speech data and student papers” from two research studies run in the late nineties and mid-two-thousands at the University of Michigan. The school asked the company to halt its work—the data was available for free to academics anyway—and a university spokesperson said that student data “was not and has never been for sale.” But the situation did lead many people to wonder whether institutions would begin viewing original student work as a potential revenue stream.

According to a recent study from the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development, human intellect has declined since 2012. An assessment of tens of thousands of adults in nearly thirty countries showed an over-all decade-long drop in test scores for math and for reading comprehension. Andreas Schleicher, the director for education and skills at the O.E.C.D., hypothesized that the way we consume information today—often through short social-media posts—has something to do with the decline in literacy. (One of Europe’s top performers in the assessment was Estonia, which recently announced that it will bring A.I. to some high-school students in the next few years, sidelining written essays and rote homework exercises in favor of self-directed learning and oral exams.)

Lam, the philosophy professor, used to be a colleague of mine, and for a brief time we were also neighbors. I’d occasionally look out the window and see him building a fence, or gardening. He’s an avid amateur cook, guitarist, and carpenter, and he remains convinced that there is value to learning how to do things the annoying, old-fashioned, and—as he puts it—“artisanal” way. He told me that his wife, Shanna Andrawis, who has been a high-school teacher since 2008, frequently disagreed with his cavalier methods for dealing with large learning models. Andrawis argues that dishonesty has always been an issue. “We are trying to mass educate,” she said, meaning there’s less room to be precious about the pedagogical process. “I don’t have conversations with students about ‘artisanal’ writing. But I have conversations with them about our relationship. Respect me enough to give me your authentic voice, even if you don’t think it’s that great. It’s O.K. I want to meet you where you’re at.”

Ultimately, Andrawis was less fearful of ChatGPT than of the broader conditions of being young these days. Her students have grown increasingly introverted, staring at their phones with little desire to “practice getting over that awkwardness” that defines teen life, as she put it. A.I. might contribute to this deterioration, but it isn’t solely to blame. It’s “a little cherry on top of an already really bad ice-cream sundae,” she said.

When the school year began, my feelings about ChatGPT were somewhere between disappointment and disdain, focussed mainly on students. But, as the weeks went by, my sense of what should be done and who was at fault grew hazier. Eliminating core requirements, rethinking G.P.A., teaching A.I. skepticism—none of the potential fixes could turn back the preconditions of American youth. Professors can reconceive of the classroom, but there is only so much we control. I lacked faith that educational institutions would ever regard new technologies as anything but inevitable. Colleges and universities, many of which had tried to curb A.I. use just a few semesters ago, rushed to partner with companies like OpenAI and Anthropic, deeming a product that didn’t exist four years ago essential to the future of school.

Except for a year spent bumming around my home town, I’ve basically been on a campus for the past thirty years. Students these days view college as consumers, in ways that never would have occurred to me when I was their age. They’ve grown up at a time when society values high-speed takes, not the slow deliberation of critical thinking. Although I’ve empathized with my students’ various mini-dramas, I rarely project myself into their lives. I notice them noticing one another, and I let the mysteries of their lives go. Their pressures are so different from the ones I felt as a student. Although I envy their metabolisms, I would not wish for their sense of horizons.

Education, particularly in the humanities, rests on a belief that, alongside the practical things students might retain, some arcane idea mentioned in passing might take root in their mind, blossoming years in the future. A.I. allows any of us to feel like an expert, but it is risk, doubt, and failure that make us human. I often tell my students that this is the last time in their lives that someone will have to read something they write, so they might as well tell me what they actually think.

Despite all the current hysteria around students cheating, they aren’t the ones to blame. They did not lobby for the introduction of laptops when they were in elementary school, and it’s not their fault that they had to go to school on Zoom during the pandemic. They didn’t create the A.I. tools, nor were they at the forefront of hyping technological innovation. They were just early adopters, trying to outwit the system at a time when doing so has never been so easy. And they have no more control than the rest of us. Perhaps they sense this powerlessness even more acutely than I do. One moment, they are being told to learn to code; the next, it turns out employers are looking for the kind of “soft skills” one might learn as an English or a philosophy major. In February, a labor report from the Federal Reserve Bank of New York reported that computer-science majors had a higher unemployment rate than ethnic-studies majors did—the result, some believed, of A.I. automating entry-level coding jobs.

None of the students I spoke with seemed lazy or passive. Alex and Eugene, the N.Y.U. students, worked hard—but part of their effort went to editing out anything in their college experiences that felt extraneous. They were radically resourceful.

When classes were over and students were moving into their summer housing, I e-mailed with Alex, who was settling in in the East Village. He’d just finished his finals, and estimated that he’d spent between thirty minutes and an hour composing two papers for his humanities classes. Without the assistance of Claude, it might have taken him around eight or nine hours. “I didn’t retain anything,” he wrote. “I couldn’t tell you the thesis for either paper hahhahaha.” He received an A-minus and a B-plus.