#you do things for yourself in 'public space'... or talk to yourself where everyone sees (not really)

[sarcasmchandlerbing]

Now this is what has to happen in the playoffs (according to me and my wishes) and also I will predict the outcome:

Florida Panthers has to beat the scary opponent. They can. They have the change. It might be a tough round 2 with these two and I will be scared. I hope I'm not going to start to hate the opposing team if they manage to win. Go Panthers! ❤

Carolina Hurricanes needs to get rid of of the big bad wolf. I am so scared of them (the big bad wolf) winning this whole thing it's not even funny. They can. Easily. Nothing can't stop them. But I hope Hurricanes can! I want Hurricanes to win so bad but I think the others might win 😬 I hope I am so wrong about this one! Go Hurricanes! ❤

Dallas Stars need to beat the other team. Who I think will win? Well, this might be a tough battle they are going to have. It could go either way I think. Go Stars! 💚

Vancouver Canucks, you have one job. To destroy the team which has already won in the past. No need for it again. So please please Canucks, win this. I don't know about this one, the enemies might win. Hope I'm wrong again! Go Canucks! 💙

[serapharua]

୨୧ 一 ENHA WITH A DISTANT IN PUBLIC & AFFECTIONATE IN PRIVATE PARTNER . . !

enhypen 0T7 — GENRE : imagines headcanon fluff comfort — PAIRING : gn.reader — WARNING : none — REQUESTED : by 🖤anon! ��� — enha masterlist

HEESEUNG :

Heeseung notices it, of course.

The way you go still when someone glances over. How your hand pulls just slightly out of his when a group walks by. How your voice shifts, measured, careful, whenever eyes are on you. He doesn’t take it personally. He knows the difference between discomfort and disinterest.

And honestly? He gets it.

Heeseung has always been good at reading rooms, slipping in and out of presence when needed. He understands how the world can feel too sharp sometimes. How affection can turn into performance under the weight of other people’s attention.

So, he doesn’t push.

He doesn’t reach for you when you don’t want to be reached for. Doesn’t pout or ask why you won’t kiss him on crowded streets or lean on him in front of the members. He just… waits.

Because he knows what happens when the door clicks shut and the world finally stops watching.

You move first, always. Shedding the stiffness like a coat. You walk over, drop your phone somewhere without caring where it lands, and climb into his space like gravity only pulls toward him. No fanfare. Just a quiet kind of closeness that never needs to be asked for.

Tonight is the same.

He’s sitting on the couch, legs stretched out, scrolling aimlessly. You curl beside him, tucking your knees under your chest, chin resting on his shoulder.

“Hey,” you say, voice softer now.

He glances at you, already smiling. “Hey yourself.”

You don’t explain. You don’t need to.

Heeseung shifts, lets his arm fall around you, pulling you in with the kind of ease that only comes with knowing someone deeply. You fit there like a thought he’s been having all day.

“I know I’m weird about it,” you say eventually, not quite apologizing.

He shakes his head. “You’re not weird. You just don’t do public affection. That’s not a flaw.”

You go quiet. Then: “You never act like it bothers you.”

“Because it doesn’t,” he says simply. “Not when I have this.”

You glance up. He’s not being dramatic. Just honest.

“I’d rather have the real you when no one’s watching,” he adds. “Than a version of you shaped for everyone else.”

Your fingers slip into his, slow and easy.

He doesn’t need a crowd to feel wanted. He doesn’t need a hand held in public to know it means something. This, your quiet leaning, the way you talk more when it’s just him, the way you seek him out like instinct, this is what he sees.

And it’s enough.

More than.

JAY :

Jay’s never minded quiet love.

He’s always noticed the little things, the way you pull back when people are around, how your fingers twitch like they want to reach for his but think better of it. The way your voice stays level and your eyes unreadable when someone jokes, “Do you even like your boyfriend?” He just smiles at those moments, calm and unfazed. Because he already knows the answer. He doesn’t need you to show it for the world to see; he feels it where it matters.

Tonight is no different, another quiet reminder.

You’re standing in his kitchen, sleeves hanging over your hands, hair tousled from the hoodie you stole. Jay leans against the counter, watching you prepare two mugs of tea with a kind of silent focus that makes him smile. And then, without a word, you bring one over, set it gently in front of him, and tug lightly at the hem of his shirt like it’s something you’ve done a thousand times before.

He raises a brow, playful. “Want something?”

You shrug, trying not to smile. “Just you.”

Jay laughs under his breath, eyes softening. You’re always like this behind closed doors, quiet but full of affection in ways only he gets to see. There’s no show, no need for grand displays. Just small gestures that say more than words ever could.

He reaches for your hand, weaving his fingers through yours. “You’re kinda cute when you pretend not to be attached to me in public.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t pull away. “I’m not pretending.”

“Sure,” he teases, a smile tugging at his lips. “You just accidentally end up next to me every single time we sit somewhere.”

You nudge him with your shoulder, but the smile you wear now is genuine, relaxed, easy.

Jay squeezes your hand gently. “I don’t mind, you know.”

Your expression shifts slightly, a flicker of uncertainty behind your eyes. “That I’m… distant?”

“That you’re you,” he says simply. “I don’t need you to hold my hand in front of everyone to know how you feel. You make me tea. You steal my clothes. You always fall asleep on my side of the bed.”

You snort, and he can feel your body relax against his. “That’s just because your side’s warmer.”

“Exactly,” Jay grins. “You love me for my body heat.”

You lean your head against his arm and settle there, quiet. Content.

“I just like keeping it to ourselves,” you murmur.

Jay nods, brushing his thumb over your knuckles with a tenderness that doesn’t need words. “Then that’s enough for me.”

No pressure. No performance. Just two mugs, shared warmth, and the kind of love that exists not to be seen, but simply to be felt.

And with you, it always is.

JAKE :

Jake doesn’t need the spotlight. Not when it comes to love.

But sometimes, when you brush off his hand in public or dodge his playful attempts to get you to laugh around the others, there’s a quiet sting. Not quite hurt, just that subtle ache that comes from wanting to share something sweet with you and knowing… not yet. Not here.

Still, he never pushes.

He knows you well by now. Knows how to read between the silences, how to catch the affection in your smallest habits. Just because you don’t show your feelings in front of others doesn’t mean they’re not there. He feels them. Always.

Like tonight.

You’re sprawled across his couch, legs tangled with his, wearing one of his oversized t-shirts and poking lazily at the bowl of popcorn he made for movie night. The lights are dim, the TV plays something soft and forgettable, but neither of you are really paying attention.

Jake’s arm is slung loosely around your shoulders, his fingertips tracing the hem of your sleeve. You shift closer, settling against his chest with a long, quiet sigh.

“You okay?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You nod slowly. Then, softer, “I saw the way you looked at me earlier.”

Jake blinks. “What way?”

“When I didn’t hold your hand at dinner.”

He pauses, just for a moment. “I guess… yeah. I noticed.”

There’s a beat of silence, then your voice, smaller now. “Does it bother you?”

He smiles, tender and sure. “Not really. I mean, I love holding your hand. I love being close to you. But I love you more than I love people knowing it.”

You shift to look at him, eyes searching his. “Even if I don’t show it the way you do?”

Jake cups your cheek with one hand, thumb brushing gently across your skin. “You show it. Just not where everyone else can see. You always save the last dumpling for me. You send those random texts like ‘drink water’ or ‘wear a jacket.’ And you fall asleep on me every time we watch a movie.”

You blink. “That last one’s not intentional.”

He grins. “Still counts.”

You huff a quiet laugh, but your smile lingers, soft and warm at the corners. “I do love you, you know.”

“I know,” he says, and there’s no doubt in it.

He pulls you back into his arms, his voice low now, as if the moment is too full to speak above a whisper. “I don’t need the world to see it. Just need you to feel it.”

And you do.

So you stay there, wrapped in the hush of the room, in the warmth of him, letting his presence anchor you. Because with Jake, love is patient. Quiet. Golden.

SUNGHOON :

Sunghoon notices everything.

The way you always stand just far enough apart when the cameras are out. The polite smile you offer when someone mentions his name, even though you don’t meet his eyes. The way your arms stay folded when others might link theirs, your voice light but distant, like you’re somewhere else entirely.

To anyone else, it might seem like you don’t care. But Sunghoon knows better.

You always wait for him when the schedule ends. You remember how he takes his coffee. You send him songs you think he’ll like, even if you never follow up to ask what he thought. And that’s enough for him, because it’s real. Quiet, but real.

He never asks for more. Never reaches for your hand in public or expects a label you’re not ready to wear. That’s not how this works, not with you. But he still watches. Still understands.

He notices the way you shrink slightly when someone teases you about your lack of affection. The way your shoulders go stiff when love becomes something to display. So he never pushes. Just stays beside you, steady, patient, until the day ends and the door clicks closed behind you both.

Like now.

You drop your keys on the counter and turn without hesitation, walking straight into his arms like it’s second nature. Like this is what you’ve been waiting for all day. His hands settle at your back, grounding and familiar.

“You were quiet today,” you murmur into his hoodie.

“So were you,” he replies, voice even.

You pull back slightly, eyes searching his. “Was it okay? The way I… sort of ignored you?”

He shrugs, gentle. “You didn’t ignore me. You were just being you.”

You watch him for a moment, trying to find the catch, but there isn’t one. He’s not waiting for you to explain. He’s not asking for more than what you already give. He just wants you to be here.

“I know I’m not affectionate in front of other people,” you admit, voice a little uncertain.

Sunghoon reaches up to brush your hair from your face, fingers lingering with quiet care. “You don’t owe them anything.”

“But you do deserve someone who—”

“I want you,” he says, cutting you off, but not unkindly. Just certain. “Not a version of you that performs for everyone else.”

Your breath catches, then releases, slow and soft. His thumb traces your jaw once, then again, a soothing rhythm against your skin.

“And besides,” he adds, a faint smile pulling at his lips, “you’re affectionate here.”

You blink. “I am?”

He nods. “You always hug me before bed. You talk more when it’s just us. You do that thing where you sit next to me just close enough that our shoulders touch, even when there’s space.”

Your eyes drop, a quiet warmth rising to your cheeks. “That obvious?”

“To me, yeah,” he says simply.

Then Sunghoon leans in, his forehead resting gently against yours, the world narrowing to just this, the hush between you, the way his voice softens to match it.

“I don’t need everyone to see how you feel about me. I just need you to keep feeling it.”

You don’t answer. Not with words. Instead, you reach for his hand, your fingers lacing with his like they were always meant to.

And that’s all he needs.

Because with Sunghoon, love doesn’t need to be loud. It’s quiet, deliberate. It shows up in the spaces no one else notices, in the pauses, the gestures, the silence. And there, it speaks louder than anything else ever could.

SUNOO :

Sunoo can feel the difference.

Not just when you flinch away from casual touch in front of the others, or when you change the subject the second someone teases him about you. It’s subtler than that, etched into the way your laugh tightens when there’s company, how your eyes scan the room before brushing his hand away. A hesitation, not of love, but of fear. Of being seen too closely.

At first, it stung.

Not in a loud or dramatic way. Just a quiet ache, tucked into the corners of his chest like an unanswered question: Do you feel the same? Do I make you uncomfortable?

But then he started to notice the other things.

The way you always drift back near him, even if your hands stay to yourself. How you never forget which side of the booth he likes, or how he takes his iced coffee. The way your texts always come first, even on your busiest days, Are you home safe? Did you eat?, when anyone else would have expected to be asked instead.

And when it’s just the two of you?

You’re someone else entirely. Not hidden, not guarded, just soft in a way only he gets to see.

Like tonight.

You step through the apartment door, toss your bag aside without a word, and cross the room in a straight line to where he’s curled up on the couch. The lamplight casts a soft halo around him, and your hand finds his before you even sit down.

You don’t say anything. Just curl into his side, fingers slipping between his, your body easing into the shape of his like it’s the only place that fits.

Sunoo lets you take his hand, lets you find comfort in the silence.

Then, with a small nudge to your shoulder, he breaks it. “So…” His voice is light, playful. “Still pretending you don’t like me in public, huh?”

You groan, face burrowing into his shoulder. “It’s not like that.”

“I know,” he says, grinning. “But I had to get my dramatic line in before we get all serious.”

You laugh, muffled, genuine, and then, more quietly, “It’s just easier to not show it when people are watching. I don’t like feeling on display.”

Sunoo hums, resting his cheek lightly against your head. “You don’t need to explain. I mean it.”

You shift to look at him, cautious. “Really?”

“I mean, would I love it if you held my hand in front of everyone?” He lifts your intertwined fingers with a soft swing. “Sure. I’d be lying if I said no.”

There’s a flicker of guilt in your eyes, a faltering of your expression, but he squeezes your hand before you can spiral.

“But I like this more,” he says, firm and kind. “I like knowing this is real, even if no one else gets to see it.”

You let out a breath, then squeeze his hand back, an unguarded gesture that says everything you haven’t been able to.

“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like I didn’t care,” you murmur.

Sunoo shakes his head before you even finish. “You didn’t. And you don’t have to say sorry for protecting your heart.”

He leans in, presses a kiss to your cheek, light and smiling, nothing urgent about it. Just reassurance, wrapped in affection.

“You’re mine either way,” he whispers, words feathering against your skin. “I don’t need an audience for that.”

And in the quiet that follows, you tuck yourself under his chin, limbs tangled, and he wraps you up like he’s done it a thousand times before.

Because with Sunoo, you never have to perform. Not for the crowd. Not for him.

He never wanted a show.

He just wanted you.

JUNGWON :

Jungwon doesn’t chase your affection, not in public, not where the world can see.

He notices things, of course. He notices the way you shift a step to the side when someone nudges you toward him with a knowing smile. The way your hand instinctively pulls back when it brushes his in a crowded hallway. The way your voice lifts just a little too brightly, takes on a practiced ease, whenever too many eyes are on the two of you at once.

But he never takes it personally.

Because there’s a quiet kind of language that only he seems to hear.

Like how you always wait until he’s done speaking before leaving the room. Or how your gaze lingers on him when no one’s looking, a softness there you wouldn’t let anyone else catch. Or the way you hesitate at the doorway before going, as if some part of you doesn’t really want to go at all.

Those are the things he holds on to.

And in the stillness of your shared moments, when the doors are closed and the lights are low, that’s when you’re most yourself. Most his.

Like tonight.

The front door shuts with a soft click, and for a moment, you just stand there, keys still in hand, your shoulders drawn tight beneath your jacket. The evening was long, filled with conversations you couldn’t quite find your way into, laughter you couldn’t fully share. And now, you’re quiet. Worn thin. The kind of tired that’s more about people than it is about time.

Jungwon doesn’t call out. He doesn’t move toward you. He just waits.

He’s leaning against the counter, arms folded loosely across his chest, watching you with that gentle patience he’s always had. The kind that never asks more of you than you’re ready to give.

You don’t speak, not at first. But your eyes meet his, and whatever tension was left in your posture seems to ebb, slowly, like a tide drawing back. You cross the room in a few quiet steps, and without a word, you fold yourself into his arms.

It’s not dramatic. It’s not performative.

It’s just you. Here. Finally unguarded.

Your face presses into the crook of his neck, breath soft against his skin. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong. He doesn’t need to.

“I hate how I freeze up,” you murmur, voice muffled. “It’s like… I want to be better at this. At being with you. But when people are watching, I can’t.”

His hands settle at your waist, warm and steady, tracing slow circles through the fabric of your shirt. “You don’t have to be anything more than you are,” he says. His voice is quiet but certain, like truth wrapped in calm. “Not for them. Not even for me.”

You breathe out slowly. It catches in your chest at first, but then it loosens, unraveling with the quiet comfort of being understood.

“I just don’t want you to think I’m ashamed,” you whisper. “Or that I don’t care.”

At that, Jungwon leans back, not to let go, but just enough to tilt your chin up and meet your gaze. His eyes are soft, serious, unwavering.

“I’ve never thought that,” he says. “Not once.”

You search his face, like you’re still waiting for something, some sign that it’s okay to believe him.

And he smiles. Not wide. Not showy. Just real.

“I don’t need the world to see it to know it’s real,” he says. “I feel it. Every time you look at me like this. Every time you stay, even when it’s hard. I don’t need more than that.”

Your eyes sting, just a little. Not from sadness, just the ache of finally being seen without having to explain yourself. You nod, then curl closer again, burying yourself in his warmth, fingers clutching lightly at the fabric of his shirt.

“I love you,” you whisper, like a promise you were finally ready to say out loud.

Jungwon presses a kiss to the top of your head, his hand steady at your back.

“I know,” he murmurs into your hair. “I love you too. Just like this.”

And that’s enough.

Not perfect. Not polished. Not loud.

Just you, and him, in the quiet that always tells the truth.

NIKI :

Niki’s never needed a lot of attention, not from crowds, not from strangers, not even from you when you’re out together. Big gestures were never really his thing.

So he doesn’t mind the way you keep your distance when the others are around. How you walk beside him but never quite close enough to touch. How you laugh at the group’s jokes but go quiet when they turn toward teasing, especially when it’s about you and him.

He sees it. He just doesn’t take it personally.

Because there’s a difference between what you show the world and what you save for him, and Niki? He’s always liked having the secret version.

Still, the teasing comes.

“Does your partner even like you?” Jungwon jokes one afternoon, raising an eyebrow after you brush past without so much as a glance. There’s laughter, playful jabs from the rest of the group.

Niki just shrugs. Grins.

“Yeah,” he says. “They do.”

He doesn’t elaborate. Doesn’t try to explain how he knows.

Because later, after the noise fades, after the world stops looking, you come home.

And that’s when everything changes.

You kick off your shoes without ceremony, drop your bag where it falls, and spot him instantly, sitting on the floor with his back against the couch, scrolling lazily through his phone. You don’t say anything, just cross the room in a few quiet steps and fold yourself down beside him like gravity brought you there.

His arm slips around your shoulders without thinking, already shifting to make space as you tuck into his side, forehead pressed to the warmth of his hoodie.

“Took you long enough,” he mutters, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips, soft, unmistakable.

You grin into his chest. “You missed me.”

“I always miss you,” he says easily, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You pull back just enough to peek up at him, your voice a little lighter. “Even when I act like I don’t know you in public?”

There’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he reaches up, brushing your hair gently back from your face. “You don’t act like that. You just… don’t like being watched. I get it.”

You hesitate, searching his expression. “But it doesn’t bother you?”

He shakes his head, not even for a second. “Not even a little. Honestly?” His lips quirk into a smirk. “I kinda like it.”

You blink, confused. “Like what?”

Niki leans in, forehead brushing yours. “That no one else gets to see you like this,” he says. “It’s like I’ve got this whole version of you that’s just mine.”

You bury your face in his hoodie again, groaning quietly. “You’re the worst.”

“You’re obsessed with me,” he says, completely unbothered.

You don’t answer, but your hand finds his, fingers slipping between his like it’s second nature. And that says more than enough.

A beat later, he hands you the game controller without asking, already queuing up your favorite show. You huff a laugh, still curled into him.

Niki presses a kiss to the top of your head, easy and familiar. Like he does it all the time. Like it doesn’t matter that no one else ever sees.

Because the truth is, he doesn’t need the world to recognize what you have.

He just needs this.

The quiet way you return to him. The weight of your body leaning in. The warmth you don’t share with anyone else.

You don’t have to shout it to prove it. You don’t even have to say a word.

Because in this quiet, in this closeness, he already knows.

[wordsofwhimsy]

【Ｏｐｐｏｓｉｔｅｓ　

Ａｔｔｒａｃｔ】 - Part One

a/n: ok but do y’all see this BEAUTIFUL artwork commissioned by @gods-banshee?? not me crying over it T-T literal perfection; i'm fucking obsessed also WILDLY hype about this series. gonna be a slow burner for sure!!!

Pairing: Mohawk!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: None

Tags: Fluff, slice of life

Word Count: 2,835

Brief Reader Background: You have an ability to bring inanimate objects to life. After years of training and testing with the GDA, however, it's determined that your ability is maxed out at small, harmless things – think teddy bears, dolls, and the like. Your powers manifested a little after your 7th birthday, but prior to this you lived on the same block as Mark and were childhood friends.

Chapter Synopsis: After 10 years of being in the GDA’s custody, you're “emancipation” from them and start attending your first – and final – year of schooling as a high school senior. The story is gonna have time skip within the next chapter or so; don't worry you wont be stuck in high school forever lmao

It’s funny, isn’t it? The way you spend your entire life imagining a moment, only to have it feel completely different when it actually happens.

You stand at the entrance of the school, heart racing in your chest like it's trying to escape. You should be excited. This is it, after all! Your first day of typical, public academia. You were finally free; out of the sterile rooms where you were tested like some kind of lab rat. No more government buildings. No more men in white coats watching you expectantly, just to be disappointed. Finally, a chance to be... normal.

Except, standing here at the edge of this intimidating hallway, the weight of the moment hits you. This place, the one you thought would feel like a new start, feels more like a cage than a haven.

You tug at the sleeves of your oversized hoodie, hiding your hands, as if making yourself smaller will make the world less overwhelming. You’re not ready for this.

Sure, you’ve spent the past decade in government custody. Sure, you’ve been pushed to test the limits of your powers since you were seven. But none of that prepared you for high school. No one ever taught you how to make friends or blend in with a crowd. How to pretend like you don’t feel like an outsider, a walking alien in a world that doesn’t want you.

Around you, the students swarm through the hallways with an ease you swore you’d never have. They laugh, they talk, they fit in. You’re invisible—something that should be comforting but now feels suffocating. What if you never fit in here?

You hug your books tighter, but it doesn’t help. You’re just another ghost walking down a hall full of people who don’t see you, don’t care to see you.

Your thoughts spiral. Should you talk to someone? Maybe try to make friends? No—don’t be stupid. You don’t know the rules. You’ve never been here before. All you know is how to stay out of sight.

As you drift along, your mind spinning, you notice a change in the air. The chatter and footsteps fade for a moment—an unnatural quiet falls over the space. It’s like the world just paused.

And then you see him.

Mark Grayson.

Your heart skips a beat. There’s no way—could that really be him? You haven’t seen him since you were a kid, but he’s unmistakable. The same messy black hair – albeit buzzed into a more alternative style. The same tall, broad frame. He is unquestionably the same guy.

But you quickly take note that he’s not the goofy, awkward kid you remember. Which of course he’s not; it’s been over a decade, after all. But even still, he seems… different. He walks through the space like he owns it, like everyone should step aside for him.

And they do. They part like the Red Sea. It’s as if they all know he’s something bigger than the rest of them.

The room feels like it freezes as Mark passes by, but you don’t care. You can’t care.

You have to talk to him.

Do it. Don’t think, just do it.

You take a deep breath and walk toward him, pushing through the crowd. Your heart pounds so loudly, you’re sure everyone can hear it. You’re not thinking anymore. You just… have to see him, talk to him, maybe get that little piece of your old life back. Was then even possible?

“Mark!” you call out, unable to keep the excitement out of your voice.

There’s no response, and you wonder if he heard you – how could he not though, when the building was deadly quiet?

“H-Hey, Mark!” you say again, louder this time, almost desperate.

His eyes flick toward you for a split second, but then he just… keeps walking. He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even give you a real look. His face is set, cold, like he doesn’t care who you are or that you’re calling out to him like a scream in the void.

You freeze. His sharp eyes felt like ice water being dumped on you. He doesn’t care. He’s not happy to see you. In fact, he’s not anything about you. He doesn’t even seem to recognize you.

And just like that, he’s out of sight down the hall, leaving you standing there, utterly dumbstruck.

The students around you are still watching. Some are whispering, others are glancing at each other and back at you. You can feel their eyes on you like a heavy weight, and all you want to do is disappear.

You take a shaky breath and try to calm yourself. Okay. Maybe it wasn’t that big of a deal, you say in your mind. Maybe he’s just having a bad day. But then again, maybe Mark had just changed. Maybe he was a different person now.

But that didn’t matter, did it? You weren’t here to find pieces of the past. You were here to start something new. Right?

But even as you think that, a worse thought settles in your stomach. You could never belong in a place like this.

But then you catch yourself. This isn’t you. You’re not some weak pushover who would just let herself fall because of a bitter glance. You’ll figure this out. You have to. You won’t let this place swallow you up like everything else in your life has.

You push your shoulders back, block out your doubts, and start walking again, the noise of the hallway beginning to buzz again in your ears. This new chapter of your life is just beginning, and you’re not going to let it be the end of you.

—

It’s been months since that first day, and nothing has really changed. You’ve kept to yourself, as usual. You go through the motions, your head down, eyes on the floor, trying to blend in with the crowd. It’s easier that way. The loneliness doesn’t sting as much anymore. You’ve grown used to it, the way you’ve grown used to all the other parts of your life that never quite fit.

At lunch, you find your usual spot—the quiet corner near the window, where it’s easy to pretend you’re somewhere else. You unpack your lunch, but your mind is elsewhere, and you catch yourself absentmindedly playing with the small dragon charm that hangs from your bookbag. It’s one of the few things from your past that you still carry with you. You loved the way the charm sways in the light, like a tiny piece of magic you can hold onto.

A chuckle pulls you out of your thoughts. You glance up to see a guy, someone you’ve seen before—a jock—standing a few feet away with his friends. They’re all looking at you, and you feel the familiar heat of embarrassment creep up your neck.

“You know, I thought you were kinda cute at first,” the guy says, grinning like he’s just discovered a new joke. “But then I realized... you’re just a fuckin’ freak.”

He laughs, his friends joining in. Your face flushes with a mix of surprise and embarrassment, your fingers tightening around the charm in your hand.

You open your mouth, but the words get stuck. You don’t know how to respond. You just want to disappear.

But then, something happens. Something that you can’t quite believe.

The jock freezes, his face suddenly contorted in pain, as if something is crushing him from behind. He lets out a whimper, and his friends stop laughing. The cafeteria falls into an eerie silence.

You look up to see a hand gripping the guy’s shoulder. It’s large, powerful, and the grip is tightening. The jock’s face goes pale, and his friends are frozen, unsure of what’s happening.

“What’s so fuckin’ funny?” The voice is vaguely familiar; cool, detached—it’s Mark’s voice.

The jock tries to turn around, but he can’t. Mark’s hand is practically crushing him, and it’s clear he’s not letting go until he’s had his say.

“Go ahead. Tell me,” Mark continues, his voice a low threat. “I wanna laugh too.”

The entire cafeteria is watching now, all eyes on Mark and the guy whose face is turning red from the pressure. The tension is thick, the kind of heavy silence that only comes when everyone knows they’re witnessing something they shouldn’t be.

An administrator, a stern woman who’s been standing by the door, steps forward, trying to break up the confrontation.

“Mark Grayson! What do you think you’re doing?” she says, her voice sharp.

Mark doesn’t look at her. He just gives the jock’s shoulder one last squeeze, and the guy winces before Mark releases him. The jock stumbles forward, clutching his arm, too humiliated to speak.

Mark turns his gaze on you next, his expression unreadable, before he starts to walk away, heading for the exit. The cafeteria slowly returns to its usual noise, but you’re still frozen in your seat, doe eyes watching him as he went.

You can’t help it. You’re in shock, your heart still pounding in your chest. Your hands are shaking slightly, and the dragon charm still dangles loosely from your fingers.

For a moment you sit there, struggling to process what just happened. Did Mark really just stick up for you? Your brain turned slowly in confusion. You’d already given up on the idea that the so-called friendship you once shared would ever come back, but now, with him standing right there, was this… some kind of invitation?

The jock is still rubbing his shoulder, trying to regain his composure, but Mark is already gone.

Your heart is racing in your chest, and before you can second-guess yourself, you shove your things back into your bag and rush to your feet. You’re not going to let this chance slip away.

You move quickly, pushing past the crowd of students who are still staring at the scene. You can’t help but feel that familiar mix of nerves and excitement twisting in your gut. He’s not gone yet. You can catch up. You will catch up.

“Mark!” you call out, your voice a little louder than you intend. It’s shaky, but there’s no turning back now.

Mark doesn’t stop. But that’s okay. You won’t stop either.

You break into a jog, your shoes skidding slightly on the linoleum floor as you make your way down the hallway.

“Mark, wait!” you say again, a bit more forcefully now. You’re not going to let him just walk away this time.

Finally there’s a hesitation. Mark pauses just for a moment, not turning around, but long enough for you to catch up. You hadn’t really thought about what you’d say if you got to him, but now that you’re here it really all just comes pouring out. The words tumble over each other, as if they’ve been stuck inside your throat for years.

“Hey! Mark! You remember me, right? [First Name]—[First & Last]. We used to play on the swings together, remember? You’d always try to push me higher, and I’d scream for you to stop, but you didn’t listen, and I’d cry. That was such a good time—do you remember?”

You continue to ramble, not even giving him a chance to respond, the words coming faster the more you talk. You try to force yourself to slow down, but it’s like the floodgates opened, and you can’t stop now.

“I mean, after everything happened, I never thought I’d see you again, you know? I wasn’t sure if you remembered, but I always thought about you—about us. I-I didn’t really have anyone else to think about, you know? I was stuck in those government buildings, just being tested and waiting and then more testing and more waiting… It was awful, Mark. I mean, just really fucking shitty, y’know? I didn’t get to go to school or… be normal. I didn’t even get to be a kid, really. And don’t even get me started on puberty—talk about a nightmare. But then they didn’t want me anymore so I ended up here! And—well, obviously, I don’t exactly fit in. But I thought, maybe we could talk, you know? I mean, we were friends once, right?”

Your rambling was out of control, the words an awkward mess as you take quick and uneven breaths. You’re not even sure if what you’re saying is making sense, but you can’t stop.

Mark had finally stopped walking, and you stood only a few feet away from him now, the hallway otherwise empty. He runs a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable, before muttering, “Jesus Christ, I don’t remember you talking this much.”

The sound of his voice, a full sentence—an actual, coherent sentence directed at you—makes your stomach flip. You can’t help the wide grin that spreads across your face. He’s talking to you!

And your attachment to him is immediate.

“I—I—well, I have a lot to say, obviously! It’s just, you know, after all that time and stuff, I wasn’t sure if you—if you remembered anything about me, or if you even wanted to—" You keep going, voice a little higher now, eager and breathless. “But anyways here you are, talking to me! Hey, do you remember—"

“Whoa, whoa,” Mark cuts you off, rubbing his temples slowly. “I literally can’t understand a word you're saying. It all just sounds like… mouse noises. Like you’re just squeaking at me.”

You stop mid-sentence, your face falling slightly. The silence between you two feels like it stretches on longer than it should. Mark’s eyes flick to the side, and for a moment, you can see him tense up, almost like he thinks he might’ve hurt your feelings—not that he would care. But then, before he can say anything, you burst out laughing.

“I forgot how funny you are!” You can’t help it. The awkwardness, the tension, everything melts away as you laugh. You laugh because this is Mark, the same guy who used to make dumb jokes and laugh at all the stupid stuff you said. The same Mark who wouldn’t let the other kids on the playground kick over your sandcastles, even if he looks a little different and acts a little… rougher now.

Mark stares at you, wide-eyed, blinking like he doesn’t quite get what’s happening. But for a second, his lips twitch. It’s the barest hint of a smile—almost imperceptible, but it’s there. Maybe it’s because he didn’t expect you to laugh at his insult. Maybe he didn’t expect any of this.

Then, he finally speaks, his tone dry, laced with that familiar sarcasm. “Y’know, this is why that fucking meathead called you a freak.”

You rock back on your heels, hands clasped behind your back as you tilt your head and stare at him with an almost innocent expression. “That’s okay. I might act the part, but you definitely look it,” you say, giggling a little. Mark’s brows furrow, and he gives you a look that would’ve sent any other student running for the hills. You, however, are completely unfazed.

You step closer to him, and, moving with the quickness of someone who’s truly bad at reading the room, you rise onto your toes and curl a lock of his mohawk around your finger, studying it with exaggerated interest. Mark, of course, could’ve easily grabbed your wrist the second you made a move toward him. Any other person would’ve found themselves nursing a broken limb, but for some reason, he remains as still as stone under your touch.

Your finger lightly tugs at the end of the strands. “What’s with the hair, by the way?” you ask, genuinely curious. “I mean, you did always act like punk-ass when we were kids, but this is like... next-level.”

Mark glances down at you, eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to gauge whether you're serious or just messing with him. “You’re a nosy little shit, aren’t you?”

You shrug, still not taking your finger from his hair. “You think so? I dunno, I guess I’m just kinda surprised by this version of you,” you say, a teasing grin tugging at your lips. “You’re, like, all tough guy now.”

Apparently having had enough Mark abruptly smacks your hand away with the back of his own. He tsks through his teeth, eyes closed as he turned his head away. You furl your lips inward, eyes wide as you stare at his face. You wait a second, then murmur,

“… Did I make you mad?” He hopes you don’t notice the way his lips twitch upward. “Anyways what’s your schedule! Maybe I can switch into some of your classes.” Mark opens his eyes again, glancing down at you with almost disbelief. Were you for real?

He starts to walk away, hands shoved casually in his pockets as he went. And you stayed right beside him, a shadow to his every step.

——————————

Part Two!

[sxorpiomooon]

What kind of sexual thoughts do people have about you? A nsfw pac reading

Paid readings

$5 readings

Tip me!!

Check out my other readings

Pile 1-

Wow this is crazy, a lot of people have these about you I must say. I had a vision of a lot of people jerking off to you too? Insane but yea there is also this theme of you looking like a medal to them like "yea fuck if I get her I've won everything " i see people wanting to fuck you very roughly by slamming you onto the table. A lot of people fantasize about doing it with you in public spaces. People love you ass you might sort of give the vibes of Sydney Sweeney? I'm also seeing these old American diners people might want to get into a lot of foreplay dressing with you. I'm also seeing them fantasise about you being a waiter and them the policeman? People want to clap you ass this is insane you have no idea how many people out there want to genuinely fuck you pile 1. I'm seeing everyone having these thoughts about you and then realising that you are out of their league. People might also want to suck your titties yo?? I see a lot of men wanting to be babied by you 😭. There is Pisces energy here that I'm seeing also cancer water signs basically.

p.s- There is a bald man or almost bald man losing his shit over you

Pile 2-

People might want to prove themselves to you? I see men wanting to last more with you? Your sexual energy or energy is general might challenge men even if we are looking at the matchstick you guys choose there is this woman smirking in it haha so men might naturally feel as if their masculinity is being challenged by you. You might also degrade them in some way or they might want you to. I see men wanting you to crush them? Don't some people have that fetish in which they love to see things being crumbled with someone else's feet? I see that and also a feet fetish. They might fantasize about you leading in the bedroom I also saw a chain and someone acting like a dog so there you go lmao. People want you to degrade them and crush them lmao. I also see them focusing more on pleasing you and fulfilling your desires. They might want to kiss your feet and your lower body. I'm also seeing a curvaceous lower body.

Pile 3-

People might want to do it with you after a heated argument? I just see all immediate sexual encounters as in two people entering the room and immediately getting started. Do you go to hotels or cafes? I see spaces with a lot of people where people have these thoughts about you. A lot of people might want to have heated one night stands with you? People have sexual thoughts about hearing you moan and running out of breath. They might want them to lead you and guide you. I see them wanting you to praise them throughout the entire thing too. People want it to be a very impulsive encounter out of nowhere. Alot of screaming and breaking of things I heard the sound of plates breaking for some reason I keep having visions of Monica Bellucci. Anyways I see this theme of people wanting to have a heated one night stands with you and then working hard to please you.

Pile 4-

Hell naww I see very strange people wanting to have sex with you? Like in very inappropriate settings people might have these thoughts about you. You might have sex with people in order to distract yourself from pain? You might fuck people so good that they might forget everything that's on their mind. I see people talking halfway and then just moaning in pleasure not being able to get enough breath to even continue what they were trying to say. People from your work or own team might have these sorts of feelings towards you too. I see less feelings and passion from your side I see you tossing other people once the act is done too for some reason? I keep seeing inappropriate settings or relations for this pile maybe a boss or just a random ass relation

Thankyou!!

[buckets-and-trees]

Sweet and Slashy Summer Saturdays

Characters/Pairings: Bucky x curvy!female reader Word Count: 3.6k Summary: A first date with your neighbor Bucky Barnes.

Content Warnings: modern AU, smut, vaginal fingering, hand job, vaginal penetration, sex in a semi-public place

Logistical Notes: Another entry for @witchywithwhiskey's Slasher Summer Writing Challenge (drive in setting, dialogue prompt in bold/italics), a verrrrrry late entry for @bigtreefest Essie's Summer Lovin’ 300 Follower Celebration (public sex/trying not to get caught) (and shhh, Essie said I could be as late as December, but this is just/only Labor Day Weekend), and week 13 of @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer (free week).

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You didn’t want to watch this scary movie. Scary movies were not your thing.

But you didn’t know that the local drive-in movie place was doing Sweet and Slashy Summer Saturdays - a double feature night with a different rom-com and slasher fic every week when you said yes to your stupid hot neighbor Bucky Barnes. He’d asked if you liked drive in movies and if you’d go with him, and you hadn’t thought even a second before accepting.

Bumping into him throughout the building since you’d moved in last spring, sure, it was problematic to have a crush on a neighbor, but he was stupid hot.

Which made you do stupid things - like accept a date with him.

You canceled plans that you’d already had in favor of this date.

Typically you weren’t a fan of movies as a first date, but since it was a drive in, not a theater, you’d have your own space and not bother anyone if you actually wanted to talk - but if for some reason stupid hot Bucky Barnes turned out to be a dud, you would also be able to tune into the movie without seeming totally rude.

Privacy? Yes. Good.

A little bit of talking? Also yes.

He’d picked you up in his big pick up truck, which meant at the drive in, he’d backed into the spot, and now you were in the bed of the truck on a camp mattress and blankets.

Things had been lovely for the first flick - which turned out to be one of your favorites. The two of you had chatted sporadically but easily throughout. There’d been a short intermission where the two of you took a walk, stretched your legs, and gotten some ice cream from the concession stand.

All of that had been lovely. Easy time with him.

It had allowed you to trick yourself into the false confidence that you could handle the other half of the double feature.

But the slasher fic had you jumpy, scooting closer and closer into Bucky’s chest, until now you had your face permanently half hidden against his chest.

Bucky chuckled and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you chirped. 

“Are you sure? We can leave, I really don’t mind, I’ve see this at least twenty times.”

“No, I’m - I’m fine,” you said quietly. 

He murmured your name against the crown of your head, planting a kiss there. “We don’t have to stay.”

But that little kiss? Being tucked cozily against him? Your whole body was humming with butterflies and warmth despite the cool evening summer breeze flitting over your skin.

“I’m safe here,” you hummed. 

Bucky ticked a finger under your chin and lifted your head up to look him in the face, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You sure about that?”

You giggled - genuinely but with a surge of nerves. “You’ll protect me.”

He smirked. “Only from everyone else.”

“Is that a threat?” You arched a brow and smirked. 

“It’s a promise,” he replied, lowering his voice, ducking closer, his breath ghosting over your lips. 

You shivered, and he chuckled and pulled you closer. You laughed into his chest, resting your hand lightly on his sternum. “Honestly, if you ever become an actor, don't ever do a slasher flick.”

He scoffed. “What? Why’s that? I’m not such a terrible actor!”

You looked back up at him and shook your head. “I’m not convinced. But also, I’d have to go see it, and clearly I wouldn’t be able to handle that experience.”

“Fine, I promise, I’ll tell the non-existent agent for the acting career I’m never pursuing that slashers are off the table.”

“Good.”

Bucky shifted to make both of you more comfortable. As he shifted, his strong arm tightened around you, pulling you even closer against his broad chest. You felt the warmth of his body enveloping you, a stark contrast to the cool night air. His fingers began to trace lazy patterns on your shoulder, sending tingles down your spine.

"You know," Bucky murmured, his lips brushing your ear, "I'm really glad you came out with me tonight."

You tilted your head to look up at him, taking in his chiseled jawline and those piercing blue eyes. "Me too," you whispered.

"I've been wanting to do this for a long time - just spend time with you. But now you’re driving me crazy, and I can’t keep my hands off you."

Your breath hitched as his hand slowly slid down your arm, savoring every curve and dip. “Then don’t,” you responded. You slipped your leg up over his thigh, tangling your limbs together.

His touch was gentle yet purposeful, exploring the softness of your skin. You felt your pulse quicken as his fingers ghosted over the swell of your hip, squeezing lightly.

"I love how you feel," he whispered, his voice husky. "So soft, so perfect."

His hand continued its journey, caressing the generous curve of your waist. You couldn't help but lean into his touch, craving more. Bucky's fingers splayed across your stomach, appreciating the plush roundness there.

"Beautiful," he breathed.

Bucky's fingers danced up your arm, caressing the soft skin. He traced the curve of your shoulder, then along your collarbone. His touch was feather-light but left a trail of heat in its wake.

You tilted your head back to look at him, taking in his chiseled jawline and intense blue eyes. Bucky's gaze roamed over your face, lingering on your full lips before meeting your eyes again. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb stroking your flushed skin.

"You're so beautiful," Bucky reiterated, his eyes locked on yours.

Your heart raced as he leaned in closer, his warm breath fanning across your face. Time seemed to slow as he closed the distance between you. His lips brushed yours softly at first, tentative and questioning. You responded eagerly, pressing closer and parting your lips slightly.

Bucky took that as invitation to deepen the kiss. His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you flush against him. You melted into his embrace, savoring the feel of his firm body against yours.

The kiss grew more heated, tongues exploring as passion built between you. Your hands roamed over his broad shoulders and muscular back, marveling at the strength you felt there. Bucky's own hands weren't idle, caressing your curves with reverence.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing heavily. Bucky rested his forehead against yours, a smile playing on his lips.

"Wow," you whispered.

He chuckled softly. "Wow is right."

Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream pierced the air. You jumped, startled by the sound from the movie. Bucky chuckled against your lips, breaking the kiss.

"Sorry," you mumbled, feeling a heat creep up your neck.

"Don't be sorry," Bucky murmured, his thumb caressing your cheek. "I think it's cute how jumpy you are."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "Glad my terror is entertaining for you."

He grinned, pulling you closer. "Well, I do enjoy being your protector."

Another scream rang out from the movie, making you flinch. Bucky's arms tightened around you instinctively. You buried your face in his chest, inhaling his warm, masculine scent. "I'm usually not this much of a scaredy-cat, I swear."

His chest rumbled with laughter. "Sure, sure. I believe you." His tone was teasing, but his arms stayed tight around you.

The score for the movie swelled and pursued a chilling tenor, making you tense. Bucky's hand came up to cup the back of your head, gently pressing your ear to his chest. The steady thump of his heartbeat drowned out the sounds of the film.

"Better?" he murmured.

You nodded against him, feeling safer wrapped in his strong arms. "Much better."

His fingers combed through your hair soothingly. "You know, we could always make our own entertainment if the movie's too scary."

You pulled back slightly to look up at him, eyebrow raised. "Oh? What did you have in mind?"

Bucky's eyes darkened as they roamed over your face. "I can think of a few ways to distract you from the movie."

His hand slid down your back, coming to rest on your hip. He gave a gentle squeeze, pulling you against him. Your breath hitched as you felt the hard planes of his body pressed against your softer curves.

"Oh?" you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Like what?"

Instead of answering, Bucky dipped his head and captured your lips in a searing kiss. This wasn't like the earlier kiss - soft and exploratory. This was heat and passion and barely restrained desire. His tongue swept into your mouth, tasting and teasing. You moaned softly, your fingers tangling in his hair.

Bucky's hand slipped under the hem of your shirt, his calloused fingers tracing patterns on the sensitive skin of your lower back. You arched into him, craving more of his touch. He broke the kiss, trailing his lips along your jaw and down your neck.

"God, you're driving me crazy," he murmured against your skin.

You tilted your head, giving him a quizzical look. This man you had categorized as stupid hot because he was so handsome it couldn’t be real seemed to be as gone for you as you were for him.

"I'm driving you crazy?" you asked, your voice a mix of disbelief and amusement. "You're the one who's been making me lose my mind for months now."

Bucky pulled back slightly, his blue eyes searching your face. "Really?" he asked, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

You nodded, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. "Really. I've had a crush on you since the day I moved in. Why do you think I always seemed to be doing laundry at the same time as you?"

A slow grin spread across Bucky's face. "And here I thought I was the one making excuses to run into you."

You laughed softly, your fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw. "Looks like we've both been idiots."

"Well," Bucky murmured, leaning in close again, "then we should make up for lost time, don't you think?"

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours again, hot and demanding. You melted into the kiss, savoring the feel of his strong body against yours. His hands roamed your curves, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

You moaned softly into the kiss, your body arching against Bucky's. His hands roamed lower, cupping your ass and pulling you flush against him. You could feel his arousal pressing against your thigh, sending a jolt of desire through you.

"Bucky," you gasped, breaking the kiss. "We're in public."

He chuckled, the sound low and husky. "Don't worry. No one can see us back here."

To prove his point, he rolled you both so you were lying on your back, his body hovering over yours. The truck's high sides and the darkness of the drive-in lot provided a surprising amount of privacy.

Bucky's lips found your neck again, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin. You tilted your head, giving him better access as your hands slid under his shirt, exploring the hard planes of his abs.

"God, you feel amazing," you breathed.

He hummed against your skin, the vibration sending shivers down your spine. His hand slipped under your shirt, thumb brushing the underside of your breast. You arched into his touch, craving more.

Bucky's large hand cupped your breast, kneading gently through the thin fabric of your bra. You gasped at the sensation, your body heating up despite the cool night air.

Suddenly, a loud crash from the movie made you jump. Bucky chuckled softly, pulling back to look at you.

"Still scared?" he teased, his thumb brushing over your nipple through your bra.

You shivered, both from his touch and the reminder of where you were. "Maybe a little," you admitted.

Bucky's eyes softened as he gazed down at you. "We can stop if you want," he murmured, his hand stilling on your breast.

You shook your head, reaching up to cup his face. "No, I don't want to stop. I just... I've never done anything like this before. In public, I mean."

He smiled, turning his head to press a kiss to your palm. "We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with. We can just cuddle and watch the rest of the movie if you want."

You bit your lip, considering. The fear of getting caught was thrilling, but also nerve-wracking. But the way Bucky was looking at you, his blue eyes dark with desire, made you want to throw caution to the wind.

"I want you," you whispered, pulling him down for another kiss.

Bucky groaned into your mouth, his hand resuming its gentle kneading of your breast. You arched into his touch, your body humming with need. His other hand slid down your side, fingers teasing the waistband of your jeans.

"Is this okay?" he murmured against your lips.

“Mmhmm, please touch me, Bucky,” you pleaded, craving more.

Bucky's fingers deftly unbuttoned your jeans, sliding the zipper down slowly. His hand slipped inside, cupping you through your underwear. You gasped at the contact, hips bucking up into his touch.

"So responsive," he murmured, nipping at your earlobe. "I love it."

His fingers rubbed slow circles over your clothed center, building the tension coiling in your belly. You bit your lip to stifle a moan, very aware of your surroundings despite the privacy of the truck bed.

Bucky's lips trailed down your neck as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric of your underwear. You inhaled sharply as he made contact with your bare flesh, stroking through your folds.

"God, you're so wet already," he groaned against your collarbone.

You whimpered as he teased your entrance, gathering your arousal before circling your clit. Your hips rocked against his hand, chasing the pleasure he was building.

"Bucky, please," you breathed, not even sure what you were begging for.

He captured your lips in a searing kiss as he slid his fingers through your slick folds. You bit your lip to stifle a moan as he slowly pushed one finger inside you.

"Shh," he murmured, kissing you softly. "Gotta be quiet, remember?"

You nodded, your breath coming in short pants as he began to move his finger in and out. He added a second finger, stretching you deliciously. His thumb found your clit again, rubbing small circles that had you seeing stars.

Your hands gripped Bucky's broad shoulders as he worked you closer to the edge. The pleasure was building rapidly, your hips rocking against his skilled fingers. You buried your face in his neck, muffling your whimpers and gasps against his skin.

"That's it, sweetheart," Bucky murmured encouragingly. "Let go for me. I've got you."

His fingers curled inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made your toes curl. Combined with the steady pressure on your clit, it was quickly becoming too much.

"Bucky," you gasped, your body tensing. "I'm -"

"Come for me," he growled softly, increasing the pace of his fingers.

The coil of tension in your belly snapped. Waves of pleasure crashed over you as your orgasm hit. Bucky captured your lips in a deep kiss, swallowing your moans as you shuddered against him.

As you came down from your high, Bucky slowly withdrew his hand. You whimpered at the loss, feeling oversensitive and boneless. He pressed soft kisses to your face as you caught your breath.

Then he licked your slickness off his fingers, and your breath hitched as he groaned at the taste of you. Your hand trailed down his chest, palming the obvious bulge in his jeans. "What about you?" you asked.

Bucky groaned softly, hips bucking into your touch. "You don't have to-"

You cut him off with a kiss, your hand continuing to rub him through his jeans. "I want to," you murmured against his lips. "Please, let me make you feel good too."

Bucky groaned, his hips rocking into your touch. "God, yes," he breathed.

Your fingers fumbled with his belt buckle, suddenly feeling clumsy with anticipation. Bucky chuckled softly, reaching down to help you. Together, you managed to unfasten his jeans and push them down his hips.

You slipped your hand into his boxers, wrapping your fingers around his hard length. Bucky hissed in pleasure, his head dropping to your shoulder. You stroked him slowly, marveling at how hot and thick he felt in your hand.

"Fuck," Bucky groaned softly. "Your hand feels so good."

Emboldened by his reaction, you increased your pace, twisting your wrist on the upstroke. Bucky's breathing grew ragged, his hips thrusting into your grip. You could feel him throbbing in your hand, growing even harder if that was possible.

"Wait," Bucky gasped, gently grasping your wrist. "Not like this. I want to be inside you."

Your breath caught at his words, desire pooling low in your belly. "Yes," you breathed. "Please, Bucky."

He captured your lips in a searing kiss as his hands worked to push your jeans down your hips. You lifted your hips to help, shimmying out of the tight denim. Bucky's fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, sliding them down your legs as well.

The cool night air hit your heated skin, making you shiver. Bucky's warm hands ran up your thighs, parting them gently. He settled between your legs, his hard length pressing against your core.

Bucky reached for his wallet. You raised an eyebrow as he retrieved a condom.

"Presumptuous, weren't we?" you teased.

He chuckled, a slight blush coloring his cheeks as he tore it open. "More like hopeful. You sure about this?" he murmured, his blue eyes searching yours.

You nodded, reaching for the condom and wrapping your legs around his waist. "I'm sure. I want you, Bucky." You took his stiff cock in your hands and rolled the condom down slowly over his length.

Then you laid back, and he guided his tip to your entrance. He groaned softly, capturing your lips in another kiss as he slowly pushed into you. You gasped at the stretch, your body accommodating his impressive size.

Bucky stilled once he was fully seated inside you, giving you time to adjust. You both moaned softly at the sensation of being so intimately connected. He peppered kisses along your jaw and neck as you breathed through the initial stretch.

"You okay?" he murmured against your skin.

You nodded, running your hands down his muscular back. "Yeah, you can move."

Bucky started with slow, shallow thrusts, gradually building up speed and depth. You bit your lip to stifle your moans, very aware of your surroundings despite the privacy of the truck bed. The movie's soundtrack provided some cover, but you still tried to keep quiet.

"God, you feel amazing," Bucky groaned softly, his hips snapping against yours.

You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, changing the angle slightly. The new position had him hitting that perfect spot inside you with each thrust. Your nails dug into his shoulders as pleasure built rapidly.

"Bucky," you whined.

His hand slid between your bodies, his fingers tracing a path down your stomach until they settled on your sensitive clit. The gentle pressure of his thumb against you sent sparks of pleasure through your body. "Come for me," he whispered in your ear, urging you on as he continued to stroke and tease your sex. You couldn't resist the sensations, and soon you were gasping and moaning in ecstasy, and he swallowed up as much of your sounds as he could with another kiss.

Bucky's movements became more erratic as he chased his own release. You clenched around him, still riding the waves of your orgasm. The added pressure pushed him over the edge.

"Fuck," he groaned, burying his face in your neck as he came.

You held him close, running your fingers through his hair as you both caught your breath. The sounds of the movie filtered back into your awareness - screams and dramatic music that seemed absurdly out of place now.

Bucky lifted his head, a lazy smile spreading across his face as he looked at you. "That was..."

"Amazing," you finished for him, grinning.

He chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before carefully pulling out. You whimpered at the loss, suddenly feeling very exposed. Bucky noticed your discomfort and quickly helped you redress, then took care of himself.

Once you were both decent again, he pulled you back into his arms. You snuggled against his chest, feeling sated and content.

"So," Bucky murmured, his fingers tracing patterns on your arm, "I think it's safe to say this was a successful first date?"

You grinned and looked up at him. "I'd say so. Though I'm not sure how we're going to top this for date number two."

Bucky chuckled, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, I'm sure we can come up with something. I've got plenty of ideas."

"Is that so?" you teased, trailing your fingers along his jawline. "Care to share?"

He caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. "How about I show you instead? Say, next Saturday?"

Your heart fluttered at the promise in his eyes. “Just no more slashers, deal?”

“Deal,” he chuckled, then sealed it the best way, tipping your chin up and capturing your lips in a kiss.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

SEQUEL: the morning after

Read more stories from the Deliciously Debauched Labor Day Weekend!

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[lazysoulwriter]

it's not silly. - pedro pascal. ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: angst with comfort, jealousy/insecurity, touchiness with others, emotional honesty, gentle reassurance, crying, established relationship, happy ending

---

you always knew how touchy he was.

he was warm. kind. affectionate. the kind of man who touched arms when he laughed, who wrapped people in bear hugs, who kissed cheeks like it was instinct.

you saw it on red carpets. in behind-the-scenes clips. in interviews where his hands would rest gently on a co-star’s back, or he’d lean in close to whisper something that made her laugh.

and the thing is… you knew it was innocent.

you knew pedro. he was all softness and good intentions. he made people feel safe. seen.

but knowing that didn’t make the jealousy sting any less.

and that’s what made it worse.

you never told him.

how sometimes your stomach dropped watching videos of him laughing with other actresses, his hand on their shoulder like he’d done with you in the early days.

how sometimes you scrolled through tagged photos on twitter and saw comments like “the chemistry???” or “she better be careful omg” and had to shut your phone off.

how sometimes you caught yourself wondering, am i just not built for this?

you weren’t proud of those thoughts. you hated feeling that way. it wasn’t who you were. and you never wanted to make him feel like he had to change — not for you. not for anyone.

so instead, you just… pulled away.

a little at a time.

he noticed. of course he did.

you stopped reaching for him when he got home. stopped sending good luck texts before press events. stopped sitting close to him on the couch. said you were tired. said you had work. said nothing at all.

and he tried to give you space. until he couldn’t anymore.

you didn’t hear him come in that night — the door opening quietly, his voice calling out soft and hopeful, “baby? i’m home.”

you were curled up on the edge of the bed, his hoodie pulled over your knees, chest tight. you weren’t sobbing. just crying in that quiet, exhausted way, where everything feels full and fragile.

“oh, baby—” his voice dropped when he saw you. “what happened?”

you shook your head. tried to wipe your face.

he crossed the room in seconds, kneeling beside you. “talk to me.”

“it’s stupid.”

“it’s not.”

a beat.

and then, finally, it cracked out of you.

“i just… i see how affectionate you are with them. your costars. and i know it’s innocent, pedro, i do. but it still hurts. and it makes me feel like i’m being crazy or insecure or not strong enough to handle dating someone like you. and i don’t want to be the jealous girlfriend, i hate that person, and—” your voice broke, “i don’t want you to change. i just… i don’t know if i can change either.”

his face fell.

not angry. not hurt. just heartbroken that you’d been carrying this alone.

“sweetheart,” he whispered, climbing onto the bed to hold you, “why didn’t you tell me?”

you shook your head against his chest. “because it’s not fair. you’re just being you. and i love who you are, i really do. i just don’t know if i’m enough for that kind of life.”

his arms tightened around you. “hey. hey—look at me.”

you did, reluctantly.

his voice was steady. low. honest.

“i love you. you. not the public version of me. not the charming guy everyone sees. i come home to you. i want to come home to you. you’re not weak for feeling this way. you’re not dramatic. and i never, never want you to feel like you have to shrink your feelings to keep me happy.”

you exhaled, shaky and still unsure. “but… you’re so used to giving people that warmth. what if i can’t keep up?”

“then we adjust,” he said simply. “we talk. we make space for both of us. i’ll be more aware, baby. i’ll check in more. i don’t want to accidentally make you feel like you’re not enough, because you are. you’re everything.”

you blinked back fresh tears. “so… you’re not mad?”

he smiled softly. “for what? you told me the truth. you trusted me. that’s the bravest thing you could’ve done.”

you melted into his chest, breathing in the scent of his cologne and warmth.

“and for the record,” he murmured into your hair, “none of them get this part of me. this.”

“the emotional mess?”

“the man who holds you this close when you cry.”

you laughed, watery and small. “you’re annoying.”

“you love me.”

“i do.”

“then let’s talk more. and love harder.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

---

taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @joelmillerpascal @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure@barnes70stark @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512 @alltounwell @libbyaller @beaagiannelli @broad-shouldrs @oceanmcu @kysosa @melloispunk @jollycupcakeblizzard @angvlicsoulll @needz1nk @daddypascal17 @agustdpeach @mrsbilicablog @k4t13ispunk @hotdadlvr95 @lnnysnts @pedropascalfan221 @queenofklonnie22 @christinamadsen @ilovecheriies @stvr-bloom

[zzbubblegumbitchzz]

Mine // Luke Hughes

a follow up to The Manuscript, where Luke has some words to say.

part one - here

WC: 1.4k

CW: tears, a lil bit of self deprecation if you squint, post breakup sad, pet names, he lowkey fixes it

He was sitting in the passenger seat of Quinn’s car, riding down the road that now left a foul aftertaste in his mouth. Your house was coming up, 2 miles ahead on the right. The house with the big pine tree and endless kisses and now broken promises lived. 

A promise he'd always come back to you, promises of forever, promises of "I'll come whisk you away. I’ll be on one knee and it'll be you and me.”

That ring felt like it was burning a hole in his luggage. Almost like he could feel the hurt. He could feel hurt. All he felt lately was hurt. He had no one to blame but himself. 

“You could fix this Luke.” Quinn’s voice held a level of support for his brother but also an anger for her. For the girl who was his sister. Maybe not by blood, or even marriage now, but Quinn always supported her. “She’s hurt, but she wouldn’t just forget about you and everything you had in two weeks. Give her some time, get a plan, and bring her home.” 

Luke just nodded.

It had been 2 weeks since Luke had been in Michigan. 3 weeks, 3 days and 12 hours since the doorbell footage he couldn't stop watching. “I loved you, Lukey” playing on an endless cycle in his brain. Loved. Past tense. Had he really fucked this up so badly that she had time to fall out of love with him?

He was staring at the basket that was on the counter. The basket with everything you loved, the basket of proof he never stopped thinking about you. 

That stupid hoodie you always stole, a note front and center, some candy and other snacks, a blanket, the comfiest socks he could find and some books he knew you had been eyeing. Thankful for your goodreads being public enough he could see what books have been bought and what hasn't. 

Quinn had talked him out of waiting at the door with the basket, “That’s basically cornering her, Luke. You can’t do that. Drop it off on the porch, knock on the door and go back to the car.” and maybe Quinn was right. As much as Luke needed to see your face, needed you to see he wasn’t okay either– he knew that wouldn't end well for either of you.

So here he stood, oversized basket in his hand and the iced matcha with white chocolate and strawberry foam from the little coffee shop 20 minutes away that was your favorite in his other. Now all he had to do was knock. Knock and leave. No matter how much he didn’t want to leave, he knew he had to. 

The sound of a hard knock brought your attention away from your rewatch of Love, Actually. Waiting a couple minutes to see if whoever was there would knock again. The thought of social interaction was the last thing you wanted. All you wanted was this bottle of wine, stupid love stories with happy endings that you’ll never relate too and tears. 

Everyone told you, cry over him for a couple days and forget him. But Luke, he wasn't someone you wanted to forget. Luke was all you wanted. He was your safe space, your shoulder to cry on, your support. And for the first time in almost 6 years, you broke down fully alone. 

Finally willing yourself to get up, you wiped your tears and opened the door. 

There sat a basket and a drink. Not just any, yours. Your drink, from the cafe Luke took you to on your first date. 

Closing your front door, you sat on the porch pulling the paper with your name written in the messiest handwriting. 

Handwriting you’d never forget. Handwriting you had grown to know like it was your own secret language. Handwriting that belonged to the one guy you ever wanted. Luke’s handwriting.

Unfolding the paper you scanned over the scribbles. Eyes closed, taking a breath before you were ready to read this properly.

Hi baby,

Am I allowed to say that? Probably not, I'm sorry. I’m not off to a good start here. I've rewritten this 3 times, I decided it's better to just word vomit. That way i dont forget anything. 

God, baby, I am so sorry. So fucking sorry. I was stupid. Stupid is really just putting it lightly. I was dumb, selfish, cold, and gone. I left you alone. I broke promises. I missed dinner. I missed hearing about your day. I missed hearing about your books. I missed hearing what your new favorite song was. I missed all of that, and more, for months. Months you waited for me to come back to you. I was so stuck in hockey, I was stuck giving more to a team than I was to you. 

I will never forgive myself for that. I will never forgive myself for allowing something so bad to happen. I will never forgive myself for setting you up for the perfect plan of falling out of love with me.

I never wanted to hurt you, seeing you cry on the camera broke me. It broke me in a way I don't even have words for. It felt like my heart was ripped out of my body. I never wanted to ever be the reason tears stained your pretty face. 

I was on my way, I texted you and when you didn't answer I thought you were napping. We were on break, we had a couple weeks before playoffs. I was coming home to you. Just you and me. And when I walked in and your bag was gone my heart dropped. Then I saw the box, and the necklace on the very top. I've never held something in my hand that hurt so badly. 

I know none of this is going to fix what I did. I know that, but I needed you to know im a fucking mess without you. Nothing’s been the same. There's no sunshine anymore, because you're not here. You brought the sunshine. You ARE the sunshine. You are everything that is pure and good in this world all wrapped up in one little person. One little person who I had the privilege of loving. No past tense, no loved. I will never stop loving you.

Jack told me I shouldn’t tell you, so did Quinn, but I can't lie to you again. I had a ring. In the closet, hidden in an old box on that shelf you never could reach. I had booked a little cottage up north in June. I was going to ask you to marry me on the 3rd day there. I had a whole script I wrote 7 months ago. I read it daily, I have it burning in my brain. I wasn't going to forget all the things I wanted to say that day.

Anyways I'm rambling real bad and a novel wont fix what I did to us. But please know, youre my past, present and my future. It will always be you. Even if I'm not your future. I'll cheer you on from afar.

I love you,

Lukey.

You couldn't stop the tears. The rest of the basket was forgotten. Reaching into your pocket and pulling out your phone. You clicked his name and held your breath.

Luke sat at the island in the kitchen. Quinn is cooking some sort of chicken. He wasn't sure, he stopped listening 15 minutes ago. Jack was digging around in the fridge and all Luke could focus on was if you got the basket. 

Everyone went silent as the bridge of Mine by Taylor Swift started blaring. Staring at the phone on the counter, your smile taking up the screen.

“Fucking answer it Luke!” Jack yelled, pushing the phone to his little brother. 

He forgot how to breathe, he didn't think you'd call. He didn't think he'd have the opportunity to ever hear your voice again.

“Hello?” His voice was soft, scared really.

“Did you mean it? The letter, did you mean it?” she was crying. He could tell and god that broke him.

“Every word of it. All of it.” He left no room for questions. No room for doubt.

His brothers watched with worry, Jack whispered, “put it on speaker!”

Quinn smacked his head, like he asked for the stupidest thing. They were too busy quietly arguing with one another that all they heard again was Luke.

“Yeah, honey. 10 minutes okay? I’ll see you in a few minutes.” It's almost like he knew what you were about to say. “You’re never going to have to wait again. The world can wait, my world can’t.”

[charliemwrites]

Part 3 of angst with SpecGru (former 141) reader.

Who’s ready for Simon to face the consequences of his actions?!

(No content warnings)

The reunion is dry. Simon almost doesn’t recognize you. There’s a new scar on your right cheek, and a tattoo sneaking beneath the sleeve of your compression shirt. You don’t look at him once, eyes either forward or on your own captain while he talks to Price.

“Good to see you again,” Price says to you.

It’s only then that your eyes shift to him, something distinctly unimpressed about the set of your eyebrows. “Good?”

“Yes. Good.”

You don’t answer, instead flick a look to the man on your right. Russ, Simon remembers from the files Laswell distributed. Wears a mask almost always as well. Something passes between you two in that glance, something Simon would dare say is mocking. Can all but see you rolling your eyes like you used to when the brass was blowing smoke.

“We’re not here for small talk,” your new captain interrupts. “Where are we bunking?”

The SpecGru team sweeps you away with them to their side of the barracks. The man on your other side, covered head-to-toe (Nikto, Simon’s mind supplies) casts a lingering glance over his shoulder at the rest of the 141.

“Brr,” Soap says when you’re all out of sight. “That was chilly.”

“No kidding,” Gaz says, grimacing.

Price sighs, runs a hand down his face. There’s a beat where it seems like he might speak, might comment on the ice radiating across the tarmac. Instead, he just shakes his head and waves them off.

Simon doesn’t let himself make a beeline for the barracks. For you. He made you leave for a reason. Two years doesn’t change anything.

He sees you at the mess later, with the rest of SpecGru. Russ’s hand arm around the back of your chair and your knee against your captain’s.

The seat you used to occupy with the 141 remains empty to this day. Not once during that meal do you glance at it, or them. Simon knows; he watches you the entire time.

You pad into the rec room kitchenette the next morning one feet quieter than they used to be. Your eyes register him, a little puff of air coming from your nose. Don’t say good morning — though neither does Simon.

“Tea’s in the right now,” he says when you reach for the left cabinet.

You don’t even twitch to acknowledge that you’ve heard him, pulling out the coffee grounds and busying yourself at the machine. When did you start drinking coffee? You used to make tea for everyone on the team first thing in the morning.

He’s about to say something when Russ swaggers into the room, still adjusting his mask.

“Mornin’ sweets,” he says.

You shoot him a smile, tilt your head as he kisses your cheek loudly through the mask. Simon freezes.

“Don’t feel like talking yet?” Russ asks.

You shake your head, offer him a sip from your mug. He accepts, winking as he hands it back.

(That’s new too. Used to be you couldn’t shut up in the mornings, chattering to whoever was nearby.)

“This is a public space, you know that right?” Simon rumbles.

“No shit?” Russ asks, eyebrows obviously arched.

You snort and lean up against the counter, cupping your mug in both hands. At least that’s a mannerism Simon recognizes.

He doesn’t rise to the bait, stands from his chair. He’s done with his tea anyway and he’s got shit to do before the team exercises later.

When he passes just within arm’s reach to rinse his cup out in the sink, you don’t tense. Or even move at all, except to take another measured sip of bitter coffee. (Didn’t you have a sweet tooth?)

He leaves just as Nova is stepping in, singing a honey-sweet good morning to you and Russ that makes Simon’s teeth ache.

The exercises are brutally efficient. Not a single member of the SpecGru team speaks to the 141 more than necessary to complete the objective. There are no words of praise or attempts at camaraderie between drills.

Which is not to say there isn’t any at all. Simon sees you scoop Nova up when she bests Soap at a tricky maneuver, laughing bright and bell-like while the rest of your team looks on. Nikto touches your shoulder after you disarm Price of his knife and you beam at him like the fucking sun.

It’s sets Simon’s teeth on edge. How well you fit with them — better than you even did when things were good with the 141. When one of you moves, the other four compensate, no one left unprotected, room left for stumbles or mishaps.

Your captain tugs your belt when you pass him, and you grin as you peck his jaw, before trotting off to a soft-eyed Russ.

Simon can feel Johnny’s eyes bouncing between you and him, waiting for… something. Fuck’s sake. Simon tamps down the agitation crawling beneath his skin and sets up for the next drill.

“Oi, we need to start mixing. We can guarantee that our teams will stay separate,” Price calls to your captain.

He grunts, but jerks his head at the rest of the SpecGru folks. You stay separate, adjusting your gloves as if nothing in the world is wrong.

“Wait, she needs to—”

“She needs to follow my orders,” your captain interrupts. “And her orders are to operate solo for this drill.”

You nod and dart off without another glance.

Simon’s fingers twitch.

“Something wrong, Ghost?” Keegan leers, thumbs hooked in his belt. “You don’t wanna work with me?”

“Fuckin’ Yanks,” he mutters.

Keegan laughs like SImon’s told a hilarious joke. Thankfully, he shuts the fuck up for the rest of the drill.

Your voice is back in Simon’s ear for the first time in two years, working as overwatch. You direct the teams like a master conductor, covering with perfect sniper shots where necessary. Earn a constant stream of praise and admiration from your teammates. In the real thing, you would have saved Simon and Keegan twice over.

Eventually, though, you’re expected to run drills paired with the 141 again.

Your expression doesn’t so much as shift when your captain says so. The rest of your team tenses though, Nova even opening her mouth like she wants to argue.

You cross the small but firm divide between the teams to stand by Gaz’s side.

“Jus’ like old times, yeah?” He asks, offering you a fist bump.

You glance at it briefly, then turn forward.

“Sure,” you answer, flat and toneless.

First | Previous | Next

Masterlist

[empathicliar]

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘩. ¸.•* 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘶𝘬𝘦 𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢.

𝟏.𝟏𝐤. 𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 , 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐡-𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐝.

༺❀༻ || 𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝​!kisuke , age gap , manly man , public sex ( luv makin in the bathroom ) , creampie!! >~< , praising , dirty talk , use of pet names , oral!f receiving , multiple orgasm's.​

>`< || might be working on a aizen x kisuke x reader but who knowsss!

kisuke’s corner store isn't as busy around this time. around your break time that is. the beauty supply store down the street your mom owns takes up majority of your sanity. that's why it's always so refreshing to take a little walk down seventy-fifth’ street to your boyfriend's shop to make sure he isn't getting himself hurt.

“ welcome in- “ looking at a random magazine he saw laying on the floor, kisuke hears the bell on his store's door ring and waves his hand at the customer emerging in, barely taking a glance until he feels a spurt of spirit energy he could recognize in a corner maze. “ hey doll, come on in-“

kisuke urahara is fascinated by you. it's no wonder he’s stopping dead in his sentence when he notices what all has changed about you in less than twelve hours. a new hairdo for one caught his attention, a hairdo he finds himself trying to look away from. the velvet blue brings something dark out of your eyes that makes his pants strain in on itself.

he’s in total and utter disbelief when your full glossed lips speak to him, he doesn't even catch it. he just stares in wonderstruck. brainstorming one hundred ways to get into those jeans that make your hips pop too damn well. he can't succumb to purity when you strut towards the candy aisle.

“ you’re so dirty ‘ke. “ you snicker. “ do i look good? “ batting those long lashes his way, he unknowingly takes a glance behind the barely see-through curtain, almost popping his lips when he remembers the inconvenience his children being in the shop bring. 

“ you look better than good doll. “ pointing one of his long fingers your way, he beckons you over. you stroll with a giddy smile, practically skipping to the cash register. you lean over the register desk like a table, hand on top of the other. head twisted to look underneath that green and white hat he barely takes off.

“ tweety in the bunch? “ tweety in the bunch was another name for ‘ are the kids here? ‘. kisuke glooms. it felt like that code name was used more than eight times this week. you, yourself tried to peek in the back to see if the kiddies were in the shop. they were so quiet today, usually they would come out and greet you. he nods, barely responsive.

“ mhmm… “ he finally drags out, taking his sweet time eyeing you down before his resolve weakens and any and everyone who dared to look into this almost rundown corner store saw a sight they’d never forget.

“ mm.. alright, ill see you later then- “

“ woah, woah- that doesn't mean anything pretty. “ he smirks, the pit in your stomach prayed for him to say those words. you're smiling the whole time he’s shushing you through the back, golden ring covered digit pressed against his lips. that sappy smile is only dropping when his cold, big hands are dragging inside the back of your shirt and those soft lips of his make their way to yours.

almost skin to skin with the way he’s holding you closely, groans falling between the rough, wet kisses. he’s sooo manly when it comes to intimacy. He, himself overwhelms you. he smells like the burnt end of a blunt and vanilla incense. hiking your hands underneath that green kimono. wanting to feel him so bad it burns. the soft – almost rough feeling of his lower stomach hair trail has you biting his lip, panties soaked to the max.

kisuke is rough to the t, he does this thing where he licks every corner of your mouth, sometimes pushing that wet muscle into your throat. he’s beyond dirty and if it weren't for this small space, you're sure he would have you completely spread out licking from the pink to the stink. he always, always manhandles you into place then laces those chaste touches with nasty words.

 “ gonna keep quiet for me baby? “ that public sink holds you upright. kisuke’s stubborn fingers are drilling inside of your pussy. his thumb swiping over that sensitive bundle of nerves that make your hips stiff up. you're trying so hard to stay quiet – biting the inside of your palm hoping the pain will make your noisy moans come to an end.

“ you know i can't give you this cock if you don't act right, doll. “ he says so casually as if you weren't already on the verge of becoming a braindead slut. he mumbles on your pussy, unable to keep quiet about his desire for you, tongue moving with total love intent. he’s obsessed with hearing you, it almost pains him to not hear how good he’s making you feel.

that dingy hat has already been tossed to the side, courtesy of you. your fingers thread in his blonde hair. hooded lids catching sight of his sharp eyes. you're wet, like superrr soaked and you're not sure if it's from the thrill of getting caught or if it's the way this man, who is over seven years older than you, has the look of awe in his eyes while his tongue is toying with the inside of your walls.

“ yeah arch it like that, you know how daddy likes it. “ he moans into your ear, squealing pussy sucking him in like he’ll leave forever. his sweaty stomach pressed against your back. that weight only brings you closer to that awaited second release. the fogging mirror paints a shamefully beautiful portrait. he looks so much bigger than you at this angle, his hand is pressed to your mouth to keep the noise down yet it’s almost touching your eyelids from how big it is.

he’s all up on you, the squeaking of the sink, the sound of shoes scuffing on the plated tiled floors, the smacks of your ass on his pelvis have drowned out in your ears. gone in this bathroom, only having a clear view of kisuke's concentrated eyes. you’d gotten so used to his weight on you, you almost whine when he lifts up to hit a different angle.

“ keep squeezin’... fuckkk, you sucking me in so good, b-baby. “ it isn't long before you're coming on his dick for the second time. cunt spasming around him – cute little moans slipping from the soles of his fingers. he still bullies your hole, well holes in this case. – his long pointer and middle fingers now brushing down your throat while his dick is giving your cunt a new shape.

drool falling onto your chin, kisuke’s head tilted back to keep himself steady. you're holding onto his wrist the whole time he’s warning you of his release. kisuke unregretfully cums inside of you, something that wasn't new to you at all. biting his lip til blood is pouring from the oncoming scar to keep quiet. he huffs, hands on your chubby hips to keep himself in place. he leaves kisses on the simple sonder tattoo on the top of your shoulder. 

“ are you okay, my love? you did so good for me. “ that sweet gesture almost makes the pounding on the bathroom door worth it! >^<

©𝙀𝙈𝙋𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙄𝘾𝙇𝙄𝘼𝙍 any sort of stealing or modifying is prohibited, mess with your momma not me.

[blissfulflw]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𝑈𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑆𝑝𝑒𝑙𝑙- 𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑡𝑤𝑜

A/N: tumblr is being annoying so I had to split one of my fics into 2. It won’t make sense unless you read the first part so I’ll link it.

Part 1

The fluorescent lights flickered overhead as you walked through the crowded hallway, clutching your books a little too tightly. You barely made it past a few lockers before you felt a sudden hand grab your wrist and tug you to the side, the force pulling you out of the flow of students in seconds.

“Minjeong?” you asked, already feeling your heart race at the sudden closeness.

You barely had a chance to adjust before Minjeong stepped into your personal space, her signature smirk plastered on her face. “I need to talk to you, loser.”

You blinked, confused. “Now? We’re at school, Minjeong—”

“Don’t worry. It’ll be quick,” she interrupted, and before you could say anything else, she yanked you further down the hallway. The sound of footsteps behind you made you tense, and when you glanced over, you saw Minjeong’s friends—Jimin, Aeri, and Yizhou—walking toward you, all grinning mischievously.

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks as you realized what was happening. This was exactly what you were trying to avoid—a public scene.

“Hey, you two are being way too quiet,” Jimin chirped, voice dripping with mock sweetness as she eyed the both of you. “What’s going on, huh? Are you officially a thing now?”

Minjeong chuckled, her grip still firm on your wrist, and she gave you a teasing side-eye. “I don’t know… am I?”

Aeri leaned in, her smile matching the others’. “Come on, Minjeong. You know she’s head over heels for you. You’ve been flirting with her all week.”

Your stomach flipped, and you tried to shrink into yourself, but Minjeong wasn’t letting you go anywhere.

Yizhou raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “So when do we get to see this ‘kiss her later’ thing you mentioned?”

The mention of that made your cheeks burn again, and you had to fight to keep your voice steady. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jimin let out a dramatic gasp. “Oh my god, she doesn’t even remember what happened last night?” She shot a playful glance at Minjeong. “That’s rough. I thought you were smooth, Minjeong.”

Minjeong rolled her eyes, but there was a flicker of amusement in her gaze as she casually leaned against the wall, still holding onto your wrist. ���Don’t worry. She remembers. She’s just shy now that we’re in public.”

You shot her a glare. “You’re not helping.”

Aeri laughed. “Oh, don’t pretend like you’re not enjoying all the attention, loser.”

“Yeah, I mean, you’re wearing her jacket.” Yizhou pointed at your shoulders, where the oversized designer bomber still hung loosely. “Talk about being branded.”

You froze, looking down at the jacket. It had become a symbol of your awkward, very public situation, and you hadn’t realized how much attention it was drawing until now.

Minjeong, sensing your discomfort, tightened her grip on your wrist, making you look up at her. She was smirking again, but this time, there was something more affectionate behind it. “Don’t listen to them, Baby. They’re just jealous.”

The use of the nickname sent a thrill down your spine, and you couldn’t help the flush that crept up your neck. You wished she wouldn’t call you that so loudly in front of everyone.

“I think it’s cute,” Minjeong added, clearly not even caring that the entire hallway was starting to buzz with gossip. “I like the way you look in my jacket.”

“Baby?” Jimin’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Really? That’s the new nickname now? You’re going full cute, Minjeong.”

“Shut up, Jimin,” Minjeong shot back, though her grin didn’t fade. She turned back to you, her thumb rubbing softly over your wrist, sending a wave of warmth through your chest. “So, Honey,” she said, dragging out the nickname like it was her favorite thing in the world. “When do you plan on kissing me in front of everyone again?”

You stammered, feeling your face grow hotter by the second. “M-Minj—”

“Oh, trust me, she remembers, Y/n,” Aeri teased, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “She’s just shy now because Minjeong is way too bold for her.”

Jimin leaned in closer, a devilish smile spreading across her face. “You know what? I think it’s cute how you’re making Minjeong work for it. She’s got you wrapped around her finger.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could form a sentence, Minjeong pulled you closer, her lips brushing your ear. “Don’t listen to them,” she whispered, her voice so close it sent a wave of warmth crashing through your body. “You’re mine now, Darling. And I’m not letting you go anytime soon.”

The words were so soft and possessive that you couldn’t help but shiver, and when you pulled back to look at her, your eyes met her dark, challenging gaze. There was something different in the way she looked at you now—like she wasn’t just teasing, like she meant every word.

And you… you didn’t want to pull away.

“Alright, alright, lovebirds,” Jimin teased, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. “We’ll leave you two alone, but don’t think this is over. We’ll need updates, Y/n.”

With that, the group made their way down the hall, still laughing and calling out jabs at the both of you, but Minjeong didn’t let go of you. Her fingers still brushed your wrist, and the smirk on her lips was a little softer now, like the teasing had just been a part of the game, but the intensity between the two of you was growing with each passing moment.

Once the hallway cleared, Minjeong leaned in, her forehead resting lightly against yours.

“Don’t worry,” she said, her voice low, her breath warm on your face. “I don’t mind everyone knowing I like you. In fact, I kind of like showing you off.”

You could barely form words. “Minjeong, stop.”

But you didn’t move away.

Minjeong chuckled softly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Nope. Not gonna happen. You’re mine, Love. Deal with it.”

_____

Later that week

_____

The sky was awash in soft hues of lavender and gold, the sun slowly dipping below the edge of the school building. The rooftop was quiet, save for the wind tugging gently at your clothes and the distant hum of students heading home. You were leaning against the railing, staring at the horizon and trying to collect your thoughts.

So much had happened in just a few days. A party, a kiss, a borrowed jacket, teasing from her friends, and most importantly—Minjeong. Or rather… Jeongie, as you’d started calling her more and more when you had the nerve.

You weren’t sure when you’d fallen, but now it felt inevitable. She got under your skin in every way. Her bratty charm, her cocky grins, the way she knew exactly how to fluster you with one lean, one smirk, one word.

And then came the sound of the rooftop door opening behind you.

You didn’t have to look.

“I knew you’d be up here,” Minjeong said softly, strolling toward you, hands in the pockets of her uniform blazer. She stopped beside you and leaned on the railing, eyes scanning your face instead of the sunset. “You’re always hiding when you think too much.”

You smiled faintly. “I’m not hiding.”

“You kind of are.”

You glanced sideways at her, and she grinned.

“I don’t blame you,” she added. “I can be a lot.”

You laughed under your breath. “That’s one way to put it.”

“But,” she said, turning fully to face you now, her tone softening, “I mean it. About everything.”

You blinked. “Everything?”

Minjeong nodded. “The jacket. The kiss. The flirting. It’s not just a game, even if I act like it is. You make me feel like I don’t have to be cool all the time. I can be a little dumb around you, and you’ll still look at me like I hung the moon.”

Your throat tightened. You didn’t think she noticed when you did that. When your gaze softened even as she teased you. But she did.

“I like you,” she said. “I’ve liked you. I was just too stubborn to say it.”

The wind blew lightly between you, brushing her hair into her face. She didn’t move to fix it. She just watched you, waiting.

You swallowed and stepped just a little closer, your heart thudding like a drum. “I like you too. You’re bratty, and annoying, and so full of yourself—”

She laughed. “Wow, thanks—”

“—but you’re also kind when you think no one’s looking. And… you’re not scary to me anymore.”

Minjeong blinked at that, caught off guard. “Not scary?”

You nodded, stepping forward until you were right in front of her now. “You’re just… Jeongie.”

Something flickered in her eyes. Something warm. A rare, quiet kind of softness.

She reached up slowly and adjusted the collar of your shirt—an excuse to be closer. Her fingers lingered.

“Say it again,” she whispered, a half-smile playing at her lips.

“What?”

“My name.”

You swallowed. “Jeongie.”

Minjeong leaned in, forehead brushing yours, voice barely audible now. “Only you get to call me that.”

And then she kissed you. Gently, this time. No teasing. Just lips that met yours with the quiet certainty of someone who’d made up her mind. And maybe, finally, you had too.

You smiled into the kiss—finally feeling like the loser had won.

[sammhisphere]

Off-Camera- Yang Jeongin (I.N) 양 정인

SUPPORT YOUR WRITERS REBLOG/LIKE

Setting:  Paris, during SKZ’s world tour. Behind the glamour of stages and flashing lights, I.N is just Jeongin. Tired, lonely, and craving something real. As one of the most dependable managers on the team, you’ve always kept things professional. Until one night, you don’t. What starts as stolen glances and late-night conversations turns into something neither of you expected. But in a world where everything is scheduled, public, and performative… What does it mean to want someone quietly, off-camera? Genre: Idol AU, Slow Burn, Secret Relationship, Angst/Fluff, Smut Pairing: Idol Jeongin (I.N) x Manager Reader Word Count: ~5.9k Warnings: 18+ Mature themes (emotional intimacy, smut), Power imbalance (idol x manager dynamic; handled respectfully and consensually), Emotional vulnerability, loneliness, secrecy, and quiet longing, Explicit sexual content written

~

You arrive in Seoul on three hours of sleep, two suitcases, and one pounding headache. They brief you in a hallway outside the arena. Too rushed for introductions, too loud for you to hear half of what they’re saying. Something about schedules, rotating call times, and not letting the artists see stress if you can help it. “Keep things smooth. Invisible. If you’re doing your job right, they’ll never have a reason to remember your name.” You take that part too literally.

For the first week, no one really knows who you are. You’re a shadow behind the scenes, ducking out of dressing rooms before sound checks, organizing arrival schedules in airport security lines, triple-confirming wardrobe deliveries and venue security with people who look at you like you're replaceable. And maybe you are.

You weren’t supposed to be here. You were the backup to the backup, flown in from a half-finished project in Singapore when the original logistics manager’s father got hospitalized in Incheon. A faceless name in a spreadsheet. A professional stand-in. So you blend in. That’s your job. Until the mic incident.

It happens on day six. Seoul Dome, night two. You’re in the wings, headset crackling in your ear, checklist balanced against your hip. You handed Jeongin the wrong mic during pre-stage checks, an identical backup model that hadn’t been charged after rehearsal. You don’t realize until two minutes into the first verse, when his voice cuts out mid-line.

He doesn’t panic. Doesn’t flinch. He simply keeps dancing, poker-faced, not even sparing a glance toward the wings. He mouths his lines, lets the others cover the harmony, and finishes the set like nothing happened. You fix it before the second song starts. Swap the battery in record time. Whisper a hoarse apology when he slips offstage between sets. He only nods once, tight-lipped, and walks past you without a word. Your stomach knots for the rest of the night. But no one brings it up again.

You tell yourself you’re overthinking it. That the youngest member of a K-pop group has bigger things to worry about than one forgettable staffer’s mistake. But every time you pass him backstage, you feel it, his gaze like static, like a live wire brushing the back of your neck. You never catch him staring. But you never really don’t.

In the weeks that follow, you build a rhythm. You learn which stage managers need coffee before they’ll talk numbers. You learn how to spot customs delays before they show up in your inbox. You learn which dancers sneak back in after curfew and how to cover for them quietly. You learn that Jeongin practices longer than everyone else. Always. In every city, no matter the timezone or the show load, he’s the last one to leave the floor.

One night in Berlin, long after the others have gone back to the hotel, you stay behind to double-check next week’s flight itineraries. You find him alone in the mirrored rehearsal space, sweatshirt tied around his waist, a water bottle half-empty on the floor beside him. You don’t mean to watch. You just freeze for a second in the doorway. He’s not dancing full-out, just running footwork over and over. Meticulous. Quiet. His breathing was steady, his reflection intense. The music is low, playing off a Bluetooth speaker, but you recognize the song: one of the unreleased tracks from the tour setlist. His solo stage.

He doesn't notice you at first. And you don’t say anything. You just watch. It feels like intruding on something private. Eventually, he catches your eyes in the mirror. Doesn’t stop. Just lifts one brow, almost teasing. “You always this quiet?” You flush. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” “You didn’t,” he says, and turns down the speaker. The silence swells.

Then he walks over, pulls a fresh bottle of water from his bag, and tosses it to you. You barely catch it. He grins- small, crooked. “That was for the mic thing,” he says. “We’re even now.” You want to ask if he was mad. If he hated you. If you made things harder. But instead, you nod and sit beside the wall. And for a long time, you just breathe in the same silence. When he leaves, he leaves the speaker playing. The track ends on your favorite chord.

~

You learn more in airports than you do in arenas. It’s in the unguarded hours, overnight flights, 4 a.m. boarding calls, customs checks, that Jeongin starts speaking to you like you’re real. Not often. But when he does, it lingers. He asks what kind of music you like. You say you grew up on indie pop and film scores. He asks if you’ve ever had to leave home for something you loved. You say yes. He doesn’t press.

Somewhere between Barcelona and London, your team becomes your family. You’re up at dawn, asleep by 2 a.m., and somehow still never tired of the job. Stray Kids is a machine. A constantly moving, flashing, shouting, live-streaming machine. And you are one cog, but a necessary one. Even when the youngest member still barely speaks to you in public. Even when the others invite you to late-night staff dinners and Jeongin is always the one who politely declines. Even when you’re all packed into a staff van during a torrential downpour in Rome and he’s the only one staring out the window, headphones in, humming something you recognize from rehearsal.

Something lonely. Something wordless. By the time you get to Paris, you’ve memorized every version of him except the one he won’t show. The problem with silence is that it fills in the gaps for you. You start imagining things Jeongin never says, layering meaning into half-glances and pauses like you’re reading subtitles on a blank screen. You think maybe he means something when he stands closer than necessary at the hotel buffet. Or when he hands you a charger on the tour bus before you even ask for one. But you’re good at pretending nothing matters. You’ve had years of practice.

The Paris schedule is brutal. You land late and roll straight into a press run with three overlapping interviews, a makeup delay, and two dancers down with food poisoning. You fix things on the fly. Call the sub crew. Translate apology texts to the French event coordinators. Skip meals. Skip sleep. By nightfall, you’re collapsed in the dressing room hallway, one knee pressed to your chest, headset limp in your lap. Jeongin passes by without a word. You don’t look up.

A few seconds later, he doubles back. You feel the weight of his shadow before he speaks. “Are you okay?” His voice isn’t the one he uses on stage. This one is rawer. Lower. Almost concerned. You blink at him, surprised. “I’m fine,” you say automatically. Then, with a half-smile: “You’re the first one who’s asked.” He hesitates like he’s debating something, then walks to the other side of the corridor and slides down the wall across from you. He stretches his legs out and rests his head against the concrete.

Neither of you speak for a long time. The distant thump of rehearsals echoes through the floor. “You fixed the customs delay,” he says quietly. You glance over. He’s looking at the ceiling now, not at you. “You knew?” He shrugs one shoulder. “Hyung was freaking out. You handled it.” You want to thank him, but something about his tone, flat, almost detached, makes the words catch in your throat.

He’s complimenting you, but it doesn’t feel warm. It feels... resigned. Like he expected to be let down, and now he doesn’t know what to do with the fact that you didn’t. He finally glances over at you. “You don’t sleep much.” You let out a dry laugh. “Neither do you.” He huffs in agreement. You both fall quiet again.

The next night, you’re the one who finds him. Jeongin’s supposed to be asleep. You all are. The crew is scheduled to be at the venue by seven the next morning for final lighting tests. But something nags at you as you return to your room. Some noise, maybe, or the feeling that someone didn’t come back to the hotel with the group.

You double-check the rooming list. He’s missing. You wander through the hotel’s dim hallways in your sweats, checking doors and lounges until you spot a faint shape on the rooftop terrace. He’s there. Leaning against the railing, hoodie pulled up, arms folded, face barely visible in the shadow of the city lights. The Eiffel Tower blinks gold in the distance. He doesn’t flinch when you approach.

“Can’t sleep?” you ask softly. He shakes his head. You lean beside him on the railing. Cool breeze. Distant street noise. Paris is quieter at night than you expected. After a minute, he says, “Sometimes I think I’m going to burn out before I turn twenty-five.” You don’t answer right away. “Do the others know you feel that way?” “No,” he says. “They can’t.”

He looks at you now. And there’s something naked in his gaze. Not soft. Not sweet. Just real. Raw. And that’s the moment you realize: you’re not imagining it. You’re not the only one reading between the lines. There’s a whole language he’s been speaking, one without words, just glances and exits and the way he always seems to end up wherever you are.

And now he’s letting it slip through. Just a little. He breaks the moment by tossing something into your hand. You glance down. A sugar packet. You frown. “What is this?” He shrugs. “You always stir your coffee too long. Thought maybe this would make you stop.” You laugh, quietly, almost disbelieving. “You’re so weird.” “You’re the one who wandered onto a roof at midnight to check on me.” You snort, pocketing the sugar.

Then he says it. The thing that lingers in your ears all night: “If I asked you to walk with me tomorrow night... would you?”

The next morning, you pretend you didn’t hear it. You bury yourself in scheduling. Reroute equipment. Field a minor scandal involving a fan photo leak and a private entrance. Jeongin doesn’t bring it up either. But when the encore ends and the confetti settles, you find a folded note slipped into your messenger bag.

No name. Just a room number. A time. Midnight. No cameras. No mask.

~

The hotel is quiet at midnight. You wait in your room longer than you should, heart hammering. The note hasn’t left your pocket all day. You’ve run your fingers over the paper so many times that the crease is soft, like fabric. You’ve convinced yourself a dozen times not to go. This isn’t what you’re here for. You’re staff. He’s- He’s Jeongin. And still, you go.

The elevator dings softly on his floor. You walk past a row of silent doors, heart in your throat, and stop in front of his room. He’s already there. Leaning against the wall, hood up, face half-lit by the hallway light. Like he’s been waiting. He doesn’t say anything when he sees you. Just falls into step beside you when you turn toward the stairs. No cameras. No staff. No words. Just the sound of footsteps and the soft click of the exit door behind you.

Paris feels different at night. It isn’t quiet, not exactly, but it’s softer. Blurred. There’s no flash of stage lights, no crowd noise. Just the distant rush of cars and the warm hush of a city that’s used to being watched. You and Jeongin walk without a destination. Side streets. Narrow alleys. Bridges lit gold from below. He keeps his hands in his pockets. You keep yours clenched. The silence stretches, comfortable and unbearably loud at the same time.

Finally, after a block too long, you say, “Was this a good idea?” He glances at you, eyes unreadable. “Depends. Are you going to run?” You stop walking. He does too, immediately. You study him. “What are we doing?” you whisper. “I don’t know,” he says, voice low. “But I know I don’t want to keep doing nothing.” The honesty in his voice slices through you. “You’re not supposed to do this with staff,” you say. He steps closer. “I’m not supposed to be able to breathe easier when you’re in the room. But here we are.”

You want to say something sharp, something to deflect, but he’s too close. His eyes aren’t stage eyes. They’re something else. Something that sees you even when you try to disappear. Your mouth is dry. “You’re- you’re still a kid, Jeongin.” Even if he’s only a year or two older.

“No, I’m not,” he says simply. “And you know it.” His voice is like gravity. Quiet, pulling. You feel the weight of everything you’ve been holding back. All the excuses, the rules, the safe distance you’ve been clinging to since Seoul. They shatter in a breath. Because the truth is this: You haven’t stopped thinking about him since the moment he looked at you like he knew.

You end up walking again. No more talking. He leads you across the Seine, past glowing cafés and shuttered museums, until you reach a narrow street lined with ivy-covered balconies. It’s quiet here. The kind of street that doesn’t exist on the tour schedule. No one recognizes him. No one sees you. It’s the first time you’ve felt invisible in a good way. His hand brushes yours again. This time, on purpose. You don’t pull away. He stops walking. You do too. And when he turns toward you, you already know what’s coming. His eyes hold yours like a question he’s never dared ask aloud. And this time, you answer.

Your back hit the wall. Not hard, just enough to feel it. His hand slid up, thumb brushing your neck. You gasped. His mouth crashed onto yours- hot, messy, desperate, yet slow. Almost hesitant. His fingers curl lightly at your waist, unsure, and you reach up to anchor him, tugging gently at the collar of his hoodie until he moves closer. He exhales into your mouth, like he’s been holding his breath all year.

The streetlight overhead flickers once, then steadies. You don’t feel cold anymore. His hands grow bolder when you don’t stop him, sliding along your back, then gripping your hips as though afraid you’ll vanish. You taste like nerves and rain and adrenaline. When he pulls back, just enough to breathe, he says, “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

You shake your head, already pulling him back in. The second kiss is different. Hungrier. Desperate. He pushes you gently against the stone wall, lips trailing down your jaw, then your throat. Your fingers bury in his hair. You don’t care about the cameras, or the risk, or the rules. Not now. You don’t care that tomorrow will come. Only this. Only him.

His mouth finds the edge of your shirt, and you gasp, too loud, and he freezes, checking your face. You nod. That’s all he needs. Your legs parted on instinct. You could already feel how hard he was, pressing right there between your thighs. He pulled back just long enough to yank your skirt up. “Fuck,” he growled, his lips grazing your neck. “You’re dripping. You wanted this, didn’t you?”

You nodded, and before you could answer vocally, his grip shifted, your wrists trapped in his metal hand as his other slid down, slow and rough, until his fingers curled beneath the waistband of your skirt.

And then- rip. You gasped as the fabric nearly tore in his fist, panties along with it, throwing it like it offended him. Cool air rushed over your soaked pussy, your thighs twitching at the sudden exposure. “y/n” you breathed, but the way he was looking at you- eyes dark, jaw clenched, starving- shut you right up. “Look at you,” he muttered, fingers gliding through your wet folds, spreading the slick mess you’d made. “Dripping all over me like a desperate little thing.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Two thick fingers slid inside you, deep. The stretch sudden and perfect, dragging a cry from your throat as your walls clamped down. “Fuck, that’s tight,” he hissed, burying them knuckle-deep, his thumb brushing against your clit with brutal precision. Your body jolted, legs shaking, and he just smirked. “This what you wanted?” he growled, curling his fingers just right. “Is this all mine?” You couldn’t answer, you couldn’t think. Every pump of his fingers sent sparks through your spine, your hips lifting, chasing more, chasing everything.

“Say it,” he demanded, voice low and threatening. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.” He pushed in harder, rougher, hitting that spot that made your thighs quake. Your moan broke into a whimper. “It’s,” you choked. “Fuck-yours, Jeongin. It’s yours-” His thumb circled your clit, slow and punishing. “Damn right it is.”

His lips found your neck again, biting down just hard enough to mark you, all while his fingers fucked you openrelentless, possessive, and dripping with control he was seconds away from losing. His fingers pumped into you hard and deep, curling just right as your hips rolled helplessly beneath him. Your body was slick, trembling, pleasure coiling fast and tight in your belly. You were so close it hurt.

And just when you were about to fall apart, he pulled away. “No! Fuck, Iyen-ah,” you gasped, reaching for him, hips twitching. He didn’t say a word, just grabbed your thighs, spreading them wide, dragging you down the wall until your soaked pussy was right in front of him. You barely had time to breathe before his mouth was on you. His tongue licked a long, slow stripe up your slit, collecting every drop of wetness before diving in, deep and hungry, like a man starved.

Your back arched, a cry breaking from your throat as he sucked your clit into his mouth, tongue circling with maddening pressure. “Oh my god, Iyen-” He groaned against you, the vibration sending a shock through your spine. Then he pulled back just enough to speak, his voice low, dark, and mean. “Tell me,” he said, breath hot against your dripping pussy. “Could anyone ever make you feel like this?”

Your thighs trembled around his head, body burning with shame and arousal all at once. “I- no. Fuck, Iyen, no-” He smirked, just barely, before burying his mouth between your legs again, licking and sucking like a man obsessed, like he was trying to drink every sound you made. His hands held your thighs open, thumbs pressing bruises into your skin as his tongue fucked into you, slow at first, then faster, messier.

You were soaking his face, writhing under him, hips lifting off the mat in desperation. “You’re fucking mine,” he growled, voice rough against your soaked heat. “No one else gets this.” Then he sucked your clit hard and you shattered. Your orgasm ripped through you, a scream tearing from your throat as you came on his tongue, thighs clamping around his head, whole body twitching uncontrollably.

But he didn’t stop. He kept licking, kept sucking, dragging every last wave from you until you were shaking, a broken mess beneath him. Finally, he lifted his head, his mouth wet with your slick, eyes dark and burning. “Next time you think about touching yourself,” he said, voice wrecked, “remember what I do to you.” You were still shaking from the orgasm he pulled out of you with his mouth, slick, breathless, your body twitching as he rose up over you, his face glistening with you.

His hands slid under your thighs, lifting them roughly as he shoved his pants down just enough to free his cock- and fuck, he was thick, flushed, leaking at the tip, already hard and twitching. He didn’t give you a second to breathe. He dragged the head of his cock through your soaked folds, slow and deliberate, coating himself in your slick before lining up at your entrance.

“No one else would know what to do with you,” he growled, dark eyes fixed on your ruined body beneath him. “They couldn’t handle this.” And then he slammed into you, deep. You choked on your breath, nails digging into his shoulders as his cock split you open, stretching you so full you thought you’d lose your mind.

“IYEN,” you gasped, but he just grabbed your waist, pulling you into another brutal thrust. “Say my name again,” he growled, snapping his hips forward. “Let the whole fucking city hear who’s making you feel like this.” “Iyen, oh my god-” He fucked you like he meant it. Like every thrust was a reward. Deep, fast, grinding into you so hard your whole body shifted up. One hand pinned your hip while the other, the metal grip one, gripped your throat, not tight enough to hurt, just enough to hold.

“Mine,” he hissed, thrusting deep and slow now, cock dragging over your g-spot. “You understand me?” You were crying out with every stroke, legs wrapped around him, back arching as the head of his cock hit you just right again and again. “I said- do you fucking understand me?”

“Yes- yes, Jeongin, yours-” “That’s right,” he grunted, voice wrecked. “This pussy, this body, all fucking mine.” He pulled out almost completely, just the tip barely inside, then slammed back in with a growl that sounded like it came from deep in his chest. You shattered again, coming hard around him, clenching so tight he cursed loud, barely holding on.

He dropped his head into the crook of your neck, fucking you through it, grinding his cock into your spasming walls like he needed to burn your name into his skin. And then he snapped, hips stuttering, breath ragged, and with a broken, desperate grunt. He came inside you. Deep and hot. Filling you up. He didn’t pull out. He stayed there, breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours, cock still twitching as he spilled every last drop into you.

The street beneath you was soaked. Your legs were trembling. And Jeongin? Still didn’t move. Still inside you. Still possessive as hell. Your body was limp, fucked-out and buzzing, still quivering around the load he had just spilled deep inside you. You were warm, stretched full, his cock still hard as he stayed buried in you for a few long, heady moments.

Then, finally, he pulled out with a thick, wet sound — your walls clenching around nothing, the sudden emptiness making you gasp. You felt it almost immediately. The slow, sticky drip of his cum sliding out of you. But he didn’t move away. His gaze dropped between your legs, jaw clenched, and you could feel the way he was watching it, the way he watched himself leak out of you.

And then he looked up at you. Eyes darker than sin. “Not done,” he muttered. You opened your mouth to ask what he meant, but then his metal hand slid down your stomach and between your legs. Two fingers- cold, slick, thick, pushed into your still-sensitive cunt. You cried out, hips jerking, but he held you down, his flesh hand gripping your thigh as he pumped those fingers deep inside you, slow and deliberate.

“Keep it in,” he growled, curling his fingers. “You think I’m gonna let it go to waste?” Your head dropped back against the wall, spine arching as he fucked you with his fingers, thrusting everything he’d spilled back into you. “Made you take every drop,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear now. “And now you’re gonna hold it. You hear me?” Your cunt fluttered around his fingers, overstimulated and soaked again already.

He pushed deeper, scissoring you open, fucking his cum back inside like it belonged there. “You were made for this,” he murmured, tongue dragging slow and hot against your neck. “To take me. To be filled by me.” You whimpered, trembling as his thumb found your clit and circled it, lazy, almost cruel. “God, look at you,” he rasped. “Still so fucking tight. You think anyone could do this to you? Make you this full? This messy?”

You moaned his name, your legs shaking, your body giving in all over again. “Say it,” he said, voice sharp against your throat. “Say who this pussy belongs to.” “You, Iyen- fuck- yours.” “That’s right,” he growled, fingers curling just right. You came again. A raw, desperate sound tearing from your throat as you clenched around his fingers, body rocking helplessly as he fucked you through it, never letting a single drop escape.

He didn’t stop until you were crying, sobbing his name, broken and full and so far gone you didn’t even know where you ended and he began. And even then, his fingers stayed buried in you, possessive and proud. “Next time you even think about touching yourself, remember how I filled you first.” And when you press your forehead to his, catching your breath in the stillness after, he whispers, “You ruin me.” You don’t need to see to know his eyes are on you.

You walk back to the hotel at 1:43 a.m. His hand finds yours again, and this time, it stays. No one speaks. But everything has changed.

~

The room smells like stale air and faint cologne. The curtains are still drawn, but the soft light filtering in from the early dawn creeps around the edges like a slow tide. You wake to the quiet sound of steady breathing beside you. The weight of Jeongin’s body, warm and solid, presses against your back. You don’t move. You don’t want to disturb the fragile calm that settled here after last night.

For a while, there’s just silence. No one is talking. But the air hums with unspoken things, confessions too heavy to say aloud, but too real to ignore. His hand finds yours beneath the thin blanket, fingers curling around your palm like a lifeline. You squeeze back. The stillness is broken by a soft, gravelly voice. “Did you sleep?” You turn your head slightly, catching a glimpse of his face in the half-light. He looks softer than he did yesterday. More human.

“Not really.” He chuckles quietly, a sound so low it’s almost a whisper. “Me neither.” You both lie there for a moment longer, tangled in limbs and quiet thoughts. Then, finally, Jeongin’s voice comes out again, hesitant, like he’s stepping onto thin ice. “I didn’t expect... any of this.” You look at him. He doesn’t finish the sentence. You let him fill in the blanks. “I didn’t expect to want this.”

“Me neither.” His fingers trace slow circles on the back of your hand. “I thought... maybe it was easier to keep things professional.” “Yeah,” you say, voice soft. “Easier to pretend.” He sighs. “But I can’t pretend anymore.” You swallow the lump in your throat. You want to tell him you feel the same. You want to say you’ve been pretending all along, pretending the tension between you was just nerves, pretending the late-night glances were nothing, pretending your heart wasn’t racing every time he touched you. Instead, you just squeeze his hand tighter.

The room feels smaller now. And warmer. You turn to face him fully. He meets your gaze, vulnerability bare in his eyes. There’s a pause, the kind of pause that hangs between two people before everything changes. His lips find yours again, but this time, slower. More certain.

His hands move with intention, not clumsy or desperate, but gentle, seeking. Your breath mingles with his as your bodies press closer beneath the sheets. He kisses down your neck, soft and tentative. You shiver, hands threading through his hair, pulling him even closer. His skin is warm against yours, the faint scent of sweat and something uniquely his.

There’s no rush here. No loud breaths or harsh touches. Just quiet need. Quiet discovery. A promise whispered through touch. He pulls back slightly, forehead resting against yours.

“Let’s get ready before someone notices?” he murmurs. You nod. His hands explore every inch of your skin, mapping you like a secret he’s been desperate to know. You respond in kind, tracing the lines of his shoulders, the curve of his back. The world outside fades away. There is only this. For now. His breath is warm against your skin as your hands explore softly, tracing the familiar yet still new lines of his body. He’s careful, like you’re a fragile thing he’s afraid to break. Your heartbeat pounds loud in your ears, but the world outside the hotel room melts away, there’s nothing but the quiet between you two, and the soft rustle of sheets. You feel the shift in his touch, no longer tentative, but patient, deeply present. It’s not about hunger or desperation. It’s about connection.

You find yourself whispering things you didn’t know you wanted to say: “I’m scared.” He pauses, voice low but steady. “Me too.” You move closer, needing to feel him solid, real. He wraps his arms around you, holding you like you belong there, like he’s been waiting for this moment just as much as you have. For a while, words don’t come. Just the rhythm of shared breaths, the steady press of skin against skin.

When he finally speaks again, it’s quiet, almost shy. “Do you think... this can be more than just a moment?” You look up, searching his face in the soft morning light. “I want it to be.” His smile is small but full of hope, fragile like glass but shining all the same.

Outside, the city wakes up slowly, but here, in this small room, time stretches. You stay tangled in each other’s arms, savoring the silence, the peace, the promise of something real. And for once, neither of you has to pretend.

~

The green room buzzed with the usual chaos, makeup brushes swept across cheekbones, stylists darted between racks, and cords tangled beneath dressing tables. You stood near the door, clipboard in hand, catching updates as the crew ran through last-minute changes. You were used to fading into the background by now. That’s what being a manager meant. Quiet, competent, reliable. Never the center. Still, your eyes wandered. Jeongin sat across the room, sprawled on the leather couch with his head tilted back and his hands resting loosely in his lap. He laughed at something Chan said, bright and boyish, and even from this distance, it felt like that laugh was meant for you. You turned your gaze away. Just another day at work.

The schedule marched forward. Rehearsal, press prep, hair touch-ups, mic checks. You moved through it like a machine, keeping the boys on time, double-checking outfits, liaising with staff. But every time Jeongin passed you, something in you stuttered. He never stopped. Never looked too long. But there were the smallest things: the brush of his fingers as he handed back his mic, the way his shoulder leaned slightly toward yours when you stood close, the shift in his voice when he asked, “You good?” as casually as he could. Like it didn’t mean anything. Like it didn’t mean everything.

You stayed late at the venue after the fansign, checking equipment returns while the boys wrapped up the debrief. Your back was turned when you heard soft steps behind you. “Hey,” Jeongin’s voice came low beside your ear. You startled slightly. No one else was around. “You scared me.” He smirked. “You’re usually unshakable.” You gave him a mock glare but didn’t move away. “You should be heading out with the others.”

“I will,” he said. “But I wanted to see you first.” There was a pause, weighted and quiet. “Why?” He didn’t answer with words. Just brushed his thumb along the side of your wrist. You let him. Let yourself feel that warm pulse where your skin met. Just for a second. Then you both heard footsteps. He stepped away like nothing had happened. And you turned back to your clipboard. Like you hadn’t felt the earth shift.

Back at the hotel, long after the crew had turned in, you slipped up to the rooftop. You needed air. Needed space from everything, the cameras, the tension, the pretending. The wind tugged gently at your hair as you leaned on the railing, staring out at the city bleeding lights across the skyline. You didn’t expect anyone else to be up here.

But when the door clicked behind you, you didn’t need to turn to know it was him. His steps were quiet. Familiar. “You always sneak out when I’m not looking?” he asked, his voice soft behind you. You didn’t move. “Thought you were asleep.” “I thought about it,” he said. “But I kept thinking about you instead.” That made you look over your shoulder.

He was standing a few feet away, hoodie up, his eyes shadowed by the dim lighting. But they were still searching for yours. “I don’t know what this is,” he admitted. “But I know it’s the only part of my life that feels real.” Your chest ached. “You have so much to protect,” you said. “This… it’s dangerous.” “I know.”

“But you still want it?” He stepped closer. “Don’t you?” You did. God, you did. Even if it was fleeting. Even if it hurt later. Because right now, in the quiet above a city that didn’t know your name, Jeongin looked at you like you were gravity. And when he leaned in and kissed you, slow and careful, he didn’t taste like a star. He tasted human. Warm. Present. Yours.

The next morning, he was gone before you woke. Your phone buzzed with call times and transport alerts. But on your water bottle sat a folded note. You recognized his handwriting instantly. You're the only part of my life that feels real. Thank you for not leaving.

You swallowed hard, pressing the paper to your chest. You didn’t reply. You didn’t have to. You just showed up. To the next stage, the next country, the next crowd. You clipped a mic to his collar before he went on-air and looked him straight in the eyes. He smiled. You didn’t. But when the cameras weren’t watching, when the others were distracted, he brushed his fingers against yours, just once. A silent “I’m still here.” And that was enough.

Your world remained behind the scenes. His world stayed lit by spotlights. But in between those two lives lived something you didn’t have to name. Not yet. You weren’t lovers in public. You weren’t official. There were no labels, no selfies, no promises. But he kissed you in the dressing room shadows. He touched your back as he walked by, unseen. He found you first after the shows, every time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SUPPORT YOUR WRITERS REBLOG/LIKE

Masterlist

Taglist: @straykids4lifeee @leeknowscatsooniereal

[redsugarx]

[EVENT RECAP] Spring, Skirts & Serpents: An Exploration in Hanfu

HELLO I am not dead! I see that some of my informational guide posts have been garnering attention recently; I will return to continuing that series soon, I have just been very busy x-x

I wanted to recap on this event that ate up my entire spring break (I posted about it a bit ago but I'm taking that post down so it doesn't get confusing). The event description is as follows:

"We will be presenting at “Spring, Skirts & Serpents: an Exploration in Hanfu” at Fremont Main Library (2400 Stevenson Blvd, Fremont, CA) on 3/29 from 1pm-2:30pm! We’ll be showcasing some of our Year of the Dragon + Year of the Snake designs runway style, followed by an interview-style talk (with me it's me I'm getting interviewed).

The event is in English and is free and open to the public, but space may be limited on the day of, so we’ve made sure you can preregister as VIPs and guarantee yourself a seat!"

As indicated, the event was held at Fremont Main Library in Fremont, CA. In addition to sharing some photos & videos, I want share the inner workings of making this event happen as well as reflect on some highlights/improvements that could be made.

Purpose

Several months ago I was approached by my past Chinese teacher Tung Laoshi (ya boi went to Chinese school for many years like a good little child, but transferred to private tutoring after elementary school) with an invitation to run a showcase event. For context, with the high concentration of Chinese-speaking families in the bay area, there's a fairly extensive network of Chinese teachers here—the circle closest to me is primarily Taiwanese (so we learn traditional characters instead of simplified). Tung Laoshi is a teacher in the Palo Alto area where I grew up. Wu laoshi was the other primary event coordinator, another Taiwanese Chinese teacher from Fremont, where the event was held, bringing in the support of the Wang & Wu Foundation.

Basically, the people organizing this event (other than me) were mostly coming from a Chinese education perspective. It's gotten harder and harder for these teachers to pique interest in Chinese language & culture from American-born kids. I'm not an exception to this, I hated going to Chinese school as much as any other kid, but due to a combination of factors including switching to private tutoring, higher-than-average immersion in Taiwan, and getting bribed with sweets, I ended up with a better handle on the language than a lot of other ABCs and ABTs (and running Cloud9 Hanfu DEFINITELY improved my language skills via immersion). From what I could gather, one of the questions at the core of their reasoning for holding this event was, why are you so interested in Chinese culture? How can I make my students/kids interested in it too? How do I get them to enjoy it enough to seek it out themselves, like you did, rather than needing to force them into begrudgingly learning it?

Honestly, I don't have a direct answer to that question. My appreciation for culture is multifaceted, driven by a combination of factors that aren't necessarily controllable. I can only hope that by sharing my work with everyone I can help inspire someone—if not the kids learning Chinese, then the teachers teaching it, to keep doing what they're doing.

On my side of things, this was an opportunity to share my work in person. I rarely hold events myself—Yulan deals with most of that, and has experience with several shows under her belt—but I have to say that, sort of like the Feynman technique, looking at my work through the lens of presentation to other people helped me get a lot of my thoughts in order and develop the concepts I wanted to express into intentional points.

I'm typically very very uncomfortable with public speaking, and will take any possible opportunity to move out of the spotlight, but I suppose I won't get better at it if I don't practice, and there will be times when it's necessary. After all, understanding the artist is crucial to understanding the art, so if I want to share my work then I will, to some extent, have to share about myself. It wasn't perfect, but it was an experience that I'm glad I went through :)

Prepwork

Preparations for the event were mostly concentrated into t minus 2 months or so. I was still in the depths of midterm hell for most of these two months and our MC Sandra was in Taiwan/Japan so we had to rely on Zoom for most of our meetings. Over this period we worked together to decide on an overall agenda, what sets we wanted to show, and the content of what we wanted to focus on for the interview.

Originally the event was supposed to be focused on the Year of the Snake collection alone, but our contact from Fremont Main Library felt that focusing on snakes only would drive away audiences that didn't like snakes, so we compromised on showing 4 sets from the Year of the Dragon collection and 5 sets from the Snake collection. The styling was mostly up to me, so during this time I put together the components of each of the 9 looks: the set, shoes, accessories, hair, makeup (kinda), etc. and made the necessary purchases.

Our 9 models ranged in age all the way from 7th grade to 31 years old. They were recruited from various places, some being students of the teachers, some being server members of Cloud9's discord. None of them had experience modeling, and very few of them had experience performing in any regard, but I think that choosing fresh faces to participate is a good thing: it gives new people a chance to experience hanfu, not limiting it to a small circle of people who are already invested in it.

We had one rehearsal a week before the event and another rehearsal on the morning on the 29th, so in total the models had maybe 5-6 hours of practice time to learn how to move around in clothes they'd never worn before, posing, coordinating with the MC etc.

The morning of was—not unexpectedly—a giant chaotic mess, but still fun nonetheless! I had to do nine people's hair in roughly 2 hours and barely finished before the event started. At the end of the day all nine models exceeded my expectations and presented beautifully :)

The interview portion was as terrifying as I expected but mostly went smoothly. I think I looked awkward as hell, but I at least didn't look like I wanted to dissolve into the floor, which is how I felt, so I'll count it as a success. For some reason the interview was cut really short, so there was a lot of content that we didn't really get to discuss, but I'm glad we got some of it out there: explaining the inspiration behind some of the sets in the snake collection, describing my experience & interest in hanfu, taking some questions and answers, etc etc.

Runway Lineup

KUKRI / 赤松子

Year of the Snake, Warring States Period, based on the Kukri snake, modeled by Natalie Chung. Natalie is in eighth grade and does competitive dance, and presented some of my favorite poses during the show. Her control of the giant sleeves was phenomenal, especially considering she had so little time to get used to them.

HUNDRED-PACER / 百步蛇

Year of the Snake, Han Dynasty, based on the hundred-pacer snake/Chinese moccasin, modeled by Edith Huang (ig: @ediithhuang). Edith is in eighth grade and has the tiniest waist I have ever set eyes on. I keep saying that it's like this set was made for her.

SPIRIT / 白素貞 + DRAGUN / 翠青兒

Year of the Snake, Northern & Southern Dynasties (specifically Northern Wei), inspired by the Legend of the White Snake, modeled by sisters Emma (ig: @eeeeemma_wang) & Audrey Wang (ig: @audreyolafz). Emma is a third year at UCSB and Audrey is a first year at UC Berkeley. They went up together with a pair of oil-paper umbrellas and executed the umbrella-spinning moves perfectly.

EQUINOX / 天欲暮

Year of the Dragon, Tang Dynasty, modeled by sword gremlin Kevin T. Wong (aka Sword Kevin or Sevin) (@ktw-shu). His aerial & sword flowers were a crowd favorite. During q&a we asked a little boy which set was his favorite and it was, unsurprisingly, this one. I also dared him to dab onstage.

HESPERUS / 升天行

Year of the Dragon, Tang Dynasty, modeled by Anyka Chan (ig: @an.bri.ka). Longtime server member. I don't know exactly what it is, but she carried this set with that kind of energy that just radiates out from her like she's glowing. The Tang beizi was not presented because we lowkey lost is oopsies.

AQUARELLE / 海霞紅

Year of the Dragon, Song Dynasty, modeled by Alicia Ho (ig: @lala38520). Alicia is in 7th grade, our youngest model this show, and I'll admit I was a little concerned, but as soon as the clothes + makeup + hair went up it was like she walked out of a painting. The white crown on her head is called a guan, popular in the Song Dynasty. This one was 3D printed.

MARQUIS / 隨侯珠

Year of the Snake, Ming Dynasty, modeled by Xing Chan (ig: @xingnificant). Xing Chan is a chemistry student at UC Berkeley. He has the most luscious hair ever and I will never stop asking for his haircare routine and then immediately forgetting what he said, causing me to ask about it yet again a month later.

SERAPHINE / 雲化龍

Year of the Dragon, Ming Dynasty, modeled by Lydia Wang (ig: @lydiaa_wang). Lydia is a sophomore in high school. As soon as she picked up the ruyi scepter on the day of rehearsal I knew I'd chosen the right model to close the show—this is a very elaborate set and can be hard to hold up, but she executed flawlessly.

Reflections

The Good Stuff

The models!!!!!! I am so thankful to everyone who volunteered their time to help out at this event but especially to the models, who had to spent hours on hours drilling their poses and had to go on stage one at a time all by themselves. Modeling isn't just as simple as walking across a stage either; the number of things that you have to remember at the same time is WILD: posture, expression, eye contact, focusing on shifting weight, coordinating timing with the MC, all while remembering the choreography that you're supposed to be doing. Everyone worked so hard and I'm so so grateful for their efforts, the results turned out beautifully.

Kept putting down our water bottles, losing track of them, and then needing to get a new water bottle because we couldn't remember which one was ours. I think I went through like five separate bottles.

Another thing was the Chinese teachers that helped out or attended as part of the audience. I haven't been in Chinese school in years, and when I actually was there I certainly didn't notice, but a lot of these women are really very hardworking, passionate teachers who find meaning in what they're doing. It was like I could see a ray of light shining in their eyes when I went up there, something to indicate that their efforts would not always be in vain. Don't get me wrong, I'm guilty of hating on Chinese school too, but after hanging out with a lot of the aunties & teachers it's clear that, as immigrants, it really does bring them joy and inspiration to see cultural continuance. It was very heartwarming.

I think what makes it even more personal is that these were specifically Taiwanese teachers. Many of them still struggle with English, but they came anyway because it was worth it to them. And for me these are the voices I grew up around and how I learned the language (many people from China will mock Taiwanese accents, but it feels very familiar and comforting to me). It was significant to them that I—the person being interviewed—was Taiwanese too.

Katy Wu from Wang & Wu Foundation

Overall I think I gained a lot of exp from the event! I still hate public speaking with a seething passion but it did make me think about some of my motivations and ideas more cohesively, since I needed to present my thinking to the public. Ultimately I think I came out of this feeling even more strongly about what I do, and I'm glad I did it.

The Error Analysis

When you have events that have expenses and higher-ups in politics or big nonprofit organizations are invited, you have to spend a lot of time acknowledging sponsors and shaking hands. I will not lie, I didn't know like 80% of the Important People that I was told to shake hands with, all I can offer is that I'm glad they came to watch anyway. The whole PR side of things isn't something that I'm very comfortable doing, though, hence why I usually leave it to Yulan, and it was definitely not my favorite part of this event.

Other limitations including time and audience also made it so that I had to cut out a lot of what I wanted to say during the interview. We did briefly talk about what topics to focus on before the event, but otherwise the interview was entirely organic. Unfortunately that also meant that a lot of it was out of my control. It's hard to describe without getting into detail, but I do think that there were subjects that the other event organizers wanted to focus on that I didn't want to focus on, and things that we knew the audience would want to hear about that I didn't think were important. Compromises have to be made!

Anyka doing her eyeshadow :>

Chaos is mandatory during event planning, but I also think that switching the topic from year of the snake -> snakes & dragons made it much less cohesive. I talked about the inspiration behind the year of the snake collection during the interview and highlighted a few specific sets for their connections to folklore & adjacent cultures, but the dragon sets were kind of just not mentioned. Not sure if audience members noticed it but it felt weird to me.

Another thing is that after discussing with my parents after the event (it's a thing we do, my dad likes to Get Deep into things), I realized that the event presented me as a designer and only as a designer. This is similar to how I depict myself online usually, but the truth is that there's more behind it that I didn't do a good job at communicating: I don't just draw pictures of clothes, I do a mind-numbing amount of research, international logistics tracking, supply chain management, etc. etc. to make this happen, and I do sometimes wish I was able to express that, because it's a big part of what I'm doing.

Conclusions

I am SO TIRED, this ate up all my energy for two months and then I had to take my special relativity midterm right after the event. I'm probably not going to have the energy for something like this for a while! That being said, going through the whole process was really fun and interesting and I'm curious about more events—informational, in person, online, whatever—in the future. With any luck, the more I do them the better I'll get at them, right?

Backstage shenanigans. Screenagers smh

Anyway, this post is long enough as it is. If anyone who attended sees this, hi!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Thank you for coming!!!!!!!!! Otherwise I will go gorge myself on post-midterm snacks to untwist my brain from quantum physics. <3

Press:

SF Epoch Times - 穿越千年時光 灣區漢服秀展現華夏章服之美

Worldjournal - 「蛇龍舞春 漢服演繹」活動 洪兆寧設計9套漢服 感受傳統魅力

OCAC News - Cultural Fusion on the Runway: ‘Spring, Skirts & Serpents’ Highlights Hanfu Designs

快樂方程式 - 認識漢服之美 由Ariel 與董秀婷老師介紹蛇龍舞春的漢服活動

[thereadinggremlin]

Guarded Hearts

Alright friends, this is my first fic and it is an Azriel x Reader, this is my first one and maybe there will be a second part but that’s up to you guys.

POV: you find out Azriel’s you mate but you start getting the could shoulder from him after he returns from a mission.

A/N: Like I said part one of probably 2, y’all let me know.

You couldn’t take it anymore, you just needed to get away. You found out that Azriel was your mate about 2 months ago, it didn’t shock you at all because you’ve loved this man your whole life. What you couldn’t stand was how much he had been ignoring you and giving you the cold shoulder.

You were in an official meeting with the inner circle when the bond snapped for you. Rhys had been talking about the uprising in some of the camps and how they would need to go and sort it out, they as in Cassian and Azriel. When Rhys had said one of the uprising camps was the one you grew up in both you and Azriel tensed although you didn’t note his reaction at first because in the tense emotions of thinking of back home, that’s when the bond snapped for you.

You thought maybe Azriel felt it too but you couldn’t be sure. You thought the bond would be this warm feeling in your chest but it just felt cold and distant. You would have to check with Rhys to see if that’s how he felt after he found out Fayre was his mate.

After the meeting Cassian and Azriel left immediately for their respective camps, Azriel going to the one you grew up in where your father and mother still lived. Luckily your mom was friends with Rhys mother from a young age so you were able to keep your wings and not get clipped but that didn’t save you from the full extent of your fathers wrath. That was a reason you were so scared for Azriel to go, he knew the whole history of how your father had treated you, the beatings and public humiliation being the smaller transgressions. Azriel had walked out of Rhys’ office so quickly after they were dismissed that you weren’t able to get a word in, you said your goodbyes and be safe to Cassian and when you went to find Azriel you found Mor instead.

“He already left lovey.” Mor said with a sad smile. You knew that her using that pet name for you wasn’t a good sign and that she could probably tell what was going through your mind. You ran away before she could get a word in otherwise because the tears would fall.

Everyone left you alone for the month Azriel was gone sensing that there was something going on and that if you wanted to talk about you would find them. Fayre tried talking to you but you shut her out immediately.

When Azriel and Cassian got back you were in the dinning room enjoying some breakfast, as they passed by you Azriel didn’t even look at you and Cassian gave you a weak smile. You tried to feel down the bond but there was absolutely nothing, just cold and dark, it made your heart break.

Over the next few weeks you were thinking that giving Azriel space would be the answer and that he’d be coming to join you in either training or in the library for a night cap like he used to do so often before the bond snapped for you. There was nothing, you never ran into him even though you could hear his foot steps throughout the house as if the house wanted you to know where he was. There were also times when you’d see some of his shadows lurking about, some would come right up to you as if you were their master and swirl under your hair and around your neck. Maybe they were here on his behalf and maybe they’d report back to him, you didn’t know and tried not to care.

Once a month hit from his return of your home camp you needed to get out, get away, it was all too much. You found yourself outside of Rhys’s office at the river house once your mind was made up.

“Are you sure you want to go away for that long?” He had asked you.

“I want the same thing that was given to Fayre, time up in the cabin alone and sheilded so that no one knows I’m there. I need a break” Your eyes had a pleading look in them with a tinge of heartbreak too.

“When do you want to leave” Rhys said sighing in disbelief. The house of Wind has been your home for many years, and he didn’t think that any of the jobs he’s given you were so strenuous that you needed to be away from your family.

“I’m ready to go now, I packed my bags before I came to see you. And I want Mor to take me, if you take me there will be too many questions.”

Surprised at you readiness to leave he agreed and got in touch with Mor, she appeared almost instantaneously making you think she was just outside listening in. “Ready to go lovey?” She had asked, you nodded your head too afraid of speaking just in case your voice broke. “Then off we go.”

You arrived at the cabin up in the wilderness within a moment and when you walked in and saw all the artwork, you wanted to cry. Having your family all around you while being so far away brought you some comfort but not much. You looked to where the eyes were and found Azriel’s right away.

“Do you need anything, want me to stay for a bit?” Mor asked breaking you out of your trance.

“No I think I’m good, just need to be away from everything, everyone.” You said trying to add a laugh in at the end but the sound was strained and laced with pain.

“Who’s ass do I have to beat, because I don’t care who it is, I’ll beat them up for you. Just give me a name.” Mor tried to get you to laugh but a look in your eyes showed that it was a love problem and although she didn’t know about the bond you have to Azriel, she does know that you’ve had a crush on him for centuries. “Maybe, he’ll realize what was missing since it’s not in front of him anymore.” She said with a weak smile.

You returned the smile and with sad eyes responded “Yeah, maybe.” And without saying goodbye she left knowing that if you spoke anymore that might be your downfall and it would all come out.

Two weeks you had been up at the cabin in pure silence and peace. You brought some books with you in order to pass the time, not like you’d get bored but you were lonely. Rhys and more stayed true to their word so far and haven’t tried to visit or try and get through your mental shield, you also went as far to build a wall up to the bond, feeling nothing was better than feeling the coldness that it brought with it.

It was when you were picking out your next book that you saw it from the corner of your eye, a shadow, and the second it realized you had noticed it, it vanished. Your heart rate picked up because now you didn’t know what was going to happen but your rapid thoughts caused you to drop your shields and you felt worried beyond any understanding and then Rhys speaking into your mind “I’m so sorry”

[no-name-omo]

Zhu Yuan x Reader where her parents set her up on a date with them? Let’s say they’re their neighbor that they like. They do stuff like help them out and even give them vegetables from their garden.

Can you also add the fact that they’re apart of the Victoria’s Housekeeping? I’m asking as this adds to the whole thing of not only being helpful but going above and beyond like Alexandrina is.

[A/N] always love to get a request from you and hope you enjoy

[type] imagines

[Summary] You, an employee at Victoria Housekeeping, found yourself unexpectedly set up on a date by none other than your well-meaning neighbors… with their daughter.

[Genre] Fluff / Romantic / Strangers To Lovers?

[Paring / Characters] Zhu Yuan x gn reader (Mrs Zhu / Mr Zhu)

You’d finally decided it was time to get your own place. Your job at Victoria Housekeeping kept you busy and fulfilled, but lately, the idea of having a little space to yourself. Somewhere quiet and yours.

Not long after settling in, you started exchanging pleasantries with your neighbors: the Zhu family. They lived just across the hall, always quick with a warm smile or a friendly check-in. You hadn’t met everyone yet, but Mr. and Mrs. Zhu were kind, talkative, and just the right amount of nosy. It didn’t take long before chats in the hallway turned into shared meals and small favors.

Every now and then, you’d drop off extra vegetables from your little balcony garden, fresh scallions, tomatoes, even the occasional bitter melon. Mrs. Zhu would fuss about how thoughtful you were, and Mr. Zhu insisted it made his stir-fry taste better.

"Tell me, sweetie," Mrs. Zhu began with a teasing glint in her eye, "do you have a girlfriend?".You nearly choked on your drink. Coughing lightly, you set the cup down and tried to recover with the kind of professional composure you usually saved for work. Back straight, polite smile in place. "No, Miss Zhu," you replied as evenly as you could. "What makes you ask?"

“Well, you see—” Mrs. Zhu started, but before she could finish, Mr. Zhu poked his head out from the kitchen. “Did you ask them if they’d date our daughter?” he teased with a grin..Mrs. Zhu let out an exasperated sigh, shooting him a look. “I was getting there, hun,” she said, amusement softening her voice.

“Date?” You blinked, unsure if you’d heard that right. Were they seriously suggesting you date their daughter? Zhu Yuan?! Of course you knew who she was. Pictures of her hung proudly in the hallway. One of her as a kid, all wide-eyed and gap-toothed, and another in her crisp Public Safety Academy uniform, shaking hands with someone important so yeah you put two and two together that these two are the parents of Zhu Yuan. Public Security’s rising star. Famous or at the very least, well known.

After a bit of back-and-forth, some polite deflecting on your part, some not-so-subtle nudging on theirs. You somehow found yourself outmatched. Mrs. Zhu had that gentle, persistent way of talking that made refusal feel like kicking a puppy, and Mr. Zhu, for all his joking, looked genuinely hopeful.

“She’s really not as intense as the headlines make her sound,” Mrs. Zhu assured you with a knowing smile. “And she could use someone nice,” Mr. Zhu added, drying his hands on a dish towel. “Someone grounded. You seem like the type.”

You weren’t sure if it was their warmth, the mounting social pressure, or just that lingering instinct honed from your time at Victoria Housekeeping to always be agreeable, always say yes when someone needed something. Maybe all three.

Before you knew it, Mrs. Zhu was jotting down a phone number and a suggested café..“Just one date,” she said sweetly. “No pressure. If it doesn’t click, that’s fine. But who knows?” You took the note, still a little dazed. One date. Somehow, you’d agreed to it.

You still didn’t quite understand how you’d agreed to it. Sure, it was just one date. If it didn’t go well, then it didn’t go well. But if it did go well... then it goes well. That thought alone was enough to keep your mind circling the idea longer than you'd like to admit.

the two of you exchanged a handful of messages, polite, a little formal at first, but never cold. Zhu Yuan’s replies were punctual and neatly worded, while yours leaned warm and considerate. It wasn’t a long conversation, just enough to settle on a time and place, but even in those brief exchanges, there was a quiet ease. No pressure, no overthinking just a mutual willingness to see where it might lead.

A day before your date you pulled Alexandrina and Von aside at work, quietly, carefully. It wasn’t the sort of thing you usually asked about, but the words came out before you could stop them. Embarrassment flared almost immediately.

They were surprised. Maybe even amused. Alexandrina gave you a look halfway between mischief and disbelief, while Von, ever composed, tried to give you something practical to hold onto.

You knew how to maintain poise, how to manage a home, how to blend into the background when needed. But this? courting someone, genuinely and respectfully felt like entirely foreign ground.

Still, you listened. Took mental notes. Nodded along. Because despite the nerves, a small, persistent part of you didn’t want to mess this up.

Finally, the day of the date arrived. You showed up ten minutes early to Coff Café, following Von's advice and also wanting to make a good impression or at least avoid the awkwardness of being late. The place was cozy, tucked away on a quiet corner, its soft lighting and warm scent of brewed coffee easing some of the tension coiled in your chest.

You stepped inside and scanned the room for a suitable table. But then your eyes landed on someone already seated near the window, and the thought left your mind entirely.

Zhu Yuan.

You hadn’t realized it was her at first. Not until you recognized the familiar curve of her jaw, the straight posture, and the quiet alertness in her gaze. Except now, she looked… different.

She was wearing a sundress. Light blue, with a soft scattering of flowers patterns that moved gently with the breeze from the café door. It was simple, understated, and completely disarming.

She hadn’t spotted you yet. One hand rested lightly around a glass of water, the other idly smoothing the fabric of her dress as a small bag lay next to her. There was a faint flush on her cheeks not from the heat, but something quieter. Anticipation, maybe. Nerves. Even she wasn’t immune to first-date jitters.

You didn’t mean to say anything aloud, but the word slipped out before you could stop it. “Wow.” And just like that, she looked up, eyes meeting yours and giving you a small, slightly nervous but polite smile. And then she stood, smoothing her dress with a quiet breath as you approached. Up close, the faint flush on her cheeks was easier to see now, even as she tried to carry herself with that same quiet confidence you’d seen in every picture of her.

You offered a polite nod, and she returned it with a graceful tilt of her head. “Zhu Yuan,” she said, her voice calm, though a touch softer than you expected. “It’s nice to meet you properly.”

You offered a warm smile, steady and sincere. “The pleasure’s mine. I’ve been looking forward to this.” The two of you took your seats with quiet care, as if neither wanted to disturb the stillness of the moment too soon.

There was a brief pause, not awkward, just thoughtful, like both of you were settling into something unspoken. “I’ve, um, heard a lot about you,” Zhu Yuan said after a moment, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “My parents… talk. A lot.”

You gave a soft chuckle, folding your hands on the table. “So I’ve gathered. They had quite a bit to say about you as well.” That made her smile again but this time a little wider. Still composed, still a touch shy, but now with a quiet flicker in her eyes. Something curious. Something open. Maybe even something hopeful.

Over time, the conversation shifted. What began as cautious small talk slowly unraveled into something more genuine, less guarded, more natural. The awkwardness melted away, replaced by an easy rhythm that neither of you had expected.

Laughter came easier. Smiles lingered longer. It wasn’t long before you were trading stories about her parents; little moments that revealed how deeply they both cared, in their own meddling, well-meaning ways. You spoke about Mr. Zhu’s dramatic flair and Mrs. Zhu’s relentless generosity, and in return, Zhu Yuan shared quiet, fond memories from her childhood, some lighthearted, some touched by the weight of nostalgia.

She seemed surprised by how much you’d noticed, how well you remembered the smallest details about her family. And you, in turn, found it strangely comforting how familiar her voice had become in such a short time.

There was no single moment where things shifted but as the sun drifted through the café windows and the cups slowly emptied, something unspoken settled between you both.

A quiet understanding. A kind of warmth that didn’t need explanation. And for a little while, there weren’t titles or uniforms. No public safety officer, no Victoria Housekeeping employee. Just two people, sitting across from each other, enjoying the simple comfort of shared company.

Zhu Yuan glanced toward the window, noting how the golden light had faded into the mellow hues of early evening. The gentle hum of the café had quieted, less conversation, more empty tables. She checked the time and exhaled softly.

“It’s getting late,” she said, her tone composed but touched with reluctance. “We should probably head out before it gets too dark.”

You gave a courteous nod, resting your hands briefly on the table before rising to your feet with her. “Time really got away from us.”

She adjusted the strap of her bag and turned to face you fully. There was a thoughtful stillness in her expression, her gaze lingering just a moment longer.

“This was really lovely,” she said, her voice softer now. “I’d like to do it again... if you’d be willing?” You met her eyes with a steady, warm smile. “I’d be very glad to.”

Her smile grew, just slightly, sincere and touched with something hopeful. She offered a polite nod and stepped toward the door, but before she could leave, you found your voice, recalling one of Von’s more useful pieces of advice. “Wait.” She paused, turning back to you with a quiet curiosity in her eyes.

“May I walk you to your car?” you asked gently, offering the question like a small gesture of respect rather than expectation. Her expression softened, and the smile that followed was warmer than before.

“I would like that,” she said.

[onlyforyoukook]

Cherry Vanilla || SCB

paring: personal trainer¡changbin x fem¡reader

synopsis: changbin is a well known bodybuilder in your gym. so everyone wants to be his client, but he doesn’t do personal training—so he says.. though he only makes an exception for you.

genre: oneshot„ smut, non idol au.

wc: 2.9k

MDNI.

warnings: gym sex, dom¡changbin, pwp, public sex, pussy eating, cum swallowing, rough sex, unprotected sex, (as you all should know wrap before you tap) choking, dirty talk, possessive kink, use of the name princess.

You wipe the sweat from your forehead and glance toward the weight rack, your legs already aching from the last set. The gym is buzzing as usual, but your eyes can’t help but wander to Changbin. Everyone knows him. How could they not? The broad shoulders, the sharp jawline, the way he moves like the weights are just an extension of his body. He’s untouchable.

And yet, here you are—his one and only exception.

“Take five,” he says, his deep voice pulling you out of your daze. He leans against the nearby bench, crossing his arms in a way that only highlights the definition in them. “You’re rushing your sets again.”

“I’m not rushing,” you argue, though the burn in your muscles says otherwise.

Changbin raises an eyebrow. “Really? Because your form says differently.”

You groan, sinking onto the bench beside him. He hands you a water bottle, and your fingers brush briefly, sending a jolt up your arm. You try to ignore it, but you know he doesn’t miss the way you fumble with the cap.

“You’re lucky I agreed to this,” he teases, his lips curving into that signature smirk.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” you shoot back, though the truth hangs in the air between you. You had asked. Hesitantly. Half-expecting him to shut you down like he did everyone else. But instead, he’d said yes.

His eyes soften slightly, and he leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “You didn’t have to. I wanted to.”

Your heart skips. He doesn’t look at you often like this—serious, vulnerable. The air feels heavier than the weights scattered across the floor.

“Why me?” you whisper before you can stop yourself.

Changbin exhales a small laugh, shaking his head like you just asked the most ridiculous question in the world. “Because,” he says, his gaze locking onto yours, “you’re not like the rest of them. You don’t want me for my name or my reputation. You just want… me.”

The words hang between you, wrapping around your heart and leaving you breathless.

“And I want you,” he adds quietly, his voice softer now. His hand brushes against yours on the bench, and this time, neither of you pulls away. “Not just here. Not just for this.”

Your chest tightens as his words sink in, and suddenly, the gym feels like the smallest place in the world.

“You know, this training thing?” He smirks again, but there’s a new warmth behind it. “It was just an excuse to spend more time with you.”

You don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything. Instead, you let the moment speak for itself as you lean closer, his breath mingling with yours, the scent of sweat and something distinctly him filling the air.

“Guess we’ll have to see where this goes,” you whisper, a shy smile tugging at your lips.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing softly against the back of your hand. “Let’s see where it goes.”

He straightens suddenly, pulling you to your feet before you can ask what he’s doing. Without a word, he nods toward the locker rooms, a playful spark lighting up his eyes.

“Changbin?” you ask, confused.

“Follow me,” he says, his voice low and filled with something that sends heat rushing to your face.

You hesitate, glancing around the gym, but his hand is firm around yours as he guides you toward the shower area. Your heart pounds louder than your footsteps, every step feeling like a line you’re crossing—but you can’t bring yourself to care.

Once you’re inside, the sound of distant showers running and the hum of fluorescent lights fill the space. Changbin turns to face you, his expression softer now, his earlier teasing replaced with something deeper.

“I didn’t bring you here for anything crazy,” he says quietly, as though reading your mind. His hands slide up your arms, holding you steady. “I just wanted a moment with you. Somewhere quiet. Just us.”

His gaze drops to your lips, and you feel your breath hitch as the warmth of his hands spreads through you.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all day,” he murmurs, leaning closer until there’s barely any space between you.

And then his lips meet yours, slow and deliberate, as if he’s pouring everything he feels into the kiss. The world outside the locker room disappears, leaving only the heat of his touch, the strength of his hold, and the way your heart races to keep up.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet.

“Tell me this is okay,” he whispers, his voice barely audible over the sound of the showers.

You nod, your voice trembling as you whisper back, “It’s more than okay.”

He smiles, his hands sliding down to intertwine with yours. “Good. Because I don’t plan on letting you go anytime soon.”

His hands move to your hips, gripping them tightly as he pulls you closer, flush against his body. You can feel the hard muscles of his chest against yours, the heat radiating from him. His lips trail down your jawline, leaving a trail of soft kisses and nips.

“You drive me crazy,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

Your core starts to heat up, just by his words.

He moves his lips to your neck, finding the sensitive spot just below your ear. He bites down gently, causing a soft gasp to escape your lips. His hands roam over your body, exploring every curve and contour.

“Every time I see you, I just want to take you right then and there,” he growls, his words sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

He pushes you against the lockers, his body pressing against yours. His lips move back to yours, claiming them in a deep, passionate kiss. His tongue slips into your mouth, exploring and dominating. His hands slide under your shirt, gripping your boobs.

“You're mine,” he whispers against your lips, his voice possessive and fierce.

Changbin slowly drops to his knees in front of you, his hands moving down your body as he goes. He looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire and hunger. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your pants, tugging them down slowly. You moan at his actions.

“Changbin please”

“You're going to have to keep quiet, princess,” he says, his voice low and seductive. “We don't want anyone hearing us, do we?”

“No.. we don’t” you quietly say if not below a whisper

“Good girl” he says as he pulls your pants down completely, tossing them aside. He leans forward, his breath hot against your skin as he kisses your inner thighs. His hands grip your hips, holding you in place as he continues to tease you.

“You taste so good,” he murmurs, his lips moving higher and higher.

He reaches the apex of your thighs, his tongue darting out to tease your sensitive flesh. He looks up at you, his eyes locked onto yours as he begins to work his magic.

“I could do this all day,” he says, his voice muffled against you. “You're so responsive.”

“c..come on don’t tease me please” You moan out

“cute. a good girl, who’s also respectful” He begins kissing up your core, his tongue circling around your clit, slowly building up the tension in your body. He alternates between licking and sucking, drawing soft moans and gasps from your lips. His hands grip your thighs, keeping you spread open for him.

“You're so beautiful when you're like this,” he murmurs, his words sending vibrations through your body. “So desperate and needy for me.”

Changbin's tongue flicks against your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. You let out a moan, unable to control the sounds escaping your lips.

“Please... don't stop,” you gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair.

Changbin grins against you, sensing that you're close. He increases the pace of his tongue, working you relentlessly towards your peak. He knows exactly how to push your buttons, and he's doing it with expert precision.

“That's it, princess,” he says, his voice rough with desire. “Let go for me.”

You feel the familiar coil of tension building in your core, your body tensing in anticipation. Changbin knows you're on the verge, and he doubles down his efforts.

“I can feel you getting close,” he growls, his voice low and commanding. “Give in to it, baby.”

The coil snaps, and you let out a cry as your orgasm washes over you. Changbin holds you steady, his tongue working you through it as you shudder and tremble above him.

“Good girl,” he says, his voice filled with satisfaction. “You did so well for me.”

Changbin doesn't pull away as you cum, instead continuing to lick and suck until he's swallowed every drop. When he finally pulls back, he looks up at you with a satisfied smirk.

“You taste so good,” he says, licking his lips.

The sight of him swallowing your cum is so damn sexy that you feel your core getting wetter again. You can feel the heat building up inside you once more, your body craving more of his touch.

Changbin's patience is wearing thin, and he's starting to get impatient. He spins you around, pushing you against the lockers with a rough shove.

“Enough of that,” he growls, his hands gripping your hips tightly. “I need to be inside you, now.”

He slides down his pants, freeing his hard cock from its confines. He strokes it a few times, letting out a low groan as he prepares himself for you.

He lines himself up with your entrance, the head of his cock teasing your sensitive flesh. He looks down at you, his eyes dark with desire and dominance.

“You ready for me, princess?” he asks, his voice rough and demanding.

You nod eagerly, your body trembling with anticipation. You arch your back, presenting yourself to him, ready to be taken.

“Please, Binnie,” you beg, your voice breathless and needy. “I need you inside me.”

The nickname slips out of your mouth without you even realizing it, but it has an immediate effect on Changbin. He lets out a low growl, his grip on your hips tightening even further.

“Say that again,” he demands, his voice rough with need.

You look back at him over your shoulder, a sly smile on your face.

“Binnie,” you repeat, drawing out the word slowly. “Please, Binnie. I want you so bad.”

Changbin's eyes darken even further, and he lets out a primal growl as he slams into you in one swift motion. He buries himself to the hilt, filling you completely.

“That's it,” he groans, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he begins to move. “You're mine, and you'll always be mine.”

You cry out as he starts to thrust, the sound echoing through the locker room. You press your forehead against the cool metal of the lockers, trying to ground yourself as he pounds into you from behind.

“Y-yours,” you manage to gasp out, your body already overwhelmed by the intense pleasure.

Changbin's movements become rougher and more demanding as he loses himself in the moment. He pulls you back against him, one hand wrapping around your throat as he holds you in place. He doesn't apply too much pressure, but the feeling of his hand around your neck is enough to send shivers down your spine.

As he continues to pound into you, you can feel your body responding to his dominance. Your pussy squeezes his cock, clenching around him tightly as if trying to pull him even deeper inside you.

Changbin lets out a strangled moan as he feels your pussy tighten around him. He tightens his grip on your throat, his fingers digging into your skin.

“Fuck, princess,” he growls, his breath hot against your ear. “You're so tight...so perfect for me.”

You whimper as he tightens his grip on your throat, the sensation of being held in place by him adding to the already overwhelming pleasure. You can barely form coherent thoughts, your mind consumed by the feeling of him inside you.

“Y-yes,” you manage to gasp out. “I'm yours...yours to use...yours to do whatever you want...”

Changbin's pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he approaches his climax. He releases your throat, his hand moving to grip your hair instead, pulling your head back.

“That's right,” he grunts, his lips finding your neck. “You belong to me, and I'll do whatever I want with you. You're mine to claim, mine to mark, mine to use however I please”

He nips and sucks at the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving behind a trail of marks that will be visible for days to come. His breath is hot against your skin, his words sending shivers down your spine.

“You're mine, and everyone will know it,” he growls, his grip on your hair tightening as he continues to pound into you. “Every time you look in the mirror, you'll see my marks on you. You'll remember who you belong to.”

You can feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your body trembling with the force of your impending orgasm. Changbin's words and actions are driving you wild, and you can feel yourself giving in to his complete dominance over you.

“P-please,” you whimper, your voice hoarse from moaning and gasping. “I'm so close...please, let me cum...”

Changbin grins against your neck, his lips curving into a smirk as he feels your body tense up beneath him. He knows you're on the edge, and he's not about to give in so easily.

“Not yet,” he says, his voice rough and commanding. “You're going to hold it for me. You're going to wait until I say you can cum.”

You let out a frustrated whine, your body aching with need. You want to cum so badly, but you know that you have to obey his command.

“B-but I can't...” you protest, your voice shaking with desperation. “'m so close, Binnie...please, I can't hold it anymore...”

Changbin chuckles darkly, clearly enjoying your struggle to hold back your orgasm. He slows his pace slightly, prolonging the torture as he continues to tease you.

“You can and you will,” he says firmly, his hand tightening in your hair. “You're going to be a good girl and hold it for me until I give you permission. Understand?”

You nod frantically, tears of frustration pricking at the corners of your eyes. You're so desperate to cum, but you don't want to disappoint him. You bite your lip, trying to focus on anything other than the pleasure building up inside you.

“Y-yes, I understand,” you gasp out, your voice trembling. “I'll be good...I'll wait for you...”

Changbin's breathing becomes ragged as he nears his own release. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin as he fights to hold back.

“Fuck, I'm so close,” he groans, his hips stuttering as he struggles to maintain his rhythm. “I need to come, princess can I cum inside of you?”

You whimper at his question, the thought of him filling you with his cum sending another wave of pleasure through your body. You're desperate for it, desperate to feel him release inside you.

lY-yes,” you gasp out, your voice pleading. “Please, cum inside me, Binnie..”

Changbin lets out a low growl at your response, his control slipping further away with each passing moment. He picks up the pace again, his thrusts becoming more forceful as he chases his own release.

“You're going to be so full of me,” he pants, his words sending shivers down your spine.

Changbin's grip on your hair tightens even more, and he suddenly pulls your head back, forcing you to look up at him.

“Now, princess,” he growls, his eyes dark with lust. “Cum for me. I want to feel you clench around me as I fill you up.”

His words are all it takes to push you over the edge. You cry out his name as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing with pleasure as you finally find release.

Changbin groans as he feels you clench around him, the sensation of your tightness sending him over the edge as well. He buries himself deep inside you, his hips jerking as he spills himself into you, filling you with his hot seed.

“Fuck, that was incredible,” he pants, his voice muffled against your skin. “You're so good for me, princess...so perfect.”

Changbin pulls out of you slowly, a satisfied sigh escaping his lips as he sees the mess he's made between your legs. He leans over to grab a towel from his gym bag, gently cleaning you up.

“You're a mess, princess,” he teases, his voice low and husky. “I guess it's a good thing I have some spare clothes in my locker.”

Changbin scoops you up into his arms, lifting you effortlessly off the bench. You cling to him, still feeling weak and boneless from the intensity of your encounter. He grins down at you, a possessive gleam in his eyes as he carries you out of the locker room.

As you both exit, all eyes turn towards you. Whispers and murmurs fill the air, the other students unable to hide their surprise and envy at the sight of Changbin carrying you like a bride.

“You're mine now, y/n,” he whispers, his voice low and dangerous. “And I'm going to make sure everyone knows it.”

masterlist

[genderqueerdykes]

Wow. Talk about having a shit experience. Why is people explicitly keep saying not to tag their aro or ace post as aroace.

Why why why am I not valid anymore? Can I really not be aro and ace anymore? Can I not open the tag and say "ahh aroace me is so related with this post" anymore? What is it??

It feels fucking shitty seeing community that barely get mention in big queer space like this. Gatekeeping their post and experience to the "right" identity only.

If you someone that do this please stop. I just want to see positive post about my aroace identity. Heck anything about Loveless Aplatonic Afamilial barely get talk about and they don't gatekeep their post from aroaces because what's the point?

this is a great ask, i really appreciate you taking the time to stop by & share your experience, anon. this is something i've noticed within the past few years and i've wanted to talk about it, so thank you for giving me a chance to do so

i've seen 2 excuses for this behavior and they're both terrible and only hurt other people and serve as a method to control strangers.

the first way people try to excuse this behavior is by saying "well I'M not aroace, therefore the post isn't for aroaces!!!!! it's ONLY for JUST aromantics or JUST asexuals not both!!!!!" i have gotten yelled at this before as well. like, profusely. over tags. i feel like people should NOT take a stranger's tags personally. even if they tagged it something you don't agree with or don't like... that's kinda not really your business. this particular behavior stems from people who neurotically check their reblogs/interactions, and it's not healthy.

if you find yourself scrutinizing every single interaction and reblog you get on this website, it might be a good idea to reduce the amount of time you spend on social media, because you quite literally cannot control what people do with a post once you post it. you're at the mercy of god at that point. like i cannot stress this enough: You CANNOT control what strangers do with a post once it's published. these are PUBLIC FORUMS. tumblr is not a private club where only the people you like interact with you. it's a public space. you gotta learn to cope with the fact that other people will interact with your posts in ways you don't like. i don't like it when rad fems interact with my posts, but i also can't stop them from doing so unless i already have them blocked, because they also have free will and a tumblr account.

the second excuse for this behavior i have seen is definitely the worse of the two. people will say that "aroaces get TOO much representation!" or things like "everyone ASSUMES you have to be aro if you're ace/ace if you're aro which isn't true and i take very personally which gives me an excuse to bully aroaces!!!!!!!!" like it legit comes from people thinking that somehow, aroaces are "over represented". the behavior stems from the OP feeling literally attacked by aroaces existing and feeling like they're somehow talking over aromantic people who experience sexual attraction, or like they're somehow talking over asexual people who experience romantic attraction.

people seem to have forgotten that aroace people are STILL ARO. THEY'RE STILL ACE. you can't sit here and go "well i'm mad that 'too many' people know about aroace people so i'm going to harrass aroace people like they're the ones making my life harder and not cisheternormative society." also it's disgusting because a lot of asexuals quite literally believe that aromanticism doesn't exist, and that the term came about to "rip off" asexuals. it's the "transandrophobia doesn't exist because it threatens trans women" argument but with aspectrum identities.

it legitimately causes you NO HARM if your post about just asexuality or just aromancitism is tagged as aroace. they are not saying YOU are aroace! they're tagging it that way for themselves, because they are aroace!!!!!!!!!!!! aroace people are aromantic! aroace people are asexual! stop with this weird gatekeeping and acting like posts tagged just aromantic or just asexual are for people who are ONLY aro or ONLY ace. this shit is hurting people. like i cannot get over the fact that aroace people are. aro. and. ace. and somehow people freak the ever loving fuck out about a mean nasty aroace making them feel bad for.... also being aromantic and asexual ?

like your experience matters. you don't deserve to be told that you can't interact with posts about aromanticism or asexuality because you're both of those things and somehow that's threatening aromantics and asexuals who aren't both. you are still aromantic. you are still asexual. you aren't hurting or threatening anyone. you deserve to be seen and heard, and you shouldn't have to specifically stick to JUST the "aroace" tag and nothing else. i DON'T understand this behavior.

honestly a lot of it smacks of arophobia on the behalf of asexuals and acephobia on the behalf of aromantics. it blows. it's not cool or cute or funny it's hurting people.

this attitude sucks. as the anon said, please stop this. it's unnecessary and petty infighting for no reason. aroace people are not a threat to other aromantic and asexual people. stop treating other people like shit for no reason other than you are insecure and angry about it. nobody is saying YOU are aroace if they tag your post about aromanticism or asexuality with "aroace". they're doing it for themselves. knock it off.