#I also don’t know much about this kind of stuff

[tarotwithavi]

Let me read your energy like my rent is due (because it literally is)

What's your vibe? What are you attracting right now and everything that you need to know right now

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TIP JAR

PAID SERVICES

MASTERLIST

Pile 1

“I would rather die of passion than boredom.”

That was the first thing I heard as soon as I started channeling messages for you. You have this really intense energy that makes people instantly think of you as intimidating. Maybe it’s because you have so much passion for life and for things in general that it literally scares the hell out of people. Because we’ve made “being nonchalant” so normal that it has actually drained people of passion. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of you are Virgo or Scorpio Sun, Moon, or Rising. The way you’re passionate about things that seem so random or small to other people is actually something they admire from a distance. And even though you’re really passionate, you also get bored super easily. You probably have a hundred DIY projects that you started but never finished. It’s not because you’re lazy it’s just because you need things that actually spark your soul to keep going.

You’re definitely not someone who likes this whole “minimalism” aesthetic everyone’s obsessed with. Like, when you realize that grey, white, and black have become the main colors in our lives, you lowkey feel like we’re all turning into robots. It’s lifeless. But you? You want vibrancy. You will never be able to believe in this minimalistic stuff, you're someone who needs colors in your closet, passion in your eyes, and actual love and warmth in your aura. And honestly, I just need to tell you life is going to start treating you right. I don’t care how miserable your past few months have been, because starting August, everything is going to change. I see a lot of you starting new projects, new things, maybe even getting into college, starting a course, or something related to your career or education. I also see that you’ve been manifesting this shift for a while now. And that explains why certain people and situations have been taken from you. Because in order to get something, you always have to lose something. And for you, it was the people and habits that were dragging you down and no longer serving you.

You might’ve also started letting go of things like staying up too late, eating junk, or even alcohol or smoking and if you have, I’m proud of you.

Oh my God, your energy is literally screaming attention. You don’t even realize how many people want to know you, how many people want to be in your circle. The fact that you don’t give a damn about anyone anymore is actually pulling more people in than you can imagine. You are so in your “I’m done with this shit” era, and the universe is eating it up. It’s literally shouting, “YOU GOT THIS GIRL.” No cap but You’re not ready for the blessings that are about to hit. Doors will open. Money will start flowing. Your skin will glow. Let this reading be your reminder for the better things coming your way. Because let’s be real you’re done hiding. You’re done pretending to be someone you’re not. You’re finally stepping into your power. You’re not letting people talk shit about you anymore, and whenever someone does, you’re like, “Say it to my face, you motherfer.”

And that is scaring people. Because all your life, you were the “nice girl.” You were kind. Too kind, actually. You treated people with respect and never got it back. But now? You’ve changed. Okay I’m going to be real, someone you think is your best friend is not. I do see betrayal. Someone is going to do something behind your back that you never expected. And yeah, it’ll break you a little, but that moment will change your entire energy. You will become someone they can’t touch anymore. Idk why but Gacha Life music just popped in my head lmao Your playlist will literally be: “Looking At Me” by Sabrina . “That’s My Girl” by Fifth Harmony. “The Greatest” by Sia “Like Jennie” by Jennie Kim “Love to Hate Me” by BLACKPINK

Anyway, if I had to give you some advice, start being mindful of your money. I do see a situation coming up where you might need to rely on your savings. So don’t blow everything now. And also, be careful who you trust. Sometimes the people who seem harmless are the ones who hurt you most. And the ones who seem rough or rude can be the softest souls ever. Sometimes things feel like the end. Sometimes you’ll be in situations where you’re questioning everything and wondering if it’s over. But it’s never the end unless you say it

Thank you so much for reading this, please show support by liking or rebloging.

TIP JAR

Pile 2

I feel like you were stuck in this space of confusion. Like you didn’t know what to do, how to move forward, or how to keep going. You might have been stuck in your seasonal depression, or maybe you were just deeply hurt by something from the past that kept playing over and over in your head. But Now you’re rising, you're moving. You’re finally coming back to life. I see movement, I see energy. In the next few weeks, I see you travelling a lot even if it’s small local trips, your soul is expanding. I also feel you’ll be connecting with new people, meeting old friends, or just coming together in a way that feels warm. You’re stepping back into community, into connection.

You might have spent a lot of time recently binge-watching, isolating, locking yourself in your room. But that fog is lifting. You’re now making the effort to go out, meet your friends, be around family, or simply just be in places where people are. It’s like this confusion is finally leaving your system, and you're about to get this clear blueprint of what you actually want your life to look like. At one point, it might’ve felt like people around you were ignoring you or straight-up rejecting you. And now your energy is like, “Fuck them.” And that’s exactly what the vibe needs to be. You’re done begging for basic respect.

Also, I feel like you’ve been ignoring the amount of work that’s actually piling up. You might need to clean your room, do laundry, or take care of basic stuff like chores and errands and it’s okay if it feels too much. I want you to know that I see you. I know those days when even brushing your hair feels like a task. Just start small. Fold that one t-shirt. Wash that one plate. That’s enough. You don’t have to do everything in a single day. Now, I know I said to save your money in the previous pile, but for you? It’s the opposite. You’re being called to spend money on yourself. The more you care for yourself, the more you pour into yourself, the more abundance will come. Buy the perfume. Get the cute notebook. Go on that solo date. Take care of you, and money will flow back naturally.

You might be a Taurus, Libra, or Sagittarius Sun, Moon, or Rising. Your energy is a big main character. I’m literally begging you to get yourself a digital camera and start documenting your life. Romanticize everything: your morning coffee, your skincare routine, even walking to the corner store. The more you do this, the better you’ll feel. I also feel like a lot of you are meant to be influencers, or people with a big audience. But you don’t post enough. You overthink. You wait for the “right time.” Please stop doing that. Post the blurry selfies. Start the makeup or lifestyle page. Stop hiding your magic and just hit publish. You have it in you, 100%.

You might be wanting to do the BOOMBAYAH 😏 You might be feeling hornier than usual and no, that’s not something to be ashamed of. It’s normal. It just means your sacral chakra is healing. You’re feeling more confident, more magnetic, more embodied. You might find yourself becoming more comfortable in your body and your desires. And honestly? You deserve to enjoy your pleasure. Own it. Someone is either entering your life or is about someone loyal, grounded, stable. If you’ve been single, a new relationship is on the horizon. If you’re already in one, things are going to level up 😝. I mean real connection with someone who actually shows up, not breadcrumbing. And you’re finally letting yourself receive it. You're letting yourself be seen. Be loved. Be free.

You actually have way more admirers than you think. Fire signs and earth signs are especially drawn to you right now. Some of them are low-key obsessed. This energy spike might be connected to a physical change you make soon, maybe a new hairstyle, a change in how you dress, or something that shifts the way people see you completely. The colours red and blue are very important right now. I feel like you’ll be drawn to red lipstick, clothes, nails, or even accessories. Red is your power colour right now. Your aura is giving it Girl Era and I’m here for it.

Stop holding on to people. Stop gripping so hard. The more you try to control or cling to people, the more they disappoint you. Let them go. Let people reveal themselves. It’s better to have no expectations at all than to get your heart broken by your own overthinking. You are not disposable. And anyone who treated you like you were? They’re already out of your story. And please, be nicer to your body. That body has carried you through everything. That body has kept you alive through days when your mind gave up. That body protected you when people left. Stop judging it. Start thanking it.

Thank you so much for reading this, please show support by liking or rebloging.

TIP JAR

Pile 3

Well, well, well... look who we have here 👀 The Love and Deepspace Player. So, tell me, how does it feel to be out here collecting boyfriends like infinity stones? 😝 Just kidding (unless?). I literally had this random vision of a game, and fun fact I’ve never even played it. But still, it felt weirdly significant, so I had to say it.

Anyway, what I do see loud and clear is that your energy is just overflowing with love right now. It’s like love for yourself, love for the people in your life, and honestly, love for every soul that’s ever existed. You're giving “soft but powerful,” “warm but mysterious.” You're the definition of nurturing literally the mom of the friend group. And you don’t even have to say it. Your energy does all the talking. It’s screaming “MOTHERRR” in all caps, all the time.

You’re the kind of person who forgives easily, maybe too easily. You don’t hold onto anger or resentment. You feel it, but you don’t let it rot inside you. And while that’s a beautiful trait, sometimes it gives people the green light to take more than they should. You’re also the kind of person who holds on to things not out of need, but out of love. You keep tiny wrappers, old letters, gifts, anything with meaning, because it reminds you of someone or something you once cared about. That kind of softness is rare. It's precious.

You definitely live in your own little dreamworld sometimes and I mean that in the best way. Whether it’s manga, manhua, or story-based games where you get to choose your own path, you’re drawn to anything that lets your mind wander and wonder. You love imagining different outcomes, alternate versions of life “what if I chose this instead?” You live in the space between possibilities, and there’s something so magical about that. It’s like your soul prefers fantasy over reality and honestly, who could blame you?

There’s something really dreamy about your energy. Like you're not fully from this world. You carry this soft, ethereal, otherworldly beauty that’s hard to describe. People don’t even know what it is exactly, they just know they can’t look away. You're magnetic without trying.

Seashells, pearls, soft pinks they feel important to your spirit somehow. And I wouldn’t be surprised if you felt a strong connection to Aphrodite. Most people see her as the goddess of love and beauty, but what they forget is that she can start wars for her beauty and charm. And just like her, you might seem like a delicate little sweetheart on the surface but your mind? Sharp. Calculated. You literally make people fight for you. You know you could ruin someone’s life if you wanted to. But you don’t because you’re not petty like that. Your vibe screams “Looks like a cinnamon roll, could k*ll you.” Iconic.

I’m also seeing a whole wave of abundance heading your way. Water might be significant beaches, oceans, maybe even just the sound of waves. If you run a business, expect people to start noticing you more, wanting what you’re offering. If not, there’s still a major movement coming: a job offer, a raise, or finally landing something you’ve been waiting on. It's all aligning.

And you, my love, have a rare superpower of empathy. Real, deep, soul-level empathy. You feel people. You get their pain like it’s your own. You can shift perspectives so easily that it almost feels supernatural. But be careful because that makes you a magnet for people who feed off kindness. Victim mindset peeps, emotional drainers, energy vampires they find you. And if you’re not protecting your energy, it can take a toll on your body too. So please don’t forget to pour that same love and softness back into yourself. Because you deserve it just as much as you give it.

Thank you so much for reading this, please show support by liking or rebloging.

TIP JAR

[hangmanwrites]

freeze me, baby ━ johnny storm (part one)

gif credits: @yellenabelova requested by: anon word count: 5,721 words pairing: johnny storm x fem!reader synopsis: you’re hired to babysit franklin, but johnny’s the real handful. he’s all fire, you’re all ice, and somehow that just makes things worse. or better. depends who you ask. content warnings: slow burn, mutual pining, elemental metaphors, emotional repression, accidental parenting, johnny being an idiot (affectionate), you being cold (literally), tension, soft kid moments, mild jealousy, powers mentioned (fire, ice), eventual feelings author's note: i haven’t watched the fantastic four: first steps or whatever version johnny belongs to this time, so i just went off what i could find on the marvel site and hoped for the best lmao. massive thank you to the anon who requested this, i had way too much fun. enjoy!! part two masterlist

“Johnny, what are the rules again?”

He groans, tilting his head back like he’s begging for help, tired of being treated like he can’t handle anything alone. Sure, last time Franklin floated the kitchen table and the toaster caught fire but that was because Johnny tried making grilled cheese with his hands again. Still, he’s fine now, grown-up, and Sue needs to stop acting like he’s still setting towels on fire for fun.

He starts reciting the list anyway, because if he doesn’t, she’ll recite it for him and that’s worse, so he says it with the kind of bored drawl that makes her scowl, like he’s been through this enough times to memorise it but still refuses to take it seriously, which is kind of true.

“No fire near the baby, don’t let him fly, don’t call him a baby because he’s sensitive about that now, no horror movies, no junk food before dinner, don’t let him time travel again, make sure he naps at three even though he never does, and absolutely no floating stuff on purpose just because it looks cool, which it does, and honestly, if I had powers at two, I’d be showing off all the time—”

“Johnny.”

“I know,” he says, holding up his hands, which is kind of ironic because they’re literally the most flammable part of him, “I got it, I swear, he’s two, he’s practically made of giggles and yoghurt, how hard can it be?”

Sue just stares at him, that kind of bone-deep tired look she gets whenever he opens his mouth too confidently, the one that says she loves him but also kind of wants to throw a cushion at his face, and he’s pretty sure she would if she didn’t already have her hands full with Franklin, who’s currently holding a plush dinosaur by the leg and quietly making it hover in circles behind her head.

He grins. Franklin’s a legend.

“Seriously, though,” he says, lowering his voice a bit, “why even get a babysitter if I’m gonna be here the whole time? Like, c’mon, I’ve got this, I’ve got a whole plan, it’s quality bonding time, me and the kid, uncle-nephew vibes, he already knows I’m the fun one–”

“She’s not for him, Johnny.”

And that’s not Sue’s voice anymore, that’s Reed, who’s just now walked in like he’s been lurking around the corner this whole time waiting to drop one sentence and ruin Johnny’s entire afternoon, and he says it in that flat, painfully logical tone like it’s just a neutral statement of fact, but Johnny blinks, jaw open just a fraction, because it takes him a solid three seconds to even register what the hell that means.

“...What?”

Reed looks at him as though he’s explaining a maths problem to someone who doesn’t know how to count.

“The babysitter is for you.”

And Johnny genuinely short-circuits, like, full mental blue screen. He blinks again, steps forward, then scoffs like he’s trying to laugh it off, but his voice cracks halfway through because what the actual fuck does that even mean.

“You got me a–? I’m sorry, is this–? Did you seriously–” he cuts himself off, flings a hand at Franklin like that somehow proves his point, “he’s two! I’m twenty-eight! I’ve fought aliens! I’ve saved people! You think I can’t handle my own nephew without needing backup?”

Reed just lifts an eyebrow, calm as ever, as Franklin makes the plush dinosaur nose-dive into Johnny’s hair like a soft toy assassination. Sue mutters something about good luck and three days of peace, then walks out with her bag over one shoulder.

Johnny stands in the living room, offended on every level, mouthing “babysitter?” to no one, like the insult has actually hurt him.

He doesn’t even know who you are yet, but he already hates you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ ･ ｡ﾟ───

Johnny Storm does not hate you.

He just hates how the door slid open and you walked out like it was nothing, like the lights didn’t shift brighter when you stepped in, like the security panel hadn’t just announced you like a top-secret government file, and okay, he wasn’t expecting fireworks or anything, wasn’t expecting the babysitter to be hot, but seriously, no one warned him, no one said Sue and Reed had hired the most frozen, unreadable, unfairly beautiful woman alive and then let her casually exist in their living room like that wouldn’t destroy his mental stability on the spot.

You didn’t even look at him, and that’s what got him most, just walked past with your long sleeves, gloves, and perfect face like he wasn’t there. Maybe he’s used to people noticing him, liking the attention, but you didn’t care, moved like this high-tech fortress was nothing, picked up Franklin like it was routine, sat down like you belonged, and Johnny was left standing by the fancy coffee machine, wondering when he lost control of the whole day.

And you didn’t even look at him, didn’t say hi or smile or give him one of those fake polite nods people use to be civil, you just moved past him like he wasn’t there, not rude, just… neutral, like he didn’t matter, and he should be annoyed about that, really, but instead he’s just watching you sit there like a statue made of calm while Franklin plays like the world’s not ending, like you’re the only thing holding the entire room steady.

You’ve still got the gloves on, which is weird, right, because the building’s climate-controlled and you’re not outside and there’s nothing dangerous or disgusting around. Let’s just say that he’s confused as hell as of the moment.

He should probably say something, really, because standing here like he’s waiting for divine intervention is pathetic, and you still haven’t looked at him, not once, like he’s invisible or irrelevant or just not worth noticing, which is actually insane because he’s Johnny Storm, he glows, literally, and sure, he’s not glowing right now but he’s still not exactly background furniture.

You’re just sitting on the floor with Franklin tucked against you, quiet and still, watching him line up his toys like it’s the most important thing in the world, and you haven’t even looked at Johnny, haven’t said a single word, and it’s so stupid that that’s what’s getting to him, that you’re not even trying and somehow he feels fifteen again, fluttery and awkward and weirdly desperate to say something just so you’ll look at him.

But then he blinks, like actually pauses for a second, and it hits him all at once, that he’s Johnny Storm, he’s Johnny Storm, and why the hell is he nervous about talking to a woman, why is he hesitating, why is he standing here doubting himself like he’s not literally the Human Torch, like he doesn’t know how to flirt, like he hasn’t made a career out of charming people who are way more intimidating than you, no offence, but come on, this is actually ridiculous.

So, obviously, he walks over. He leans on the back of the sofa, casual, confident, or at least pretending to be, grinning a little, even though his heartbeat is doing something annoying, like he’s expecting you to throw a knife at him or roll your eyes or just ignore him completely again, which honestly might be worse.

“So, hey,” he says, trying to sound relaxed, even though his voice comes out a little too bright, “you, uh, always wear gloves indoors, or is that just a fashion thing?”

You don’t answer, which he could’ve predicted, but still, it’s a bit jarring, the way you keep your eyes on Franklin like Johnny’s voice didn’t even reach you, like the sound waves just died halfway through the air and fell flat between you, and he almost laughs, not because it’s funny but because he’s never been blanked this hard in his life and he’s not sure if he respects it or wants to set something on fire just to make a point.

He pushes off the sofa, moves around to the arm of it so you’re at least facing him now, sort of, even if you’re not looking up, and he keeps going, because at this point he’s committed.

“You know, you don’t have to be nervous,” he says, biting back a smirk, “I know I’m incredibly handsome and famous and whatever, but I promise I’m not scary, unless you hate fun, which, honestly, you kind of seem like you might.”

And that’s when you look at him. Finally! It was long enough to register that he exists, long enough to let him feel like maybe he got through to you even a little, but your face doesn’t change, your expression doesn’t even twitch, and you say, voice cool and even like you’re just stating a fact and not absolutely destroying him in the process,

“Confidence and delusion look really similar when you talk too much.”

And Johnny blinks. Actually, visibly blinked as though his brain shorted out for a second and had to restart the whole system from scratch.

He laughs, too loud and way too quick, because that definitely hit him somewhere it wasn’t supposed to, but he’s not about to let you know that, so he just laughs like it’s funny, like he’s used to people saying mean shit with their pretty little mouths and their cold little voices, except he’s absolutely not used to it, not like that, not from someone who still hasn’t even smiled at him.

“Okay,” he says, hand over his chest like ouch, trying to grin through it even though something sharp got wedged in his ribs just now, “so you do speak, I was starting to think maybe you’d taken a vow of silence or just didn’t believe in interacting with people hotter than you, which, honestly, fair, it must be overwhelming.”

You don’t even pause, and you say, voice flat as anything, “I’ve had migraines that were less persistent than you.”

And that one he feels, like physically feels it, like something tightens behind his eye and he’s pretty sure his left eyebrow actually twitches, and he doesn’t know whether to be impressed or offended or aroused or all three, because no one’s ever talked to him like that before, not seriously, not without some teasing edge, and you weren’t teasing, you were done, like the conversation was already over before it even began.

And then, Franklin giggles. A soft, chaotic toddler laugh breaks the tension, and you turn to him like that’s all that matters, easing as you help unstick his dinosaur. Johnny stands ignored, watching you slip into toddler-mode while he tries to gather his dignity from the expensive floor.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ ･ ｡ﾟ───

To be fair, Johnny is absolutely having a crisis. A small one, sure, but still very real, and entirely your fault, which feels wildly unfair because you haven’t even done anything this time you’re just being good at this, weirdly good, absurdly competent in a way that makes him feel useless in his own family, standing off to the side like some decorative uncle while you handle Franklin like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

You didn’t flinch when Franklin dumped the blocks, just calmly sorted them by colour and got him building. You remembered his snack rules, let him bounce on the sofa but stopped him with a soft, steady tone that made him say “okay” like it was law. You didn’t look smug, just like you cared and were doing your job.

Franklin’s settled in your lap, calm and content as you read some terrible book about a bear who can’t sleep, and Johnny’s across the room, forgotten and jealous, unsure what to do.

He should be the fun uncle, the one Franklin calls for dinosaur noises, but the kid keeps pointing at you, saying “her”, like you belong here. You don’t even seem pleased, just calm.

Then Johnny understands why Franklin prefers you, it’s not just snacks or stuffed animal facts, it’s how you never make him feel small. You’re calm, steady, almost cold but safe, like steel beneath all that quiet. You don’t flinch or panic at his meltdowns, you just wait, and somehow that’s exactly what Franklin trusts. Johnny never thought cold could feel comforting, but maybe it does.

Sure, Johnny was hot, literally and metaphorically. He was fun, he was awesome, he could light up a room and make people laugh and entertain a crowd without even trying, and he was used to being the centre of attention everywhere he went, never really minded the chaos or the fact that he was probably a bit too much sometimes, but maybe that was exactly why Franklin always looked at him like he didn’t quite know what to make of him, like he liked the idea of Johnny but wasn’t sure how to keep up.

And you… you never asked the kid to keep up. You just sat with him, and Franklin trusted that more than anything Johnny had ever done, and Johnny doesn’t know why that makes something twist in his chest, but it does, it really does.

And now it’s day two, and you’re late, or maybe just later than you were yesterday, and Johnny’s not exactly freaking out, not technically, but also what the hell, where are you, because Franklin has been crying his eyes out for the last fifteen minutes and it’s only getting worse with time, not better, not even a little, and Johnny’s already tried everything.

Dancing, jokes, a fireball shaped like a duck (which somehow made him cry harder), even breaking into Sue’s emergency stash of kid-approved biscuits that he is absolutely not supposed to touch and none of it is working.

The kid just keeps wailing and kicking and saying “her” like you’re some kind of living, breathing security blanket, and Johnny is really trying, he is, but now Franklin’s starting to get warm, visibly warm, warm in a way that makes the air around him shimmer like it’s warping at the edges.

And Johnny’s definitely sweating now, not from the heat but from the panic crawling up the back of his neck, because what if this is it, what if the kid’s powers are about to do something, what if he freaks out so hard he floats, or explodes, or bends the walls into spaghetti?

“Okay, okay, bud, it’s alright, she’s coming, she’ll be here soon, I swear,” Johnny says, crouched in front of Franklin like he knows what he’s doing, hands held out like he’s trying to calm a wild animal instead of a two-year-old with probably god-level reality-warping powers, and honestly, it might be the same thing.

And all Johnny can think is where the fuck are you?

Then, finally, you walk in. No knock, no rush, just the door sliding open like you were meant to arrive right then, and Johnny feels his knees nearly give out, his whole body forgetting how to stand because thank god, you’re here, finally here.

Maybe he should be angry you’re late, maybe say something dramatic like “do you know what I’ve been through,” but all he can manage is a half-breath that slips out like a prayer, because Franklin’s still crying, but the moment he sees you, something changes.

You’re still in all those ridiculous layers, the jacket, the gloves, the long sleeves like the Baxter Building is buried in a snowstorm and not, in fact, a perfectly climate-controlled lab fortress, and Johnny still doesn’t get it, still thinks you’re hiding something, still spirals every time he remembers you probably sleep in gloves, but right now none of that matters, because Franklin is reaching for you with those tiny, red, tear-streaked hands like you’re the only person left on the planet who knows how to hold him properly, and you just let out this tired sigh like you were expecting it, already pulling off your jacket.

And it’s strange, because Johnny’s never seen you without it, not even yesterday when Franklin spilled juice all over you and you stayed in it like it was nothing, but now it’s gone, folded neatly over your arm, and he catches a glimpse of skin between your gloves and sleeves your forearms, pale and smooth and not literally sharp but somehow still cold-looking, like even your skin doesn’t remember what warmth feels like.

You step forward and Johnny, still holding the screaming toddler, shifts to pass him to you, and it’s quick, just a moment, just a brush of your arm against his, but fuck it burns. Not like fire. Not like anything he’s used to. It’s the kind of cold that stings, that bites deep, that makes every cell in his body pull back without knowing why, and he flinches without meaning to, lets out a quiet hiss that’s halfway between pain and surprise, and you blink at him but say nothing, like you were expecting that too.

He stares at you, stares at the spot on his arm where your skin touched his, like he’s trying to convince himself he imagined it, like maybe that weird sharp tingle wasn’t real, but it’s still there, faint but insistent, a strange sort of burn that doesn’t feel hot at all, just cold and electric and deeply wrong in a way he can’t quite explain, and he’s about to ask something, about to blurt out what the hell was that, but then Franklin shifts in your arms and wraps himself around your neck, face pressed into your shoulder, and the crying starts to ease.

Not all at once, not completely, but it softens enough that the air feels lighter, like whatever had been wound so tightly inside the kid just let go, and Johnny watches it happen in real time, watches his nephew melt against you like you’ve been holding him since the day he was born.

And then you look up at him. You tilt your head a little and ask, “Why is he crying?” 

Johnny blinks, caught off guard by how unbothered you sound. “I— I don’t know,” he says, and it comes out more defensive than he wants it to, like he’s being accused of something, like this is an interrogation instead of just a really shit afternoon. “I did everything right, I think, I fed him, he ate all of it, even the weird yoghurt stuff Reed makes, I gave him water, I changed him, I played the dancing fruits video like six times, and I swear he was laughing earlier, and then he just started crying out of nowhere, and I didn’t— I mean, I tried, alright?”

You’re not looking at him anymore.

You’re looking at Franklin now, properly focused, like you’re scanning for damage he didn’t catch, and Johnny knows it’s not personal, but god, it’s irritating, the way you cut him off with your silence, like whatever he’s saying doesn’t matter.

You lean closer, glance at Franklin’s mouth, and let out a quiet sigh, not dramatic, not loud, just tired and real and a little resigned.

“He’s teething,” you say, like that explains everything.

And Johnny immediately panics, because that doesn’t explain everything to him, and what does that even mean, is that bad, is that something that’s meant to happen or something that needs to be fixed, and he leans forward like this has suddenly turned into a medical emergency.

“He’s what? That’s bad, right? Should I call Sue? Do we need ice or something or, like, a baby dentist—”

But you’re already moving, not storming off or rushing out, just drifting past him like he’s not even there, easing down onto the sofa with Franklin still curled into you, still clinging like you’re the only person who knows how to hold him right.

Johnny stays frozen, watching you settle like this is something you’ve done a hundred times, the way your arms fold around Franklin, the way your hand moves over his back so carefully, so calmly, like you’re trying to ease something out of him. 

And then you pause and start taking off your gloves. Johnny freezes immediately.

It’s not even dramatic, it just happens all at once, the way his lungs stop pulling air for a second, like his body registered something important before his brain caught up, because he hasn’t seen your hands before, not even for a second, and he knows that shouldn’t matter, he knows it’s weird to care, but somehow it does, and all he can do is stare while you peel them off, slow and methodical, one finger at a time like you’ve done it a thousand times before.

And your hands were kind of pale, more than he expected, and your fingers are long and sharp-looking, not in a dangerous way but in a precise kind of way, and even without the gloves they still look cold, like you’ve been out in the snow and haven’t fully thawed, like your skin doesn’t quite know what warmth is supposed to feel like.

You lean forward, steady and quiet, your arms moving with the kind of calm that shouldn’t belong in a moment like this, and Johnny can’t even process how weird that is before it gets worse, because the second your bare hands touch Franklin’s cheeks, the crying just stops, no slow breathing or hiccuping or gradual calm-down, it just vanishes, like it was never even there to begin with, and Johnny stands there with his heart in his throat because what the fuck.

He’s still watching, still frozen, mouth slightly open and hands half-lifted in useless confusion, and Franklin just melts into your chest, eyes fluttering, fingers curling into your top, his tiny shoulders relaxing in this way that makes Johnny’s whole body tense, because how the hell did you do that, how are you doing that, what are you even doing??

And you don’t say anything at first, which somehow makes it worse, because you’re still looking down at the toddler like this is normal, like this is your job, like this is just another day and not a full-blown psychic sedative moment, and Johnny is still standing uselessly in the middle of the room like he doesn’t know how to function, because honestly he doesn’t.

He tries to speak, forces the words out even though they feel stuck in the back of his throat, like his brain’s trying to catch up with everything all at once and failing. “What—what did you just do?”

You don’t look up. You’re still holding Franklin’s face gently, carefully, watching him breathe through the end of his meltdown like it’s just any other day.

You’re calm again, even colder now that the crying’s stopped, even quieter, and Johnny’s pretty sure he’s hallucinating the way the temperature in the room shifted the second you walked in, like there’s an invisible force field around you that makes everything settle, including his very not-settled brain.

“I can manipulate temperature,” you say, flat, like you’re reciting it from some handbook, like it’s just your job description and not the most insane thing he’s heard all month. “Or, well—more accurately, kinetic energy. I can slow particles down, freeze motion. You get the idea.”

“No,” Johnny says, fully lost, hands waving a little like that’ll help the words make sense, “no, I don’t get the idea. That sounded like science and I am historically very bad at science so you do what? Freeze stuff?”

You finally glance at him. Your eyes flick toward him like they’re annoyed to acknowledge him again, like you’re doing it under protest.

“Cryokinesis,” you say, a little sharper, a little louder, like you’re repeating yourself because he’s slow. “It means I can lower the heat. Pull it out of a space, a person. I can freeze surfaces. Cool people down when they’re overheating. Which is what Franklin needed. He’s in pain, he’s teething, and you’re holding him with a body temperature of a goddamn microwave.”

Johnny blinks, takes that in, immediately a little offended. “Okay, rude.”

You ignore him. You brush your thumb against Franklin’s cheek and adjust the toddler’s weight against your chest like you’ve done it a hundred times, like this is normal, like you didn’t just casually say you can control temperature like it’s not the most insane thing anyone’s ever dropped mid-conversation.

He stares, still confused, and still not computing. “So you’re like a cold person? In the powers way not just in the... general vibe.”

You sigh, slow and tired. Then you finally look at him properly, that same blank, bored expression on your face, and you flick your hand toward him, fast and casual like it’s second nature, and he doesn’t even register what you’re doing until it’s already happening.

A sharp crack of cold air rushes past his face, sudden and freezing, and he panics, heat pulsing from his palm immediately, just instinct, just muscle memory from every combat simulation and real-world fight he’s ever been in, and flames flash up from his hand, catching the air just in time to block the icy whatever that just shot out of yours.

It melts instantly. Water drips down his wrist. He stares.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, grinning now because this just stopped being scary and started being cool, and his brain short-circuits trying to compute it all. “You have powers. You have the opposite of my powers. That’s crazy. That’s—wait, that’s actually so cool. Are we soulmates? No, genuinely, that feels like a soulmate thing. Fire and ice, opposites attract, forbidden tension—”

You flick your fingers again.

A small, perfectly-aimed puff of cold air smacks right into his mouth. He coughs, splutters, glares at you like you just committed treason. You’re already turning back to Franklin. Already done with him.

He wipes his mouth. “Okay,” he mumbles, a little quieter this time, “noted.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ ･ ｡ﾟ───

After the whole day of making sure Franklin didn’t scream again, you had finally managed to put him to sleep, wrapped him gently in the softest blanket Sue had left, left a tiny night light on by the corner of the room, made sure his pillows were cold enough so he wouldn’t wake up sobbing in pain when the pressure in his jaw built again, and once you were sure he was calm, breathing slow and light and warm against the chill of the room, you pulled the door shut behind you and exhaled properly for the first time since this morning.

It was quiet again, finally, just your breathing and the soft hum of the vents, and for a second you let yourself lean against the door, eyes closed, trying to remember how to breathe properly. You hated this part, the aftershock, when the room still felt thick with leftover panic and your body hadn’t caught up yet.

And today wasn’t just a long day, it was the day you told someone, someone outside the circle, someone loud and nosy and far too curious, and now everything felt off. Not because you said it, but because of who you said it to.

You pulled your gloves back on.

You always did, after. Like a reset, like if you could cover it up then it hadn’t really happened, like maybe he hadn’t felt it, that spark of contrast when your skin met his, when heat met cold and neither of you really knew what to do about it.

You hadn’t meant to show him anything, hadn’t meant to admit anything, and even though it was small and mostly harmless and technically safe, it still happened, and now he knew.

And you were scared. You hated that part. You were scared of your own hands sometimes, scared of forgetting how far you could push, scared of doing too much without meaning to, because it didn’t always listen to you, not fully, not when your heart was loud and your thoughts were messy and everything inside you got a little too still.

You weren’t supposed to show anyone. You weren’t supposed to lose control, even for a second.

You were halfway to the kitchen, still chewing on the inside of your cheek, when your brain finally caught up to your surroundings and realised there was someone standing there, which would’ve been fine if it wasn’t for the very obvious, very attention-grabbing sight of Johnny Storm leaning casually against the counter wearing his full Fantastic Four suit, the boots and the insignia and all.

You blinked once.

“What,” you said flatly, “are you wearing.”

He straightened up immediately, like he’d been rehearsing this, arms crossing, eyebrows up, and the expression on his face hovering somewhere between smug and serious, which didn’t make any sense, because the suit made him look ridiculous and also slightly intimidating, and you had absolutely no patience left in your body.

He nodded at you, tone a bit more even than usual. “It’s called a uniform.”

“It’s called unnecessary, dumbass.”

He ignored that.

“You’re afraid of your powers,” he said, not a question, not even a challenge, just a statement, and your mouth opened, just slightly, just enough to protest before closing again, because what would be the point.

“I get it,” he continued, softer now, almost calm, which was somehow worse, “you think if you touch the wrong thing it’ll freeze over, or fracture, or worse. You’re always waiting for the moment it slips, right? For the second your control isn’t enough. Trust me, I’ve been there.”

You didn’t say anything. You just stared at him. He didn’t move.

“I was like that too,” he went on, and this time it sounded real, the way he said it, not like a joke or a brag or something for attention, just honest, and maybe a little tired, “in the beginning, I couldn’t even light a candle without setting the entire table on fire. I was scared of it, even though I never admitted it out loud. Reed was always trying to explain it in equations, Sue wanted me to focus on control, but none of it helped. Not until I realised it wasn’t about shutting it down. It was about learning how to live with it.”

You didn’t respond, but you weren’t looking away either, and that was something.

He tilted his head, like he was waiting, like he’d say more if you needed him to, but he didn’t push. Just held your gaze, quiet now, oddly serious for someone whose whole personality revolved around attention and flames.

Then, without saying a word, he turned slightly, took one half-step back into the middle of the room, and with one steady breath, ignited.

It was slower than you expected. Not the fast, explosive burst he used to block your ice earlier, but something steadier, softer somehow.

A warm pulse rising from his palms first, then curling up his arms, his shoulders, his chest, until the whole surface of him glowed with that molten-orange flame you’d seen a dozen times on the news, but never this close.

You didn’t flinch, but you didn’t breathe either.

He was still talking. “I had to get burned before I learned where the limits were. I had to feel it. You can’t control something you’re scared of.”

He looked down at his own hands, fire flickering quietly against his skin, no panic behind it, no wild surge, just... control.

He let it rise, just a bit more, let it roll across his shoulders and neck, until you could see the light catch in the curve of his jaw and the tips of his hair, and you hated how much of your brain registered that he looked good like this, confident and balanced and not at all like the cocky idiot who flirted with you in the middle of the living room while you ignored him on purpose.

You watched him for a second longer, eyes trailing from the fire still curling softly along his arms to the way he wasn’t even trying to show off anymore, wasn’t performing it like some circus trick or throwing it around like a party trick, just holding it like it was part of him, like it had always been, and maybe it was. You didn’t know what it was like to burn. You only knew how it felt to freeze.

“I don’t like using it,” you said quietly, and it came out before you even realised you were going to say it, too fast and too honest, “it’s not something I... practise. It hurts people when I do it wrong. It’s easier not to.”

Johnny blinked, head tilting a little, fire still flickering low across his shoulders, warming the space between you, not close enough to touch, but enough to make the cold in your bones crack just slightly.

“And you think that’s gonna be sustainable?” he asked, brows raising like he genuinely wanted to know, not judging, just... asking. “Just never using it? Just keeping it all bottled up under those gloves forever?”

You didn’t answer, but you didn’t look away either, and he huffed, something between a sigh and a half-laugh, and suddenly it was like a switch flipped inside him, because the fire vanished in an instant, blinked out without drama, and he ran a hand through his now-flame-tousled hair like he was resetting back to default Johnny again.

“Damn,” he muttered, eyeing you now with a crooked grin slowly dragging at his mouth, “you’re kind of intense, huh?”

You gave him a look, not even bothering to respond to that.

“No, I mean it,” he went on, leaning a little against the counter again, arms folding across his chest, voice dropping back into that casual lazy rhythm he used when he was trying too hard to act like he wasn’t affected, “you walk around here all quiet and serious and freezing people with your eyes—don’t lie, you do, I’ve seen you—and you’ve got these deadly hands you refuse to use, and the most impressive toddler-calming skills I’ve ever seen, and now I find out you’ve got actual ice powers, and you still don’t think you’re cool.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That was awful.”

He grinned wider. “I know. I was really proud of it.”

You sighed, more exhausted than annoyed, already regretting speaking to him at all.

But then, softer, not quite joking, not quite serious either, he added, “You know you can’t scare me, right?”

You looked at him, but he was already watching you.

“I mean, I’m literally the fire. I’m not exactly easy to freeze out.”

And for once, you didn’t have anything sharp to throw back. You just stared at him while something quiet passed between you, something warm and slow and mildly infuriating, and Johnny smiled like he could feel it too.

Then, because of course he couldn’t leave it there, he added, “Plus, if we ever got into a fight, you’d probably win. Cold always wins. It’s not fair, but I respect it.”

You blinked. “Is that your way of saying you’re scared of me?”

He shrugged. “Only a little. In a hot way.”

You groaned. “Go to sleep, Johnny.”

He winked. “Only if you promise not to kill me in mine.”

[bravehyde]

hi !! can we have any sort of source about the google docs thing? I use it for pretty much everything and I want to know for sure before I move everything somewhere

I'm not sure if you're from the US but I'm not and I don't if it's something happening everywhere or somewhere specific

I absolutely appreciate warning people about something that could cost someone their hard work but I doing so without any sort of checkable source could get people kinda panicked

(genuine message/request, I don't mean to discredit your personal experience at all, I don't think what you've shared is made up, I just wanna look into on my own too and couldn't find anything)

yeah, so sorry about that! I was so busy telling all of my writer friends, who know I wouldn’t lie about something like this that I personally watched occur, that I totally forgot people outside of my circle would not just need “hey this happened in front of me” as confirmation something’s real. Also this blog isn’t that big so I thought it would just be in the writer circles I’m in, I’ve never seen so many notifications! I’m writing this on my phone so sorry if it looks bad, trying my best here.

I’m from the US and the person who had their property deleted by Google is also from the US. I saw someone else in the reblogs who also stated they had their content removed without their permission, but I technically can’t verify for them because I did not know them before this occurred and I wasn’t there when it was discovered.

While trying to find similar experiences I found multiple complaints over the past few years of people getting their permission to their content revoked even though it’s not sexually explicit and posting to their help forums, but that’s also hard to use as a concrete source since we don’t know those people’s full stories. Google’s official policy on explicit content is as follows:

I know the friend whose content was removed would share their document for writing feedback, as that is the reason many people choose docs over word (as well as that it can be opened and edited easily on an iphone). It may be that “distribute” is the key word here for getting your items removed.

Someone was kind enough to link this story of it happening to an adult romance author last year who had this story sent to multiple news articles. I’m still looking for if this had more incidents, there are some claimed in the article but they don’t have names attached the way Renee is.

Once again, these people had their work removed because they would send it to betas, which Google flaggged as spamming people with explicit content. And to anyone thinking it’s not possible because they don’t have permission to access our work-they do. You give them permission by putting your stuff on their servers at all. It’s just that their current ToS doesn’t let them remove it until you share it with someone, in which case it’s “distribution��. Also I’m going to address this is another post with more info and stuff because I want to give more basis: I see people framing it as impossible to do in “so short a time”, but this was built up for years. This personal information stockpiling has been around for a while. I’ll put more out there when I can, right now I have to get back to my job

EDIT: talked about this in another ask here for more links

[sweeeetjjk]

Based off of this request!! We havveeee sub!Gojo once agian people.

Reminder: let your freak flag fly in my asks trust I don't kink shame!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“F-fuck! Please slow down!” Gojo whimpers, his hips bucking up into your mouth. You’ve been at this for about what 10 minutes? And he’s already grabbing your hair, pushing you down onto his aching cock that’s plunged down his throat.

“Stop moving so much, I’m gonna end up biting you” you complain, after he finally gives you a chance to breath. All he dose is moan in response, squeezing his eyes shut tight before moving your head down to his twitching cock.

You don’t have the chance to cover your teeth, but that only seems to spur him on as his back arches into your face, pushing his dick deeper into your throat. He lets out a loud moan before his heads thrown back and you can only hear a few mumbles fall from his lips, as spurts of his cum shoot it’s way down your throat.

“Fuckfuckfuck— so so fucking - good baby thank you thank- mhmm!” He moans, finally releasing his tight grip on your hair after.

“Your such a asshole” you say before slapping his thigh lightly “also sorry about the teeth”

“No it’s fine” he pants, a little out of breath from what he assumes is his 6th best orgasam of his life. (Yes he ranks them). “Liked it , kinda hurt but in a really really good way.”

“Oh so you liked the pain huh?”

“Yeah maybe a bit” he says shooting you a wink as he starts to cover himself back up.

“A little or a lot? Because I’ve never seen you cum as hard and fast. I mean like whew I could honestly barley-“

“Okay okay I get it … just let me return the favor baby” he says before pulling you onto his lap.

That’s how you ended up here. You see, after that day you made it your mission to find out exactly what he liked. Now - gojo wasent shy or anything, but when it came to things like this he seemed.. a bit more nervous.

But you’ve noticed things. Things that you don’t think he even realizes hes doing. Kind of like how everytime you pull his hair you feel him twitch inside of you, or whenever you “accidentally” use your teeth every blowjob after that day, he’s letting out moans so loud your certain your neighbors hate you . So tonight you’ve decided to try something different . Something to make him come out of his shell. You don’t want to actually hurt him, but you won’t have to worry as much, because you guys have already talked about the stoplight system.

“When you come home from work get naked at the door” you say when you call him on break

“Okay”

“That’s.. that’s all? Your not gonna ask why”

“Why would I ask why? I mean im getting some tonight so why would I complain” you can hear his stupid smirk through the phone

“Whatever. Just don’t forget. Only come into the room untill I say- I mean it Satoru”

“Hehehe” you hear he laugh through the phone. You can tell he’s laughing at one of his dumb jokes

“What” you sigh.

“ you said “cum” he lets out another laugh

“…..” silence Is all he hears before you hang up.

You’ve already brought all of the items you would need for later tonight. Stuff like silk ribbon ties - because you just know he’ll be trying to escape your grasp no matter how good it feels. He’s very sensitive .

You changed into your baby pink lingerie, that you put on about 20 minutes before Gojo arrived home. You wanted everything to be perfect.

Then you hear the front door open, and Gojos heavy footsteps follow.

You can hear him start to walk to the room, but he stops right by the kitchen, remembering what you told him later that day.

“I’m home” you hear him call out, his voice laced with excitement, and you start to hear the shuffle of clothes being taken off.

You feel the nerves electrify its way through your body, through your veins. It’s not that your scared, no, no, no…. It’s just your so excited to get to know more about him, even the part he tries to hide.

“Stay right there and wait for me to call you up!” You yell through the house

“Yeah I know”

Once you calm down a bit, and belive your finally ready, you call him up.

You can hear him scrambling up the stairs with way too excitement. He acts like he hasn’t seen you naked even though you’ve been dating for 5 years.

When he opens the door he sees you standing there, then he looks towards the bed and his eyes widen a bit.

“What… what’s all this baby” he says with a nervous chuckle

“Youll find out later, just lay down for me baby” you say, grabbing his hand and leading him closer towards the bed.

Once he lays down on the open spot on the bed, you move your hands softly on his thighs

“You look so pretty-“ you cut him off before he finishes his sentance

“Shhhh just be quiet and relax… let me take care of you baby”

You move over to grab the silk ribbon before straddling him. You softly tie his hands up above his head, onto the headboard.

“So you can stay riiiighttt here” you mumble under your breath.

“Mhm” he puffs out breathlessly.

“Your doing so good for me already, laying here and letting me control you like this huh?”

All he dose is nod his head before receiving a soft slap on his cheek that catches him by suprise.

“I need words baby” you lean down and whisper in his ear

“Yes… yes such a good boy for you- only for you”

You move lower down untill your face is leveled with his cock that jumps at your gaze . He’s already moving around and softly thrusting his hips up for some type of friction. You hold it softly in your hand, hearing him gasp and seeing seeing his thigh clench

You start to stroke slowly, then randomly deliver a light slap right to the top of his leaking cock.

“Hey! W-what was that for” he hisses through his teeth, and his body starts to squirm a bit when you tighten your hand around him.

“What’s your color baby” is all you respond with

“..green”

“Good then you shouldn’t mind this” you deliver a more powerful slap this time, really wanting him to feel it.

He lets out a loud moan at the pain and fries to close his thighs instinctively,but can’t because your rested in between them. “O-ohmygod, please more baby please” he rambles on, he looks so ruined and you’ve barley touched him yet. Hes looking down at you desperately , his eyes filled with the need to touch you. 

He tries to hold you, grab your hand, feel you up, but his hands are held back by the ribbons. “Let me touch you, come onnnn”

“It’s not about me tonight baby” you slowly start stroking him agian and cupping his balls with your other hand. He easily forgets whatever he’s going to say next, as he throws his head back against the pillow.

“Mmmm a little faster- yesss just like that” he starts getting a bit antsy and moving his hips to meet your hand. You feel his cock twitching and his breathing getting louder - knowing he’s about to cum. Instead of letting him, you promptly remove your hand from him.

He lets out a loouddd whine, “why won’t you let me cum - your being mean” he complains

“Shhh it’s okay baby , just wanted to ride you…. Or that a problom?”

“No!” He starts moving his hips once agian “no problems here, in fact it’s the best thing I’ve heard all day”

You roll your eyes before straddling him, and slowly slipping him inside of you. You both let out loud moans once you’ve fully bottomed out. He lets out a annoyed huff when he can’t move his hands to your hips .

When you start moving - he’s done for. His eyes squeeze shut as you ride him slowly. “Mhm… feels good baby, feels really fucking good”

“I know I know your doing so good for me just quiet down okay, I don’t wanna have to be mean”

All he dose is nod his head as you speed up, his mouth falling open in pleasure , and his hands clenching into fists.

He won’t quiet down, in fact it feels as if he’s purposely getting louder, testing your limits. You slap his face and move his chin to look at you

“I said shut up Satoru, do you ever listen?” You say with labored breathe.

“C-can’t feels t’good!” He disregards you , so you grab his hair and whisper “do you even want to cum? Then act like it” he lets out a whine when you tug his scalp roughly, starting to try to muffle his moans.

You start moving quicker, making his dick hit that spot inside of you juuuust right it makes your back arch slightly. As you get closer to the end , and you know he’s right behind you. You use your fingernails and trail them roughly down his chest, leaving red scratches.

“Do you know how pathetic you are to like pain like this baby”

“Y-yes” he mumbles hips moving up to meet your thrusts

“F-fuck Satoru- I’m trying t-to be nice and take it slow but look at you below me, looking. A absolute mess” you let out a laugh- and he just can’t take it

He’s shooting thick white spurts into you while his mouth falls open in a open scream. The feeling of being filled, sends you into your orgasam, making you fall on top of him while holding onto him tightly, burying your head in his neck.

“F-fuck baby thank y-“

“Ugh I didn’t even get to use any of the stuff I got” you say rolling into the other side of the bed dissapointed

“It’s okay, it’s the first time we’ve used toys so I’m not surprised it slipped your mind”

“But I was so excited” you mumble “I even bought this lingerie for you”

“It’s okay, we can try next time- I really enjoyed this, even if you didn’t torture me as much as you wanted” he teases

“Oh please that was nothing” is the last thing you say before starting to thrift off, but you don’t really get there because Gojo is lifting you up carrying you to the shower.

“You know- we can have round two in here huh?” He shoots you a wink while your in his arms

“Oh shut up” you laugh, already knowing he’s right.

@francesca-the-1st @leiszn @naialace @nicorobin-ya @sugar504 @kikikoifi @ilovesnapple @izzybehappy @moldy-blondie

[dearmisshoney]

raw proof

synopsis. best friends don’t fuck — unless your name is lorenzo berkshire and your girl asks for a creampie on camera.

pairing. childhood best friend! lorenzo berkshire x reader

content/mdni. fem!reader, cheeky!enzo, flirty!enzo, protective!enzo, kind of sub!enzo, allusions to mutual pinning, handjob, voice kink, riding, consensual filming/sex tape, unsolicited dicc pic (NOT from enzo), teasing, dirty talk, slight degradation, praise, pet name (babe, my girl), p in v, raw sex, creampie

word count. 4k

a/n. this is so tame compared to the other stuff i posted recently! also, first enzo fic!! sorry for the wait, my sweet @belovedenzo! fyi, the creep is named after a weirdo that bothered me in real life, so yeah! please tell me your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are deeply appreciated!

“hmmm, hm, hmmm.”

the soft hum of enzo’s deep voice nicely matched the tame whirling of the electric fan, growing louder when the head was pointing at him, and going quieter when the spinning blades turned towards you.

it was summer. and as much as you wanted to catch up and play around with your childhood best friend enzo, the heat discouraged the two of you from staying close to one another. so there you were now, spread on the l-shaped couch in your living room, on the two extremities, with a god-sent fan in the middle.

it danced towards enzo first, blessing his shirtless, boxer-clad form with a cool gust of air, then it panned over to you, drenched in sweat in your sports bra and panties.

thank god you were living alone, otherwise you wouldn’t hear the end of it from your mother about how it is not proper to stay like that with a man around bla bla bla.

it was enzo. the guy you knew since you were in diapers. the guy with whom you shared countless of baths when you two were kids. the guy who was there through every embarrassing stage of your puberty.

staying in your underwear around one another was nothing.

“it’s the highest setting, right?” you mumbled after locking your phone and dropping it to the side, displeased by the little breeze of the electric fan.

“yeah…” he muttered back, slight disappointment latched onto the brief confirmation. he didn’t even bother to raise from his horizontal position, already recalling the desperation he had while smashing the plus button on the fan.

“ugh, i wanna peel my skin off my face.”

it was evening already, yet the heat was as persistent as ever. maybe you should get some ice from the freezer and just… dump it on you? yeah, maybe even sneak some pieces in your bra to cool off bett–

bing.

…

“oh, fuck off.”

checking your phone after the notification pierced the peaceful ambiance of the room, you immediately lock it back, infuriated by what you saw.

“again?”

enzo had a hunch about the source of your sudden rage, and by his short question and your audible huffs of annoyance, he knew he was right.

“is that michael guy still pestering you? didn’t you block him?”

“it looks like he made another account. ugh, why doesn’t he take the hint?”

you raised your upper half off the couch, leaning on the pads of your palms just for a few seconds, before diving head first between the scattered pillows next to you.

you groaned into them, and enzo could hear your agony even through the plush material.

“you told him you have a boyfr–?”

“multiple times. i even sent a picture of you to convince him.”

you did not have a boyfriend. you have been single for months now, but michael doesn’t need to know that. your sweet best friend enzo offered to play boyfriend to scare off the creep, but it seems like even that wasn’t enough.

“aaaand?”

“he knew we’re not together.”

you should’ve expected the number one stalker to recognize lorenzo from the pictures you have on your account.

“damn. i am sorry, babe.”

“ahh, it’s fine. i will just block him aga–”

bing.

“is that him again?”

enzo reacted more energic this time, jumping from his seat, abandoning his own phone, all to crawl towards your part of the couch. to see for himself what that weirdo does in your dms.

“wait, let me chec– oh my god, ewwwwwwwwwwww.”

if last time you dropped your phone on the couch, now you straight up threw it away from you. you shriek into a ball, clutching one of the pillows close to your chest and hiding in it. the heat no longer mattered as you were now dominated by disgust, captured by the need to be hidden.

“what? what?”

lorenzo panicked, eyes almost flaring out of his sockets at your unusual reaction. you were so affected by whatever you saw on your phone, you were almost shaking.

“that bastard sent me a dick pic. it looked like a bald rat, i feel like puking.”

enzo stilled for a second.

then he blinked.

“a bald rat?”

“yes.” you wailed, face still buried in the pillow. “a naked mole rat. pink and sickly and shiny. i’m traumatized.”

he snorted at your description. then choked on it trying to suppress his laugh, realizing it is not an appropriate reaction. “i’m sorry, i’m not laughing at you, babe, it’s just– god, that’s disgusting.” he reached for your shoulder carefully, hand warm and grounding as he gave you a gentle stroke.

“you okay?”

“no.” you mumbled pathetically, burying your face deeper into the softness. “i was just trying to exist. and now i’ve seen that. i need to bleach my brain. i need to send something back to scar him for life.”

enzo hummed, rubbing lazy circles into your shoulder. “like a revenge dick pic?”

“yeah. but…” you peeked at him from your pillow, lips pouting. “i don’t have a dick.”

he blinked again. and then his lips curled. slowly.

“so use mine.”

you raised your head so fast you nearly knocked foreheads with lorenzo. in that moment you realized just how close he was to you.

how close and naked he was.

“enzo–”

“what?” he grinned, boyish and infuriatingly calm, as if he hadn’t just offered to donate his cock for the cause. “he values dicks so much, i’ll give him one. free of charge. beautifully lit. no filters. let him compare.”

you gaped at him, blood boiling beneath your skin with every word of his, flushing your face with embarrassment.

he was just messing with you, right?

“you’re not serious.”

enzo moved his body closer, until your bare knees touched, and his palms spread over your naked thighs, keeping you still on the couch. with such proposals on his lips, enzo had a feeling you’d run away from him.

so he didn’t give you the opportunity at all.

“i’m dead serious. let me help you. he sends you a shitty unsolicited dick? you send back mine. i guarantee he’ll never message you again.”

you choked on a nervous laugh, trying to calm down your nerves and not read too much into it. lorenzo had no ulterior motives with such a suggestion, so why was your mind fostering unholy thoughts all of a sudden?

the nakedness of your two bodies didn’t help, especially now with his skin touching yours. his hands were firmly planted on your thighs, resting mainly on the top — only his fingers, fidgety and restless, tapped against your inner section.

making your head spin and forcing your legs to close up.

“you’re insane.” you whispered back at him, averting your gaze from his piercing ones and opting to stare at your abandoned phone.

he squeezed your thighs, fingers digging in the fat of your legs — bringing your eyes back on his.

“and you’re suffering. babe, come on. you know i’d do anything for you.”

your mouth went dry, spit refusing to further pool in. yet something else pooled... in your underwear.

his voice dropped just a little lower, his face dragging just a tad closer to your ear.

“i don’t want anyone making you feel unsafe. or disgusted. especially not some pathetic little creep who thinks his dick deserves attention.”

you swallowed, keeping focus on his gorgeous face; that mischievous glint in his eyes, the devious curl on his wet lips. he was still smiling, but there was something else in his expression now — sharp. protective. hungry.

and when you didn’t answer, enzo gently tugged you closer by your thighs, tilting his head.

“unless you’re too shy to see it?”

your lips parted, words rushing to get out in a short protest. “i’m not.”

“you sure?” he whispered, thumbs rubbing up your inner thigh now, almost brushing the edge of your panties. “because you can. if you want. i’ll even let you take the picture. show him what a real one looks like.”

your thighs squeezed together, trapping his digits briefly in between. your skin was warm, warmer than before, and where his hands stood — the patches burnt with unspoken desire. the heat licked up your spine too, spreading arousal all over your body like a raging fire.

you stared at him.

you’d known lorenzo your whole life.

and yet… right now, you couldn’t stop picturing what he would look like bare.

hard.

just for you.

your voice came out small, just a flimsy string of sanity keeping you away from his plan. “he won’t believe it’s real.”

enzo shrugged, eyes dark, whispering yet another possibility. “then we’ll take another. with your hand on it this time.”

“enzo!” you gasped, outraged by his proposition, going as far as pushing the pillow into his face.

but he only grinned wider, accepting your attacks with open arms and letting the pillow crash into his face. he immediately removed it, throwing it out of the way, and took back his position next to your blushing face.

“say the word, babe. i’ll even get it hard for you.”

you swallowed again.

you could feel your heartbeat in your throat, in your stomach, in the places where his thumbs were still drawing lazy little circles against your inner thighs.

the summer heat had nothing on the burn spreading beneath your skin now. and the look on his face — steady, teasing, inviting — wasn't helping.

“okay.” you murmured, almost like you were afraid to break the moment, finally giving in. “okay… let's do it.”

“yeah?” enzo’s brows lifted just a bit — surprised… or thrilled.

you nodded, lips parted, your tongue already poking out and wetting your lips.

“but… only if you get hard first. i’m not sending him a softie.”

enzo barked out a laugh, loud and wicked. “god, you’re fucking perfect.”

his hands slid from your thighs to his lap, lazily adjusting himself in his boxers. he was already half-hard, just from the idea of you seeing him. he didn’t even try to hide the way his cock twitched when you looked down, just once, then looked away quickly like you hadn’t meant to.

“c’mere.” he said, voice a little rougher now. “closer. talk to me.”

“talk to you?”

he hummed, stroking himself through the thin cotton, tentatively gripping his cock with his long fingers. he didn’t take it out yet — afraid to scare you — but you could still see the shape of him swelling beneath the fabric, thick and eager.

“yeah. want you to talk me through it.”

“enzo…” his name bloomed on your tongue with a whiny tinge, barely escaping from between your lips.

but he heard it clearly. he let out a low, throaty groan as a result, his head slightly lolling back on the couch.

“fuck. say it again.”

“what?”

“my name. with that voice…” he breathed, slowly dragging his palm up and down the length of his cock, the fabric now visibly wet at the tip, clinging to his mushroomy tip.

“goddamn, babe. didn’t know you could sound like that when you say it.”

you swallowed hard, thighs pressing together, your own panties now marked by dripping need. he looked beautiful like this — messy hair damp from sweat, chest rising and falling with each breath, mouth parted as he stared at you like he could eat you alive.

“enzo.” you whispered, unsure if you were trying to calm him down or make it worse. “you’re… getting really hard.”

“because of you.” he groaned again, accentuating it with a harsher tug on his cock. “your voice. your fucking voice, babe — talk to me.”

your cheeks flamed, but something in you cracked open; some hungry, curious part of you that liked the way his hips bucked into his hand at the mere sounds of your voice. liked the way his lashes fluttered, how his eyes rolled back.

liked how needy he looked.

“you’re doing so good.” you whispered seductively, barely able to believe the words were coming from your own mouth. “look at you…”

enzo whined, pressing harder against his boxers. fuck, this was really happening!

“look at how hard you are.” you said, braver now, watching his cock twitch under his touch. “shit… all for me?”

“yes, yes, fuck, yes–” he was panting now, jerking himself faster, his head tipped back completely, throat taut. “keep going, please– your voice, i– fuck, i’ve never gotten this hard this fast–”

“you’re gonna make a mess in your boxers…” you tutted, more to yourself, pressing your thighs together — now shamelessly.

“you want me to help? want me to pull them down and stroke you for real?”

enzo whimpered, and this time he shuddered — hips lifting, breath stuttering, a thick wet patch forming all over his cock.

“babe–” he gasped, looking at you like you’d just offered him the most amazing offer in the world. “please. please touch me.”

your palm was hot against his abs before he even finished the sentence.

and when your fingers slid under the waistband of his boxers — slow, sweet, teasing — lorenzo’s breath caught in his throat like you’d just sucked the life out of him.

his cock sprang free, flushed and twitching, curved thick and dripping precum towards his belly.

and fuck, he really was big. more than you imagined. heavy and sticky in your hand when you finally curled your fingers around him.

“fuck, enzo.” you whispered.

he groaned, head tilting to the side to see your hand work around him.

“say that again.” he rasped, eyes glued to your fingers wrapping around his shaft, getting all wet and nasty with his arousal. “say my name. say anything. just… don’t stop.”

you leaned in closer, breath feathering over his cock as you began to stroke him close to your face — slow, gentle pulls from base to tip, gathering the leaking precum with your thumb and swirling it over the flushed tip. he jerked at the touch, hips bucking, one hand gripping the couch for dear life.

“you’re so sensitive…” you murmured, tilting your head, studying him. “does it feel good, enzo?”

“yes– fuck, yes. your hands– god, your hands are so soft!”

you smiled, slow and sly. your other hand joined in, cupping his balls, stroking in rhythm with the other, until he was panting again, hips faltering, lashes fluttering with every twist of your wrist.

“you’re so pretty like this.” you breathed, voice all syrup and sugar, so close to his cock, yet so far away. “flushed and messy. moaning just from my hands.”

enzo bit his lip, the sound that escaped him something halfway between a sob and a growl.

“fuck, keep going– don’t stop– say more–”

you leaned in, lips brushing the muscles of his abdomen, voice like velvet.

“you gonna cum for me, babe? just from my voice and my hands? poor thing, you’re so pent up…”

“holy shit–”

his stomach jumped, his thighs trembled, and his hand suddenly darted for your phone, unlocking it with shaking fingers.

“what are you doing?” you asked, still stroking him, but slower now, more curious than anything.

“picture.” he panted. “fuck– we need to send that creep a real dick pic. one he’ll never forget.”

oh, that’s right. you were supposed to get him hard for a picture…

“you’re gonna send him this?” you laughed, light and breathless, watching as he snapped a photo of your delicate hand wrapped around his flushed cock. “you’re actually so cruel.”

that michael guy will fucking die.

“you’re the one stroking me like this.” he said with a grin, snapping another picture from a lower angle, your other hand on his balls now visible. “and your voice– fuck, your voice is even hotter than your hand.”

you squeezed him, just to make him shut up and focus on you.

he gasped at your ministration, nearly dropping the phone on you.

“enzo.” you whispered against his ear, your thumb brushing under the head. “focus on me, babe. cum for me.”

he did.

with a strangled moan and a whimper of your name, he spilled all over your hand and his stomach, cock twitching in your grip. he finally released the phone somewhere beside him, both hands flying to your hand as he rode it out, chanting your name like a prayer.

“fuck. fuck, babe–” he panted, pulling you in closer, resting his head on your shoulder, still shaking a little. “you’re unreal.”

before either of you could say a word, the notification pinged.

michael had already replied.

lol that’s a stock image :)

enzo stared at the message. blinked. stared again.

and then, very softly, almost in disbelief. “stock image?”

you snorted, and then started to laugh — loud and breathless, your forehead falling against his shoulder as your dirty fingers absently toyed with his still-softening cock, now wet and twitching in your palm.

“enzo.” you gasped between laughs. “he thinks… he thinks that is a stock image?”

“my dick is not a stock image.” he mumbled, borderline offended, his voice cracking with the way you were still feather-dancing across him. “what stock photo site has your hand in it?”

you grinned, turning your head just enough to catch the pink flush blooming on his cheeks.

“you want to prove it to him?” you asked, wickedly sweet, now concocting a plan of your own.

“…how?” enzo glanced at you, heart in his throat, his whole body buzzing with expectation.

you leaned in, lips brushing his jaw. “fuck me. right now. raw. and take a video.”

he froze.

and then–

“w–what?”

“you heard me.” you whispered. “he doesn’t think you’re real? let’s give him something real.”

enzo’s cock twitched again in your hand — just barely — but enough to signal he was hardening again.

“please.” you breathed, nosing at his neck, voice breaking into something soft and whiny. exactly how he likes it. “fuck me, enzo. i need it. want you so bad–”

your voice cracked with desperation, half faux, half real.

“need you inside me. need you to fill me up. make me yours.”

enzo whimpered, eyes rolling back once more, the mere image of you impaled on his cock making his pulse spike. he was still sensitive, still dazed, but you begging like that?

he grabbed your waist, almost clumsily, and guided you into his lap — your soaked panties rubbing against his cock, already stiff beneath you.

“you don’t know what you’re asking for.” he whispered, trembling. “i won’t be able to stop.”

you cupped his face, squishing his cheeks together and making his lips into a pout.  barely touching them, you whispered one final request.

“good. i don’t want you to.”

he didn’t waste another second.

his hands gripped your hips like he owned them — like he always had — and with one swift motion, he pulled your soaked panties aside, guiding his thick cock to your dripping slit. the blunt head bumped your folds, sticky and aching, and your body clenched before he even pushed in.

“hold the phone.” you whispered, breathless, reaching for it where he’d dropped it on the cushion. you tilted it up just as you sank onto him, but he couldn’t comply.

lorenzo groaned, deep and broken. his head slammed back against the couch and his hands tightened, digging into your waist as you slid down his cock — inch by thick inch — stretching, aching.

taking him raw.

“fuck. babe.” his voice cracked. “you feel insane. so fucking wet. you’re dripping down my balls– fuck–”

you whimpered, clutching his shoulders for balance, camera still rolling in your other hand. the way he filled you up was nothing short of divine — so thick and deep. he curved just right, making your pussy clench around him like it was made for him.

you bounced once.

enzo yelled.

hand flew to your ass, spreading you wider, keeping you flush against him as you began to ride — sloppy, wet, desperate. his cock dragged along your walls perfectly, the obscene sound of your arousal filling the space between you, your breaths quick and needy.

the slight flash of the phone still capturing everything.

“y–you’re gonna–” he whined, eyes fluttering as he stared between your bodies. “god, i’m gonna lose my fucking mind.”

you laughed softly against his neck, still bouncing, nails digging into his shoulders as you went deeper and deeper with every move. “yeah? you’ve been imagining this?”

“every night.” he admitted, voice breaking. “every fucking night, since we were teenagers.”

you moaned his name, pleased with his answer, rocking your hips faster. and enzo shuddered, grabbing the base of his cock as you rode him, watching it disappear again and again into your soaked cunt.

“you want proof?” you panted, angling the camera down even more, catching the perfect image of your pussy fluttering around enzo’s cock. for the creep in your dms. “tell him, babe. tell him this is real.”

lorenzo looked at the phone — flushed, panting, eyes nearly wild, watching himself disappear in your greedy tight hole on film.

it was so hot, shit–

“this is my girl. my fucking pussy. you wish you had her voice in your ear while you came. but guess what?”

he wrapped an arm around your back, pulling you down until your forehead flushed against his, hips snapping up hard–

“she’s riding me.”

you moaned when he thrust up again — rough, relentless, so deep you could barely catch your breath. the head of his cock dragged right over that spot that made your thighs shake, your body clenching around him in helpless pulses.

enzo grunted, hips stuttering, the wet slap of your bodies echoing through the apartment.

“you hear that?” he breathed, voice hoarse with awe, sweat beading along his temple as he watched you bounce. “fuck, it’s so loud — that’s your pussy, babe. sucking me in.”

“enzo…” you whimpered, nails clawing at his shoulder. “you’re so deep– too good–”

he angled his hips just right, the tip of his cock nudging your cervix, and your body jerked. your walls clamping down so tight that his eyes fluttered shut and his head dropped back again.

“you’re close, huh?” he rasped. “feels like you’re about to fucking milk me.”

you nodded, frantic, desperate.

“tell me what you want.” he panted, breath shallow, also close to climax. “tell me how you want it.”

your voice broke. you were already trembling.

“inside.” you gasped, not even ashamed now. “please, enzo– want you to cum in me. fill me up. make it messy.”

he growled like an animal, finally catching his prey.

“fuck– fuck, babe” he slammed up into you so hard you saw stars, one hand clutching at your ass, the other gripping your hip so tight it would bruise. “say that again. say it.”

you pulled the phone back up, aiming the camera down at where you were connected once more — where his cock was glistening, coated in you, buried all the way to the hilt.

“i want your cum.” you whispered close to your phone, with eyes locked on his own blown-out orbs. “deep inside me. i want you to ruin me, enzo.”

his hips jerked. a broken moan punched out of him.

“you’re so– fuck, you’re gonna make me–”

“do it.” you moaned, hand scratching down his chest and leaving marks all over his skin. “fill me up, babe. i want it all.”

he came with a cry — full-body shudder, cock twitching inside you as he emptied himself in thick, hot spurts. you felt the heat of it coat your insides, your cunt fluttering around him in aftershock. he clung to you like he’d fall apart if he didn’t, hips still rutting weakly, desperate to stay inside you, to push it all in deeper.

you collapsed against his chest, both of you panting, his cock still sheathed inside you — warm and twitching and still dripping cum.

the camera caught it all.

his fingers found the curve of your thighs, spreading you slightly, just enough to let the phone capture your folds stretched wide around him, cum already beginning to leak.

“damn right.” he muttered, flushed and breathless, voice hoarse with pride. “real enough for you now, michael?”

michael wasn’t gonna sleep tonight.

©dearmisshoney 2025. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

tags: @theodoresvalentine, @cafechichay, @lov3notts, @nottslove, @minidemont, @yuunarii-arii

[bernardsbendystraws]

HI CUTIES!!! i know it’s been a bit! i didn’t know if i was going to be coming back to post on my blog, but after thinking with a clear mind, i’m going to stick around! i’ve done a lot of journaling and talking with my therapist. i do tend to always have an all or nothing mindset and it’s something i wanna work on because it’s never a good mindset to have.

i am still forever sorry about the situation. i am really grateful for how much i learned from it. with that being said, i’m doing things to do them for the right reasons for myself. this is my safe space and i intend to take better care of it for me and for others who want to be apart of that same kind of energy.

i completely understand if you’d like to block/unfollow or whatnot. that’s up to you and your own boundaries and feelings and thats 100% valid! i wont take it personally because i’m not here to have any sort of reputation, followers, or anything like that. i’m here because this is something that makes me happy. the triplets are people that really make my life easier and having even just a couple friends in the community to fangirl with is a feeling i really cherish.

however, with the clarity and thinking over things, not everything will be the same. i don’t mean this in a scary way so don’t freak out lol. what i mean is, im doing this to fangirl. i like reading, i like writing, and i love the sturniolo bitchlets. no drama or controversy or anything will be acknowledged on my page and i will be blocking accounts that do participate in that stuff. its toxic and it hurts people when this is supposed to be a safe space and i wish id realized that a lot sooner and i am sorry for participating in that behavior in the past.

i’m aware some haven’t and will not be pleased of how i have acted, behaved, and handled things. and that’s okay. i’m not going to act or perform a certain way in order to get the most amount of people to forgive me. forgiveness is not why i took accountability and apologized, i said what i said because i still am sorry and the people i hurt and effected deserved to hear remorse and accountability from my end. i’m not here for followers or a reputation. i will not perform in any way to be accepted. i’ve done what i’ve needed to do and i’m not gonna sit here and try to convince others of that. no one gets to tell you how to feel except for you.

there’s a lot i’m proud of on here and a lot i’m not. i’ve done a lot of self reflecting. i’ve forgiven myself and accepted that the only way to move forward is being better for myself and others. do whatever is best for you in this situation. i hurt people and you’re all allowed to feel and do whatever makes this a safe space for you since that’s what we’re all here for!

not sure how much i’ll be active or doing things. i’m gonna be really checking in with myself and starting things very slowly so bare with me lol. i want to find what feels just right with me and for me. not an all or nothing concept anymore. my therapist and i have done a whole plan of how i can best proceed for my own well being and i will not be divulging in any reasoning/scheduling to anyone. it’s personal. my therapist knows the situation and knows me the best and i will not be accepting advise from people who don’t know me. i hope this can be respected. if this is something you don’t wish to see, you make your own boundary and block please!

also, the biggest thank you is echoing from the bottom of my heart and to my friends who have supported me. i wouldn’t have been able to do shit without all the support and some of them knew exactly what to say, things i didn’t even know i needed to hear. i’ve always been insecure about my personality. i get overly excited and i know i can come off loud. but what i get insecure about is some of my friends favorite things about me. that really sat with me and this isn’t necessary to add but i think that’s something i want everyone to think about because i know i needed to hear it.

tumblr is fun if you make it fun, just like everything else. i need to stop having an all or nothing mindset and this is me doing exactly that. i don’t know how much i’ll write and be active, what i do know is im doing this for myself and my friends. if that’s not okay with you, that’s alright. you draw your boundaries and i will do the same.

i do think i will be adding non triplet content in the premise of self care. my page is whatever i make it and thats always been an important aspect to me. i don’t wanna sound all boho whatever, but i’ve grown a lot as a person. losing certain things made me gain a lot of perspective and i think if i can even let one person know something they need to hear, that���s beautiful. it’s the point to have fun and find meaning in the dumbest things. you’re not living life to find a meaning, you’re living life for the experience. i want to experience beautiful things and i want to be the reason others do too. i want to have fun and make this a safe place i know it can be again. if that’s too much or if this is all too little for you, no ones forcing you to stay. in my pinned, i mean it when i say “stay as long as you’d like.”

i’ve rambled far too long probably but i’ve never been one to shy away from saying exactly what i mean. stay as long as you’d like. make this your own safe place and i will do the same.

with love and big tits, rose 🫶🏻

[onyxluvjiro]

Hey! Can you make a Mac x Reader piece that involves the reader having severe fatigue from disability (NSFW or SFW). I'm sorry if that sounds insanely specific, it's just hard to find x reader fics that have stuff like that. I like seeing the stuff I deal with incorporated into stories XD

i did have to ask a friend who has similar disabilities how to write this respectfully and most accurately so it took a hot second!

—

sfw and nsfw !

—

Of course mac knows all about your disability, i mean, all your documents and doctors notices were on the computer. Especially when covid hit and certain doctors visits had to be digital.

So when you put on those glasses, and open the door to further communications, they are absolutely smitten with you. It never was platonic really, and you didn’t mind it one bit. Especially the way you were so patient with you when it came to more intense activities.

They are always there to help you ! and if you’re also ambulatory wheelchair user it’s even better. Would get you matching led lights for your wheelchair. Even if you’re not, if you feel light headed/ need to sit, their lap is the comfiest place.

They love to help you design and personalize your mobility aids, often times looking up certain products to decorate them with. And of course, they have matching designs on their own mobility aids as well.

I know for a fact mac would never let you overwork yourself to the point of passing out, since they know practically everything about your condition. But if it ever gets to that point, as knowledgeable as they are, they immediately get help from the other objects, specifically Farya who has all your medical paperwork and knowledge.

You’d wake up in their arms, their worries immediately melting as you promised them that you’d never overwork yourself to that point again.

—

Now for more nsfw stuff!

—

Will gladly take the lead when it comes to having sex, especially when you get too exhausted to do too much physical activity. Mac is definitely the type to get off when their partner feels good, so as long as you’re feeling good, they don’t mind doing most of the work!

Low effort sex with mac!!

laying in the bed, mac spooning you as they fuck your pretty little hole, your bodies tangled in a heap of hot n sweaty bodies. It’s slow, but deep, making you feel oh so good. They know you’ve been having an off day, your medical condition has been acting up recently, leaving you bed ridden for most of the day.

But you were both horny, and you wanted them. So with one hand raising your upper leg, they fuck into you at a mild pace, their own moans coaxing you into a gentle yet blinding orgasm, watching you come apart in their arms was all they could ask for.

Sometimes, when you have enough energy you find yourself riding them, strap on or not they love to see your hips slowly grinding on them, their hands encouragingly holding your hips as you ride them. Their lips kissing marks all into your neck as they help you ride their cock, soothing you with words, their thumb coming down to play with your clit/cock.

Mutual masturbation is something mac is also into, watching you touch yourself, knuckle deep in your hole as they touch themselves all the same. They wish that your fingers were theirs, shoved deep inside you, pleasing you by pressing down on that good spot but the knowledge that they can’t reach out to you to touch you also turns them on so much.

Any position of any kind that helps you with your condition and to not get too tired is fine by them, as long as you feel good, that’s all they care about.

Aftercare with Mac is amazing, mainly consisting of them cleaning you up and a cuddle session mixed with a nice nap. But that’s all you could ask for, a caring and loving partner to help you.

—

lmk if this was accurate/ you liked it! sorry if it’s not 😣 n sorry if it’s short

[formulafanfics13]

it's so clear u use ai to write ur fics girl u ain't fooling anyone

the biggest giveaway to me is that ur fics used to be full of em dashes and now suddenly they're badly placed hyphens, and the amount of stuff you post, ain't no one got that much time

i've also dabbled in chat gpt enough to know exactly how it writes. i know that it can write smut despite it having guidelines. u probably won't post this but i wanted to say that i see what ur doing

i’ve actually spoken about this before, but just to clarify again, no, i don’t use ai to write my fics. i’m not comfortable with it, i don’t use it, and i’ve always been upfront about that. if you scroll through the replies under one of my older posts, you’ll see me explain that my laptop automatically uses em dashes and i do try to avoid having these in my work. that said, if you look throughout my work, there are still plenty of em dashes scattered in, i just don’t have the time to go back and check every single one.

i’ve also said before that my own university work used to get flagged for sounding “ai-generated”, simply because of the way i naturally write. i’ve always had a fast-paced, structured writing style, and i love playing with language. so i completely understand where the assumption might come from, but i promise, this is just me.

i work really hard on the things i share here. there are days i spend up to 17 hours writing, not because i have to, but because i genuinely love it. this blog is my creative space, and the fact that so many of you choose to be here and read my writing is something i’ll never take for granted.

but that being said, if you don’t enjoy my writing, please don’t feel the need to stay. i respect that everyone’s allowed their own opinions, i just ask that we all try to be kind while we share them. i’m a real person behind the screen, doing my best to create something joyful, safe, and exciting for anyone who needs a little escape 🧡

[jungkoode]

WE GREW UP SOMEWHERE ALONG THE WAY | 04

pairing: hoseok x f!reader | rating: 18+ | wc: 9,4k | warnings: here genre: childhood bffs, grumpy x sunshine, emotional slow burn, smut

"cat ears"

You swore this was about ramen and reference work. But now you’re blushing in cat ears while your childhood best friend stares at you like you’re the entire fucking plot.

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↦ author's note : Hiii omg I’m so excited to finally be dropping this chapter!! Like genuinely bouncing-on-my-heels-squealing excited. I love this fanfic with my whole chest—like, it makes me feel all floaty and squishy and hollow and full at the same time?? It’s so bittersweet, and I don’t mean in the fake deep way, I mean in the visceral ache in your sternum kind of way. The melancholy/sweetness dichotomy is actually feral. It haunts me when I write. It’s the ghost of every almost-love that never quite made it to the finish line. This chapter carries that energy like it’s been marinating in it.

Let’s start with the obvious (and what many of you amazing nerds clocked IMMEDIATELY)—Hoseok’s ADHD. YEP. He’s not just quirky and chaotic and manic pixie bimbo artist-coded. He’s neurodivergent and he knows it. Late-diagnosed. Like me. Like many of us. And yes, I’m writing it on purpose. ADHD is not just “teehee I got distracted!!” It is executive dysfunction. It is the absence of an internal reward system. Like… people with ADHD don’t get the dopamine boost from “doing the thing” the way neurotypicals do. We rely on novelty, urgency, interest, passion, and external consequence. If something doesn’t hit one of those buttons? Good luck. That’s why he goes down Wikipedia rabbit holes instead of sleeping. That’s why his creative highs come with crashing lows. That’s why his time management is mystical, and not in a good way. I want to portray that reality in a way that feels lived. Because it is. By me. By so many of you. We’re out here half-dead and hyperfixating and vibing through sheer adrenaline and vibes alone.

Capy. My girl. My feral little gremlin with sensory issues and avoidance coping and a thousand unspoken feelings. I didn’t give her a diagnosis, because she doesn’t have one. Not everyone does. That’s also real. You can be neurodivergent and never get diagnosed. You can struggle with taste and texture and food aversion and nobody calls it what it is because you’re “high functioning” or “just picky” or “emotional.” But she feels the world like it’s too much. And that affects both her sense of taste and touch. The food thing isn’t just picky—it’s about texture, smell, mouthfeel, the way certain ingredients coat the tongue or burn the back of your throat or feel wrong in your molars. And the touch stuff? Don’t even get me started. Cabbage is fine. Algae? She’d rather die. It’s a war crime in her mouth. I built that into her without making it A Thing™ because so many people live like that without ever being handed a name for it.

And now… the cat ears. Y’all. Why did it get so deeply feral so fast. The good kitty comment? I need to be institutionalized. The immediate bodily reaction??? I was giggling and kicking my feet and also dying of secondhand embarrassment. I don’t know what happened, but I blacked out. Writing it was like being possessed by a demon who runs a fanservice café in Ikebukuro. ALSOOOO. The ending? THE ENDING???? Get these two absolute idiots OUT OF MY FACE. They’re adorable. They’re disasters. I want to smack them both and then wrap them in a weighted blanket. I love them so much it actually hurts. Anyway. Go suffer. Or enjoy. Same difference. And maybe… idk… buy a pair of cat ears for yourself? Or don’t. Either way, your secrets are safe with me. Mwah mwah mwah.

The second week of corporate hell begins with Davidson explaining the ‘revolutionary potential of cross-platform peptide messaging’ while you contemplate whether throwing yourself out the seventh-floor window would be considered a workplace accident or a cry for help.

"The synergistic possibilities are truly limitless," Davidson continues, gesturing at a PowerPoint slide that appears to have been designed by someone having a seizure. "When we leverage our core competencies in biochemical narrative construction—"

Your phone buzzes against your thigh, and you shift slightly to check it under the conference table.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤 (10:23 AM): 𝚂𝙾𝚂. 𝙼𝚊𝚢𝚍𝚊𝚢. 𝙼𝚊𝚢𝚍𝚊𝚢. 𝙸'𝚖 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚕𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚒'𝚜 𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍. 𝙷𝚎𝚕𝚙.

You glance around the conference room. 

Davidson is still pontificating about peptide synergy. Yuki catches your eye from across the table and makes a subtle face that suggests she's also contemplating defenestration.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 (10:24 AM): 𝙲𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚜 𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍. 𝙻𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚜𝚗𝚊𝚔𝚎. 𝚂𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚙, 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤 (10:25 AM): 𝙾𝙷𝙷𝙷 𝚢𝚎𝚜! 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝! 𝚈𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚊 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚞𝚜! 𝙰 𝚌𝚊𝚝-𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚞𝚜!

𝐘𝐨𝐮 (10:26 AM): 𝙸'𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚙𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚢. 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚒𝚎.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤 (10:27 AM): 𝙿𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚢 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎. 𝙰 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 (10:28 AM): 𝙳𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛. 𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤 (10:29 AM): 𝙸'𝚖 𝚌𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙸'𝚖 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙼𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍.

"Y/N-san?" Davidson's voice cuts through your text conversation like a rusty knife. "Your thoughts on the peptide positioning strategy?"

You look up to find the entire conference room staring at you. 

Yuki gives you a barely perceptible thumbs up from across the table.

"I think," you say, scrambling for something that sounds remotely professional, "that peptides are... very synergistic. And the positioning possibilities are... limitless."

Davidson beams like you've just solved world hunger. "Exactly! That's the kind of innovative thinking we need!"

Your phone buzzes again.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤 (10:32 AM): 𝙱𝚝𝚠 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚙𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚘 𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚜? 𝙻𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚢 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚜.

The meeting drags on for another forty-seven minutes. 

You know this because you've been counting, and also because Hoseok has been providing running commentary that makes the whole experience slightly less soul-crushing.

After 40 minutes of pretend attention, you decide to reply.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 (11:16 AM): 𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚍𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝?

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤 (11:17 AM): 𝚆𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚊 𝚆𝚒𝚔𝚒𝚙𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚊 𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝. 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙 𝚌𝚊𝚝 𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚢, 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚜.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 (11:18 AM): 𝙽𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚕 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚢.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤 (11:19 AM): 𝙰𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚜𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚞𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖. 𝚅𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐. 

𝐘𝐨𝐮 (11:20 AM): 𝚁𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚞𝚖 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖?

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤 (11:21 AM): 𝟷𝟿𝟸𝟶𝚜! 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚘𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝙻𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚜. ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ 

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤 (11:21 AM): 𝙿𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚍. ┐(￣～￣)┌

𝐘𝐨𝐮 (11:22 AM): 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤 (11:23 AM): 𝚁𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝? 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚎'𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚜. 𝙷𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚜.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 (11:24 AM): 𝙰𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚠?

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤 (11:25 AM): 𝙳𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 '𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐' 𝚒𝚜 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎. 𝙸'𝚖 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚅𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 (11:26 AM): 𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚜𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢?

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤 (11:27 AM): 𝙰𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚢𝚎𝚜. 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚒'𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚛𝚌 𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟽 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢. 𝙽𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏-𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑.

That actually makes sense, which is somehow more concerning than if he'd just been procrastinating.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 (11:28 AM): 𝚈𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚛𝚍.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤 (11:29 AM): 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞! 𝙱𝚝𝚠 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝? 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔-𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 (11:30 AM): 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚖𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚜.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤 (11:31 AM): 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝 '𝚒𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎' 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚜. 𝚅𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚕.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 (11:32 AM): 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤 (11:33 AM): 𝚂𝚎𝚎? 𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝! 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟼. 

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤 (11:33 AM): 𝚂𝚘 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛?

You glance around the conference room again. 

Davidson is now drawing diagrams on the whiteboard that look like molecular structures but are probably just random squiggles. 

Yuki is openly reading a magazine under the table.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 (11:34 AM): 𝙵𝚒𝚗𝚎. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝙸'𝚖 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤 (11:35 AM): 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚕! 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙸'𝚕𝚕 𝚙𝚊𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔!

𝐘𝐨𝐮 (11:36 AM): 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛.

"And that," Davidson announces with the air of someone who's just solved world hunger, "is how we'll revolutionize the anti-aging market through strategic peptide positioning!"

Everyone claps politely. 

You put your phone away and join in, wondering if this is what death feels like—slow, corporate, and accompanied by the sound of forced applause.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of peptide enthusiasm and brand synergy discussions. 

By 5:30, you're ready to throw yourself into Osaka Bay, but instead you find yourself standing outside the convenience store near Hoseok's apartment, staring at the wall of instant meal options like they hold the secrets of the universe.

You've been standing here for approximately eight minutes, holding the same two packages and pretending to read ingredients you can't pronounce.

The thing is, you know exactly what you're going to buy. 

You always know. 

But there's something about the process of considering other options that feels necessary, even if it's completely pointless.

The chicken broth ramen sits in your left hand—the brand with the simple packaging and ingredients list that doesn't include any of the weird additives that make your tongue feel like it's trying to escape your mouth. 

In your right hand, you're holding some kind of seafood variant that you picked up purely for the illusion of choice.

You know you're going to choose the chicken. You always choose the chicken. The algae extract in most of the other flavors makes your entire mouth feel wrong, like you've licked a fish tank, and the 'mystery meat' chunks in the premium versions have a texture that makes your skin crawl.

But still, you stand there, reading labels, because apparently this is what passes for decision-making in your life now.

"Excuse me," says a voice behind you, and you step aside automatically, assuming someone needs to reach the shelf.

Instead, when you turn around, Hoseok is standing there with his hands in his pockets, grinning at you like he's just won the lottery.

"What the hell are you doing here?" you ask, nearly dropping both packages.

"Rescuing you from your inevitable choice paralysis," he says, nodding toward the ramen in your hands. "You've been standing here for ten minutes."

"I have not been standing here for ten minutes."

"Capy, I live upstairs. I can see the convenience store from my window. You've been staring at that same shelf for ten minutes, holding the same two packages, doing that thing where you pretend to consider other options but you're obviously going to choose the chicken broth because it's the only one that doesn't have algae extract or those weird gelatinous chunks you hate."

You stare at him. "How do you know about the algae thing?"

"Because I pay attention. Also, you made the same face in middle school when your mom tried to make you eat seaweed soup. Like someone was forcing you to swallow a live fish."

The accuracy of this observation is both impressive and deeply unsettling.

"I don't make faces," you protest.

"You absolutely make faces. You're making one right now." He reaches past you and grabs two packages of the chicken broth ramen, plus a third one that looks different. "This one's new. Same brand, but they added mushrooms. No algae, no weird chunks. Want to try it?"

You study the package he's holding. 

The ingredients list is mercifully short and doesn't include anything that sounds like it was harvested from the ocean floor.

"Maybe," you admit reluctantly.

"Progress! The great Capybara, trying new things!" He starts walking toward the register, and you follow automatically. "What else do we need? Drinks? Snacks? Something to make this dinner feel like an actual meal instead of just two people eating instant noodles on my floor?"

"It is just two people eating instant noodles on your floor."

"But we can dress it up! Make it fancy! Add... I don't know, vegetables or something."

"You don't own vegetables."

"I could own vegetables. I'm a responsible adult who makes healthy choices."

You give him a look.

"Fine, I'll buy vegetables. Right now. Watch me be domestic and nutritious."

He veers toward the small produce section, which consists of about six items that look like they've been sitting under the fluorescent lights since the store opened. 

He picks up a bag of pre-cut cabbage and waves it triumphantly.

"Vegetables! I am the picture of healthy living!"

"That's cabbage."

"Cabbage is a vegetable. A very important vegetable. Full of... vitamins and... other healthy things."

"You have no idea what vitamins are in cabbage."

"Vitamin C! Probably! Most vegetables have vitamin C!"

Despite yourself, you're fighting a smile. "You're an idiot."

"An idiot who's about to make you the most nutritious instant ramen dinner of your life." He grabs a package of eggs from the refrigerated section. "Protein! We're basically having a balanced meal now!"

You watch him collect items with the enthusiasm of someone who's just discovered the concept of food. 

It's ridiculous and endearing and you hate how much you like seeing him this animated about something as mundane as convenience store shopping.

"Anything else?" he asks, arms full of packages. "Dessert? Ice cream? Those little cakes that are probably 90% preservatives but taste amazing?"

"Just the ramen is fine."

"Just the ramen is never fine. We're getting ice cream." He heads toward the freezer section. "What flavor do you want?"

"I don't want ice cream."

"Everyone wants ice cream. It's scientifically impossible not to want ice cream." He opens the freezer and cold air billows out. "Vanilla? Chocolate? Something weird and Japanese that we can't identify but might be delicious?"

"Hoseok—"

"Strawberry! You always liked strawberry." He grabs a small container before you can protest. "And I'll get chocolate because I'm predictable like that."

You want to argue, but the truth is you do like strawberry ice cream, and the fact that he remembered this completely irrelevant detail from your childhood makes something warm and complicated twist in your chest.

"Fine," you say. "But I'm not paying for your emotional support ice cream."

"Deal. I'm rich from all my pornographic artistic endeavors anyway."

The cashier—a teenage boy who looks like he'd rather be literally anywhere else—rings up your purchases with the kind of aggressive disinterest that only comes from working retail. He doesn't even blink at Hoseok's comment about pornographic art, which probably says something about either his English comprehension or his level of caring about customer conversations.

Outside the store, the early evening air is cool and carries the scent of rain that might come later. The vending machines cast their eternal glow across the sidewalk, and somewhere in the distance a train whistle echoes through the urban landscape.

"So," Hoseok says as you walk the thirty seconds to his building entrance, "ready for your surprise?"

"I told you I hate surprises."

"You liked the Momo surprise, though."

You hate him. Because you did like the Momo surprise. 

"That was… That was different."

"This one involves your professional artistic collaboration skills and possibly some very interesting character development insights."

"That's not a surprise, that's work."

"Work can be surprising! Especially when it involves creative breakthroughs and artistic revelations!"

You follow him up the four flights of stairs, listening to him chatter about artistic revelations while carrying a plastic bag full of instant ramen and impulse purchases. 

It's domestic in a way that makes you uncomfortable—not because it's weird, but because it feels so natural.

Like this is something you could do every day. Like this could be your routine.

Which is a dangerous thought for approximately seventeen different reasons.

"Here we are," he announces, fumbling with his keys while balancing the grocery bag. "Home sweet chaotic home."

The door opens, and you step into the familiar organized chaos of his apartment. 

Momo appears immediately, scurrying down from her perch near the window to investigate the new arrivals.

"Hey, princess," Hoseok coos, setting down the groceries and offering his hand for her to sniff. "Look who came to visit again."

Momo considers you for a moment, then approaches cautiously. When you crouch down and extend your fingers, she doesn't immediately flee, which feels like progress.

"She likes you," Hoseok observes. "This is huge development in sugar glider diplomacy."

"Don't make it weird."

"Too late. Momo has chosen you as acceptable."

You stand up, brushing off your knees, and that's when you notice what he's wearing.

Or rather, what he's not wearing.

He's changed out of his usual casual clothes into what can only be described as professional attire—dark jeans that actually fit properly, a button-down shirt that looks like it's been ironed, and those black-rimmed glasses that make him look like he knows what he's doing.

It's jarring, seeing him dressed like a functional adult instead of an overgrown art student.

"Why are you dressed like you have somewhere important to be?" you ask.

He glances down at himself, then back at you. "What, this? This is just... clothes."

"Those are nice clothes. You ironed that shirt."

"I own an iron. I'm a sophisticated adult person."

"Since when?"

"Since always! I just don't usually... okay, fine, I wanted to look professional for our professional artistic collaboration session."

"It's not that professional."

"It could be! If we wanted it to be! Which we do! Because we're serious artists taking our craft seriously!"

The enthusiasm in his voice doesn't quite mask something else—nervousness, maybe? Like he's trying to convince himself as much as you.

"Hoseok," you say carefully, "what exactly is this surprise?"

His grin falters slightly, and for a moment you see something vulnerable underneath the manic energy.

"I'll show you after dinner," he says. "But first, let me cook for you. And by cook, I mean add vegetables to instant ramen and pretend it's a real meal."

"That's not cooking."

"It's cooking-adjacent. Cooking-inspired. Cooking-influenced."

"It's adding cabbage to sodium water."

"The most sophisticated sodium water you've ever had."

Despite everything—the weird formality of his clothes, the nervous energy he's trying to hide, the way he keeps glancing at you like he's checking to make sure you're still there—you find yourself smiling.

"Fine," you say, settling onto one of the floor cushions. "Cook for me, Ott. Show me your culinary mastery."

"Prepare to be amazed, Capy. Your taste buds will never recover from this experience."

As he bustles around the tiny kitchen, chattering about the nutritional benefits of cabbage and the proper technique for soft-boiling eggs, you watch him move through his space with that same easy familiarity you noticed before.

But there's something different tonight. Something in the way he keeps adjusting his shirt, the way he's put actual effort into his appearance, the way he seems to be performing some version of himself that's more polished than usual.

It makes you wonder what exactly this surprise involves.

And why he's so nervous about it.

The ramen is, surprisingly, not terrible.

Apparently, Hoseok was right when he mentioned the addition of actual vegetables and a properly soft-boiled egg transforms it from ‘sad convenience store dinner’ to ‘almost like real food.’

You're sitting cross-legged on his floor, eating from mismatched bowls while Momo watches from her perch on the couch arm, occasionally making soft chittering sounds that might be commentary on your table manners.

"See?" Hoseok says, gesturing with his chopsticks. "Told you I could cook."

"You added cabbage to instant ramen. That's not cooking, that's... assembly."

"Assembly with flair! And nutritional value!"

You take another bite, and it really is better than your usual convenience store fare. The egg adds richness, the cabbage provides actual texture, and somehow the combination makes the whole thing feel less like desperation food and more like an actual meal.

"It's good," you admit reluctantly.

"I'm sorry, what was that? I didn't quite hear you."

"I said it's good, you insufferable—"

"She likes my cooking! Momo, did you hear that? Capy likes my cooking!"

Momo makes a sound that could be agreement or could be a request for food scraps. 

Either way, Hoseok looks pleased with himself.

"Don't let it go to your head," you warn.

"Too late. My ego is already inflated beyond repair."

You eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, letting the sounds of soft scratch of chopsticks against ceramic and cars outside fill the room. 

It's peaceful in a way that surprises you—domestic without being suffocating, familiar without being boring.

But you can't shake the feeling that Hoseok is building up to something. 

He keeps glancing at you when he thinks you're not looking, and there's a nervous energy underneath his usual chattiness that makes you wonder what exactly this surprise involves.

"So," you say finally, setting down your chopsticks. "What's the last time you slept?"

The question comes out of nowhere, surprising both of you. 

But now that you've said it, you realize it's been bothering you since you walked in. 

There are dark circles under his eyes that weren't there yesterday, and his movements have that slightly manic quality that comes from too much caffeine and not enough rest.

"Sleep is for people without deadlines," he says, but his voice lacks its usual conviction.

"Hoseok."

"I got a few hours last night. Maybe three? Four?"

"When did you last sleep for more than four hours?"

He pauses, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. 

"Define 'more than four hours.'"

"More than four consecutive hours of actual sleep. Not passing out at your desk."

"That's... a very specific definition."

"Answer the question."

He sets down his bowl, running a hand through his hair—the longer, brown hair that you're definitely not thinking about touching.

"Sunday night, maybe? I've been working on this chapter, and the deadline is Friday, and I keep getting stuck on the same scene because I can't figure out how to make Miki's emotional arc feel authentic, and then I started researching historical beauty standards, which led to reading about cosmetic chemistry, which somehow turned into a three-hour deep dive into the history of advertising psychology, and by then it was 6 AM and I figured I might as well just keep working..."

He trails off, apparently realizing how that sounds.

"You haven't slept properly in three days," you say. It's not a question.

"Sleep is overrated. I function better on caffeine and creative desperation anyway."

"That's not how human biology works."

"I'm not entirely human. I'm part artist, part caffeine, part existential crisis. Very efficient combination."

You study his face more carefully. 

The glasses hide some of the exhaustion, but now that you're looking, you can see the telltale signs—the slight tremor in his hands, the way he's talking just a little too fast, the manic brightness in his eyes that comes from pushing your brain past its limits.

"You're going to crash," you say.

"I'll crash after the deadline. Very professional crashing. Scheduled and everything."

"Hoseok—"

"I'm fine, Capy. Really. I just get like this sometimes when I'm working on something important. My brain doesn't want to stop, you know? Like there's this idea right there, just out of reach, and if I could just push a little harder, stay awake a little longer, I could grab it."

The way he says it—with a mixture of frustration and resignation—makes something click in your head.

"How long have you been like this?" you ask quietly.

"Like what?"

"The not sleeping. The hyperfocus. The way your brain jumps from cat ear anatomy to cosmetic chemistry to advertising psychology in one night."

He goes very still, and for a moment the manic energy drains out of him entirely.

"Since always," he says finally. "But I didn't have a name for it until about two years ago."

"ADHD?"

He nods, not meeting your eyes. "Late diagnosis. Apparently, I've been masking it pretty well my whole life. Or maybe not that well, and everyone just thought I was... you know. Weird. Scattered. The kid who couldn't sit still but somehow got good grades anyway."

The pieces fall into place—the way he used to bounce his leg constantly in class, the hyperfocus sessions where he'd disappear into his art for hours, the way he could remember the most random details but forget to eat lunch.

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" you ask.

"Because it felt like making excuses. Like, 'oh, I can't function like a normal person because my brain is wired differently.' But everyone's brain is wired differently, right? Everyone struggles with focus and motivation and feeling like they're not quite keeping up with the world."

"Not like this."

"No," he agrees quietly. "Not like this."

You both sit in silence for a moment, the weight of this revelation settling between you. 

It explains so much—the Wikipedia rabbit holes, the way he can talk for hours about subjects that fascinate him, the creative intensity that produces genuinely good art but leaves him exhausted and strung out.

"Are you... getting help? Medication or therapy or...?"

"Medication, yeah. When I remember to take it. Which is ironic, considering that remembering to take medication is exactly the kind of thing I need medication to help with."

"Did you take it today?"

"Define 'today.'"

"Hoseok."

"I'll take it after dinner. I promise. It just makes me feel... flat, sometimes. Like all the interesting thoughts get smoothed out along with the chaotic ones."

You understand that more than you want to admit. 

The fear that fixing the problems might also fix the things that make you who you are.

"Is that why you're so nervous tonight?" you ask. "Because you're running on no sleep and no medication and too much caffeine?"

"I'm not nervous."

"You're wearing a shirt you ironed. You're nervous."

He laughs, but it's shaky. "Maybe a little. The surprise is... it's kind of a big deal. For my work. And I want you to like it."

"Why does it matter if I like it?"

Silence.

He glances at you for a moment, then his eyes skitter away.

"Because," he says finally, "your opinion matters to me. It always has."

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tight. 

Because this is Jung Hoseok—the boy who used to climb through your window just to sit on your floor and read comics, who remembered that you like strawberry ice cream, who notices things about you that you don't even notice about yourself.

And now he's a man who draws pornographic manga and stays awake for three days straight chasing ideas, who got diagnosed with ADHD at twenty-four and is still figuring out how to live in his own brain.

But he's still the same person who wants your approval more than he wants to admit.

"Show me," you say quietly. "Whatever this surprise is. I'm ready."

His smile is soft and nervous and hopeful all at once.

"Okay," he says, standing up and offering you his hand. "But remember—you said you'd keep an open mind about my artistic vision."

"I said no such thing."

"You implied it. Very strongly implied it."

"I implied that I'd look at whatever ridiculous thing you've created and try not to mock you too harshly."

"Close enough."

You take his hand and let him pull you to your feet, trying to ignore the way his fingers feel warm and steady against yours.

"This better not be weird, Ott."

"Define weird."

"You know what weird means."

"Everything I do is weird, Capy. That's my brand."

He disappears into his bedroom (not without telling you to wait in the living room first) with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for discovering a new Wikipedia article about something completely useless.

You settle your weight onto one foot, listening to what sounds like a one-man demolition crew operating in the next room. 

Thuds, scraping sounds, what might be cursing in multiple languages, and at least one crash that makes Momo’s ears perk up in alarm.

“Everything okay in there, Ott?” you call out.

“Fine! Just… reorganizing! Very professional reorganization!”

Another crash, followed by more creative cursing.

“Maybe I should—”

“Don’t come in! It’s a surprise! A very organized, professional surprise that’s definitely not a complete disaster right now!”

Momo makes a chirping noise, probably commenting on the chaos emanating from the bedroom.

“I know,” you murmur to her. “He’s always been like this.”

She makes a small sound that might be agreement or might be a request for snacks. 

Either way, talking to the furball feels like another small victory in the ongoing campaign for sugar glider acceptance.

The sounds from the bedroom reach a crescendo of furniture scraping and what definitely sounds like him tripping over something.

“That’s it,” you announce. “I’m coming in before you actually hurt yourself.”

“No! Wait! I almost—shit!”

You push open the bedroom door just as Hoseok loses his balance while standing on his desk chair, arms windmilling wildly as he tries to grab something from the top shelf of his bookcase.

Time slows down in that particular way it does when you’re about to witness someone do something spectacularly stupid.

He’s stretching up, one hand braced against the wall, the other reaching for what looks like a small box wedged behind some manga volumes. 

His t-shirt has ridden up slightly, exposing a strip of skin at his lower back, and his hair is completely disheveled from whatever organizational chaos he’s been conducting.

And there’s something about the way he looks in that moment—slightly desperate, completely focused, unconsciously graceful despite being balanced precariously on an office chair—that makes something unfurl low in your abdomen.

Something warm and insistent and absolutely unwelcome.

You clear your throat loudly.

He startles, loses his grip on whatever he was reaching for, and the chair wobbles dangerously before he manages to steady himself against the bookcase.

“Jesus, Capy! You scared the shit out of me!”

“You scared the shit out of me! What are you doing?”

“Retrieving important artistic materials from their secure storage location.” He climbs down from the chair with as much dignity as someone can muster after nearly falling face-first into a bookshelf. “Very professional retrieval methods.”

“You were about to break your neck.”

“I was about to achieve storage access through innovative height solutions.”

“You were about to die trying to reach something on a shelf like an idiot.”

His hair is sticking up in at least three different directions, and there’s a faint flush across his cheekbones from the exertion. 

He runs a hand through the mess, trying to restore some semblance of order, but it only makes it worse.

You definitely don’t think about what he might look like in other situations that would leave his hair messed up and his cheeks flushed.

Definitely not.

“What’s so important that you needed to risk life and limb to get it?” you ask, because focusing on his questionable decision-making is safer than focusing on… other things.

“The missing piece of tonight’s professional artistic collaboration session.” He reaches behind the manga volumes again, this time from the safety of the floor, and produces a small box. “Behold!”

You stare at the box, which appears to be made of high-quality cardboard and has the kind of professional packaging that suggests it cost more than a convenience store purchase.

“What is it?”

“Revolutionary reference enhancement technology.” He opens the box with the reverence usually reserved for religious artifacts. “Custom-commissioned, professionally crafted, anatomically accurate…”

He trails off, carefully lifting something black and furry from the tissue paper.

Cat ears.

Not the cheap costume shop variety you were expecting, but actual, professional-quality cat ears that look like they could have come off a real cat if real cats were black and slightly larger than normal.

“You bought cat ears,” you say flatly.

“I commissioned cat ears,” he corrects, holding them up to the light like they’re made of precious metals. “From a professional cosplay artist. Look at the craftsmanship! The attention to detail! They’re articulated!”

He demonstrates by gently moving one of the ears, and it responds with realistic feline movement—tilting, swiveling, even flattening slightly against the headband.

“They respond to head movement and touch,” he continues, genuinely excited. “So when you’re modeling, they’ll move naturally, just like Miki’s would. For accuracy!”

“You commissioned professional cat ears for me to wear while posing for your hentai manga.”

“For character reference accuracy!” he protests. “Miki’s ears are a crucial part of her design! They express emotion, respond to stimuli, add to her overall character development!”

You take the ears from his hands, studying the craftsmanship. 

They are, grudgingly, impressive. 

The fur is soft and realistic, the articulation mechanisms are nearly invisible, and the headband looks like it’s designed for actual extended wear rather than a one-time costume party.

“How much did these cost?”

“That’s not important.”

“Hoseok.”

“They’re an investment in artistic authenticity.”

“How. Much.”

He mumbles something under his breath.

“What?”

“Twelve thousand yen,” he says quickly. “But that includes rush delivery and custom color matching and—”

“You spent 150 bucks on cat ears.”

“On professional-grade character reference enhancement accessories!”

“On cat ears, Ott. For me to wear. While posing for your porn.”

“Adult-oriented sequential art with emotional depth and realistic character development.”

You stare at him. He stares back, glasses slightly askew, hair still a disaster, clutching the empty box like it might provide moral support.

“You’re insane,” you say finally.

“I’m dedicated to my craft.”

“You’re absolutely unhinged.”

“I’m artistically committed.”

“You spent more than 100 Aussie—”

“They’re really well made!”

Despite yourself, you find your lips twitching toward a smile. 

Because this is peak Jung Hoseok behavior—spending ridiculous amounts of money on something completely unnecessary because he got excited about the technical details.

“Fine,” you say, settling the headband onto your head. “But if these look stupid, I’m never letting you live it down.”

“They won’t look stupid. They’re going to look amazing. You’re going to look exactly like—”

He stops mid-sentence as the ears settle into place.

The headband is surprisingly comfortable, lightweight enough that you barely notice it’s there. The ears themselves sit naturally, positioned just right to look like they actually belong on your head rather than like a costume accessory.

You turn to look in the small mirror above his dresser, and…

Shit.

They look good.

Not just ‘acceptable for the purposes of artistic reference’ good, but actually good. 

The black fur complements your hair color, the positioning flatters your face shape, and the way they move slightly when you turn your head is genuinely cute.

Which is a problem.

Because you’re not supposed to like how you look in cat ears. 

You’re supposed to be above this kind of thing. 

You’re supposed to think it’s ridiculous and juvenile and exactly the sort of male fantasy bullshit that makes you roll your eyes.

Instead, you’re looking at yourself in the mirror and thinking… you look cute.

Really cute.

And that’s… horrifying.

“They look…” Hoseok starts, then clears his throat. “I mean, the proportions are exactly right for Miki’s design. The color match is perfect. The positioning looks completely natural.”

You catch his eyes in the mirror, and there’s something in his expression that makes your stomach do a small, traitorous flip.

“They look stupid,” you lie, because admitting you like them feels too much like admitting something else entirely.

“They don’t look stupid.”

“They look ridiculous.”

“They look perfect.”

You turn away from the mirror, which is a mistake, because now you’re facing him directly and he’s looking at you with an expression you can’t quite identify. Something softer than his usual manic enthusiasm, something that makes the air in the small bedroom feel thicker.

“So,” you say, voice slightly wavery. “What’s the pose?”

“Right. The pose.” He blinks, seeming to remember why you’re here. “It’s for chapter six. Miki’s supposed to be… well, she’s in a vulnerable moment, but trying to maintain her independence. The cat characteristics become more pronounced when she’s emotional.”

He moves to his desk, pulling out a fresh sketchpad and selecting a pencil with the kind of movements that suggests he’s trying very hard to focus on the technical aspects of what you’re doing.

“She’s sitting on the floor,” he continues, not quite meeting your eyes. “Knees drawn up, but not defensively. More like… comfortable vulnerability, if that makes sense. And the ears would be…” He makes a vague gesture. “Attentive, but not aggressive. Curious but cautious.”

You settle onto the floor, adjusting your position until it feels natural. The movement makes the ears shift slightly, and you notice the way they respond to your movement.

“Like this?”

“Yeah, that’s… that’s good. But maybe tilt your head slightly to the left? And soften your expression a bit. She’s not angry, just… guarded.”

You adjust your position, trying to find the balance between confidence and softness. 

It’s… weirdly easy to slip into the character’s headspace—the duality of wanting to be seen and wanting to hide.

“Perfect,” Hoseok murmurs, pencil already moving across the paper. “Hold that.”

The scratch of graphite on paper fills the silence as he works, occasionally asking you to adjust your expression or the tilt of your head. 

But something about it makes your skin erupt in goosebumps.

Maybe it’s the ears. Maybe it’s the way he keeps glancing at you when he thinks you’re not looking. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re realizing how small his bedroom is, how close you’re sitting, how warm the lamplight is.

“Tilt your head a bit more,” he says quietly. “Yeah, like that. The way the light hits… that’s exactly right.”

His voice has gotten softer, more focused, and there’s something about the way he’s studying your face that makes heat creep up your neck.

“The ears,” he continues, still sketching. “The way they move when you adjust your position, the way they frame your face… it’s exactly what I needed for the character design.”

You hold the pose, trying to ignore the way your pulse has picked up. 

It’s just reference work. 

It’s just Hoseok being professional about his art. 

“You’re being very good about this,” he says absently, not looking up from his sketch. “Very patient. Very professional. Good kitty.”

The words slip out so naturally that it takes a moment for both of you to process what he’s just said.

Good kitty.

He called you good kitty.

In that soft, focused voice he uses when he’s completely absorbed in his work. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like you’re actually…

Heat explodes across your face so fast and so intensely that you’re surprised you don’t burst into flames on the spot.

Your heart rate spikes to somewhere around the level usually reserved for medical emergencies, and there’s a rushing sound in your ears that might be your blood pressure trying to achieve escape velocity.

Because why the fuck did that make your stomach drop in the best possible way?

Why did those two words, said in that tone, with that casual assumption of… of what, exactly? Authority? Affection? Ownership?

Why are you blushing like a teenage girl who just got asked to prom by her crush?

Why does your chest feel tight? Why are your hands shaking? Why is there a warm, liquid feeling spreading through your stomach like you’ve just swallowed something that’s too hot?

Why do you like it?

Oh god, why do you like it?

And why—why—is there a small, traitorous part of your brain that wants him to say it again?

You hiccup.

It’s an involuntary, mortifying little sound that escapes before you can stop it, born of shock and embarrassment and something else you absolutely refuse to name.

Hoseok’s pencil stops moving.

He looks up, and the moment he sees your face—which is probably the color of a fire truck at this point—his eyes widen with dawning horror.

“Oh shit,” he breathes. “I just… I didn’t mean… that just came out…”

“It’s fine,” you manage, but your voice comes out pitched too high and slightly strangled.

“No, it’s not fine, I just called you…” He runs a hand through his hair, making it even more chaotic. “I was thinking about Miki, and the character work, and I just… it slipped out.”

“Really, it’s—”

“I’m so sorry, that was completely inappropriate, I wasn’t thinking about you as… I mean, not that you’re not… but I didn’t mean to make it weird…”

He’s spiraling now, words tumbling out faster than his brain can process them, and you can see the exact moment he realizes he’s making it worse.

You’re still wearing cat ears. He just called you good kitty. And you liked it.

You liked it enough that your entire body reacted like he’d just whispered something dirty in your ear instead of offering casual praise.

This is fine. This is normal. 

This is just two friends helping each other with work-related projects and definitely not discovering anything weird about themselves or each other.

Except your face is still burning, and you can’t stop thinking about the way his voice sounded when he said it, and the way he’d made the praise sound like—

“Should I—” you start, your voice coming out rougher than intended. “Should I try a different expression?”

“Yeah,” he says quickly, still not looking up. “Different expression. Good idea. Very professional.”

He adjusts his position in the chair, crossing his legs, and you definitely don’t notice the way he shifts like he’s uncomfortable.

“What expression?” you ask, because apparently your mouth has decided to keep working even though your brain has completely shut down.

“Uh…” He finally glances up, and his gaze immediately skitters away again. “Maybe… surprised? Like someone just caught you off guard?”

Well, that shouldn’t be hard to fake, considering someone just caught you very off guard indeed.

You widen your eyes slightly, letting your lips part just a little, and the ears twitch forward with the movement.

“Good,” Hoseok says, his voice carefully controlled. “That’s… that’s very good.”

His pencil moves across the paper with more focus than necessary, like he’s trying to lose himself in the motions of drawing.

But you can see how rigidly his shoulders are set, and how he keeps shifting in his chair, the careful way he’s avoiding eye contact.

And you’re not much better. You can feel your pulse in your throat, and there’s a weird awareness of your own body that wasn’t there ten minutes ago. 

The way the ears sit on your head, the way they move when you breathe, the way they make you feel like you’re playing some kind of role that you don’t entirely understand.

But you like it.

And that’s the most disturbing part of all of this.

“Maybe we should…” you start, then realize you have no idea how to finish that sentence.

Take a break? Stop pretending this is normal? Address the fact that you just discovered something about yourself that you’re not sure you want to know?

“I should…” Hoseok starts, then clears his throat and tries again. “Maybe we should take a break? Get some air?”

“Yeah,” you agree quickly, grateful for any excuse to escape the suffocating tension of his bedroom. “Air. Good idea.”

But as you start to reach up to remove the cat ears, he speaks again.

“You can… I mean, if you want to keep those on, that’s… they look good. I mean, they look accurate. For the character reference.”

Your hand freezes halfway to your head.

“Should I keep them on?” 

“Do you want to keep them on?”

It’s a simple question, but the way he asks it makes it feel loaded with implications.

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “Do you want me to take them off?”

“I don’t know either.”

You’re both quiet for a moment, looking at each other across the small space of his bedroom, and the silence feels different now. Heavier. Like there are words neither of you knows how to say.

“We could…” Hoseok starts, then stops.

“What?”

“We could keep going. With the reference work. If you want.”

“If I want.”

“If you want.”

You study his face, looking for some clue about what he’s really asking. But all you see is the same uncertainty you’re feeling.

“Okay,” you say finally. “But no more… you know.”

“Good kitty comments?”

“Good kitty comments.”

“Right. Completely professional from here on out.”

“Completely professional.”

The cat ears stay on.

The living room feels enormous compared to the claustrophobic tension of the bedroom, even though it’s objectively the same cramped space it was twenty minutes ago.

You settle back onto the floor cushions, super aware of the way the ears move with your head, while Hoseok busies himself with rummaging the freezer for the ice cream you bought earlier.

He’s moving around the tiny kitchen—looking for clean teaspoons—with the kind of aggressive purposefulness that suggests he needs something to do with his hands.

Momo appears immediately, gliding from her perch to investigate the situation. She lands on the couch arm nearest to you and sits up on her hind legs, studying you curiously like you’re a wildlife documentary.

“She’s staring at me,” you observe.

“She’s probably wondering why you smell different,” Hoseok calls from the kitchen, where he’s clattering around with unnecessary force. “The ears are new. Different scent.”

“They have a scent?”

“Everything has a scent. Momo’s very scent-oriented. She probably thinks you’re… I don’t know. Part cat now.”

“Part cat,” you repeat flatly.

“In a good way! Cats are very dignified! Very independent!”

You glance at Momo, who tilts her head and makes a soft chittering sound that could be commentary or could be approval. 

“Can I…” you hesitate, then extend one finger toward her slowly. “Would she let me pet her?”

Hoseok’s clattering stops abruptly. “You want to pet Momo?”

“Is that weird?”

“No, it’s just… she doesn’t usually let people touch her. She’s very particular about personal space.”

But Momo has already made the decision for herself, leaning forward to sniff your extended finger.

After a moment of consideration, she presses her tiny head against your fingertip.

Something blooms in your chest.

Because last time she sniffed you, she scurried away.

But this time—this time she’s actually chosen you to pet her.

“Oh,” you breathe, because her fur is impossibly soft and she’s so small and warm and trusting. “She’s…”

“She likes you,” Hoseok says, and there’s something in his voice that makes you look up.

He’s standing in the kitchen doorway, ice cream boxes in hand, watching you pet his sugar glider with an expression that’s soft and surprised and something else you can’t quite identify.

“She doesn’t do that with strangers,” he continues. “Ever. You’re officially part of the ecosystem now.”

“The ecosystem?”

“This apartment. This space. Momo’s very territorial. If she accepts you, it means you belong here.”

The way he says ‘belong here’ makes something flutter in your chest that you absolutely refuse to acknowledge.

“She’s just being friendly,” you say, but you don’t stop the gentle head scratches that are making Momo practically purr with contentment.

“Momo is never just friendly. She’s a very serious judge of character.”

“What’s her verdict on me?”

“Apparently, you’re acceptable.”

“High praise.”

“The highest. She once bit my neighbor for trying to give her a piece of apple. Drew blood.”

You pause in your petting. “You mentioned.”

“Yeah, well. That’s what happens when you try to touch her without permission. And the apple was too big. She has very specific opinions about appropriate offering sizes.”

Momo makes a small sound then—immediately fleeing.

“Just like someone I know,” Hoseok observes.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Hmmm. Nothing.”

You give him a death glare as he settles onto the cushion across from you, mouthful of chocolate ice cream coating his lips.

“So,” he says, not quite meeting your eyes as he hands you the strawberry one. “How was that? The reference session?”

“It was…” You pause, taking the ice cream from his hands. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I mean… I learned that professional cat ears are surprisingly comfortable.”

“And that Momo has excellent taste in humans.”

“And that your bedroom is a death trap of precariously balanced furniture.”

He laughs, and some of the tension in his shoulders eases. “Hey, that storage system is very efficient. Just requires some athletic skill to access.”

“It requires a death wish and questionable judgment.”

“Same thing, really.”

You bring the spoon to your mouth, tasting the strawberry ice cream that is actually good despite looking like the cheapest brand available.

“The ears,” Hoseok says suddenly, then stops.

“What about them?”

“They look… I mean, for the reference, they’re perfect. Exactly what I needed to understand how Miki’s would move and position and…”

He trails off, apparently lost in some technical artistic consideration that involves staring at your face like it’s a museum piece.

“You’re staring,” you point out.

“I’m observing. For artistic purposes.”

“Artistic purposes.”

“The way they frame your face, the proportion relative to your features, the way they respond to head movement…” He’s talking faster now, the words tumbling out like he’s trying to convince himself of something. “It’s exactly the reference material I needed to make Miki’s design more realistic.”

“Right.”

“Very professional artistic observation.”

“Of course.”

But the way he’s looking at you doesn’t feel particularly professional. It feels… different. Warmer.

Like he’s seeing something he didn’t expect to see.

You shift slightly under his gaze, and the movement makes the ears tilt in response. 

His eyes track the motion.

“They’re very responsive,” he observes, voice slightly rougher than usual.

“You said they were articulated.”

“They are. But seeing it in practice is… different. More natural than I expected.”

“Good thing you spent twelve thousand yen on them.”

“Very good thing,” he agrees, but he’s still staring and his voice has gotten quieter.

There’s a few beats of silence that translate into you not knowing what to do with your stupid hands.

“I should probably head home soon,” you say, even though the thought of going back to your corporate housing makes you want to sink through the floor. “Early meeting tomorrow about brand cohesion strategies.”

“Brand cohesion strategies,” Hoseok repeats. “That sounds…”

“Soul-crushing?”

“I was going to say ‘very corporate,’ but soul-crushing works too.”

You laugh, and it feels good to laugh about something normal after the last few hours of weirdness.

But then the silence stretches out again, and you can see Hoseok fidgeting with his spoon, turning it around in his hands like it holds the secrets of the universe. 

He keeps opening his mouth like he wants to say something, then closing it again.

You're not much better. Your fingers have found your cuticles and you're picking at them in that nervous habit you thought you'd grown out of, trying very hard not to think about the way your stomach dropped when he said ‘good kitty’ in that soft, focused voice.

What the hell is wrong with you?

Come on. This is Hoseok. Jung Hoseok. The boy who used to eat dirt on dares and cried when his pet goldfish died. Your childhood friend who draws cartoon porn for a living and can't remember to take his medication.

You're not supposed to get hot and bothered when he calls you good kitty while you're wearing cat ears in his bedroom.

That's not... that's not normal friend behavior.

That's not normal you behavior.

"So, um..." Hoseok starts, then stops, rubbing the back of his neck. "I should probably... I mean, you probably want to..."

He trails off, turning the ice cream container in his hands.

"Yeah," you say quickly, reaching up to remove the cat ears. "I should head back."

Your fingers fumble with the headband, and you can feel heat creeping up your neck again as you carefully lift the ears off your head. They're still warm from your skin, and for some stupid reason that makes you blush harder.

You hold them out to him, pressing your lips together and not quite meeting his eyes.

"Thanks for letting me borrow them," you manage. "For the... reference thing."

"Right. Reference." He takes the ears from you, and his fingers brush yours for just a second before you both jerk your hands back like you've been burned. "Very professional reference work."

"Very professional," you agree, even though your ears are probably bright red and your voice sounds slightly strangled.

Hoseok sets the cat ears carefully next to him, like they're made of glass instead of fur and plastic.

"I could..." he starts, then stops. 

Clears his throat. 

Tries again. “I mean, if you want, I could give you a lift home? On my bike?"

You nod without saying anything, because words feel dangerous right now. Like if you open your mouth, something embarrassing might come out. Something that acknowledges what just happened, or how you felt about it, or why your stomach is still doing weird fluttery things.

Better to just... not.

"Right," Hoseok says, apparently taking your silence as agreement. "Let me just... grab my keys."

He disappears into his bedroom for a moment, and you use the time to collect yourself. 

To remind yourself that you're a rational adult who doesn't get flustered by childhood friends making casual comments during work-related activities.

Even if those comments made you feel things you definitely shouldn't be feeling.

Even if you're still thinking about the way he looked at you when you were wearing those ears.

Stop it.

When he emerges, he's got his keys what appears to be a leather jacket that's seen better days.

You follow him down the four flights of stairs in silence, both of you carefully not looking at each other, both of you moving with the kind of exaggerated casualness that screams 'nothing weird happened here.'

Hoseok leads you around the side of his building towards his bike, which makes you curious because…

But then he stops next to a bicycle.

Not just any bicycle. 

A bright blue bicycle with a basket on the front and what appear to be reflective streamers hanging from the handlebars and a bell shaped like a cartoon cat.

You stare at it.

He stares at you staring at it.

"It's..." he starts defensively. "It's very practical. Good for the environment. Excellent exercise."

A snort escapes before you can stop it.

"What?" Hoseok asks, looking genuinely confused.

"You said bike," you manage between barely suppressed giggles. "I thought you meant... like a motorbike.”

"This has pedals. Very efficient pedals."

"It has streamers, Ott."

"They're safety streamers. For visibility."

The absurdity of it—standing outside his apartment building at nine PM, arguing about bicycle safety features after the most awkward modeling session in history—finally breaks the tension that's been building all evening.

You start laughing. Really laughing, not the careful polite laughter from before, but the kind of helpless giggles that make your stomach hurt.

"It's not that funny," Hoseok protests, but he's grinning now too. "It's a very respectable bicycle. I bought it from a very serious bicycle shop."

"With streamers," you gasp.

"With safety features."

"And a basket."

"For groceries! Very logical!"

"And the cat-shaped bell was necessary?"

He swings his leg over the bike with the kind of dignity that only someone riding a bright blue bicycle with streamers and a bell can muster, then pats the seat behind him.

"Come on, your chariot awaits."

"I'm not getting on that thing."

"It's perfectly safe. I've been riding it for three years without a single accident."

"How many near-accidents?"

"That's not relevant to current safety statistics."

Despite your protests, you find yourself climbing onto the back of his ridiculous bicycle, trying to figure out where to put your hands that won't result in you falling off or accidentally grabbing something inappropriate.

"Just hold onto my shoulders," Hoseok says, apparently reading your mind. "Or my waist, whatever's comfortable. I promise not to dump you in the street."

"Your promises aren't worth much considering your track record with furniture safety."

"What?! I didn't fall!"

"You almost fell. There's a difference."

"A very important difference."

You settle your hands lightly on his shoulders as he pushes off, and the bicycle wobbles slightly before finding its balance. The movement brings you closer to his back, close enough that you can smell that sharp, citrusy scent that seems to follow him everywhere.

Yuzu peel. 

It's stronger now, mixed with the evening air and the faint scent of his laundry detergent, and it makes you think of summer mornings and sticky fingers and the way citrus juice stings when you get it under your fingernails.

Without really thinking about it, you let your forehead rest against his shoulder blade as he pedals through the quiet streets. 

The rhythm is soothing—the soft whir of bicycle wheels, the distant hum of traffic, the occasional ding of his bell when he needs to navigate around pedestrians.

It's peaceful in a way that surprises you. 

Familiar. 

Like being kids again, when the most complicated thing in your life was whether you'd finished your maths homework and if there would be good snacks in the school canteen.

"You smell like yuzu," you say without thinking, then immediately regret it because that sounds weird and personal and not the kind of thing you should be noticing about your childhood friend.

"It's my shampoo," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "Same brand I've been using since high school. Very consistent personal grooming choices."

"Makes me want pastries. Those little yuzu tarts from that bakery near the station."

"We could get some tomorrow. If you want. After your corporate brand cohesion thing."

"Maybe."

This is what you missed, you think. 

Not the complications or the confusing feelings or the way he looked at you when you were wearing those ridiculous ears.

Just this. 

The simplicity of being around someone who's known you since you were kids, who remembers that you like strawberry ice cream and hate algae extract and get cranky when you're hungry.

Someone who gives you lifts home on a bicycle with a cat-shaped bell and doesn't think twice about it.

The ride to your corporate housing is shorter than you'd like, and when he pulls up outside the bland concrete building, you're almost disappointed.

"Here we are," he says, steadying the bike while you climb off. "Safe and sound, as promised."

"Thanks," you say, getting off cautiously because falling off right now would be embarrassing. "For dinner, and the... work thing, and the lift."

"Thanks for being my professional reference model. Very valuable artistic collaboration."

"Very professional," you agree, and this time when you say it, it feels true.

"See you tomorrow? For yuzu pastries and post-corporate recovery?"

"Maybe. If I survive the brand cohesion."

"You'll survive. You're tougher than peptide synergy."

You laugh, and it feels good, and normal—just as if everything is exactly as it should be.

"So," Hoseok says finally. "Same time next week? For the... work thing?"

"Yeah," you agree. "Same time next week."

"Cool. I'll probably have more reference questions by then. Very professional reference questions."

"I'm sure you will."

"Nothing weird."

"Definitely nothing weird."

You both know you're lying, but it feels necessary to pretend otherwise.

"Goodnight, Ott."

"Goodnight, Capy."

You watch him pedal away into the neon-lit darkness, cat bell chiming softly as he disappears around the corner, and you realize you're smiling.

Whatever weirdness happened earlier, whatever confusing feelings got stirred up by cat ears and casual praise—it doesn't matter.

What matters is that Jung Hoseok is still Jung Hoseok, and you're still you, and some things never change.

Even when everything else does.

if you liked this chapter, please consider buying me a coffee!! ♡'◟(˃̶͈̀ o ˂̶͈́)◞'♡ https://ko-fi.com/jungkoode

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[0viraptoraskblog]

Hiii, since summer's is there i got 2 questions for the btd/tpof characters :)

1. How do you think they deal with summer and whats their favourite seasional thing to do

2. Idk if its a common thing but in my country usually workers (based on the job obvi) get some weeks off work to go vacation, where do you think the characters would go to vacation during this hot season? And what are they doing during it?

Thanks for answering xox

Strade- Summer is Strade’s favorite season! He likes that people are outside more, and especially people are out at bars. I don’t know if he has a favorite summer thing, but he does enjoy going to neighborhood barbecues a lot. If he’d ever vacation, it would probably be back to Germany to visit for a while.

Ren- Ren enjoys summer— he likes the sun and the breeze, but it’s easy for him to get too hot (the fur coupled with the fact his body temperature is hotter than a normal human don’t mix well with summer sun) so he doesn’t spend that much time outside. His favorite seasonal activity is probably not that seasonal.. watching movies, cooking, etc, stuff he already does, but now he can do it outside as well or with the windows open if he wants. Exciting, I know. Ren’s idea of a vacation is probably a road trip to visit a convention of some sort. Anime con, comic con.. that’s his first choice.

Lawrence- summer isn’t Law’s favorite; he prefers fall. He dislikes that people are outside more (opposite of Strade basically). It makes him want to avoid public spaces even more. There are some perks though— plants are sold more in the summer, and his bones in the woods will process faster compared to colder months. His favorite activity is probably going out on a walk at night; he thinks a summer night is the perfect temperature for that sort of thing. Lawrence would use the time off to spend extra hours in the woods. He doesn’t need to travel anywhere when his secret spot is right here.

Sano- He’s alright with summer, but only if it’s not too hot. He likes warm days though (he’s a reptile). He always wears sunscreen outside because, of course, he’s a doctor who’s very particular about that kind of stuff. He’s also super pale. I don’t think he has a favorite activity, but he does enjoy sitting outside in the evening when the weather is comfortable, reading or taking notes. If he had vacation time, he’d probably visit local places rather than travel.

Akira- loves summer, because people are out and doing things more. More parties happen, more businesses are open, people are in a better mood. I think he dislikes cold a little, too, so summer is nice. Sano tries to get him to wear sunblock but he doesn’t listen and just gets terrible sunburn instead. His favorite activity is to go to parties, as many as possible. And if he had vacation time, I think he might actually go to a nice beach. Just kick back a little.

Vincent- He’s kind of indifferent when it comes to seasons, but he likes summer. He likes being able to walk around without a shirt on (he’s just more comfortable that way) and the heat gives him an excuse. I don’t think he has one favorite seasonal activity, but he definitely spends more time outside + riding his motorcycle. I don’t know if he’d go on vacation, I feel like he’d rather take a road trip with his bike. Just traveling, sight seeing and stopping at bars on the way.

Cain- love hate relationship with summer. He likes how things are more vibrant, but sometimes the heat is too much for him, ironically. He likes a comfortable day. On vacation, if he ever went on one, he’d go somewhere with beautiful views so he can sightsee— which is a favorite thing to do.

Rire- similar to Strade, he likes how the season brings people out and about. That means more chances for him to stumble upon someone interesting; but that’s about all he thinks of it. He doesn’t have a human job and therefore no vacation— visiting the human world and playing with people is his pastime.

Derek- Derek loves summer. He likes the heat, and according to Gato, he likes watching people struggle with body image. He’ll go to pool parties just to make comments on other people’s bodies. But in general, he likes get togethers and parties alike. He buys lots of fireworks when they’re in season, especially illegal ones online with warnings in some foreign language. Does he know how to use it? No. Is he gonna find out? Absolutely. That’s his favorite activity— causing illegal, dangerous explosions and saying it’s all for summer fun. And his only vacation during summer is of course his trip to the desert to let off some steam.

Celia- Celia doesn’t prefer summer, but she doesn’t hate it. What she does hate is the change in fashion, and having to double down on her own body image. Summer is just an extra mental hassle for her. I don’t know if she has a favorite, but she enjoys going to fancy restaurants with wine/alcohol tastings. On vacation, she’d go to a high end resort where she can get waited on 24/7, and get way too drunk.

Mason- Mason doesn’t hate any season, but summer is kind of ‘in between’ when it comes to hunting. Not really a hunting season or mating season, and the heat + foliage cover makes it harder to track animals. So he’s indifferent. His favorite activity (aside from hunting and tracking) is actually making things with the materials he’s gotten over the fall and winter. Tanning hides, mounting trophy’s, that kind of thing. And vacation, what’s that? He’s just living life out there, no need for vacation.

[coconutjelly]

Put a Ring On It, Ch 2-3

Part 3/9 Tumblr chrono link Think Pink AU on AO3

It’s their text thread.

I smirk when I realize that Tim still hasn’t removed the superhero emoji from his contact name. Tim has scrolled up to their conversation the night before.

What should I wear tomorrow? What are you wearing? Are you suiting up for this?

I will be wearing a black track suit and black sneakers, because it’s cold at the summer house. You should wear something that makes it easy to whip out your nips and dick.

The phrase “whip out your nips and dick” sticks in my head. I knew what we were going to do today, but still… I mean, I have played with those nips and they are very fun nips. Tasty nips, too. 

There’s probably not a reasonable excuse to try them again today, is there?

Also the dick, which I mourn all the things I didn’t get to do with it. Two really great treats being paraded in front of me today, and I don’t get to sample any of them, unless the day takes a shocking turn. Which, that hasn't never happened, so I will continue to live in hope.

Nips & dick Dibs on band name Dude you’re describing a bikini

I hear you look good in gold lamé.

“Ha!” I let out one loud, unattractive laugh, and to answer Tim’s raised eyebrow add, “Gold lamé. Good one.” He snorts and nods.

Why is it That every time I tell you a story I end up regretting it?

I can only enforce good judgment upon you in a team setting. And even then, it’s hit or miss.

I hate you I'm just gonna wear my suit If I panic and run the code word is kaiju

I’m reeling a little bit from how Kon apparently doesn't believe in any punctuation but question marks. Also from how they don’t say hello or good-bye or good-night or really anything to indicate the beginning or end of a conversation. I guess that’s besties for you.

Or, possibly, superheroes who are pulled away from conversations without warning. Either way.

There's an abrupt break in the text thread, and it picks back up earlier this morning.

Ok so like If I die of embarrassment You’re legally required to delete my browser history It's in my contract Actually just throw my phone in a volcano

Damnit, why is this guy so funny? It should be illegal to be that hot, that sexy, and this funny.

We don’t have contracts, Kon. You literally asked for these, what is there to be embarrassed about?

Uh…BERNARD?! With his perfect cheekbones and extremely good opinions

Credit where it’s due, I do have extremely good opinions. Like, the man isn’t wrong. Although I am surprised to be a source of anxiety for him, considering how much I’ve been feeling in the other direction.

This is high stakes social stuff okay What if he’s like “wow Tim your best friend is weird and sweaty you should stop being friends with him” 😭

Okay, Kon, nice try, but it’s more like, “wow Tim, your best friend is unbearably hot and clearly in need of love and we should keep him forever about it.”

First, you cannot physically sweat at any Earth surface temperature. Second, most people who don’t like you decide that instantly and pick a fight, and he’s met you twice without it coming to that, so I think you’re on solid social ground there.

Yeah well last time he was drunk The time before that was extenuating circumstances

My brain tries to recall scenes from those extenuating circumstances, and I have to beat it back with a club. Thankfully, the three orgasms this morning seem to make that easier than usual.

Seriously, the amount of time I’ve spent lately daydreaming about that weekend is probably not entirely healthy. I'll definitely be bringing it up in therapy once I can at least think about it without blushing.

Good point. I’ll ask B to borrow his K ring, so he has a fighting chance. Just in case.

WOW TIM New fear unlocked thanks Getting my ass kicked with fresh piercings

Bernard is excited to see you again, you idiot. I estimate that they will be “fresh” for eight seconds, maximum.

I know I’m being weird But he matters to you So him liking me kind of matters So I don’t want to screw it up

That’s not weird. That’s actually really thoughtful. It means a lot to me that you care. Bernard wants to make a good impression on you too. The only one judging you today will be me, and I always grade you on a curve.

Thank you I think

“Wow, he is not afraid of the multi-text, is he?” I comment, passing the phone back.

“Does not shy away from it, no.” The phone goes back on the dock while he gives me a sidelong half-smile. “But more to the point, he is nervous and excited to see you. Sound like anyone you know?”

Great, we’re both nervous and excited like a pair of unhousebroken chihuahuas. It’ll be so fun and chill when we pee on the floor together.

I mean, he’ll be peeing because he’s all heart-eyed over Tim, and I’ll be peeing because I’m all heart-eyed over him, and Tim is just gonna pretend no one is peeing on the floor and walk through the puddles like they aren’t there, and–

This analogy is getting away from me.

[oddballwriter]

omg the Hector/chance/reader I requested was PERFECT please tell me ya got more ;-;

More Chance x Hector x Reader

Summary: More Chance/Hector/reader content as requested

Warnings: I really don’t think I need to mark anything down. Gender neutral reader as usual.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

Barnes and Nobles/DE world’s version B&N LOVES to see y’all coming whenever you go on dates where there’s one nearby, I just KNOW it

My local Barnes and Nobles (before it burnt down, it’s a long story) used to have an entire corner of the board game section that was just D&D stuff (guide books, dice, figures, trinkets, etc) and I’m pretty sure that goes for others too. So like… this world’s version probably would too and Chance truly can never have too many G&G things

I like to think he has a little sensible collection of dice sets that he thinks is cool that he also uses when doing his GM stuff. He also will get you and Hector some that he thinks you guys will like

Meanwhile, Hector is looking at the romance-fiction section to see if anything interests him and you look at whatever it is that you want to look at

Plus they so totally buy stuff for you when you aren’t looking and they’re so bad at hiding it. You’ll have gotten whatever it is you wanted to get and go to the front and both are standing to the side waiting for you with stuff they already paid for with this look on their faces that gives them away. You know that there’s something in there for you in those bags

Both are really good at remembering random things about you. Like you said once that you’re running low on bookmarks because the ones you had were in use. You had settled on just finishing whatever books you’re using them for but Hector got you some. And Chance noticed at your last G&G session that your notebook was running a little low on pages, so he bought you a new one that’s super cute but simple.

Maybe even a little trinket

Same goes for each other too

Hector spotted Chance looking at this really cool looking book set of the Lord of the Rings series but saw that he didn’t get it so he saved some of his own money just to buy it for him. Chance was so happy that he literally kissed Hector

And Chance did the same thing when he saw a copy of Phantom of the Opera with a super cool cover and was just like “Oh yeah. I’m getting Hector this.”

Hector unironically loves Phantom you can’t convince me otherwise, he doesn’t even consciously make the connection to himself back in his dateable days. He just likes the romance of it

I said this in an edit of the original post but I just want to repeat it again because why not?

But cuddling is great

Hector’s a huge cuddler. He likes the physical closeness of it and once he gets used to it after he’s gone so long being starved of touch

He’s a little spoon most of the time but if you or Chance ever feel low or just want to be held like that every once in a while he’ll do his best. But I am a firm believer of little spoon Hector

Chance isn’t nearly as much of a cuddling kind of guy to the extent that Hector is on his own. He’s more of an occasional hand holding and hug type of person. Something small and quick. But if it’s the end of the day and you’re all tired from whatever it was you guys did that day then he’ll gladly cuddle with you both

Chance is very optimal for being big spoon and he knows that and actually really likes it. He is beefy but I do believe that he’s also got a little chub to him that makes him very soft to cuddle with too. So he’s strong AND soft

He mainly likes cuddling during movie night on the couch because it allows for more options for cuddling instead of just one of you on each side. One of the could lay your head on his lap or vice versa with you and Hector

Both of them do like laying their heads on your lap and have you run your fingers through their hair

In bed cuddling is fine too

I don’t think you guys have “ designated sides” system. I think it depends on who feels like being what that night and it’s a first come first serve sort of thing. So sometimes you middle, or Chance, or Hector. And a cuddle pile happens from there based on who’s where

Also, I can’t believe I forgot this but my word pet names are absolutely a thing in the relationship

Hector uses the same ones that he already did for you so nothing much changes there. I feel like both you and Chance know that when he calls you both his love, light, and other things he means it just as much as he does for the other

Chance calls you both various pet names based on fantasy/royalty stuff. Princess/Prince, Queen/King, Your Highness.

It makes Hector fluster so bad but Chance knows that he likes it and does want him to stop even if he shrinks down a little and gets red

Sometimes when Chance feels like being a tease he calls you two by your characters names for fun

[pagingdoctorcarter]

Hello! 💛

Have you done any metas regarding Bobby and the impact of his death? If yes, where might I find? If no, do you have Thoughts™️?

Oh, hello friend. You know me, I do have Thoughts™️. Frequently, and violently. And while I don’t actually have any pre-existing meta about Bobby, I am more than happy to make one right now.

Bobby: The Heir Transparent

It’s…it’s a ghost joke! Okay, let's dive in.

So Bobby is one of my favourite lore drops for Carter, and I think is one of the best and most rewarding examples of what @cicaklah and I have taken to calling “marginalia,” by which we mean the throwaway references to character traits or back stories that appear randomly in relation to a specific plot but actually do serve to build out our understanding of our hero characters. Whether initially intended to or not.

So, for Bobby, it does kind of feel like the writers wanted one of the doctors to be able to connect to this patient in a personal way, so someone’s gonna need a dead sibling. Carter! You’re up!

But the thing about this is…lol, I’m always like, “the thing about this is two-fold” BUT AGAIN, I SAY, THE THING ABOUT THIS IS TWO-FOLD.

Acting Technique — there is this specific thing that actors are trained to do, and while I know that Noah Wyle didn’t attend a traditional conservatory program, he is a trained actor, having done a lot of Meisner work, having done theatre, and simply by having spent so much time on set surrounded by other actors with other backgrounds and practices. Actors are thieves. I promise you, he’s stolen stuff from other actors. In fact, I’m pretty sure he talked about doing that in a podcast I watched recently (which is my absolute favourite interview he’s ever given because he does talk about process more than most actors ever do but alas i digress) ANYWAY The point is, I promise you he knows how to do this. Basically, actors are trained to read scripts and build characters off this marginalia. The goal of character work is actually not to invent anything. It’s the mark of an amateur actor if you “make-up” a character back story — as in, coming up with a history and context for your character from whole cloth. The reason for this is because a) the tendency for actors is to lean into the melodramatic which is distracting and unsupported by the actual text, and b) when you concoct something external to the context it’s meant to exist inside then it will never feel organic to the world it has to live in. So what you’re actually meant to do is to read the script, note all the things that you say, sure, but also note all the things that everybody else says about you — or doesn’t say about you — and use all that information to reveal a history of your character that is ALREADY IN THE TEXT…even if it’s between the lines and invisible. Look, I just love acting, you’ll have to forgive me for pontificating about it, but it’s really important to me, just consider this my homage to Noah’s 1996 interview where he does the same. I’m sorry. I just love acting. BUT THE REAL POINT OF THAT SEGUE IS THAT CHARACTERS LIVE IN THE MARGINALIA. And any actor worth their salt knows this. This is especially true for early 90s television when stories kind of happen as they come, and there’s a lot more flexibility and time to explore the edges of characters’ lives. Twenty-five episodes is just…it’s just nicer! ALSO writers can and do forget things (I’m looking at you “Roland Carter”). They’re keeping track of hundreds of characters. But actors are only keeping track of one: the one they’re playing. This is why I get frustrated when I see takes like, “It’s not canon if it’s the actors’ own personal head-canon” because I’m afraid that they do know their character better than anyone else, and if that is what they think then that is what they’re playing. I don’t mind disregarding their choices because I don’t think there’s anything wrong with just throwing out parts of canon you don’t like. It’s a fictional world. Preferences over which fiction you prefer doesn’t make one more real than the other. But I do think suggesting actors don’t have that kind of sway over the character does neglect a huge part of what their job is. OKAY HUGE DIGRESSION BUT ALL THIS TO SAY Noah Wyle takes hold of “my brother died of cancer” and RUNS WITH IT. The way he plays it in that first episode is so affecting, and so subtle that it sticks with us. He does several very smart things — you know, in general, he’s a smart actor and I can do a break down of that some other time if anyone is interested, but basically, the marginalia of Bobby is elevated by the intelligent performance of Noah Wyle (see also: NW’s performance in Secrets & Lies)

Storytelling Payoff — However unintentional or perhaps limited the initial reference to Bobby is, the way it played out and the obvious material left to be mined in such a character confession was obvious enough to the writers that they held onto it. Another thing I really, really love about ER and its writing is the patience. The subtlety. They resist the temptation to have Carter confess everything in a single moment that illuminates our understanding of him, instead just teasing us with small glimpses of his story over a long, long period of time. This could be because, as I noted above, the purpose of Bobby was initially to give Carter a way to connect to the patient, as opposed to give the audience a way to connect with Carter, or it could be because the writers always intended to build up to something truly revelatory. I think it’s a combination of both. Initially, it was to centre the patient, but later it was used specifically as an avenue to explore Carter. A perfect, perfect mix. Because the thing is, you don’t want to overplay it and make it all-consuming or melodramatic because then you end up with unnatural or unrealistic dramatic moments that break the verisimilitude of the established world, OR you get 2-D characters with no memory for injury which is an acting no-no, and also breaks the verisimilitude of the established world. They get the balance of this just right. Almost. It’s pretty dang close. And it’s not until season eight that we really dig into it with his mother.

OKAY OKAY OKAY BUT BOBBY!

So, what do we know about Bobby? Honestly, not a heck of a lot. What we learn from Carter in Seasons 1 through 7 is sparse.

Older brother

Died when he was 10 (John was 8)

Died of AML

John was riding his bike home when Bobby died and he “just knew”

Bobby bullied John when he was sick (imp. out of frustration/fear/pain)

Bobby’s time in hospital is what inspired John to go into medicine

Four out of six of those points we learn in the season 1 finale, two more in season three in a conversation with Abby Keaton, and the bit about going into medicine is in…some episode. I can’t recall. Someone cite me!

But that’s sort of it in terms of concrete information that we get. FOR EIGHT SEASONS.

Later we learn that Bobby pushed John out of a tree, Bobby knew he was dying, and Bobby made John promise to make his mother happy when he was dead. Still not a ton (hint: because this isn't actually about Bobby)

But before we go into season eight and get to the meat, let’s talk briefly (lol) about subtlety, audience trust, performance, and meaning we can find in silence.

Because John doesn’t talk about Bobby that much or that openly, when he does tell us something, we listen. We understand it to be something protected and therefore, something valuable. This is really great, really subtle writing. It doesn’t mean that if Carter were super open about it and talked about Bobby all the time it wouldn’t also have meaning, but because of the way the writers use Bobby sparingly we are taught to take Carter’s few mentions of him not only at face value but also as commentary on Carter himself.

Yes, Bobby died. But by the way Carter doesn’t always make eye-contact, by the way that he keeps it private, by the way that he tries to find something spiritual in his death (the “just knowing” about him passing away) tells us that this is something which changed him profoundly, which he is still grappling with, and maybe, something that isn’t entirely resolved.

And because we see and understand this, and read this off of him, when the time comes for us to meet his family, we start making new connections.

When Carter’s parents don’t care about his match, when they spend all their time abroad, when we see him constantly reaching out to call them, to contact them, to get their attention, their interest, their love, we keep in the back of our mind the fact that he’s lost a brother. This family has already lost a son.

So isn’t it weird that they don’t seem to care about the one that lived?

NOW we’re cooking. Bobby’s absence is such a presence on the show that the gap he once filled becomes the chasm between Carter and his family through which A LOT of Carter’s story is filtered.

But then, we get to season 8 and Carter’s mom and dad show up, and we can see the ruin of their relationship, the ruin of themselves, and the ruin of their family.

I’ve talked before HERE about the vague misogyny of Carter’s expectation of his parents, and his mother’s personality specifically. I think all that is relevant in any conversation about Bobby because I think his death can be traced back to as the catalyst for this collapse — even if the foundation was weak to begin with.

But to expand from that point on, we have Eleanor come back to try and course correct her traumatic past with Bobby by sitting bedside with another kid with cancer. And she drags John back down with her.

The main episode that I’m talking about with this is where the storyline culminates in season 8, episode 14 (A Simple Twist of Fate). This is when Carter and his mom have a final heart to heart which ends with her telling him she loves him.

And thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis is where the show loses me a bit.

Because here’s the thing —

I feel like the show is addressing the wrong thing. And it’s one thing for the characters to address the wrong thing — heck, I LOVE when the characters address the wrong thing! If I felt this was Carter and his mom struggling to figure themselves out and addressing the wrong thing in a doomed effort to do so, I’d be all about it. But the thing is, that episode ends and Eleanor Carter never comes back again, and it ends with them both engaging with the pseud-Bobby as the resolution, and…………

BOBBY was never the problem between them. Or he was — his absence, his loss, like I said above, was the near physical object between them. And I can 100% see how John AND Eleanor would reach a point where they wanted to find a way back to each other and conclude that the loss of Bobby was the breaking point, and therefore, another Bobby can be the point at which they reunite. But they’re wrong. Because ultimately, Bobby’s loss is not the problem. John’s abandonment is the problem. By having John and Eleanor find connection and understanding literally standing over the body of a Bobby surrogate the show attempts to make Carter complicit in his trauma, despite the fact that he was a CHILD when it happened, and regardless of his age, neither responsible for it, or party to it. Through this, the show reveals to us its own perspective which is that Bobby’s loss IS the problem and therefore this second child, and Carter and Eleanor’s unification in response to it IS the solution. And the subject of John’s abandonment remains unresolved, because 2. ELEANOR LEAVES AGAIN She never comes back to the show. And like, yeah, I get it. Guest stars and all. But the fact of the matter is that when you have a guest star, you have to use them correctly. If you know that she’s never coming back, then ONE: do not make the resolution about her repairing her relationship with her estranged son because without that estrangement THERE IS NO DIEGETIC REASON FOR HER ABSENCE. and TWO: Don’t commit to a resolution with a character whose actual issue is abandoment. Not loss.

Because here’s the thing about Bobby. Bobby’s death, as far as we understand it in the show IS NEVER ABOUT BOBBY.

Bobby’s death is ALWAYS what it tells us ABOUT CARTER.

That’s just how stories work. This is Carter’s story, and like an actor parsing a script, we understand his character in the marginalia of his world and his relationships. We take the scraps of what he mentions, what he mourns, what he fears, what he does. We note who he calls, who he doesn’t, who comes to save him, who is absent, how he cries, how he hides, how he confesses, and we form a picture of a whole. Bobby is a part of that picture. Bobby’s death tells us about Carter’s abandonment.

And the show trips up when it gets to the culmination of this story by having Carter and his mother address the death as if it’s BOBBY who is the important one here. AND IT’S NOT IT’S CARTER IT’S ALWAYS CARTER I’M LOSING MY MIND.

Okay, okay, so I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking “well, sure, but those episodes were actually about his mother’s arc and Eleanor reconciling with her loss, which WAS about Bobby.”

And I hear you, but no. First, Eleanor is a tertiary character. She gets to exist in this show in order to service JOHN’S story. Because even if you disagree that Carter is the main character of the show, you must agree that Carter IS the main character of his own plot. So Eleanor is there in service to telling HIS story in HIS plot.

And the thing that he has been struggling with — that the show has been pretty damn explicit in stating and expositing for eight seasons — is his abandonment.

Every time his family put pressure on him to conform, or cut off his access to money to get him to comply, or repeatedly asked him to quit medicine, or didn’t come visit him after he almost died for three weeks, or refused to listen to his expertise, or hid his cousin away in a home, or or or and and and

We all know he’s desperate for someone to love him. We all know he’s shit in relationships. We all saw him buy diamond earrings for a girl he’d known less than a year, who’d already cheated on him, we saw him beg a woman not to go to Pakistan though she made it clear she was only with him for the sex, we saw him SLEEP WITH HIS COUSIN’S EX despite her repeated attempts to put him off. This man is so desperate to be loved he will go anywhere and do anything to find it.

He’s already come to terms with Bobby’s death. He does call his mom out for “dragging him back there” and he does say, “he doesn’t think he’s gonna have to go through this alone. Don’t leave him,” and the show is SO SO SO close (and I think Noah’s performance drags it closer) to getting the point. BUT THEN ELEANOR TELLS JOHN SHE LOVES HIM AND GOES BACK WITH HIM TO THE HOSPITAL AND WE’RE SUPPOSED TO TAKE THAT AS A RESOLUTION?

This is not heartwarming. This is psychopathic.

Dude. Her telling him she loves him pisses me off so much because it’s just more gaslighting. She tells him what he’s desperate to hear, and then she leaves him anyway. Sure, she stuck around for pseudo-Bobby. But she was always gonna stick around for Bobby. She’s never left Bobby.

It’s so, so easy for her to leave John. And secondly, the resolution that Carter ACTUALLY NEEDS (that the show has been building to for SEASONS, until this last moment -- though, we can see it swerving off the rails throughout Eleanor's episodes) is a resolution to his abandonment. He needs his mom to CHOOSE HIM INSTEAD OF BOBBY. Not a Bobby surrogate. She needs to choose HIM.

The resolution to this whole arc should have been Eleanor attempting to connect with this boy, and John helping her because he thinks that's what she needs BUT IT NEEDED TO END ONE OF TWO WAYS: a) Eleanor recognises that the LIVING demand more of her than the dead and she leaves John again (regardless of Bobby 2.0) and John recognises that he's NEVER going to get from his mom what he needs (and they could even tack on him learning that that's not his fault) OR b) Eleanor recognises that the son she CAN save is STILL ALIVE, and that devoting her attention to processing an old trauma at the expense of her living son is no better than what she did to him the first time round, where the cost of Bobby's death was paid most heavily by John. BUT EITHER WAY the resolution should not be "Doing Right by Bobby by Doing Bobby Over Again" but instead "Letting Go of Bobby"

ANYWAY.

I’m gonna stop there. I’ve got Thoughts™️for days, and I’d love to hear yours!

Or if there’s anything else you wanted to know more about that I didn’t get into (I did kind of go off track…a bit), or you want more meta or something else, HMU! I love talking about it!

[mantamarie]

I uhmmm don’t talk about my friends much but I love them all very deeply and ik this is all kinds cringy and stuff but it’s like. Kinda important to me to let them know.

@pityish @applescoven @altruistscasket — I don’t think I give you enough credit for being my friend then I should, cuz u guys have all helped me thru so much no matter what was happening. And I just really love you all and you’re some of my good friends online. I just really like being around you. And I’m so happy I met you and stuff idk ily .

@marblescourt — we lwk had some mad beef but I’m glad we were able to work through it since ily bro ur my good pal now, and we can caress each other now. Idk ur just awesome and I’m glad we’re chill.

@titansautism — YOURE MY OOMF!! Ily bro, I love our discussions and I really cool and I appreciate you. And I’m so excited to see you at holmat!! Can’t wait to touch you up and personal.

@finefine24 — HIHI ILY TOO!! I don’t talk to you much but I do want to change that, I’m also very excited to touch you up and personal. Ur so cool and I hope to get to know you better.

@odyssey-duo ILY TOO BRO, ur so awesome I could caress you and stuff. Such a silly little guy that I like to talk too, I’m happy I met you through everything. Ur so chill bro!!

Ok yeah that’s all I felt sappy before bed

[elishnord]

A Word With Friends | July 28

Thank you @woundedsoul12 and @hedwigoprah for tagging me!

Gently tagging @gutz-ingellvar @frotees-corner @awardenandacrow @selennes @spinfins @direlie @tintarelladluna and YOU, love. Don't be shy, go write something amazing, I know you can!

So, this week's word.

Prodigious:

• Very big in size or quantity; gigantic; colossal; huge. • extraordinarily exciting or amazing • ominous, portentous

Remember,

• These challenges are available to complete at any time.

• They can be as long or as short as you see fit.

Trivia for your time: The strongest muscle in the human body is the masseter muscle in your jaw. NO BITING ALLOWED 🙅‍♀️

Here, I guess, was not biting, it came later. XD

"It's here." We stopped at a cave. The entrance was covered with tendrils of corruption and thorns. Caretaker was already waiting nearby. Didn’t want to miss the fight. "The Hearts of the Revenants will open the way to the greatest evil," the spirit promised and distributed the collected focal points among the tentacles. They shriveled and crumbled with a hiss, revealing a passage. Very dark and not at all welcoming, to say the least. It was saturated with corruption — stuffy, heavy, viscous. It called to me, and I could have controlled it, but I knew: just touch it, and the madness of the Titans would consume me, just as it had consumed the rest of the Evanuris.

So, where did I get this from?..

This place was a mirror image of Mythal’s refuge, only desecrated. And there was a dragon there. Huge, much larger than those we fought in Hossberg, but still not as prodigious as Lusacan or Razikale. It fed on corruption and was also possessed by a demon. A corrupted Revenant Dragon, Taash’s worst nightmare.

It behaved strangely, not like dragons do: it spat some kind of ghostly stuff and threw itself at us with its whole body, we barely had time to dodge. Taash tried to climb onto the dragon’s back, but it showed unimaginable agility and gave the hunter a powerful kick. The usual tactics didn’t work because the opponent had no tactics. Only stupid, aggressive power.

I had one trump card, though. I was smarter. I don’t know why this thought came to my mind, what good was intelligence when the forces were so unequal? However, I was quickly enlightened. The cave suddenly became noticeably smaller, the center of gravity shifted, forcing me to go down on all fours, the angle of vision changed, the Revenant and I became equal in height.

"Is that Mythal? She’s a dragon, just like in fairy tales?!" Lucanis marveled somewhere below.

"Holy moly!" Taash’s scream reached me. "Rook's vinsomer!"

You should have warned me about such gifts, Protector, what if I crush one of my own?!

Into battle, child, she ordered.

So that’s what was left of her… The divine form that had caused the ancient elves so many problems.

I had never seen a fight between two dragons, but my instinct told me — destroy the wings, tear out the throat, rip open the belly. The Revenant was slightly larger, but he wasn’t a dragon; he fought like a human — trying to butt me, knock me to the ground, bite my paw, and scare me with a terrible roar. But I could roar frighteningly too now.

Wing… block the path to protect my own, so tiny and fragile. I must be careful not to trample them myself. Get out of the way already… Eyes… a powerful slap with a clawed paw. The Revenant swiped blindly with his claws and hit too. I shook my head and spat lightning at him. My magic perfectly complemented the magic of the ancient goddess. Would the Blade of the Void work?

I lunged forward, crashing my entire body into the clumsy bulk of the enemy, knocked him to his side, and slashed with my sparking claws across his belly, spilling his guts. The Revenant roared in pain. Lucanis drove his rapier deep into its eye to finish off my attack.

“Done,” he said and looked up at me.

Now how do I get back? A silent suggestion not to rush came from within, and a minute later I was hanging around the Demon’s neck, trembling with exhaustion.

“Holy moly!” Taash repeated, hugging both of us. “Rook, you’re a fucking legend! How did you do that?!”

“It’s Mythal,” I groaned. “Taash, you’re breaking my ribs.”

“Seriously! That was fucking amazing!” Taash shouted in my ear and added several enthusiastic swear words in Qunlat. “We need to come up with a name for you.”

“Call me Saarebas,” I allowed.

“No way! Asaaranda, that’s it!”

“Alright, let it be the Storm. Let go already.”

[cultkinkcoven]

Real Possession stuff I’ve never seen anyone talk about

(All obviously my personal experience) NSFW. MINORS DNI

Occupation feels like movement

Occupation is the word Lucifer uses to describe the state of dwelling within me but not actively possessing me. Basically, his excess and left over energy just chilling within me at any point. There is a certain level of occupation or residency that is optimal, that he tries to keep me at. And this occupation does have a literal physical feeling. The only way I can describe it is movement, with Lucifer especially it is swirling, like swirling wind inside of me. If I sit and close my eyes, I can notice him and I can feel out how much of him is still within me. Oftentimes (increasingly more now) he will come to check up on me. And he will tell me to feel for him, make sure I still can. Sometimes, especially immediately after possessions, it is strong. When I close my eyes it’s like I can see a swirling wind inside of me. I feel a movement and force within. Other times it’s more subtle, like a small ripple on a lake. a sign we might need to top up soon. But I could definitely tell if he was absolutely gone.

He has only recently started to “top me up” outside of formal ritual ceremonies, which is interesting to feel. Especially when I’m out and about. I find myself in some small moment of quiet and he’ll ask me if it’s okay to give me just a little. It usually has a very calming, almost slightly intoxicating effect. It soothes any anxieties I may have at the time. Probably because it just feels like he is getting closer to me.

The craving thing is real

I’ve spoken about this a little bit but it’s difficult to dive into fully because it’s very sensitive. After going through rigorous amounts of training and possessions, it can be difficult to wean off, and it will be uncomfortable if it hasn’t been sustained in enough time. Being possessed does in many ways feel similar to drug use, and I would go as far as to say it can become addicting. There are negative consequences to both over indulgence and withdrawal.

I don’t necessarily feel any sort of emptiness or lack of. It’s more like a pressure that builds and needs to be released rather than a thing that is withheld. The craving is more invasive than just arousal, the desire to spiritually (and sometimes literally) be entered by them (the spirit) specifically can be overwhelming.

This isn’t catastrophic either, nothing terrible happens if I am not possessed. It’s kind of like falling off a schedule for a prescription drug. Your levels drop and you feel weird, but things will even out again and you’ll be fine. If you start again, your levels will spike and you’ll also feel kind of weird. Lucifer tries to keep me at a good level.

Kind of related to the last one, but slightly different: Love mania is very real.

Not necessarily caused by withdrawals (actually can be caused by the opposite- too much possession). It’s basically just the state of being extremely enthusiastically in love with your deity in a way that is mentally destabilizing. Or in other words, you go a little brain dead and love drunk. This isn’t really a bad thing (Lucifer seems to like it a lot) but more so just a very shocking thing to experience for the first time. I’ve been overwhelmed with my love for Lucifer before, but after possessions it feels very much like a mania, a madness. I love him so much I want to curl into a ball and cry. It’s weird.

Astral bleed and accidental invocations

This shit. This shit is so weird.

I don’t think I’ve ever actually?? Unintentionally? Summoned Lucifer? That’s kind of paradoxical because I always want him around and if he pops up randomly I’m like “heyy :) !”

But on his side, it is extremely complex and strange. I have kind of just known things and witnessed things, or been brought into things spontaneously without either of our conscious intention. I’ll just show up. Or I’ll just witness something, or know something about him that I may not have been intended to know or hear. Unintentional eavesdropping. Sometimes it’s not in English, so I don’t entirely understand what’s happening. I’m like 89% sure these are just caused by him and I thinking of each other at the same time or being fresh on of each other from a recent possession. I just gravitate towards him, even in awkward occurrences.

This is a large part of the training, learning how to manage and control that in a way that doesn’t neuter it. It’s definitely calmed down a lot recently.

You become involved with or at least noticed by with other spirits that are close to them. You share a symbolic body, and what touches his body touches you, however indirectly.

This one has become increasingly apparent in my personal experiences, holy shit. I understand far greater now the sheer amount of fucking connections Lucifer has. And many have lots of things to say. Some of them really don’t like me, some of them protect me. It’s always very perplexing.

Under a variety of circumstances I’ve recently met Naamah, Lilith (honestly, a real one) Haagenti, Asmodeus (extremely briefly), Orobas, Halphas, someone called Hamara, and others who I do not yet know the names of. They have all acted very differently, but they’re mostly concerned with Lucifer, lots of these conversations don’t directly involve me. It’s ? Weird to be ignored. Even weirder to be noticed. When I am directed at (by outsiders) I’m treated as a sort of extension of him, I suppose. I guess as one would treat a student or son. Idk. It’s weird actually.

(Related) Other spirits do treat you differently- Arguably other people too.

I’ve been made aware by Lucifer and other spirits that vessels in general have a reputation for being slightly uncanny, especially to other spirits. I’ve had spirits I’ve been working with (and not been working with at all, were basically just in proximity to Lucifer) basically treat me like a slightly freaky emo kid. There is a discomfort or weariness, nervousness. And especially, in these little half introductions, when they do address me and say something, there have been comments, jokes. Sometimes it’s a compliment in disguise. Sometimes it’s just a general aversion. I suppose vesselhood makes you a lot more specific and specialized to your daemon or spirit. So in my mind if would make sense that other spirits would be slightly turned off by or weird towards a vessel. Idk.

Time passes differently depending on his saturation within me

Most def. This is also something that is jarring and hard to get used to immediately. I’ve had trances and dreams with him feel like they lasted literal days. There are certainly moments, and they are always significant mine, where it feels like time slows down. These moments don’t have to be crazy or huge, just important. Something he wants me to see or know or feel. It’s interesting and nice. It’d be nice if that was something I could control.

(This might just be a me thing (( this might all just be a me thing)) because I’m so pathetic for him but) Heavy heavy heavy Nostalgia on that man.

Thissss hurrttsss. This sucks. Idek how to describe this because it’s beyond words but I feel an intense amount of nostalgia just from him in general. And it’s primarily caused I guess by how the way??? My brain?? Has started to process memories? Like

Something about possession messes with your memories, but not in a degrading way. The opposite actually, you remember stuff in great emotional clarity, but you also? Like??? Remember them as well. All the places you’ve felt them befofe you even knew them, I guess.

And the memories I do have in my like -real, waking-not astral or dreams,- life, get married to the ones I’ve formed in the astral like there truly is no distinction.

So when I think about like. An early morning, laying on my lover’s chest and breathing springtime air, I feel like I have done that so many times with my boyfriend. And right beside him was Lucifer. Were we all in the same bed? I just remember holding, and their scents mixing together like there was no veil.

I got about 100 memories like that now.

I genuinely feel like I’ve known Lucifer for so long even though it’s technically only been a few years. And I feel like we’ve done a lot, and have had hundreds of slow nights together. I remember him in excruciating clarity. And any time I see him in the world it’s achingly nostalgic. If I smell him in the wind, in an incense, or feel him, or notice him, it’s like, a floodgate of,

“Oh hey, like, the one from when I was a kid”

And I didn’t even know him when I was a kid!!!

It’s painful, the worst, for me just because I’m sentimental and weird. Possession like,, bores them into your memory.

But it’s also so wonderful because I never want to forget him.

This is also kind of soppy but Optimism?

Idk all of life’s strifes and whatever both seem symbolic and mythopoetic, or literary. My life becomes a story for him. So it’s a very, “everything is okay at the end of the day” feeling.

DREAMS holy fuck

This should have been point #1. He’s hijacked my dreams, I dream about him almost every single night and if I don’t, there’s a reason. My mind naturally floats back to him, and my astral body is usually trying to locate him at any given point. Sometimes these dreams are deep and super symbolic and esoteric. Often they are domestic and more about holding a conversation or being intimate than unlocking deep truths, although, they very much can be very much that. Sometimes I wake up from sleeping and am like. Damn it. Lucifer. I. I need to sleep again. And like. Actually be unconscious. Sleeping is more complicated now.

(I warned you this was NSFW) Sleep possession and sleep sex

This might just be a Lucifer thing, not sure, he seems to have a bit of a somno thing. Possession itself already dabbles in a lot of pre-consent and this only started happening after we started pursuing vesselhood seriously. Basically what it sounds like, being possessed while asleep or between conscious states (just waking, falling asleep, trances, liminal states, etc). There have been more occasions where I’ve woken up and realized that he’s actively inside me and moving. The intensity varies. It can be jarring but it’s never scary. It can actually be kind of sweet.

And because he frequently possesses me inside of my dreams, I sometimes awake with him still inside of me. And that’s far less jarring, a lot more cozy actually.

He’s real as fuck

Possession adds a layer of presence and embodiment that is really really visceral, at least to me. If this is some crazy mental illness self projection thing, I am wildly impressed with myself to be completely honest. I can feel that man’s arm hair, I know what the skin on his back feels like. His. VOICE. Yes, I practiced clairaudience before, but I have heard his voice so many times in my dreams. Idc y’all, he is real to me.

And as well as, less in the sensory way and more of the weighted almost human way, he is real in how non linear he is. We have little in between moments where we just wait, wait for a thing to finish cooking, wait for a wick to light. Lots of silences and moments of presence, but also extremely mundane things. Shaving. Pissing, small discomforts, weird and hyper specific preferences, like dinner cutlery placements. The way he lays down or back on a couch. The way he holds his fork when he eats.

Lucifer doesn’t even have a body, and yet I know it so well. Maybe that’s because that body communicates everything I need to know. Cool. Weird.

For me, it’s actually given me a stronger sense of self.

Having a little bit of ego dissolution during intense possessions always gives me a real sense of who “Shi” is when I return. The things I like, the values I have, my preferences, my vibe and archetype. Before it was just like, we’ll “Shi” is me, just some guy. I don’t know. Now I know who Shi is a lot more, who I’d like Shi to be. I don’t feel like I’m falling into Lucifer and becoming him, I more so just feel like I’m becoming a version of myself that is pleasing to him, which.. I very much want to be. Possession always reminds me how much I am like him and of him, but also how very different we are, and how good the contrast is between us.

Thats all I can think of rn.