#Imagine if someone actually figures it out somehow

[wtfdemother]

bad bad me - twitch streamer reader 👑

it’s 2:55am

you’re a new twitch streamer, often streaming late at night with nothing more than a couple dozen people silently watching you play. you put a lot of hours into games and figured folks might need something to listen to as background noise. plus, you’d make a quick buck. win-win. so, there’s your quaint little setup, showing only half your face

you don’t know what to title tonight’s stream, randomly typing in, “can’t sleep: minecraft asmr” why not, you have a bit of a habit of thinking out loud, so maybe if you whispered maybe you wouldn’t look half as crazy talking to yourself

somehow, some way, somewhere, a lonely soldier bored out of his mind on medical leave, going through the worse of his mental stumbles upon your video one night and actually manages to fall asleep just by listening to you talk

he doesn’t think much of it the next day but the following night when König tosses and turns, struggling to find sleep, he looks up your user and presses play

and he drifts off to the sound of your voice.

he gets hooked, he’s never had such a restful night’s sleep like that. he wonders if you have any other playthroughs, so he clicks on your profile. slowly it becomes a routine of watching your videos every night, leaving a couple comments and finding your other socials, waiting for updates like how a dog waits for its owner at the door.

König briefly entertains the idea of letting you leash him while he kneels at your mercy, his arms bound with you hovering just above his face, lapping at your cunt like it was the only source to quench his thirst — he wants to pull you down but… the restraints dig deep into his wrists

he finds himself sending you gifts on streams, hoping you’ll recognize the name on your screen. he’s even earned a shiny badge next to his user, #1 Gifter Badge. the day you blew him a kiss and mentioned his name, thanking him for the subs, he dreamt of kissing you senseless

König knew he was in trouble, knew it from the moment he felt himself chub up one night at the sound of your voice after a really stressful day and his mind begged him for a place of comfort

but god not like this—not when you’d been so nice to him, a machine meant for war and nothing else, he doesn’t deserve the kindness you give away so freely. you deserve someone who’ll cherish it and won’t spoil it with dirty thoughts

you deserve someone who isn’t a degenerate who gets aroused from your hushed whispers and soft expressions, who can restrain themselves. he is not that person, not tonight. with a low curse, König’s hand dips lower, tugging down his shorts and briefs in one go. his cock springs at attention, tipping over his stomach under the sheer weight. he thumbs the glossy tip leaking with pre, cursing himself while your voice pools into his ears like honey, muttering indistinctly while you try to solve a puzzle from the game

he doesn’t need to decipher each word, just the sound of your velvety voice is enough, imagining it’s you cooing at him instead, peppering kisses on the scars littering his rugged face while you jerk him off, telling him how hard he works and how much he needs a break, to let you take care of him and let him melt in your arms…

[misssakuramochi]

POST-DIVORCE MEMORY WIPE HEADCANONS FEAT: HARVEY, SEBASTIAN, SHANE, ABIGAIL, & HAYLEY

Requester: @withered-s0u1 Request: Hey wanna make some people cry? Headcanon with the memory wipe shire being used on spouse after divorce and them having Deja vu involving the farmer seeing them move on but feeling like they are missing apart of a life they could've have together. (Shane, Harvey, Sébastien, Abigail, and Haley) :D Age Rating: E Warning(s): Implied Divorce Genre(s): Angst Notes: Stardew graphics by @thecutestgrotto !! Thanks for your request and for reading! Safe travels~

Shane

↪ It starts with the taste of his beer, something he remembered having grown used to, bitter and insulting on his tongue. He thought he'd long-since gotten over the thick flavour of hops but it makes his lip curl all the same. When he hears your laughter over the dull thrum of chatter in the saloon Shane almost flinches, stomach aching with a sudden, inexplicable feeling of guilt. Why the hell should he care what you, or anyone else, thought about his coping habits? Almost out of spite Shane orders another round.

↪ It isn't every day he sees you, but when you can make the time to stop by the ranch with a gift for Marnie, Jas, and himself, Shane finds himself overcome with a strange feeling of comfortable nostalgia. Something feels right about the way you smile and press a gift to his hands, and he can't for the life of himself understand why. He’s left with a feeling of longing, and a desire to reach out for your hand that he always has to stifle.

↪ He can imagine a life with you so clearly sometimes it feels like he can almost see it. Sharing a drink with you at the saloon the background blurs into a comfortable kitchen decorated for two, your work-worn clothes almost looking like pajamas next to your mussed hair before Shane shakes his head, bringing his vision back to reality. It’s too visceral for him to shake off easily, even if he never tells anyone.

↪ It’s when Shane finally sees you with someone else that he recognizes that deja-vu for what it must be: desperation and daydreams - his own stupidity letting him think of himself as deserving of something so… good. Surely he’d let himself dream of you, of something more with you, against all his best judgements. Watching those visions crash and burn as your arms wrapped around Sebastian, was Shane’s punishment for his hubris.

↪ Shane tells himself he’s happy; when you bounce up to him to tell him that you’d made it official for so-and-so, that they’d proposed, on your wedding day… After all, there’s no way a drunken, miserable bastard like himself would ever be able to protect your smile. It was better this way, you ending up with someone who truly made you happy. Still, in the dark of night when even the buzz of alcohol can’t blur his racing thoughts Shane can’t help but wonder: could things have turned out differently if you’d chosen him? Because he can’t shake the feeling that they would.

Sebastian

↪ Sebastian doesn’t usually like people. Awkward small talk and unfamiliar vibes, meeting anyone knew just made Sebastian uncomfortable, anxious. So, when a knock comes at his bedroom door and he knows it’s the unfamiliar farmer, Sebastian feels knots of dread. He’s not sure what inspires him to answer, instead of feigning sleep, but when shuffling feet lead begrudging hands to open the door the last thing Sebastian is expecting is to feel relaxed. Somehow, staring down at this you, this person he’s hardly met, Sebastian feels more at home than he ever has.

↪ Others remark on it too - Robin takes to teasing him for how quickly he’s warmed up to you, though Sebastian is always quick to grumble and wave it off. Still, he’s noticed it too. Sebastian actually takes to looking through old yearbooks and stalking your old social media if he can find any to try to figure out if he somehow knows you. When he comes up empty he’s perplexed. You’d just met, but you clicked like you’d known each other forever. That hadn’t ever happened to Sebastian before.

↪ Spending time together feels more domestic than it should. Sure, most of it is spent indoors, not uncommonly in his room just occupying the same space while engaged in your own activities, but something fits about that for Sebastian more comfortably than it should. Sometimes he’ll say something offhandedly to you only to look up and realize that you’d left hours ago - something about having you around feels second nature all too quickly.

↪ It’s when Sebastian visits you that he deja-vu really sets in. In every corner he can see ghosts of himself smiling; he’s tuning his bike out back, making coffee for two in your kitchen, kissing you goodnight with a flick of the lightswitch… it feels so real he can taste your tongue and he’s half focused until he finds an excuse to head home and have a panic attack.

↪ When he finally caves and talks to someone Sebastian tells himself he’s fine with a slap in the face from reality if it means an answer about his feelings. When Sam’s initial response is awkward laughter, shifting eyes and the nervous way he chewed on his lipring when he didn’t want to talk about something, Sebastian wishes he had been more honest with himself. Sam had asked you out the night before - you’d been over the moon. Sebastian’s heart breaks too deeply, he thinks, for losing someone he’d never had to begin with.

Harvey

↪ At first, Harvey doesn’t think too much of it. He’s usually stiff, unsure, awkward as he navigates the line of professional and friendly as a doctor and friend. Something about you makes the pressure of that responsibility feel a little less crushing. Even early in Harvey feels himself relaxing around you, unafraid to talk about himself, secure in his honesty. He brushes it off. Everyone loves you, after all - charismatic and friendly, how could he not admire you? Right?

↪ Then, he ignores it. A doctor and man of science, of fact, Harvey can’t possibly come to some crazy, half-baked conclusion on a feeling. Even as he reads your chart, finding new information somehow entirely unsurprising, knowing medical information he hadn’t yet read up on you and confirming his suspicions in the following pages, Harvey ignores it. Coincidence, confusion… what else could it possibly be?

↪ He can’t keep ignoring it when he finally touches your skin. Innocuous, professional even, Harvey is patching you up after a rough trip into one of the local mines. As he holds you still, careful to be gentle with you as he stitches up the worst of your wounds, Harvey is flashed with images vivid enough to nearly make him slip. It’s years of training and calculated deep breathing that gets him through, even as images of situations he’s sure he would otherwise remember, feelings of your skin in his fingers, flashed across his brain with each stitch. By the time he’s done patching you up, Harvey looks worse than you do.

↪ Harvey thinks he must be sick. A mental illness of some sort, perhaps - conjured familiarity, falsified memory. No matter what he researches, who he reaches out to with questions of ‘professional nature’, nothing he finds quite fits. Nothing, of course, other than the spiritual talk of deja-vu: past lives, alternate memories. It feels so fitting, but Harvey can’t bring himself to believe it could be something so esoteric. In the end he thinks, perhaps, he’s just been lonely a little too long

↪ When he hears from Maru that you and Hayley have started dating Harvey expects to feel relieved - surely now he could reroute his thoughts, see you again as the patient you were. He’s surprised when he doesn’t. He can’t even manage a smile at Maru, hard as he tries, and Harvey knows she doesn’t believe him when he insists that he’s fine, but he’ll be taking the morning for paperwork and he’s not to be disturbed if it isn’t an emergency. He feels heavy, sick, and stupid for feeling betrayed when he sits down. Looking over his desk, he can’t stop the thought that comes unbidden: it would look much better with a wedding photo of the two to decorate it.

Abigail

↪ Abigail doesn’t know what it is, but there’s just something about you. It isn’t special, exactly. It isn’t good, or bad, and Abigail doesn’t know what it means, but when she looks at you for what she thinks is the first time she feels… something. A tingling in her fingertips, a pull in her chest, and then the sudden onset of a migraine. Your name makes her brow crease as she’s overcome with the feeling of something on the tip of her tongue that she just can’t quite remember.

↪ When she complains to you about not being able to wander the farmland anymore and you give her permission to visit, Abigail takes it as an opportunity to explore. Had you put a spell on her? Were you some sort of wizard? Abigail doesn’t find any answers. She feels drunk as she wanders the property after dark, each blink switching her between two realities. In one she wanders a booming farmstead, lights off as the sole resident rests; in the other she’s standing in the middle of a booming upstart farm, handfeeding clucking chickens, giggling as cows lick at her forehead and smiling at you.

↪ Lost memories plague her dreams, so clear that she often wakes disoriented, taking count of her things to remind herself what’s real. She feels the way you kissed her on your wedding day, held her in the night, made her heart bloom when you brought her trinkets from your adventures - and in the morning, you’re hardly more than strangers. Abigail is spiritual enough to believe truly that it means something - what, though, she hasn’t any idea. It’s a little scary, but it’s exciting, too.

↪ Esotaric deep dive. Abigail reads her palms, makes excuses to read yours (something that gives her a shock of deja-vu so visceral she gasps when she traces your palm) and calls upon the spirits to guide her to her answers. In the end, she never does find out. She senses severed connections, her ouija board spells out words of a future lost to the past, but she can never quite put her finger on what it all means. In the end she theorizes that you were lovers in a past life or somesuch.

↪ Insisting to herself more than anyone that she’s satisfied with her findings, Abigail is caught the most off guard by how bitter she feels when she gets an invitation to your wedding in the mail. ‘Did the time we spent together mean nothing to you?’ Is an unfair feeling for someone who’s never truly spent time with you, but that doesn’t stop Abigail from being overwhelmed by it. She’s passive aggressive when she knows she has no right to be, digging at Shane as your choice in spouse, but she can’t help it. Why couldn’t it be her?

Haley

↪ Haley doesn’t know just who you think you are, approaching her as casually as if you’d known her forever; she’s also less worried about that than she is the fact that she doesn’t mind, your cavalier introduction and almost overly-familiar manner nearly making her smile. It sets her on edge, how strangely comfortable you feel, and she doubles-down on the bitchy routine to compensate for her insecurity

↪ As much as Haley insists that she hates you especially for the way you unsettle her, she’s still rather possessive. If anyone asked if she liked you, wanted you, if you were hers, she’d be quick to pull a face and just say ‘ew.’ If anyone else tries to make you theirs, though, she’s going to have a problem. Haley can’t explain it, would deny it while staring it in the face if she had to, but she hates the idea of you being with anyone else. Whether by badmouthing you, or the labeled perpetrator, Haley does what she can to keep anyone from flirting with you

↪ So, when you and Abigail get closer than ever, Haley does not take it well. When picking on Abigail doesn’t get results, and flirting with you it met with discouragement, Haley breaks. Emily and Alex are the only ones to see her for days as she rots in feelings she can’t keep ignoring. She doesn’t know why she feels the way she does, but she hurts; she needs someone there to remind her that that’s ok, and for some reason she can’t stop wanting it to be you.

↪ When things settle and relationships become less rocky, Haley insists on doing your wedding photography. She says she just wants to make sure you two don’t do something stupid and pick some phony, but it’s kind of her way of apologizing for causing such a fuss for the two of you. In part, she’s also hoping it will give her a sort of closure she doesn’t understand why she craves.

↪ In the end, Haley isn’t sure if it works. She feels more accepting, in a way, but as she stands in her dark room squinting over the photos as she develops them, she swears she sees the image of her own smile staring back at her, her body draped in the wedding dress of her dreams and her hands manicured to perfection as they clung to your arm. She shakes her head and the image is gone, but she can never truly shake the longing.

[writing-whump]

Could you write part two of the Dominic fic where he feels even worse?

Sick and whiny

Dominick feverish and sick + Melissa caretaker part 2.

Melissa had never been in bed with a man.

Which might have sounded strange in her late 20s, but when you take care of three little sisters, have a controlling mother, get monitored by a wolf pack 24/7, and put yourself through the perilous 8-year-long journey to become a doctor, you don't get much time to date people.

Nor do you have anywhere you could safely go to. Monitored, judged, under surveillance, always being timed and expected.

Dominick in her bed was a surreal sight. Not because of any latent eroticism just yet, but for the sheer presence of someone else in her most safe and only private space.

Her pillow, her blanket, her mattress. The dark she controlled and could hide in, the precious time at night that belonged only to her.

Dominick didn't seem to get the significance, flopping down and immediately falling asleep.

She went through the trouble to ask him if she could remove his shirt. He grumbled something in response, so she figured as an emergency, she could go ahead.

Working on the buttons from his collar all the way down to his waist while kneeling over him on the bed was a very strange sensation. She felt like she was doing something bad, as if she didn't see or handle patients in worse conditions.

It was difficult to see Dominick as a patient. Somehow, the switch, the way she could not make it personal when she handled someone, when she needed a clear head, didn't work on him.

"I'm going to roll you to the side, so I can get the shirt out," she commented as she did just that. Even if he wasn't awake, she imagined he could understand on some level. That it might make him calmer.

His naked skin was slick with sweat and radiated heat.

"I'm going to check your temperature," she warned, cupping his cheeks with one hand and putting the other over his forehead. Over 38 and climbing, if her guess was right.

His chest hitched under her, and he turned to the side with a burp that made him gag at the end.

Okay, enough ogling. She went to fetch a laundry tub for the side of his bed; they were the easiest to rinse out.

Meanwhile Dominick shook off the covers, hand on his belly that was gurgling loudly. A hiccup jostled his frame, but he didn't wake up.

Melissa opened the window and sat down on the edge of the bed, considering how acceptable it would be to loosen his belt and strip him of his pants. They couldn't feel well on his sensitive stomach.

"I don't mean anything, Dom. This is going to help, I swear." She pried the leather open carefully, unbuttoning his jeans...but how would she wiggle him out of them? She tried tugging at the fabric by his ankles, but it only moved a couple of centimeters.

When he woke up, she would use the opportunity and help him get them off. Yeah, that would be best.

She had also called him 'Dom'. Twice now, once when he was awake. Would he remember that when he got better?

When he had been asleep for a significant amount of time without much change, it occurred to her she had been in the same PJs for the last three days and hadn't even brushed her teeth.

Timing herself, she managed to shower, wash her hair, and clean up in under 20 minutes.

She found Dominick in the same position, though he was now huddled into himself, goosebumps on his arms.

Putting the covers back down, she wondered how weird it would be to actually stay next to him in bed. Wasn't it logical if she wanted to keep an eye on him? But it was only 6 in the evening, hardly a good excuse to climb into bed with him.

She checked his forehead again. Not rising, but the temperature wasn't dropping either.

Letting him enjoy the covers for a little longer, she came back with small wet towels, putting one around his neck and forehead and wrapping the others around his wrists and ankles.

One good thing that came from this weird afternoon was that now she could stare at him without him noticing. It still made her feel guilty.

...

Around 8 pm she woke up from her dozing in the chair next to the bed to Dominick retching.

"It's okay, it's okay. The tub's right here," she said, guiding him by the shoulder to turn over the edge of the bed.

Dominick was red in the face, burping loudly in the right direction before a mouthful of bile came up. His stomach was hellbent on spasming more though. He retched and retched, whole body jerking with the effort.

"Shit, that hurts," he said, spitting into the laundry tub. It seemed to take too much effort to even collapse back into the pillows.

Melissa pushed at his arm to coax him to lie back down, but he wouldn't budge. "You haven't eaten much these past two days, have you."

"Then why do I still feel nauseous?" He rubbed at his eyes, forehead dripping with sweat onto the bedsheets.

"It's a virus, not food related," she said. She grabbed a glass of water from the nightstand she left there along with some pills against the fever. She didn't have hope of getting into him right now. "Drink this."

His hazel eyes narrowed at her. "What? It won't stay down."

"I know. But you are going to throw up either way and it would hurt less if you had something in your stomach."

Dominick eyed the glass as if she offered him a cup of poison, swallowing heavily. "I don't know..."

His naked stomach was bloated, sinking and rising right under her arm.

"You can try to keep it down. Even a little while could help you absorb some moisture," she said with a shrug. Maybe it would feel better if the water and doubled nausea had a purpose and weren't just there to be promptly vomited back up.

He covered his mouth with his hand, burping loudly into it. His jaw tightened in determination. "Whatever. Give it here."

Without much hesitation he took the glass from her and downed the water.

"Slow down-"

Before she could finish the sentence, he emptied half of the glass. He gagged into it once, but kept going until it was finished, then let the glass fall onto the bed next to him. "Oh god, that doesn't feel good."

Melissa grabbed the tub and put it onto the bed right under his chin.

Dominick propped himself up on one elbow while bracing against the tub with the other, taking quick breaths through his open mouth. A loud burp came up that made him quiver in revulsion.

She shifted to sit on the bed next to him instead of the chair, her hand landing on his back. Another shiver ran through him.

His spine arched into her hand, and then he was burping up the water back into the tub. Two more violent retches and more liquid hit liquid. From this close up, she could hear his stomach slosh, could hear the bubbling of the water as it rushed up his throat.

Gently, she rubbed circles on his back, featherlight touch of someone who wasn't sure if she was welcome to be there, but wanted her presence noticed.

Dominick kept gagging and spitting up mouthfuls of water for the next 10 minutes. He was drooling over the edge of the tub, too tired to hold his head up.

"I think you are finished." She took one of the wet towels and dabbed at his sweaty face, under his nose, chin, and lips.

He shivered under her touch, closing his eyes. "Still don't feel right."

"You are pretty sick, that's to be expected. Try to get some more sleep. You'll feel better in the morning."

"You sure?" he croaked but let her take the tub away so he could flop down onto his back, chest rising steadily.

He let out a little sigh as she continued cleaning up his chin and then down his neck and chest. "You have your area of expertise, and I have mine," she said. Even if he wasn't better, he would relax sooner if he thought so.

Dominick closed his eyes, but he was frowning.

"Get rid of those pants. It will be more comfortable," she said, trying to sound casual as she got up with the tub to clean it out. Leaving him the perfect opportunity to do so if he was feeling uncomfortable around her...though he didn't seem to register he was naked from the waist up and she was touching him.

When she got back, Dominick was under the covers, the pants discarded on the floor.

She re-wet the towels, so they would be cold again, folding one neatly over his forehead. "I'll let you sleep."

When she tried to get up, his hand grabbed her wrist. His eyes were open to slits. "Where are you...are you going away?"

"I don't want to disturb you." She figured she would return to check on him when he was asleep.

"You don't." He licked his dry lips, looking bashful all of a sudden. "Sorry. I just don't...I don't know if I can sleep."

She sank back down onto the edge of the bed. "Why not?"

"Feel achy all over," he mumbled, looking away. "Could you stay?"

Her eyebrows jumped up. He was so tall and serious and professional in all settings. How unexpected that he got so whiny when feverish.

"Would you like me to...?"

"Please."

She wasn't sure what he was asking until he patted the other side of the bed. "Stay?"

That was so weird. Nevertheless, somehow she felt herself compelled to comply, no matter how childish it sounded.

She circled the bed to get onto the empty, unruffled side, tucking herself against the second pillow on top of the covers.

Dominick turned to his side, facing her, his belly poking out from the covers like a pink dome.

He reached out his hand for her, landing on her hip, and then rolled closer, face against her stomach.

"What...?"

"Sorry," he said, voice muffled and stifling a burp against her shirt. "Everything hurts. Like...broken glass under my skin."

Her hand hovered above his shoulder again. "Yes?"

"My stomach feels like it's burning," he whined, forehead nuzzling against her, face out of view.

Giving in, she let her hand fall onto his back. It elicited a whine, and he squirmed even closer.

How did he turn so childish when sick? It felt almost too intimate to be allowed to see him like this.

She rubbed his broad back where she could reach it, heart pounding away in her chest.

Hopefully, he wouldn't notice.

[willingbrainrot]

[true-blue-sonic]

I came across a post on character flaws that states such flaws are extremes of a positive trait, and one example was "trusting: easily manipulated or distrustful". It got me thinking about the Rivals games, where I'd argue Silver possesses both extremes simultaneously. Namely, he'll trust you, if you say what he wants to hear and show a full willingness to cooperate. And if you don't, Silver will very flippantly brush you off and keep going his own way. There's a lot of situations in the Rivals games wherein he just doesn't tell people what's going on or runs off while they're questioning him, which makes them race or fight him in turn. Not exactly a situation to create trust between parties.

I find it really interesting how that comes into play with Espio, mostly. Espio is sent specifically to gather evidence about Silver kidnapping Chao, which is what he confronts Silver with partway through Rivals 2. Silver expresses confusion about Espio's incredulousness on why he's kidnapping the Chao precisely, and Espio indicates he trusts Silver; and with just one more question from Silver ("Are you going to help then, or keep getting in my way?") their team-up has commenced. But Silver has not at all verified if Espio is legitimate with his trust! He doesn't even ask what made Espio change his mind or anything of the sort; he immediately goes to Espio helping him out. Espio could easily have lied about trusting Silver to team up with him, all the while gathering evidence on him and having him right there to be stopped should the need arrive. And I wonder if that thought ever crossed Silver's mind, and how he would have reacted should he have found out Espio is specifically sent to gather evidence of a crime he's committing (which he himself doesn't see as a crime: he's stealing Chao to save the world). I find the discrepancy between "Silver will trust you without question if you fully commit yourself to his cause and agree with what he's saying" and "if you don't, Silver will just not listen to you in turn and keep doing his own thing" very interesting as a potential "easily manipulated" versus "distrustful" kind of character flaw. It could make for an interesting story of someone who does not have Espio's good intentions trying to get close to Silver in that way to harm him down the line; I wonder how long it would take for him to realise?

[bacchuschucklefuck]

I love how you completely changed everyone’s wardrobe for the Beach Episode, save for gorgug’s hoodie (do they take it in the water?) do you wanna talk about the outfit choices at all?

I mean there's not a lot to talk about there I think? I'm a big fashion-focused character design artist, I'll say that, but a lot of that I can't really translate into words sadly... there are just certain character-specific silhouettes that once u've picked out u can hang onto to give them new clothes and it'll usually be good that's kinda how I do it. I fully see gorgug going Anywhere in that hoodie tho I think by this point babygirl's like I have a theory it's indestructible and I intend to test it

[unpretty]

today was the day we finalized the migration of essential software at work from some old and busted shit that was ready to die at any time, to the new cloud version of the same software that we are no longer responsible for maintaining. which is good because no one was actually maintaining ours. it's just been slowly crufting into unusability for a decade. so anyway they set aside an hour for a teams meeting where they'd walk us through the different interface and how to go through normal processes.

"it's not that big a change," they said. "it's all the same stuff, it just looks a little different," they said.

they did not account for the fact that the primary user of this software is someone who doesn't actually know how it works or what it's doing. they learned how to do their job entirely through rote memorization. they know which buttons they are supposed to press in which order, and that is the full extent of what they know. they also did not account for the fact that this person's processes were learned thirdhand from other people who were not using this software normally to begin with.

it's like. imagine if someone had only ever used tumblr in the app. and you try to get them to use it in a desktop browser, but they cannot figure out how to post. and you go through explaining where the button is and how to format text and add tags, even though you could have sworn it was all the same in the app. but then they're like, "okay, but what's the phone number" and you're like "what" and they're like "the phone number to call to make a post?" and it turns out somehow they still had the ability to post by calling a phone number, and every time they posted on the app they called the post in first and then edited the audio post to transcribe it into text before screenshotting the text for a photo post. and nothing you can say to them will make them understand that none of that is necessary or correct. they shouldn't have even been able to do some of that. they can just type into the post box now, like a civilized person. "okay," they say, "but what is the phone number, though? because when i made my account my friend gave me this checklist and the first thing on it is to call the number."

so anyway we were on that teams call for almost three hours and they still don't have a handle on the new software

[prlssprfctn]

Jason, being a semi-canonic common hallucination in the family after his death, could lead to the stupidest AU ever.

Imagine everyone seeing him — Bruce, half of the time, Dick non-stop, Tim more often than not, and eventually even Alfred starts seeing little boy's silhouette in the corner of his eye, but he never admits it, because someone needs to stay sane in this family.

It is a lot like real-life cases when cult families start to see collective hallucination, and it somehow syncronises in their minds, so they hear and see the same things, you know?

So, yeah, everyone sees Jaybin around.

Everyone but Damian. Damian is a normal one. He also knows his Akhi is alive and well, so whatever. And it takes him some time to figure out that his family is bat-shit insane, but when he does, he decides to use it on his advantage.

Damian, calling Jason: Akhi, you should visit me. It is getting awfully boring here.

Jason, frowning: You know I can't. They think I am dead, and I can't risk my plan, especially now, when Red Hood is gaining-

Damian: We will pretend you are a hallucination.

Jason: ...What?

Damian: So, there is a plan...

So, a few days after this call, Jason arrives at the Wayne Manor. He still thinks his brother's plan sucks, but gaslighting is one of his many talents, so surely, they will figure something out. He can lie his way through this meeting.

Expect, he doesn't even need to lie. His family is actually insane.

Bruce, bumping in Jason:

Jason, staring back: Uh-

Bruce: Wow. You look so grown-up. And we look so alike. Nice one, brain.

Jason: ?..

Tim, leaving his room: Hi, B, hi- Oh, damn. Hi, Jaybin. Nice leather jacket.

Bruce: Right? I guess his ghost just grows up with us now.

Jason: ????

Alfred, nodding along, out of nowhere: Master Dick will hate it. He looks taller now.

All of them: (peacefully leave the room)

Jason: What. The. Fuck.

Jason waits for the moment of clarity to happen as he chats with Damian in the kitchen, but... nothing changes. They really, really think he is a hallucination. So... he starts hanging out around more. Both because Damian is getting angsty, and because it is kinda... amusing.

Tim, stuck on the same case for a few nights, non-stop: Oh, it is really just me and you in this, Jason.

Jason, playing Mario Cart on the table by his side: Maybe take a nap, dude.

Tim: No, I need to figure out this case with-

Jason, rolling his eyes: Red Hood had already dealt with it. Go to sleep.

Tim: ...You are such a good self-care kind of hallucination.

Jason: ...

Damian: Your bets, when will they realise that you are a real person?

Jason: At this point, I am not sure that they will, even if I start screaming that I am real.

Damian: Fair. I bet a year would do.

Jason: ...A year and a half.

Dick visits the Manor. He cooes at Jason, muttering something about "of course, he would have grown up in a punk," and Jason almost breaks his role to hit him on the head.

Jason, arms folded on his chest: You know, you need serious help, dad.

Bruce, blinking at him slowly: Probably. You know what else I need?

Jason: Sleep? Retirement? To stop adopting strays? The list is endless, man.

Bruce: ...Coffee. I need more coffee.

Jason, groaning: What the fuck!!!

Alfred figures out that Jason is real, eventually. Solely because he catches him sneaking a few extra cookies, and hallucinations are not supposed to eat. He plays along with him and Damian until the very end, anyway.

(Damian ends up winning the bet because Jason loses it once and pushes Bruce down the stairs, when he starts reciting some precautionary tale about him. Everyone is flabbergasted.)

[angabby-zzz]

i think i play too into gabbys anger with things. idk i think she would be a zoned out tired type of person. like i need to reference how shes an early sleeper somewhere in the quest. she (or angel) realizes shes like acting weird and is like 😟 oh no whats up. but then they realize its just cuz its 9pm already

[kimstills]

insatiable

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: with an age gap like yours and aaron’s, it’s expected for there to be differences. aaron expected it, of course, but he never expected it to be like this. but is he really complaining?

content warnings: smut, 18+, minors do not interact!, established relationship, age gap, like two (2) spanks, some dry humping, p in v, cowgirl, cream pie, reader is a horn dog but hotch is whipped regardless, degradation, dirty talk, hints of sugar daddy!aaron

word count: 2.2k

a/n: i already had this in my drafts but when i saw this post i couldn’t help but speed up the process teehee �� all i ever write is smut but i honestly cant help it lmao there’s something wrong w me

Aaron is a tired man.

A tired, busy, stressed, and overworked man.

He swears he somehow has six children despite only one of them having his actual blood and DNA.

He knows the relationship between him and the rest of his team has become fatherly in some aspects (keyword: some), even silently acknowledging the way they call him and Rossi ‘mom and dad’ behind their backs.

Yet, despite his love and respect for them, he was still a tired father man. A man that gave his team the weekend off so he could go home and sleep for 48 hours straight without the annoying six a.m. alarm that was constantly pending and going off.

But, of course, it seemed that you had others plans for him.

You, who he would normally classify as his sweet, beloved angel of a girlfriend, was secretly the devil reincarnated, someone who patiently waited for him to arrive to your shared apartment in order to attack.

He can sense the tension as soon as he steps inside the living area and sees you waiting for him on the couch, sitting primly with your legs tucked underneath you and facing the door. A sweet smile and seemingly innocent look adorns your face but Aaron knows better, and it doesn’t take a profiler to see the mischief that still sparkles through your facade.

He groans inwardly, not just because of those tactics of yours he’s already used to, no. But because of what you’re wearing. The cherry on top, truly.

A short, pink—and overall skimpy—nightie adorns your figure, the satin fabric shining the slightest bit from the glow of the table lamp from behind you. It ends at your mid-thigh, the lace adorned slit spread open over your skin, leaving little to the imagination. He can tell it’s new, a piece he hasn’t seen before—a piece he’s certain you bought with his credit card.

You look sweet, so sweet, but Aaron knows what you truly are.

A horny, insatiable beast.

Out of all the things Aaron has ever wondered in his life, he couldn’t help but be at a loss at how you’ve managed to conceal such ravenous desires with specious normalcy. He knew that hypersexuality and eagerness was a prone factor of yours, given the significant age gap between you two.

The insecurity prods at him now and then, the one that makes him think he’s far too old for a girl like you. But while he still considered himself to have a somewhat normal, healthy libido for his age, yours was over the roof—completely skyrocketed over what Aaron thought was the normal amount for a woman your age.

He doesn’t know how you do it, how you’re always ready to pounce on him at—quite literally—all times.

There’s been times where he’s been woken up with your mouth wrapped around his dick and your head bobbing up and down underneath the blanket, times where little to hardly no work gets done when he’s working from home because he just ‘looked so hot concentrated,’ times where his alarm goes off early in the morning and you call him back to bed with just a spread of your legs.

He swears he’s going to get a heart attack because of you one of these days.

The sound of you shuffling around the couch snaps him back to reality, swallowing harshly when you move to lean over the backrest of the couch. Your breasts push against the cushions, accentuating them further than the nightie allows.

“Welcome home, my love.”

He’s faced far worse monsters than a horny twenty-something-year-old, but he can’t help but look away in mortification as the exhaustion he was previously feeling begins to get replaced by his trousers tightening around him.

Your giggle snaps him out of his trance and he clenches and unclenches his fist, setting his suitcase down by the door. “Hi, sweetheart.”

You grin brightly, eyes twinkling in the low light of the apartment as you tap the seat next to you. Like a predator masking kindness and genuineness in order to get closer to their prey before they attack.

“How was work?” You ask, eyes following his every move as he cautiously makes his way over to you. You shift your body so that you’re facing him once he sits down, the top of your exposed knees brushing against the side of his thigh.

Aaron’s breath hitches. This was all part of your routine, your plan. He knows that you actually do care about how his days go, but right now, by that look in your eyes, he can tell you’re attempting to lure him in just like a siren does with a sailor.

If any of his team members were here right now they’d be snickering at how Aaron Hotchner, their seemingly stoic and intimidating boss, was turning weak in the knees for his horny girlfriend. He swallows the lump in his throat before answering, “It was good. Just a paperwork kind of day.”

You hum, nibbling at your bottom lip and leaning forward, one hand coming to rest on his pantsuit clad thigh. “I missed you today.”

It’s a ruse, Aaron says to himself. It’s all a ruse. The way you flutter your eyelashes at him and creep your hand further up. He knows it, he knows all of your little tricks.

Yet he still has to push you away. He never does.

“I missed you, too, sweet girl.” His heart flutters at the way you bite your bottom lip and smile, another endearing giggle echoing through the room before you finally move onto his lap.

Like a siren with a sailor.

You wrap your arms around his neck, practically shoving your boobs in his face as you settle yourself on either side of his thighs. Aaron groans when you plant yourself right on top of his growing bulge, throwing his head back as you begin to pepper needy, heated kisses all over his face.

His hands come to grip at your waist, hissing when you bite and suck at the sensitive skin on his neck. “Sweetheart—” he tries to usher you, to get you to slow down, but he’s cut off by you grinding down on his clothed dick, eliciting a moan from both of you.

“Missed you so much,” you repeat, voice coming out in a whine like you’ve been starved of his attention for months.

God, Aaron swears he can feel his body go into overdrive in order to attempt to keep up with you. Your lips continue to kiss at his neck while your hands eagerly work to undo his belt, messily pulling and tugging.

He hisses quietly when you reach inside his boxers to spring his cock free of its restraints, the bulge slapping against his tummy while the angry red tip leaks of precome.

“Y/N, honey,” he tries again, trying to regain control of the situation, as if he had ever had any of it to begin with. Another groan is pulled from the back of his throat when you wrap a perfectly manicured hand—a manicure he paid for, of course—around his length, interrupting his attempt to snap you out of your lust-filled haze.

You hum in satisfaction at the sight of him, moving your hand up and down, tugging at the base of his cock and running your thumb over the slit. “So big,” you whimper, nibbling at your bottom lip. “Missed your cock, Aaron. Always miss you.”

Aaron digs his nails into the fabric of the nightie, throwing his head against the cushions when you spit onto your hand and use it as lube to quicken your pace.

Maybe you were secretly a succubus, one that feigned purity and serenity to fool and lure in her victims before showing her true form. One that maxes out all of her victim’s credit cards to buy skimpy outfits and pay for all her things.

But who was he to deny you anything? Aaron never thought he would be able to handle all of this—all of you, even without the constant horniness— but here he was, fighting for his life while you lifted your hips and sunk down on his cock.

Aaron groaned again, the sound loud and guttural as it mixed in with your own cry of pleasure. Your walls clenched, wrapping around him like a vice who never wanted to let go.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he mumbles, his grip on your waist loosening and his hands skirting down your back to slip underneath the hem of your nightie, delivering a particularly harsh slap against your ass that makes you whine. “Take what you so desperately want all the time.”

He chuckles at the sight of your cheeks turning pink, your desperation overpowering your slight embarrassment as you begin to move your hips.

“Aaron,” you cry out, bottom lip jutting out and eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“What? Does that feel good?” He taunts, one hand slipping around your waist, keeping you close while the other leans against the backrest of the couch.

You nod, a fucked-out expression already taking its place on your face. “S-So good, I l-love it.”

“Yeah? You love it?” He coos when you nod again. “Dirty girl, always so needy and ready for me. You have no shame, do you, sweetheart?”

“Uh-uh,” you mumble, “Need you all the time.” The straps from your nightie slip down your shoulder as you lean backwards, resting your palms against his knees behind you before quickening your pace and bouncing needily.

“Shit, honey,” Aaron murmurs, taking in the sight of you before him. Your tits jiggled in his face, threatening to jump out of the fabric covering them, and your head was thrown back in utter pleasure while you rolled your hips. Some of the sweetest sounds Aaron had ever heard in his life were leaving your mouth, a mix of babbled words and moans.

“‘Mma, I’m g-gonna cum, ba-baby,” You whisper, too blissed out to form proper words. “I’m gonna—fuck—gonna c-cum, Aaron.”

Aaron could practically feel how close you were, your walls clenching and unclenching around him repeatedly as you pushed through the pain shooting up your thighs and continued bouncing on his cock.

“You’re going to be the death of me, sweet girl,” he mutters, stopping your irregular movements before pulling you into his chest and taking over for you.

A loud, practically pornographic moan echoed through the apartment as he began thrusting up into you, settling himself further down the couch for a better angle. The only sounds that could be heard were his low grunts and your high-pitched moans along with the sound of skin slapping against skin mixing in with the squelching sound of your pussy.

Repeated strings of ‘yes, yes, yes’ left your mouth, teeth digging into your bottom lip harshly and toes curling as you felt your orgasm approach you violently. You shook in his hold, adding to his thrusts by bouncing up and down again as best as you could.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Aaron whispers into your ear, tightening his hold on you. “Come on my cock, you wanted it so bad, right?”

You nod dumbly, eyes shut and face contorted into pure, utter bliss. You quiver when another slap is delivered to your ass, and it doesn’t take long for you to finish right then and there. You squeal in his arms, body stuttering and shaking as your orgasms rips through your body and invades all your senses.

Aaron presses a chaste kiss to your cheeks, not letting go of his hold on you as he continues thrusting up inside your gushing cunt, his own movements becoming sloppy as he feels his own high approach.

“Aaron,” you sigh, “Come in m-me. P-Please, fill me up,” you throw your head back, “Want it so bad.”

All it takes are those words for him to unload inside you, another groan escaping as white, hot ribbons of his come spurt deep inside you, mixing in with your own release.

You both lay still there, his cock still inside you as you attempt to regain your breath. After a while, you giggle breathily, coming up to wrap your hands around his neck and lay your head on his shoulder tiredly.

“What a shame you have to go back to work tomorrow,” you say, the pout on your lips evident despite Aaron not being able to see you properly.

This next part he knows he shouldn’t say, but he can’t help himself.

“I, uh, gave the team the rest of the weekend off.” He feels you freeze in his arms. “I’ll be home, honey.”

You sit back up, your eyes holding that hunger again as you stare up at him and tilt your head to the side coyly. “Really?”

He nods, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

You giggle again. “Well, looks like we’ll have a lot of time to ourselves then, no?”

Aaron groans when he feels you begin to clench around him again.

When he goes back to work the next Monday, he’s approached by a confused looking Rossi, the older man’s brows furrowed as he takes in his appearance.

“You look more tired than before?” He says, the observation coming out as a question.

Aaron sighed.

Yes, you were insatiable. But he was, too.

[iategrass]

dpxdc dead on main

(what if the ghost zone had its own accent?)

When Jason came back from the pits he had vague memories of another land but just chalked it up to him imagining a world like his more fantastical book series, even complete with the terrifying Ghost King who was actually incredibly sweet and had a heart of gold when with those he loved that he somehow wood and married after he learned of the kings tragic backstory.

Anyways after a while and getting better with his family Timbert asked where the new accent in his voice came from and he joked that he should find out. Tim took the challenge (Jason doesn't even know where his accent is from so he's delighted to see Tim try)

Eventually, the whole batfam gets involved, trying to figure it out when eventually after chaos and betting suddenly Damian says he figured it out

Apparently the demon brat had met someone with the accent along with a girl (although it didn't sound as pronounced in her) and they both come from a place called Amity Park Illinois

suddenly Jason remembers and he simply states "oh shit, I'm married" and runs off yelling about stupid fantasy worlds and their average traumatized royal that looks rough but is soft cliches

Damian's proud of himself

The batfam are concerned

[damiansgoodgirll]

Hiiii!! I hope you’re doing amazing! I’m sorry you’re having a bit of writers block at the moment as I know how difficult that can be!! I saw you opened your requests to see if that would help so I figured I would request something!

Maybe Rhea x Reader, where Reader is also a wrestler and her aesthetic is super girly and cute and bubbly (kinda like Tiffany Stratton) and something about it just draws Rhea in. Like she tried to act like she hates it and doesn’t like Reader, but eventually she just can’t and caves to how adorable Reader is and it brings out Rhea’s sweet side! 🩷

rhea ripley x reader

likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

‼️nothing major, rhea’s sexual thoughts tho…a lot of fluff and sweet moments, reader being a tease (let’s pretend rhea is still champion here) ‼️

heartbeat

rhea hated when someone tried to take her title away. but she hated even more when you became her main opponent for a title run.

you and the dark haired woman were completely the opposite. you were a face, she was a heel. you wore pink, she wore black. you were kind and loved backstage, she was a menace with anyone who dared to even look into her eyes.

she hated the idea of having to fight with you. she already handled a liv morgan, a tiffany stratton and now she had to face you.

she absolutely despised having you as her main opponent and no matter how many times she tried to resonate with adam, he said that you deserved that title run more than anyone. and she knew it too. she observed you. you were good, you were smart, you worked more on psychological fights than physical fights and for the first time, rhea was afraid.

you and her never really talked outside of the company. she wasn’t in your group and you weren’t in hers.

so the first time you got to share a few words was when you two had a promo and even if rhea looked so intimidating, you were ready for a challenge and you showed her who you really were.

“so you think you can take my title?” she shouted into the mic, staring at you. she looked for something that could have scared you away but she find nothing.

you simply laughed, taking a few steps forward her “i’m damn sure i can” you stated making the crowd cheer.

she was ready to reply back. she was so ready to put you in place but having you so close to her made her freeze. your vanilla scent intoxicating her. your challenging eyes never leaving her face. something about you made her even more interested into this feud. you made her heart beat fast and she couldn’t understand why.

“cat got your tongue, mami?” you teased her, hearing even more chants from the crowd.

“stay out of my way” she said coldly before dropping the mic to the ground and leaving the ring.

as days passed, rhea moved cautiously around you. observing you at the gym, observing the way your body moved inside the ring as you trained. she couldn’t help the filthy thoughts running in her head when she saw the sweat dripping down your body.

watching you fight other opponents and she hated admitting it but she found you extremely attractive. she never imagined herself being attracted by some barbie doll prototype but here she was.

you, flaunting your pink gear, your perfect make up and curled hair, ready to fight liv morgan - once again.

you knew it was going to be an easy match. you fought liv multiple times and you always won but somehow it didn’t go exactly as you planned. sure, you got your win but liv managed to injury you.

rhea watched all the match behind the scenes and a lump form in her throat.

how the heck did liv manage to injury you? she was supposed to keep you safe inside the ring just like you did with her and instead she fucked up and probably costed you a title run.

she should be happy that you weren’t her opponent any longer but she was actually looking for a chance to fight you.

you struggled walking back, helped by some trainers, they let you sit comfortably in the medical area as a doctor checked upon on you.

sprained ankle.

a couple of weeks of no fighting, no training at the gym and no title run opportunity. this was definitely not what you were expecting.

as you slowly walked back to the locker room, you were stopped by the infamous rhea ripley.

“hey…” she greeted you, making you look at her with a confused expression.

“i’m out of your way now, are you happy?” you sarcastically asked her but you saw how serious she was.

“no, not really…i was really looking forward to fight you, can’t believe im stuck again with that mid morgan girl” she said, clearly mad.

her words made you laugh “it won’t be for too long, give me a month to recover and then i’ll happily pin you down the floor” you teased, seeing her blush.

her strong facade fell when you talked dirty to her. she felt her cheeks burn but she tried to keep up with you “i can’t wait for that moment to come then…”

you were absolutely in for whatever rhea was trying to do with you “challenge accepted then, see you in a month” you winked but as soon as you tried to walk again, a sharp pain rang through your foot, making you flinch a little.

“hey, you okay?” rhea immediately asked when she saw the pain expression in your eyes.

“i have to get used to walk with just one foot” you laughed.

“here, let me help you…” her hand softly moved around your hip, helping you back to the locker room so you could gather your belongings and then go straight to the hotel. she walked slowly, never forcing you or your body.

“i didn’t know rhea was a kind one” you joked, making her laugh.

“i’m not. i never liked you y/n…this bubbly energetic person you are, i always hated it…too much pink, too much kindness” she whispered.

“why is it in the past?”

“because somehow your annoying personality caught my attention” she confessed, making you look at her with a teasing face.

“that’s good to keep in mind next time i’m facing you in the ring…” you said making her roll her eyes.

once you got to the locker room, rhea packed all of your stuff. your make up, your clothes, your perfume - the vanilla perfume - and she took the bag over her shoulder.

“do you need a ride to the hotel?” she offered and you couldn’t turn her offer down so you agreed.

as you were settled in her car, you found her to be a comforting presence. maybe she really wasn’t the mean one everyone talked about.

before you could speak, metal songs blasted through the speakers and it took you a couple of minutes to realise that you and rhea couldn’t be more different “do you really listen to that?” you asked, a little confused.

“yeah…it’s amazing” she happily said as she drove.

“it’s giving me a headache” you complained, making her roll her eyes for the second time that night.

“what do you listen uh? let me guess? taylor swift?” she said almost too annoyed.

“hey! she’s a good artist! and no, i listen other people too! i listen to people who actually make music and not scream into a microphone for three minutes straight” oh you were so in for a tease right now and seeing how she scrunched her nose made you feel like you were hitting the right buttons.

“let’s not start or i’ll drop you here in the middle of the road” she joked, clearly amused by the whole situation. you ended up sitting there and watching her driving fast around town.

she helped you with the bags and only left your hotel room once she made sure that you were okay. she even left you her phone number so you could call her in case something happened - as she said.

a week has passed and you couldn’t even lie to yourself - you were actually enjoying texting rhea and having random conversations in the middle of the night with her. you remember texting her once you got home and asked her if she wanted to come over as you were bored and reluctantly she accepted.

she would be lying to herself but you attracted her. you were like a magnet and she couldn’t get enough of you. she would help you any time you asked her.

randomly going through your tiktok, you heard the bell ringing and without thinking twice, you slowly got up and opened the door, finding an adorable rhea ripley with junk food in one hand and a pink fluffy blanket in the other.

you looked at her for a second, too stunned to speak.

“you letting me in or are we going to stare at each other all day long?” she asked, her usual sarcastic tone lingering with some sneaky jokes too.

“oh sorry, yeah, come in…i wasn’t expecting you with food and a pink blanket…i actually wasn’t expecting you at all” you joked, trying to ease the tension a little bit because you had no idea why was rhea in your living room now.

“i was at the supermarket and i had my day off, i saw the blanket and i thought you would like it…here” she handed you the blanket almost as she was annoyed by it, trying to maintain her dark and mean side but deep down you knew that she was a softie.

you gladly accepted the gift and invited her to sit on the couch with you “what about the food?” you teased her, seeing her rolling her eyes at any remark you made was now a habit.

“i was hungry and i thought you would like some food too…” she tried so hard not to go soft with you but your smile and bubbly personality were making it hard for her.

“rhea ripley thought of me? i feel honoured” you laughed making her giggle.

“shut up and eat while i pick a movie…” she stated as she started swiping movies catalogue on netflix.

she chose something fun, something romantic, knowing that it was your favourite genre of film.

“i’m pretty sure you’re studying me so in two weeks you know how to make me lose against you for the title run” you joked, making her laugh.

“honey, there’s no way you’re gonna beat my ass during that run, that’s my title and my title only but i’ll happily pin you down” she turned her face to you, a sneaky smirk on her face as her mind fantasised about the idea of having to pin you down, under her body.

“you so sure about that ripley?” you tested her “what if i am the one to pin you down?

rhea wouldn’t mind having you over her to be honest. in any other situation she would have let you being in charge but not when there was her title on the line.

“we will see in a couple of weeks” she winked “now watch the movie before i put some freaky horror on” she teased you knowing how much you hated horror movies.

“okay mami” you whispered making her roll her eyes - again. you displayed the pink blanket over your body and over rhea’s body too “before you say anything, it’s cold outside and i don’t wanna hear you complain for the next two hours” but rhea definitely wasn’t going to complain. she never had you so close, your body was like a magnet and was so close to hers that it was enough to keep her warm. your head softly laid over her shoulder and even if you couldn’t see her, you felt her body relax against you.

maybe she was going to pin you in the ring but you knew who was really in charge outside of the company and seeing her so calm and relaxed in your presence made you feel something different about your friendship, as if there was something more but you couldn’t really point it out.

spending the rest of the night in each other’s company, joking and laughing about the smallest things.

as the second movie of the night ended, you really needed to stretch yourself out as you grew a little uncomfortable sitting for almost four hours in the same position. she helped you standing up and you slowly tested the water, instead of putting your hands around her shoulders as you always did, you put them around her waist.

the height difference between you two was pretty obvious but that didn’t stop you to have your way with her “i have a feeling you feel something for me” you teased her watching her in her eyes.

“i don’t know what you are talking about…” she tried so hard to maintain her composure but she was struggling, especially when she had you so close.

“so what if i asked you to kiss me? would you back up?” you always been a tease but this was something else even for you.

“no…” she whispered, her eyes softly looking down at you.

before she could make any move, you kissed her. your lips meeting her soft ones, a smile pressed on her face as you kept kissing her “i’m definitely gonna pin you rhea” you whispered, making her chuckle.

“keep dreaming barbie” as she grew more comfortable, her hand moved behind your back and pressed you against her body “remember, it’s always monday night mami…” her devious look was back as if you helped her gain her confidence back around you.

“you know…i’m always in for a challenge…”

yeah, maybe she was the rhea ripley but you knew how good you were and being able to tease her and make her so flustered around you was definitely a weapon in your sleeve.

“we will see pretty girl…” falling in love with the enemy wasn’t definitely her plan but somehow you managed to make her heart beat faster anytime you were close and now she felt like she couldn’t get enough of you.

————————————-

i’m receiving a few requests and i’m trying to overcome my writer block 🤞🏼🩷 thank you for your patience and kind words 🩷🩷

[rosemaryhoney27]

Phantom Fashion

It all started with a stupid bet. Tucker had dared Danny to do the “Ultimate Strut Challenge” for his livestream—walking down the halls of Casper High like he was on a Parisian runway. Danny, never one to back down from a challenge (and honestly a little bored), played along. He channeled his inner supermodel, flipping his imaginary hair and sauntering down the hall like he owned it. Tucker, feeling competitive, did his own exaggerated version, adjusting his glasses with a smolder and flashing a dazzling smile at the camera.

The video was supposed to be a joke. A quick laugh for Tucker’s followers. But within hours, it exploded online.

By the next morning, “#FentonFoleyFierce” was trending on every social media platform. People weren’t laughing at them—they were thirsting over them. The internet was losing its mind over how unexpectedly hot Danny and Tucker looked when they actually tried. Fan edits, slow-motion compilations, even dramatic art pieces started flooding the web. One particularly detailed oil painting of Tucker was titled “The Seduction of Glasses.”

And then, the email came.

Subject: Modeling Opportunity – S.T.Y.L.E. Agency

Danny read the message about five times before he turned to Tucker. “Dude. This is a joke, right?”

Tucker snatched Danny’s phone and skimmed through the email. “Nah, man. This is legit! S.T.Y.L.E. is huge. They rep actual models. Like, real models. Not just two dudes who were goofing off in the hallway.”

Danny groaned, flopping onto his bed. “I’m not a model! I fight ghosts! I do homework—badly! I don’t walk down runways!”

“Correction: You do walk down runways. And apparently, you do it well enough for a major agency to want you.” Tucker grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. “Dude, this is fate. We’re gonna be famous! Plus, imagine the free snacks at photoshoots.”

And somehow, against all logic, they were.

A week later, they found themselves in a sleek, modern studio in downtown Amity Park, being prepped for a test photoshoot. Danny, in a fitted black suit with his messy hair styled just right, was told to give a “mysterious bad boy” look. He tried but mostly ended up looking constipated. Tucker, rocking a high-fashion streetwear ensemble with his signature hat slightly tilted, was encouraged to play up his confident charm—which he interpreted as “finger guns at the camera.”

The camera flashed. They posed. Danny tripped over a light stand. And the moment their pictures hit the agency’s social media, the world really lost it.

Fashion brands wanted them. Magazines asked for interviews. Someone even made a fan calendar. The modeling world had spoken: Tucker Foley and Danny Fenton were the next big thing.

The only problem? Danny’s ghost-hunting schedule didn’t exactly mesh with high-end fashion shoots.

Cue the chaos. And an accidental ghost fight in the middle of a fashion gala.

Then came the second email.

Subject: Exclusive Inquiry – Phantom Partnership

Danny’s stomach dropped as he read the email. S.T.Y.L.E. wasn’t just interested in Danny Fenton. They wanted Danny Phantom too. The ghostly glow, the white hair, the piercing green eyes—apparently, his spectral form had an untapped aesthetic that designers were desperate to capitalize on.

Tucker nearly choked on his soda. “Dude. They want you to model as a ghost. This is next-level ridiculous.”

Danny buried his face in his hands. “I can’t just go ghost in front of cameras! What if someone figures it out?”

“They’re offering bank, bro. Like, stupid money. Enough that you could buy actual good snacks for once.”

Before Danny could protest further, another email pinged. This time from a luxury cologne brand. They wanted to market a new fragrance—Phantom Essence—with Danny Phantom as the face of the campaign. The tagline? Mystery. Power. Otherworldly Allure.

Tucker was in hysterics. “You’re literally becoming the undead equivalent of a fashion icon. What’s next, a ghost-themed runway show?”

Danny groaned. “At this rate? Probably.”

And sure enough, two days later, an invitation arrived for a high-end haunted fashion event—where Danny Phantom was expected to make a dramatic entrance. What could possibly go wrong?

Danny refused to be the only ghost haunting the runway, so he convinced Ember McLain to join him. It took some negotiating—mostly promising she could debut her newest song at the afterparty—but Ember, ever the dramatic performer, finally agreed.

“This better be worth my time, dipstick,” she said, adjusting her flaming blue hair as she examined the wardrobe options. “I don’t do low budget.”

Tucker’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, trust me. This is gonna be legendary.”

And just like that, the fashion world wasn’t ready for the supernatural duo of Phantom and Ember.

The moment their first joint photoshoot dropped, fans went wild. Phantom and Ember weren’t just modeling—they were smoldering. The chemistry between them was undeniable, even to those who had no idea about their history. Hashtags like #GhostlyGlamour, #PhantomAndEmber, and #HauntinglyHot dominated social media.

Tucker, scrolling through the comments, cackled. “Dude, people are shipping you two so hard right now.”

Danny, face burning red, tried to act nonchalant. “It’s just… photos. We were posing.”

Ember, leaning against him in a striking black and blue ensemble, smirked. “Oh please, Phantom. You were totally into it.”

Danny opened his mouth to argue but promptly shut it when she flicked a ghostly spark at his nose. He was not going to give Tucker more material for his teasing.

Meanwhile, Ember was enjoying the attention. “I gotta admit, this is kinda fun. The cameras love me, the fans love me… and you, Phantom? You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

Danny groaned, hiding his face in his hands. This whole modeling thing was getting out of control. But if the growing feelings he was desperately trying to ignore were any indication… maybe it wasn’t all bad.

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine being Xavier's kitchen vlogger significant other.

Imagine the title of the vlog was simple. Making Pancakes With My Boyfriend (He Said He's 'Gifted' at Cooking 😭). Uploaded a day ago with 736k views and 5.1k comments.

Imagine the video opens with the soft shuffle of morning kitchen noise. The whir of a kettle, utensils clinking, sunlight streaking across countertops.

Imagine your voice then cuts in with a casual, jolly tone. "Hello hunters! Welcome back to the channel! It's your favorite home cook, back with another easy recipe. And today well make a simple pancake."

Imagine a soft laugh can be heard as you appear on screen, wearing your usual apron and a matching clip that barely keeps your hair off your face. You wave at the camera with a spoon in hand.

Imagine there's a comforting intimacy to the setting same kitchen, same lighting, same slightly chipped countertop you always forget to fix. "But today's episode is special." You say, voice light but unmistakably giddy.

Imagine the way you gesture off frame and a figure strolls in with the confidence of someone walking into a battlefield and thinking it's a catwalk.

"Everyone, meet Xavier. My boyfriend." You pause dramatically. "Also known as the man who said, and I quote, 'How hard can pancakes be? I'm naturally good at things.'"

Imagine the way Xavier smile like this is a cooking competition and he has already won. He's in a relaxed hoodie, sleeves half rolled, hair a bit mess and he waves like he's been doing this for years. Not like this is the first time he's ever appeared in one of your videos.

"I did say that." He agrees without shame. "And I stand by it." You snort. "You also thought tofu was just 'off brand cheese.'" He places a hand on his chest. "Slander."

Imagine the camera cuts to both of you at the counter. You're reading out ingredients while Xavier is... Already off script.

"Flour." You say. He dumps in a generous amount. You stare. "That's... Not a measuring cup." "I'm eyeballing it." "You're using a coffee mug." "Precision is for cowards."

Imagine the way you sigh, the dramatic, long suffering kind of sigh and look straight into the camera. "This is fine. Everything's fine."

Imagine the way he hummed beside you, oblivious, happily cracking eggs like he's being scored on flair. One of them lands perfectly in the bowl. The second one... Well doesn't.

"Shell adds texture." He says utterly serious. Then a cut in a close up of your face. Emotionless. Defeated.

Imagine fast forwarding, the batter is now somehow made, despite his attempts to 'improve' it with cinnamon, sriracha, and a near tragic near addition of garlic powder.

"You're not allowed to improvise anymore." You warn. "I am merely evolving the culinary arts." "No."

Imagine then Xavier, bold as ever, insists on flipping the first pancake. He swirls the pan with flair, flicks his wrist... And the pancake lands halfway on the stove. He looks stunned. You're crying laughing behind the camera.

Imagine the second try actually works. Perfect arc. Lands flat. You both scream like you've just won an Olympic medal. "I told you." He says smugly. "Natural talent." You mouth 'no you didn't' silently to the camera, wiping your eyes.

Imagine with a slightly smaller mess and a plate full of warm, imperfect pancakes. The two of you sit across from each other at the table. He has a syrup on his sleeve and a dollop of whipped cream on his cheek, courtesy of your earlier counterattack.

"This was fun." Xavier says, tone softer now, less chaotic. You smile at him. "Even if you tried to kill us with chili pancakes?" "Especially because of that." You laugh again, more tired now but contented.

Imagine the way he leans over and kisses your temple, gentle and lingering. You almost forget the camera is still rolling.

Imagine back in frame. You wave at the camera, Xavier's head resting lazily against your shoulder. He looks sleepy now but still smug, proud of his work.

"That's it for today, guys. Please give it a thumbs up if you enjoyed watching my kitchen slowly descend into chaos." "And subscribe." Xavier says, suddenly alert. "For more of my culinary excellence." You roll your eyes. "Sure. If you want to see us try to bake next time."

Imagine the way the screen fades into soft melody again and a few bloopers roll. Mostly you catching falling pancakes, Xavier dramatically reacting to a burned one and a whispered, "Wait... Do pancakes expire?" From him that nearly sends you wheezing off camera.

Imagine the top comments:

Ztrope: I've never seen someone cook with this much misplaced confidence. i am IN LOVE 💀💀💀

1sht1kll: not him flipping it onto the stove and acting like it was the pan's fault 😭😭😭

Ladsslave: This was 18 mins of romantic comedy and i need an episode 2 NOW

2days3days: The way he kissed your temple like he didn't almost poison you with sriracha pancakes 🥹

Abcdefg: I want what y'all have. even the chili flakes. even the egg shell.

Ztrope: first that streamer, then that daily life vlogger. NOW this?! Were are these people getting their man?!?!

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

: i told myself I'll do one for zayne first bur got hooked up with Xavier first 🤣🤣🤣

[sharkbitten-sailor]

forsaken survivors x cat!reader - headcanons .ᐟ

a/n: not sure if i messed up anything due to lack of experience in writing. plus, english is not my native language, so im sorry for any grammar or spelling errors!

general hcs - you have all the charming features of a cat - a tail that sways when you're curious, ears that twitch at every little sound, and, of course, the softest paws imaginable! - oh, and you have some cat-like traits too. man, how are you so adaptable and flexible? you can literally slip through the thinnest corner ever or loop the killer without getting hit. not even once. - basically liquid at this point/hj - whether it’s scratching at walls or leaving marks on a killer who got too close, your claws are a force to be reckoned with. or simply you get bored :p - you have a favorite hiding spot and get grumpy when someone else takes it/ref - you rarely purr, mostly just hiss at everyone in sight lol unless they’re your absolute favorite.

noob - at first, noob don't quite know how to feel about you. they’re both fascinated by your unique traits and a little anxious, unsure of how to approach you. - it takes them time to warm up, but once they do, they find your presence incredibly soothing. probably because you remind them of their old pet cat, tac. - just having you around helps them feel less overwhelmed. - as a cat owner, they know a few tricks to help you relax: scratching your cheeks, rubbing your ears… but the only issue? they don’t have enough confidence to do it. - still, they did try to groom you once. you looked so peaceful that their face turned red like a berry. total flustered mess. - they have a habit of asking you the most unexpected things out of nowhere. “d-do you like b-boxy cola...?” “w-what about... salty food...?” - it’s their way of making conversation, even if it’s awkward at first. - one time, it was just the two of you left, and noob was completely overwhelmed by anxiety to the point that their figure trembled constantly. - without a word, you nudged them gently. that small act alone made their worries fade almost instantly. it melted their heart in a way they didn’t expect. - you see them as a premium napping spot. no words, no hesitation; you just stroll up, plop down next to them and sleep. - noob's honest reaction: OVERHEATING. brain blue-screening. - the argue to pat those small lil' ears of yours when you're sleeping ughhh >>>>

007n7 - he assumes you’ll steer clear once you learn about his past, just like everyone else. but you? you dgaf. the past is the past, and that’s that. - he’s caught off guard by that attitude of yours, almost unsure of how to react. - is this… genuine? the fact that you don’t just tolerate his presence; you actually seem to enjoy it leaves him a little stunned. and, maybe, a sense of happiness. - sometimes, 007n7 catches himself watching you, wondering how you can be so carefree in this ever-lasting hell. - secretly impresses by how fearless you look when looping the killer. you made it seem way too easy. - adores every moment when you try to mimic his clones. it makes him remember about the old time, in a good way. - after every match, you make it a habit to sit beside him during breaks. no hesitation, no awkwardness. just quiet companionship. - if elliot or others don't take care of his injuries, you do, calmly patching him up without a trace of discomfort. - he learns (the hard way) that you have a habit of affectionate arm-biting. whether he likes it or not, he’s your favorite target, and there’s no escaping it😇 - but hey, at least you do knead him sometimes :D especially his burger-hat. - he finds it both silly and calm to hear your soft purrs. something about them just sounds like honey: smooth, warm, comforting. - somehow, being around you helps. both in and outside the rounds. you've kind of become his metal life support at this point. - he asks if he can pat your ears, and you nod. the moment his hand touches them, he's stunned by how soft they are. a second later, realization hits. his face turns bright red as he quickly pulls away, completely flustered </3 - overall, 10/10.

shedletsky - a cat person meets a cat? what do you expect? chaos? check. instant best buddies? double check. - it takes no time at all for you two to bond. something about your energy just clicks with his. - he finds endless joy in teasing you, not caring if you hiss at him in response. in fact, he lives for it. - flicking your ears just to see your reaction/ref - he’s a menace who constantly pats your head just to get a reaction. always ends up with bite marks and scratches. - but does he stop? absolutely not. - your best revenge? stealing his precious fried chickens. he gets annoyed so bad. "you little gremlin- put that down!" - no matter how serious things get, one way or another, you and shedletsky always make it worse in the best way possible. - likes to stay close to you during rounds. either to guard you (cuz you're too curious and reckless for your own good) or to show off his sword skills. it's kinda awesome until he misses the stun. "oops, my bad. time to run!" - since there isn't enough room, when it's your turn to sleep on the couch or floor, he usually offers you his sleeping spot. (or, y'know… you just end up sleeping together :p) - gives off total 'one dares to think, one dares to try' duo energy. he cooks, you eat. you distract, he stuns. - actually enjoys when you knead on him. it's pretty soothing. - attempted to touch your paws once… and yeah, never again. the sacred toe beans remain off-limits. - little do you know, your presence alone is one of many thing that push him forward.

guest 1337 - dang. how hard is it to write for this guy bruh - when you first got kidnapped here, he was the most wary of you, more than anyone else. even when shedletsky took a quick liking to you. - can't blame him though. he've been through a freaking war himself. - might take quite long (like forever) to earn his trust. - it starts small: offering him a boxy cola (which he side-eyes but still drink) or a medkit, sticking around even when he insists he doesn’t need help. then, saving him more times than you can count by alerting him when the killer is near (thanks to your sharp senses), buying both of you some precious seconds to escape. - slowly, he starts seeing something, rather someone familiar in you, none other than his daughter - it's when your relationship with him takes another path. - he's already someone who puts others before himself, but with you, it's even 'worse'. you might have 9 lives, but he refuses to let you waste even one. - he tends to walk straight to you when the round has just started. something about the thought of you wandering alone doesn’t sit right with him. - he's ready to take the hits, insisting he's fine no matter how battered he gets. you have to threaten to bite him if he doesn't take a break. - doesn't make a difference if you have sharp senses of a cat, you are still a curious lil' goofball creature. guest 1337 has to pull you out of those mess you made + lecture you the n+1th time to not touch john doe's spikes or 1x1x1x1's minions. - he doesn’t trust you around his food. rightfully so. the number of times you've swiped a meal off his plate just to annoy him is unreal. - "unbelievable," he mutters while grabbing it back. - gives you a pat as a way of saying "good job," though it's not something he does often.

[sereia4skz]

Hi!! Congrats on 2k followers! 🤩 I feel like I just followed you and you were just celebrating 1k. (Or maybe I just found that stuff first and followed then 😂)

Can I request a drabble or a one-shot of Changbin x f!reader? He starts feeling attracted to her but is so worried he may hurt her because of his strength, that he makes sure to never mention it. And maybe it gets so bad that he leaves the room/area if she is also there and just he can't ignore the urges, maybe even starts to actively avoid her. Until she corners him and (gently) demands why, thinking she accidentally did something to offend him and wants to fix whatever went wrong. And when she finally figures it out, she still offers to help relieve some of that tension 😏 you know, since she's there to help take care of them and all...

And maybe one of the others almost catches them just because Changbin is just so dang loud 😅

Thank you hon! And congratulations again!!

-⚡️anon (hopefully no one else has taken that emoji yet)

2k Followers Event | too much, too big?

pairing: changbin x fem!reader

synopsis: big, strong oni scared of hurting his princess with his affections

warnings: oni!changbin, soft smut, hurt/comfort, size kink, little voyeur (hyunjin)

event masterlist: #2kShootingStars

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AN: that emoji works heheh

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Changbin has stopped sitting beside you. You notice it slowly, like the ache after a bruise blooms. A shift in shadows. A lack of warmth at your shoulder when the nights grow cold.

He still laughs too loudly in the communal space. Still chops wood like it insulted him. Still gets sulky when Jeongin hides his favorite mug. But if you enter a den, he leaves it. If you ask him a question, he answers without looking up. If you catch his gaze, it drops to the floor. His hand never brushes yours anymore. His voice never dips into that private tone it used to save just for you.

At first you thought you’d imagined it. Now you think you made a mistake. Somehow.

He used to carve you little charms, clumsy and sweet, tucked under your tea cup or pillow, left by the door when you had hard days. You haven’t found one in weeks. It hurts more than it should. And it’s worse today.

You’re elbow-deep in the herb shed, re-shelving dried roots, when Changbin walks in with a crackle of heat and tension, and instantly goes still. You watch him. He watches the floor. And then, without a word, he turns and walks back out.

That’s it. You wipe your hands on your apron, march out after him, and catch him before he can vanish into the trees.

“Changbin.”

He stops. His shoulders rise with the breath he drags in, heavy and reluctant.

You catch up and step in front of him, planting yourself between him and his favorite escape path. 

“What is going on?” you demand, more gentle than angry, but still firm. “Did I do something? Say something wrong? Did I cross a line I didn’t see?”

His eyes finally meet yours. They’re burning. Not angry but wild, like fire that’s fought too long against damp wood.

“No,” he says, too quickly. “No. You didn’t. You’re fine.”

“You’re avoiding me.”

He doesn’t argue. That almost hurts more.

“I miss you, Binnie,” you whisper.

He winces. Actually winces.

“I’m too much,” he mutters. “That’s the problem.”

Your breath catches. 

He lifts a hand and runs it over his horns, frustrated, ashamed. “I’m trying not to be. I’m trying to keep a distance. That’s all.”

“Why?” Your voice cracks. “Because you think you’ll hurt me?”

“I know I will.”

His voice is low. Raw. “You don’t understand. Every time you smile at me, I can barely breathe. Every time you touch me, I think about touching back, and I don’t know how to be gentle enough. I can punch through trees. I split a mountain open. I’m-I’m not built for soft things.”

“You are,” you say instantly. “You are soft. You’re gentle, and warm, and-”

“You make me want too much,” he says, choking on it. “And I can’t. I won’t risk it. You deserve someone who doesn’t have to hold back every second they’re near you just to keep from ruining everything.”

You reach up, cup his face. His breath stutters. His cheeks burn.

“Then don’t hold back,” you murmur. “Or if you have to… let me help you.”

His eyes widen.

“I’m here to take care of all of you,” you say, leaning in. “All your aches. All your tension. Even the ones you don’t ask for help with.”

His chest heaves. “You don’t know what you’re offering.”

“I do,” you say. “And I want you.”

Something inside him snaps.

His hands, big, rough, trembling, catch your waist like you’re a lifeline, but he still hesitates.

You reach up, touching his jaw, and feel how tightly it’s clenched. “Binnie,” you whisper, “I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be,” he breathes, but it’s not a threat, it’s a warning. A plea. He tries to step back.

You tug him closer. Your fingers trail down his arms, feeling the raw strength in them. His biceps jump beneath your touch. His hands twitch where they hover at your hips, like he doesn’t dare settle them there. But you guide him. Let him feel the way you arch into his grip, not away from it.

“You’ve never hurt me,” you say, softer now, lips brushing his. “Even when you wanted to.”

His breath stutters. His forehead drops to yours.

“I think about it too much,” he says, voice cracking. “How it would feel to have you under me. Wrapped around me. Crying because I’m too deep and you love it… Fuck, I think about it and I want to lose control,”

You’re already wet. You swallow and take his wrists, guiding his hands beneath your shirt. His fingers flex once, then still.

“Then lose it,” you murmur. “I’ll tell you if I want to stop. But I trust you.”

That’s what undoes him. He growls, low and guttural, and lifts you like you’re nothing, one arm under your thighs, the other tight around your back, and your spine presses into a tree as he mouths hungrily at your neck.

“Too soft,” he mutters between kisses. “Too small. You’re gonna break.”

“Then break me.” 

His claws dig into the bark behind your head. “Fuck.”

Your clothes come off in pieces, pulled and pushed and peeled away with a desperation that makes your head spin. His eyes drink in every new inch of skin like it’s proof you’re real, and really his.

He sinks to his knees again, this time without hesitation, huge shoulders parting your legs as he hooks one over his shoulder. You gasp at the sudden exposure. He breathes in deep and shudders.

“So fucking sweet,” he whispers. “You smell like want.” Then he drags his tongue up your slit in one long, filthy lick and groans.

Your fingers fly to his hair, tangling instinctively, and his claws grip your thighs to keep you steady. Even with one arm under your ass, he’s holding you up like it takes no effort at all. His tongue is thick and hot and relentless, circling your clit, dipping inside, then back to your clit again until your thighs are trembling and your eyes roll.

“You’re dripping,” he growls, voice muffled. “Fucking soaking for me.”

You choke on a moan. “I- fuckyes, yes, Binnie,”

He groans again. His horns press against your inner thighs now, spreading you open for him. His mouth is wild. He’s wild.

And still, every time your breath stutters too hard, or your hips jerk too much, he pauses, looks up like he’s checking if you’re okay.

You grab his face, desperate. “More.”

His restraint snaps. He stands again, mouth and chin soaked, and slams his lips to yours. You taste yourself on his tongue. His hand shoves between your legs, fingers thick and hot, spreading your slick as he presses one inside, and God, he’s big.

Your gasp turns into a high whine. His brow furrows. “Too much?”

“No!” You grind against his hand. “Just.. more.”

He adds another. Your jaw drops. His fingers stretch you wide and he’s not even trying. His thumb brushes your clit and you jerk in his arms.

“Shit,” he whispers, watching your face. “You feel so fucking good, look at you. Taking my fingers like you were made for them.”

His voice drops to a growl, right against your ear. “Think you can take my cock?”

You whimper. “Want it, need it.”

He groans like it hurts. You only realize how long he’s been hard when he finally frees himself, thick, flushed, massive in his palm. He strokes once, then lines himself up, panting against your throat.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says again. “But I can’t wait anymore.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and whisper, “Then don’t wait.”

The stretch burns. He goes slow at first, inch by inch, burying his face in your neck and whimpering, the demon is whimpering, because you’re so tight, so hot, and trying so hard to take him.

“Fuck, fuck, you feel like heaven. Shit- Too much. Can’t stop-”

You’re sobbing by the time he bottoms out. Not from pain, not quite, but the overwhelming fullness. You’ve never felt like this before, so stretched, so completely owned by the weight and length of him.

“Tell me,” he pants, “tell me if it’s too much, I’ll pull out, I swear-”

Your voice is a wreck. “Don’t you dare.”

He makes a desperate, ruined sound, and fucks into you. The tree behind you shakes with every thrust. Your back scrapes bark, your moans turn ragged, and your legs are locked tight around his waist. He grinds deep, slow at first, then faster as your nails dig into his shoulders and you scream his name.

“Taking me so well,” he groans. “You’re so small, baby, look at you, stuffed full-”

Somewhere not far, closer than either of you realize, a low rustle of branches stills. Rooted behind a cluster of mossy ferns, the forest hears everything. 

He doesn’t even mean to look, but he catches one glimpse through the trees. You. Writhing. Arms around Changbin’s neck. A flash of teeth and sweat and flushed skin. Changbin’s back flexed, hips moving.

Hyunjin yelps. Out loud. Then bolts.

His foot snaps a branch as he crashes through the undergrowth like a deer in mating season.

Back in the clearing, Changbin freezes mid-thrust.

“…Did you hear that?” he pants.

You blink, dazed. “Don't stop…” you whine.

He grins. “Not planning to,” before picking up his movement again.

He presses a hand to your belly, eyes wide. “I can feel myself inside you. Holy fuck!”

You sob. Your orgasm crashes hard, suddenly, and shattering. Your body clenches so tight around him that he gasps, stutters, then slams deep again and cums, loud, brutal, holding you as his hips stutter and pulse.

Even after, he doesn’t move for a long time. He keeps you close. Keeps whispering that you’re okay, that he’s sorry, that he loves the way you feel, the way you held him, the way you looked falling apart.

Your thighs ache. Your pussy pulses, wrecked and overfilled. And you feel safer than you ever have.

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