#Interactive content for better audience interaction

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

I really want to make an asmr rp channel about my favorite characters (overage characters only) and my ocs (overage ocs only) interacting with those who wanna listen.

I will also only do F4A rps because if I do a f4m rp then I'm personally isolating my potential female/non-binary audience, plus I find it kinda boring to only have male fans.

But I'm afraid to do it without someone in my ear saying "why are you portraying my favorite comfort childhood character like a wh*re/hooker?" Or something like "your content is so childish and male gazey, you're no better than these content farmers".

Even if that's not my intent I'm really scared what if I get doxxed and somebody finds my location just to attempt to kill me.

[n01likeu]

Everything.

MINOR DO NOT INTERACT.

Paring: Choi San x Reader Word count: 6k Genre: Exploring themes of longing, control, and explicit intimacy within a relationship facing external familial conflict. Dom!reader, softdom!san, sub!san. Beg beg beg. Please note: This content is for mature audiences due to explicit sexual themes. It contains elements of emotional manipulation, toxic relationship, and power dynamics, as well as descriptions of crying, anxiety, and self-esteem issues. There are also mentions of consensual, safe, and aftercare. Self-indulgent. Reader discretion is advised. Author note: Please, lovies. Give me a heads up if I forgot to mention something that I needed to add, or if there’s any errors. I am new to this, and it’s my first time uploading my work here. I didn’t fully checked my work, do expect some errors, lovies. English is not my first language, bear with me. Happy reading.

You hate him so much. You despise him. Your coping mechanism is to hate your ex, even though you both ended on good terms. All you can think of are the things he did that made you frown—ick, rather. You loathe San. Oh, not really. You ended things with him because of your grandparents. They wanted you to focus on your future by studying business management to take over their company. You’re sick of this. Your parents can’t even protest; they obey as well. They love San, and they want him for you. Too bad, because they also want a “better future” for you.

It’s almost been a month since you last saw him face-to-face. You’ve done everything you could: visiting different cafes with your friends, going out to a park with your dog, isolating yourself in a library, and trying new recipes for pastries within that month. But in the end, San is still in your mind. You keep thinking that he’s supposed to be with you, visiting those new cafes, playing with your dog out in the park, reading books together in a library (but he’d be looking at you, not even a single glance at the upside-down book he’s holding), and baking with you using his passed-down recipes from his great-grandmother. It pisses you off so bad that every time you think of doing something, there’s always a reserved space for him. You hate him because there’s no other thing that could help you forget him since you did it all with him for over six years. You’re in your second year of college, all fucked up, rotting in your bed. Your best friend Ningning had visited your apartment just a few hours ago to lighten you up, knowing you’re not fully okay after finals and your endless reminiscing of San. You felt sorry for your best friend, but she reassured you it was all fine. Satan must be having fun... fucking my life in every way, you thought to yourself.

You’re staring at your ceiling, and now you’re thinking of your ex. You miss how he used to trace imaginary patterns on your arm when you were lying next to him, how his laugh would fill your apartment, making even the emptiest days feel vibrant. You miss the way he’d pull you into unexpected hugs, smelling faintly of the coffee shop he worked at and his subtle, comforting cologne. You miss his endless patience when you were struggling with an assignment, sitting quietly beside you, offering a reassuring squeeze of your hand every now and then. You even miss his annoying habit of leaving his socks by the bed, because at least then you knew he was there. A sharp pang echoes in your chest. It’s not just the absence of him, but the gaping hole where your shared future used to be. Every dream you ever spun, every “what if” scenario, every plan for five, ten, even twenty years down the line, had his face in it. Now, it’s just a blurry, undefined expanse, shadowed by your grandparents’ “better future” and the weight of their company. You clench your jaw, a bitter taste filling your mouth. This isn’t your future; it’s theirs. And you resent it. You resent them. But most of all, you resent San for being so unforgettable, for being so intrinsically woven into the fabric of your life that even tearing him out leaves a ragged, bleeding edge. You close your eyes, wishing for sleep, for oblivion, for anything that could silence the unwavering echo of his memory. But even in the darkness, you can still feel the ghost of his hand in yours, a phantom warmth that refuses to fade.

The city lights hummed around you, a stark contrast to the quiet ache in your chest. You’d decided to brave one of your old haunts tonight—a small, dimly lit bar with good music and even better cocktails, hoping to drown out the persistent thoughts of San. The air was thick with the scent of whiskey and faint perfume as you nursed your drink, tracing patterns on the condensation of your glass. Suddenly, a shift in the ambient noise, a subtle change in the energy of the room, snagged your attention. You didn’t even have to look up. You felt him. Every nerve ending in your body tingled with an electric awareness. Your breath hitched. He was here. Your eyes finally lifted, drawn across the smoky room as if by an invisible string. And there he was. San. He was standing by the bar, talking to the bartender, but his gaze, hot and familiar, was already locked onto yours. The casual hum of conversations, the clinking of glasses, the music—it all faded into a distant murmur. There was only him. And you.

He started to move, not directly towards you, but as if on a circuit, heading towards the restrooms, a path that would take him directly past your table. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence that now enveloped you. As he approached, his eyes never left yours, a silent, potent conversation passing between you. There was no awkward smile, no forced pleasantry. Just a raw, undeniable hunger in his gaze that mirrored your own. As he drew level with your seat, his pace barely faltered. His hand, warm and calloused, brushed against your lower back, a deliberate, lingering touch that sent a searing current through you. It was a familiar ghost, a memory of countless other touches that had promised so much more. He didn’t stop, didn’t speak, but the brief contact was an explosion of suppressed desire, an unspoken question hanging heavy in the air. You watched his retreating back, your skin still humming from his touch. You knew exactly what that meant. And you knew, with a terrifying certainty, that you were going to follow.

As San moved past, the spot on your lower back where his hand had lingered burned like a brand. The air around you crackled with unspoken tension. Your breath felt shallow, caught somewhere in your throat. You watched the line of his shoulders beneath the dark jacket, the way his dark hair caught the dim light. It had been almost a month, but the sight of him, that look in his eyes, the brief, deliberate touch—it had ripped through your carefully constructed walls of indifference. Your mind raced, a chaotic jumble of longing, resentment, and that undeniable, insistent pull of physical attraction. You hated him for doing this to you, for disrupting the fragile peace you’d been trying to build. But a louder voice, a more primal instinct, was screaming something completely different.

Without conscious thought, you pushed yourself to your feet, your chair scraping slightly against the wooden floor. The sound seemed amplified in the sudden quiet that had descended around you. You hesitated for a fraction of a second, a sliver of your rational mind screaming at you to sit back down, to ignore the magnetic force drawing you in. But the memory of his touch, the intensity in his eyes that mirrored your own buried desires, was too strong to resist. You took a step, then another, your gaze fixed on San’s broad back as he disappeared through the door marked “Restroom.” You knew he hadn’t actually needed to use them. This was a silent invitation, a pretense.

Taking a deep breath, the humid night air clinging to your skin as the bar door briefly opened and closed, you followed. The dimly lit hallway leading to the restrooms felt thick with anticipation. The sounds of the bar faded behind you, replaced by a low hum of the air conditioning. You knew what you were about to do. And despite the turmoil in your heart, a part of you, a deeply buried, fiercely yearning part, couldn’t deny the electric thrill of it.

You reached the restroom door and paused, your hand hovering over the cool metal handle. The low murmur of male voices could be heard from within. Taking one last shaky breath, you pushed the door open and stepped inside. San was leaning against the sink, arms crossed, his gaze already on you, that same intense, knowing look still blazing in his eyes. The air crackled. The game had begun again.

He was still leaning against the sink, his arms crossed over the glossy texture of his jacket, the silver chain around his neck catching the faint light from the overhead fixture. His dark hair, slightly disheveled, framed a face that was both impossibly familiar and unnervingly alluring in the muted light. His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, devoured you. There was no casual greeting, no “fancy meeting you here.” His gaze alone was a physical touch, tracing every curve, every shadow. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, yet vibrating with an unspoken language only the two of you understood. It was the language of six years of shared history, of bodies that knew each other intimately, of a passion that had never truly died, only been forcibly buried. You felt your cheeks flush, a wave of heat spreading through you that had nothing to do with the humid night. You wanted to look away or flee, to break the potent spell, but you couldn't. You were a moth to his flame, drawn in by the sheer magnetic force of his presence.

He pushed off the sink, taking one slow, deliberate step towards you. Then another. The small space of the restroom felt even smaller, every inch of it shrinking until it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you. The faint scent of stale cigarette smoke and generic air freshener was obliterated by the clean, distinct scent of him—something woody and slightly musky, utterly San. His hand rose, slowly, as if in a dream, and he reached out. His fingers didn’t go for your face or your hair. Instead, they settled on the sensitive skin of your neck, his thumb brushing lightly over your pulse point. The contact was electric, sending shivers down your spine and igniting a fire in your core. It was a possessive gesture, a silent claim.

“You followed,” he murmured, his voice a low, rough rasp that sent another jolt through you. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of fact, laced with triumph and a raw, carnal anticipation. His eyes dropped from yours, trailing slowly down your face, lingering on your lips. Your breath hitched. Your body was already betraying you, aching for his touch. The fight you’d been putting up for the past month dissolved like smoke. All the reasons you shouldn’t, all the ‘what-ifs’ about your grandparents and your future, vanished. There was only this moment, this man, and the undeniable truth of your shared, burning desire.

“Of course, I did,” you whispered back, your voice barely audible, a confession, a surrender. “Why wouldn’t I?” You leaned into his touch, your eyes closing for a brief moment as his thumb continued its maddening rhythm on your neck. The next move, you knew, would be yours to make, or his. And it wouldn’t involve talking. You snaked your arms on the back of his neck and pressed your lips against him, closing the gap between you and San. His fingers squeeze the side of your neck—enough to make you breathe, even. San’s other hand traveled down on your ass, squeezing it, pulling you closer until you felt his hard, clothed cock. You started to grind your body against him. San let out a low groan against your mouth, a sound of pure pleasure that vibrated through your entire body. He deepened the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours in a passionate dance. The pressure on your neck eased slightly, allowing for more comfortable breathing, but his grip on your ass remained firm, keeping your bodies tightly pressed together. You could feel the undeniable heat radiating from him, mirroring the inferno building within you. Every grind of your hips against his was met with an eager pushback, a silent language of escalating desire. The air around you crackled with an unspoken urgency, a shared need that threatened to consume you both. You felt yourself getting dizzy, not from lack of air, but from the intoxicating rush of his presence, the raw intensity of the moment. The world outside of his embrace faded into a blurry background, and all that existed was the pounding of your hearts, the delicious friction of your bodies, and the promise of what was yet to come.

You broke the kiss, gasping for air, your forehead resting against his. His eyes, dark with desire, met yours. “God, you drive me insane,” he breathed, his voice thick and rough. His thumb, still on your neck, traced the line of your jaw, sending shivers down your spine.

“Oh, really?” You purred back, a mischievous glint in your eyes, a slight smirk playing on your lips. You could feel the frantic beat of your heart against his chest. His grip on your ass didn’t lessen, keeping you flush against him, making the undeniable evidence of his arousal all the more present. Your fingers, still laced in his hair, gave a gentle, possessive tug. He chuckled, a low, husky sound that sent another wave of heat through you.

“Is it now?” He murmured, his gaze utterly devoted. “Because I feel like I’m the one about to lose my mind here... if you’d allow it.” His gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes, filled with an almost desperate plea. “What kind of spell are you doing to me, beautiful?”

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his. “What do you want me to do?” You challenged softly, a hint of steel beneath the teasing sweetness in your voice. You felt him tense beneath your touch, a clear sign of his hunger and his readiness to submit. He pulled back just enough to look at you properly, a serious intensity replacing the playful glint in his eyes, now mixed with a deep, consuming adoration.

“Everything,” he said, his voice dropping to a near growl, a tone of absolute surrender. “I want you to do everything.” He squeezed your ass again, pulling you impossibly closer, his body vibrating with controlled anticipation. “And I want to do everything for you, to you, as you wish.”

You let out a soft, knowing laugh, a sound that held a hint of delicious victory. “Are you willing to do such thing, San?” You murmured, your fingers tightening around the back of his neck, pulling him a fraction of an inch closer until your lips were almost touching again. Your gaze dropped to his mouth, then back up to his eyes, watching the worship intensify.

“Please, love. Let me feel you. Let me fuck you right here, please.” Your hand moved from his neck, trailing slowly down his chest, resting over his heart, which was pounding a frantic rhythm. You felt his sharp intake of breath, a subtle shiver that ran through him. You could feel the undeniable strength of his body, the hard planes of his muscles, yet he was utterly still beneath your touch, waiting.

“Begging already?” you whispered, your voice dropping to a seductive husk. “Then you’ll have to earn it, won’t you?" Tilting your head slightly, a clear signal of your will. “You hear me, San?” The words hung in the air, a silken thread of absolute will.

“Yes. Please, let me touch you…” He spoke in a low tone, grinding on your thighs. Sweating gathered on his forehead and fell down to his jaw as he breathed heavily.

“Fucking insane. I didn’t order you to grind like a dog on me,” you spat. “Kneel.” A last word that followed out of your mouth. San immediately fell to his knees, hands on his lap. Looking at you as a vulnerable piece. The dim light of the restroom played across the silk black dress, highlighting the curve of your back, the enticing hint of your thong visible as you leaned against the sink, supporting your weight.

“Eat me out. Devour me like you own me.” You looked down to San, who was reaching for your ankles, massaging them as his hands traveled up to your legs, kissing them inch by inch, worshipping your body, parting your legs as he went up to your thighs, leaving a mark, and licking them after. His eyes, dark with fervent desire, remained fixed on you as he slowly, deliberately, brought his face closer to your waiting heat. You could feel his warm breath ghosting over your most sensitive skin, sending shivers through you that were a delicious mix of anticipation and absolute control. He paused, just for a moment, a silent question in his gaze, seeking your final, unspoken approval, even as his body trembled with eagerness. You watched him, your own breath catching in your throat, the thrill of his utter devotion a potent potion. Without a verbal cue, but with a subtle shift in your weight and a slight parting of your lips, you granted him permission. His dark head dipped, and then his tongue, hot and wet, made first contact. A sharp gasp tore from your throat, your fingers instinctively gripping the cool edge of the sink behind you.

He was everything you remembered, everything you craved, and more. His movements were precise, deliberate, a worshipful exploration that left no inch of you untouched. Each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck, was designed to push you closer and closer to the edge, a master of his craft, completely consumed by the act of pleasing you. You felt the warmth spread, fire igniting in your core, and the world outside the small restroom dissolved into a blissful haze of sensation. His hands moved to cup your buttocks, lifting you slightly, pressing you more firmly against his mouth. The silk dress rode up, revealing even more of your thong-clad rear. You arched your back, a low moan escaping your lips as the intensity built. You could feel his hot breaths, hear his soft groans of pleasure, mingling with your own. He was truly devouring you, just as you’d commanded, lost in a single-minded pursuit of your satisfaction. The thought of your grandparents, your future, and the entire world outside was utterly obliterated by the exquisite reality of San at your feet, making you burn. As he continued his movements, you found yourself twisting, unable to keep still, your fingers digging into the cool porcelain of the sink. Each stroke of his tongue, each gentle pull, was a direct shot of pleasure, spiraling through you. He paused for a moment, just long enough for you to let out a frustrated whimper, before resuming with renewed intensity, as if punishing you for your impatience, yet simultaneously rewarding you with deeper sensations.

“San,” you gasped, your voice strained, barely recognizable even to your own ears. Your head fell back against the mirror, your eyes squeezed shut, the world now nothing but the rhythmic, insistent pleasure he was eliciting. He didn’t answer verbally, but the way his tongue moved and the increased pressure of his mouth told you he heard your plea and was only going to push you further. He shifted, bringing one hand to cup your mound, his thumb sweeping over your already swollen clit, while his mouth worked wonders. The combination was almost unbearable, pushing you right to the edge. You felt a soft trembling start deep within you, growing, consuming.

“Please,” you whimpered again, the word barely a breath. “San... please…” You weren’t sure what you were begging for—was it for him to stop, for him to continue, for release, for more, or for less? It was just a desperate, animalistic sound of pure need. He lifted his head for a second; his eyes, dark and glazed with his own rising passion, met yours. His face was flushed, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, his lips glistening.

“Beg for it, doll,” he murmured, his voice a low, rough rumble against your skin, just before his mouth closed over you again, sending a jolt that made your toes curl.

A whimper tore through you. “San, I—I need—” Your words broke off into a choked cry as he intensified his service, driving you closer to the edge than you thought possible. “Please... please, I’m almost there…”

He pulled back again, just a fraction, the sudden withdrawal almost painful. You whimpered, reaching out blindly, your fingers tangling in his dark hair. “Don’t stop, San. Please, don’t stop. I need you, fuck.” Your voice was raw, stripped bare of any pretense of control. “Please, baby, don’t stop, I beg you.”

His eyes burned into yours, a successful glint mixing with the absolute adoration. “Say my name,” he rasped, his breath hot against your thigh. “Say you need me.”

“San, baby. Oh god, San, I need you. Make me cum. Please, baby.” Your hips bucked instinctively against his face, a desperate plea for release. You let out a loud moan; you didn’t realized how loud you are. He watched you, a slow, sensual smile spreading on his lips as your desperation grew. He was enjoying every single second of your unraveling, your complete surrender to the sensations he was orchestrating.

“Such a good girl. Begging for me just to fuck her stupid using my mouth,” he purred, the words sending another shiver through you. And then, with a final, deep dive, he pushed you over the edge. A strangled cry ripped from your throat as your body convulsed, pleasure exploding through every nerve ending. You clutched his hair, your nails digging lightly into his scalp as your knees threatened to buckle. He held you steady, his mouth still working, catching every last tremor of your climax, devouring you completely. When the last movements ended and your breathing evened out, he finally pulled away, his face slick with your mutual pleasure. He looked up at you, his eyes still dark with a simmering desire, but now also filled with a profound, almost reverent satisfaction. He reached up, his thumb gently wiping a tear from the corner of your eye that you hadn’t even realized had fallen.

“All for you, sweet,” he breathed, his voice soft, utterly devoted. He then leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to your now-sensitive skin, a lingering, possessive touch. “Always.”

It took a few shaky moments for you to regain your composure, to find your footing again as the waves of pleasure receded, leaving you delightfully weak. San rose from his kneeling position, his movements fluid and unhurried. He didn’t speak, but his gaze, hot and possessive, lingered on your face, reading every lingering trace of your climax. He reached out, his hand gently settling on the small of your back, a silent anchor.

“We can’t stay here,” you murmured, your voice still a little breathless, the words feeling foreign and heavy in the aftermath. The fluorescent lights of the restroom, the lingering scent of disinfectant, suddenly felt stark and unwelcome after the intimate intensity of the past few minutes. San merely hummed in agreement, his thumb stroking your skin. He didn’t need words. He knew exactly what you meant, what you wanted. Your apartment. Your bed. The place where inhibitions could truly melt away. He turned, guiding you gently with his hand on your back, leading you out of the restroom and back into the muffled hum of the bar.

The transition felt surreal. The conversations and laughter of strangers seemed distant, a mere backdrop to the vibrant thrumming between you and San. You didn’t speak a word as you walked past the main bar area, past curious glances, out into the humid night. The air was thick and warm, clinging to your skin, a stark contrast to the cool air-conditioned interior of the bar. He hailed a taxi with practiced ease, opening the door for you before sliding in beside you. The ride to your apartment was a silent symphony of anticipation. Your hand found him in the darkness of the backseat, fingers intertwining, a silent promise exchanged. His thumb drew lazy circles on your knuckles, a comforting rhythm that spoke volumes. The earlier resentment, the carefully constructed walls of hatred, felt like a distant, irrelevant memory. All that mattered was the warmth of his hand, the shared heat in the small space, and the electric hum of what was coming next.

Soon enough, the taxi pulled up to your apartment building. You fumbled for your keys, your hands still trembling slightly, a small laugh escaping your lips. San took them from you, his fingers brushing yours, and effortlessly unlocked the door. He let you enter first, a silent deference that made your stomach clench in a delicious way. The apartment was dark and quiet, save for the faint glow of city lights filtering through the blinds. You kicked off your shoes, letting them fall unceremoniously to the floor. San closed the door behind him, the soft click echoing in the stillness, severing you from the outside world.

He didn’t turn on any lights. The dimness felt right, adding to the illicit intimacy of the moment. You turned to face him, the faint light catching the contours of his face, the intensity in his eyes. He reached for you, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs gently caressing your cheeks.

“My love,” he whispered, his voice a low, rough reverence that sent shivers down your spine. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your eyelids, then tracing the curve of your jaw with his lips before finally finding yours. This kiss was slower, deeper than before, a lingering promise. His tongue traced your lips, asking for entry, and you readily granted it, your body already arching into his. San’s hands moved from your face, trailing down your neck, over your shoulders, and then found the hem of your black silk dress. He slowly, deliberately, began to pull it up, his eyes never leaving yours, watching for any sign, any hint of resistance. There was none. The silk glided upwards, revealing more of your legs, the smooth curve of your hips, until the thong beneath was fully exposed. San took a moment, his gaze sweeping over your exposed skin, a low groan rumbling in his chest. You reached for him too, your fingers fumbling with the zipper of his jacket, then the snaps of his shirt. He stood still, a statue of patient devotion, allowing you to undress him. The leather jacket came off first, then his shirt, revealing the hard planes of his chest and the taut muscles of his abdomen. You traced the lines of his body with your fingertips, feeling the heat radiate from him, the faint tremor that ran through him as your skin met his. San stepped back slightly and took your hand, leading you deeper into the apartment, as if he lived there, to the bedroom. The soft rug underfoot felt luxurious against your bare soles. In the dim light, your bed looked like an island, an irresistible haven. He paused at the edge, his gaze searching yours.

“May I?” he murmured, a silent question asking permission to continue, even though every fiber of your being screamed yes. You nodded, a shaky breath escaping your lips. He reached for the strap of your dress at your shoulder, slowly sliding it down, allowing the silk to pool at your feet. You stepped out of it, the black fabric a discarded puddle. He then lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the bed. You gasped, wrapping your legs around his waist as he lowered you onto the soft mattress. He hovered over you, supporting himself on his elbows, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You are so beautiful,” he breathed, his voice thick with adoration. “Perfect. So fucking perfect for me and mine only.” His hand found the waistband of your thong, his fingers slipping underneath. He slowly, agonizingly slowly, peeled it down your legs until you were completely bare beneath him. He didn’t rush, savoring each moment, each inch of exposed skin. You reached for the waistband of his pants, pulling at them impatiently. He chuckled, a deep, satisfied sound, and helped you, shucking off his pants and boxers until he too was naked, his hard form pressing against your bare thighs. He settled between your legs, his weight a delicious pressure. He leaned down, burying his face in your neck, inhaling your scent, leaving a trail of hot kisses along your collarbone.

“You have no idea how long I have dreamt of this,” he whispered against your skin, his voice raw with a desperate longing that mirrored your own. "Of being here again, with you, like this.” You threaded your fingers through his hair, pulling his head back slightly so you could meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, almost black, brimming with an overwhelming emotion that captivated you.

“Show me, San,” you whispered, your voice a soft invitation, your hips unconsciously tilting up, pleading. “Show me everything.” He met your gaze, a powerful mixture of adoration and barely contained hunger in his eyes. He leaned in, pressing his lips to yours, a deep, consuming kiss that stole your breath away. This was not just desire; it was a profound connection, a reunion of souls that had been torn apart, now finding their way back to their inevitable convergence. His body moved, pressing deeper, finding that familiar, perfect fit. You gasped against his mouth, a sound of pure, unmixed relief and escalating pleasure. He groaned against your lips, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through your entire being as he began to move. Slowly at first, a deliberate testing of the waters, a teasing rhythm that built the excitement. You responded immediately, your hips instinctively meeting him, pushing back, craving the full immersion. His hands found your waist, gripping you firmly, lifting you slightly to deepen the angle, to ensure every friction was maximized.

“My love,” he breathed, the words muffled against your mouth as he broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your jaw to your ear. “You feel so good. So good.” His breath hitched as you arched into him, a soft moan escaping your lips. The pace quickened, a primal dance that spoke volumes without a single word. The bed beneath you became a tempest, the soft mattress sinking with each powerful thrust. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him in closer, urging him deeper. Your nails lightly scraped against his back as you clung to him, lost in the escalating storm of sensation. His muscles flexed under your touch, a testament to the raw strength he held in check for you. He was a force, yet utterly devoted to your pleasure, watching your face for every sign, every gasp, every subtle shift in your expression. He leaned down, catching your lips in a passionate kiss again, swallowing your moans, mingling your breaths until there was no telling where one ended and the other began.

The air in the room grew heavy, thick with the scent of aroused bodies and desperate need. The sounds of your apartment, usually so familiar, were now just the frantic pounding of your hearts and the soft gasps and moans that filled the space. The thought of anything beyond this moment, beyond the exquisite friction and the intoxicating scent of San, completely vanished. This was your true future, the one you truly desired, unraveling beneath you in a tangle of limbs and breathless whispers. He pulled back, just enough to look into your eyes, his own dark and dilated, filled with a burning intensity.

“Look at me,” he rasped, his voice strained, raw with his own approaching climax. “Look at me, doll.” You met his gaze, completely consumed, your body trembling on the brink. You could feel the building pressure deep inside, the undeniable ascent towards another peak. His eyes, fixed on yours, were the only anchor in the swirling of sensation.

“San,” you whimpered, his name a desperate plea, a worshipful prayer on your lips. With a final, powerful thrust, he drove into you, a deep, all-consuming connection that sent you spiraling over the edge once more. A guttural cry escaped you as your body shook uncontrollably around him, clutching him tighter. He groaned, a primal sound of release, as he followed you, collapsing onto you, his body heavy and satiated. The aftermath was a symphony of heavy breaths and pounding hearts, bodies slick with sweat, entangled in the peaceful silence that followed the storm. He buried his face in your neck, pressing kisses to your damp skin, utterly spent, yet still holding you impossibly close, as if afraid to let you go. He lay heavy on you, his chest rising and falling against yours, the scent of him—a mix of sweat, sex, and his familiar cologne—filling your senses. Your fingers, still tangled in his hair, gently stroked the nape of his neck. The frantic rhythm of your heart gradually slowed, syncing with the steady beat of his. The silence in the room was profound, punctuated only by your soft breaths and the lingering hum of satisfaction that resonated deep within your bones.

After a long moment, he shifted, lifting his head from your neck and propping himself up on his elbows, looking down at you. His eyes, still clouded with the afterglow, held a tenderness that made your own heartache in the best way possible. He reached out, his thumb tracing the curve of your bottom lip.

“Are you... Alright, my love?” he whispered, his voice a little rough, a hint of concern in his gaze. He always checked. He always made sure you were okay, even when he was completely lost in the moment. It was a subtle, natural care that had always been one of the things you loved most about him and something you had desperately missed.

You smiled, a soft, content smile. “More than alright, San,” you murmured, reaching up to cup his cheek, feeling the slight stubble beneath your palm. “Perfect rather.”

A relieved sigh escaped him, and he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he breathed, the word filled with sincere relief. He rolled off you, but only to lie beside you, pulling you immediately into his side. Your head rested on his shoulder, your leg thrown over his, your bodies still connected by the lingering warmth and the unspoken intimacy.

The city lights still filtered through the blinds, casting faint, shifting shadows on the ceiling. You were both quiet, simply existing in the shared space, in the aftermath of something raw and powerful. You felt a wave of conflicting emotions wash over you—the lingering resentment for the life your grandparents had dictated, the sharp pang of regret for the time lost, and an overwhelming surge of pure, unadulterated contentment in his arms.

“I missed this,” you whispered, the words barely audible, a confession that tasted like freedom on your tongue. “I missed you.”

He tightened his arm around you, pulling you even closer. His lips brushed your hair. “I missed you too, more than words can say,” he murmured back, his voice thick with emotion. “Every single day; It was hell without you—even though I can sense that you hated me to death. I know you.”

You sighed, burying your face deeper into his shoulder. The fragile peace was here, in this bed, with him. The outside world, the demands of your family, the future they had planned—it all felt distant, a problem for another day. For now, there was just this. Just San. And the undeniable, aching truth that you were exactly where you belonged. You felt his breathing even out, a soft snore starting to rumble in his chest. He was falling asleep, utterly relaxed in your embrace. You closed your eyes, letting the exhaustion and the profound contentment wash over you. For the first time in a long time, the insistent echoes of his memory were not tormenting you but lulling you into a peaceful sleep.

[ennobletechnologies]

As the world of digital marketing continues to evolve, we are seeing a shift from traditional, one-way marketing methods to more interactive, two-way methods. This shift is being driven by the rise of social media, the proliferation of mobile devices, and the ever-increasing demand for more personalized content.

Do Visit: https://ennobletechnologies.com/digital-marketing/5-reasons-why-interactive-content-is-the-future-of-digital-marketing/

[jackklinemybeloved]

trying to connect the watcher bullshit with the way media companies on YouTube have regularly failed. Can’t figure out how to be coherent yet but ohhhh boy when I do.

[ctrlkenma]

☆ I'M GETTING RIPPED TONIGHT, RIP THAT PUSSY!

☆ — summary. the hq boys, and how they work you out ☆

☆ — content warning. f!reader, timeskip, vaginal fingering, oral sex, slight degradation (kenma), bimbofication (kenma), streamer!kenma, streamer!user, pre-established relationships, mature.

☆ — word count. 0.9k.

☆ — includes. kei tsukishima, kenma kozume, ☆

☆ KEI TSUKISHIMA.

The Sendai Frogs exhaust him to no extent. 

Truth be told, they conducted themselves as if they were juniors in high school, the lot of them. If he’d known any better, Kei would’ve thought he was being compensated for chaperoning his team - the designation as a “middle blocker” long forgotten as his time, in lieu, was spent predominantly providing adult supervision for those who missed the memo on maturity.

In spite of the many years he spent pottering in high school volleyball, Tsukishima considered himself to be equipped with the skills needed to start childminding (though, granted, not at such an early age).

In contrast though, Kei, despite the nonchalant facade he upheld that many failed to peer through - found his energy siphoned due to the constant immaturity - to phrase it better, his teammates’ stupid fucking antics - Kyotani’s continuous yelling and Koganegawa’s talkative nature, not to mention their overuse of that annoying, cliched nickname - “tsukki”, which ticked him off even more because it sounded so fucking pathetic if it didn’t come from you.

With volleyball practice feeling more like babysitting than training, Tsukishima was left with a single, solitary outlet through which he could channel his simmering frustration in a relatively healthy way—sex. For Kei, especially, that translated into eating you out, legs sprawled open as you lay on the sofa, exhausted from the constant edging and quite frankly, desperate for an orgasm. 

“Kei…” You beg, lip quivering as you throw your head back, finally being met with the incredible sensation of stimulation onto your clit, his hands prying open your thighs impossibly further, tongue invading your wet entrance as his nose pressed against your core, glasses fogged up from the heat you emanated. 

If Kei died at this moment, he’d leave a happy man.

At last, those sweet, saccharine words bless his ears as if they were a long awaited lullaby - a broken, hushed cry of the epithet, “T-Tsukki!”, which, really, as all it took for Tsukishima to come undone, lapping up at your sweet release as he finally drags down his boxers, providing some much needed oxygen to his erection, which would finally be met with sweet relief once plunged inside your warmth. 

☆ KENMA KOZUME.

There was, perhaps, nothing in this world Kenma Kozume abhorred more than fanmeets.

They wore him out, unnecessarily so, as all it required was to sit still in a chair and talk hours on end about the importance of gaming to the community and whatnot at a fucking twitch panel, as if Kenma’s job didn’t just consist of streaming whenever he felt like playing on his PC.

The job was rewarding, yes, but it was just as time-consuming and annoying, despite the income it may have generated. Being under the constant, watchful eye of anonymous users and being under public scrutiny served as an added bonus (read: sarcasm) to fuel his ever-thriving ego.

It didn't help that you were in the same boat as him - sitting in front of a screen 25/8, bimbofied for all to see. That, perhaps, and seeing you be unceasingly sexualized perhaps replaced his hatred for public speaking and social interaction, dethroning it from the top spot. Honestly, how much lower could your audience stoop? As if having thirst traps be made of him over the littlest things weren’t enough, he now had to endure the thousands of fans you boasted as you sat next to him on that very panel. 

And so, you found yourself being pushed against the wall by a very sweaty, excessively worn out, and an extremely hormonal Kenma. 

“Ken, what are you-,” you started, but he cut you off with a soft “shh,” his hand reaching to latch the door, locking it with a soft click!

“You liked them looking, didn’t you?” His voice was a low growl against your neck, possessive. He pressed wet, insistent kisses to your skin as his hands slid down, a slow, deliberate exploration before he roughly shoved your panties down to your ankles. He didn't hesitate, his fingers plunging deep inside you, slick with your immediate arousal. The sound was wet and messy, a stark contrast to the sterile environment. “You fucking loved the attention, didn’t you? Look at this mess,” he muttered, his fingers churning within you, pulling apart your folds, smearing your slickness across your skin. “So fucking wet for them.” His taunt was a breath away from your lips as he captured them in a hard, wet kiss, his fingers inside you now pumping with a brutal, uneven rhythm.

You gasped, a choked sound as your hips instinctively bucked against his hand. Kenma’s fingers were relentless, stretching you, exploring every ridge with a rough possessiveness. He slid in another finger, forcing you wider, the wet sounds echoing in the small room. He began to fist you, his knuckles pressing deep, his movements almost violent as he filled you completely. It was rather animalistic, sloppy, and undeniably intimate, unlike the secretive, vanilla moments you shared with Kenma, in the quiet of your bedroom. He moved within you like he was trying to claim every inch, his grip tight and demanding. Just like getting that perfect S+ on 1980’s mode in Yandere Simulator – precise, brutal, and utterly focused.

“Tell me their eyes on you meant nothing,” he grunted, his thumb pressing hard against your swollen clit, grinding against it as his fingers continued their brutal work inside. You cried out, your body arching, the sensations too intense, too raw. He continued, his fingers a slick, messy whirlwind within you, until your muscles clenched around his hand, a shuddering orgasm ripping through you. The sounds were wet - desperate, rather, a testament to his forceful invasion.

Kenma held you pinned, his fingers still buried deep, feeling the violent tremors of your release. “Still think they deserved to look?” he whispered, his voice thick with a possessive hunger, frown replaced with a mocking smirk painted across his face, hands now soaked in the aftermath of your orgasm.

©ctrlkenma, 2025. no redistribution, translation or plagiarism is authorized.

[labs]

Another idea: Communities on Tumblr

For a while now folks have asked us for better ways to connect with other people who share similar interests. We’re listening, and at Labs we’ve been looking into fulfilling that need, Tumblr style.

Introducing Communities, a new place to connect with others on Tumblr:

Here in Labs, we’re working on big ideas that could transform how Tumblr is used, while keeping that Tumblr vibe alive. You can see one of those ideas above. We’re calling it “Communities”, a new dedicated space on Tumblr for people to share and discuss all the content they love. Communities can cover topics like your favorite show, artist, movie, video game, your school, your board game group, friend group, big or small, whatever you want.

Each Community has their own semi-private safer space away from the regular dashboard where you can interact with other Tumblr users who share the same interests and passions as you. There are moderators and members (you!), rules, and privacy settings. Each community has its own feed of posts from members, separate from your Following and For You feeds. Interactions within community spaces stay there and replies will work more like a traditional comment section. Folks will be able to reblog posts into a community, but not out — at least not yet.

We’re very excited for you to try it, and help define the best path forward. What we have is a prototype to help us validate the idea, but there’s still plenty of questions that need answering. Over the next couple of weeks, we’ll be reaching out to people across Tumblr, and the internet at large, to try our prototype. Based on the feedback we get, we’ll iterate on the idea to see what resonates best with all of you on Tumblr.

If this sounds interesting, please like, reblog, or reply to this post, and we’ll invite you to beta test this feature when we roll it out to a wider Tumblr audience, as a little perk for following the Labs blog.

Stay tuned for more!

[harrysfolklore]

lando norris being down bad for his girlfriend: a compilation

summary: lando norris can’t help but talk about his girlfriend whenever he cans, fans make compilation videos about it

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

Lando Norris could be described as someone who's not scared of saying whatever crossed his mind.

And that's why he never, ever, missed the opportunity to talk about his girlfriend whenever he had the chance.

He mentioned her during interviews, press conferences, social media post and even fan interactions. To the point where fans started making compilation videos with all the moments he publicly obsessed over his girlfriend.

The most popular one gathered millions of views on YouTube, showing multiple occasions Lando couldn't help but be down bad for her.

The video started with a clip from Q&A with fans, someone asked him about his favorite way to relax after a race. Without missing a beat, Lando replied, "Cuddling up with my girlfriend, of course. Nothing beats that."

"You're really whipped man, It's embarrassing," Oscar, his teammate, teased beside him, making the audience laugh.

"It's not, really." Lando shrugged proudly.

The next clip was taken from McLaren's Tiktok account, their content creator tried to do the "Can you watch my ___ for a second" prank on Lando.

"Oh my girlfriend already did this prank to me," Lando said, laughing at the camera, "Baby, If you're watching this, I miss you. Your pranks are way better than McLaren's"

The video moved to show Lando during a post-qualifying interview, his suit hanging by his waist and his fireproofs showing, when asked about his strategy for the race, he cheekily replied, "Well, first I'm going to call my girlfriend for some good luck wishes. Then, I'll focus on getting to the front."

"Zak Brown should hire your girlfriend as your strategist then," the interviewer joked.

"That would be great but I don't think we would be getting any job done. You know what they say about mixing business with pleasure."

The next clip showed Lando with his friend and fellow driver Max Fewtrell, playing a trivia game about how well did they knew each other. Max had to answer what was Lando's worst habit.

"I'm going to say leaving dirty plates around the house," he said, showing his board, "You do mate, admit it."

"My girlfriend would agree on that," he admitted, "She's always complaining about it."

"I don't know how she's still living with you."

"Because she loves me, and I would die if she leaves me."

On the same note, a video of Oscar teasing Lando followed right after.

"Who's most likely to snore?" Lando read the question, and Oscar quickly put ut the cutout with Lando's face, "How are you so sure? You didn't even hesitate."

"Mate, I've heard you, plus your girlfriend literally complained about not being able to sleep properly last night because you kept snoring."

"I did keep her up last night, but it wasn't just because of the snoring," Lando said, a cheeky grin on his face.

"Put the not safe for work disclaimer at the beginning of this video please."

The next segment was from Lando's own Youtube channel, he was doing a little vlog in Miami before the race weekend.

"Hi everyone," he said, filming himself in the mirror with his camera, "Today I'm back with another LandoLog, I'm going to be filming some behind the scenes of this Miami weekend, so without further ado, let's go," he moved the camera around, focusing on his girlfriend who was putting some mascara on her eyelashes, "Here's my beautiful girl, who takes ages to get ready. Say hi baby."

"Hi everyone," his girlfriend waved, laughing, "I'm not taking ages, I'm just making sure I look good."

"You always look good for me," Lando said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before turning the camera back to himself, "See, I told you she's the best."

The next clip showed Lando and Oscar together once again, this time they were giving a tour around the McLaren hub.

"This is my driver's room," Lando said as he opened the door, "It's cleaner than Oscar's, clearly, and looks like I have a bed."

Lando moved to put together the small bed that was behind the door, "This is an upgrade from last year, we didn't have this. I'll be definitely giving it some good use, to nap or with my girlfriend."

"Can we have a video where you're not a horndog please?" Oscar said, putting his hands on his hips.

"You're the horndog, I never said what we were going to use it for, we're just going to cuddle."

The video moved to show one of Lando's post race interviews after winning the Miami GP, he had been asked ho would be the most excited person about this win besides him.

"My girlfriend, definitely. I couldn't have done it without her," Lando said, his voice filled with emotion, "She's been my biggest supporter, my inspiration, and my motivation. This win is as much hers as it is mine."

The video then cut to a scene from Lando's gaming stream with Max Verstappen. The two drivers were deep into a game of Call of Duty, their banter and laughter filling the screen. Lando was focused, his eyes glued to the monitor as he coordinated with Max.

Just then, Lando's phone buzzed on the table beside him. He glanced at the screen and his expression softened, the comment section noticing, "Hey, mate, I need to go. My girl needs me for something," he said, setting down his controller.

"Lando! Are you serious right now?" Max said, his eyes still glued to the screen.

"I am, see ya," he turned to the camera, smiling not so apologetically "Sorry, guys, duty calls. See you next time."

The last scene was a snippet from an interview, Lando had been asked what he saw in his future.

He paused, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Honestly? I see a lot of racing, hopefully some championships," he laughed, "but most importantly, I see her. I can't imagine my life without her."

The screen faded to black, showing a text that read: Get you a man who is as down for you as Lando Norris is for his girlfriend.

[livecrow]

You're out with friends and joke that you're “un-kidnappable”.

John Price and the lads think that’s interesting. 

Soft!Dark!John Price x fat fem reader

cw: debatable self-deprecation, kidnapping, noncon

You don’t recall exactly how it came up. Maybe it was the latest episode of a popular true crime podcast a couple of your friends mentioned listening to the other day.

All the same, while lounging in the familiar bar’s cozy glow, the atmosphere at the table stayed light and relaxed, despite the morbid topic.

Between drinks, your friends detail stories of encounters with dubious men and swap self-defense strategies—anything to avoid an impromptu debut on a Dateline special.

They were mostly the basics. Remember to lock your doors immediately. Keep your phone on you. Never leave a drink unattended. Always travel in groups. Oh, and carry pepper spray. It turns out all of your friends carry some.

Not you, though.

When you are inevitably questioned on the matter, you concede that you have some, "...somewhere."

Your mom gave you a little canister years back. But you don’t actually know where it is, much to the displeasure of your friends. Upon further interrogation, you guessed it’s probably forgotten in a drawer somewhere, lost among AAA batteries, tangled cords of unknown origin, and appliance instruction manuals. 

As one friend suggests the classic keys-between-your-fingers trick, some of the men at an adjacent table laugh.

“Best use for keys when you’re attacked is opening a damn door.”

Apparently, they had been following your conversation. It was the oldest man who spoke, rumbling over the rim of his glass with aplomb that leaves little room for argument. He has a resonance that makes you pause, reminding you distinctly of the distant rolling thunder that forebodes a coming storm. 

The dark, handsome man at his elbow agrees. “'Sides, they’re not brass knuckles. No stability. You’re not actually gonna cause any damage like that.”

“Aye, ye’r better off jus’ takin’ one key an poppin’ the bastard’s een out.” A man sporting a mohawk added with a grin, crudely miming gouging an eye out with his free hand.

“Fine, I’ll punch them out then!” the smallest of your friend group counters, palming her fist loudly while trying to keep a straight face.

That just earns more amusement, of course. The huge masked man at the end of their table scoffs, “Like that you’ll jus’ break your fuckin’ thumb.” He proceeds to instruct her how to make a proper fist. 

It's all in good fun. They’re an interesting bunch, probably military of some sort, you’d wager. Three Brits and one Scot. Your group welcomes the interruption, despite the biggest one of the lot looking particularly murdery himself, decked out in all black and a fucking skull balaclava. 

The gregarious, younger two made up for it. They were all smiles, speaking candidly as if they’d just run into some old friends. Before long you’ve practically joined tables. Why not? After all, the four certainly look like they know what they’re talking about, each man large and brawny.

The younger men did the vast majority of the talking, answering questions and enthusiastically offering techniques to their audience while Voorhees only interjected a brusque retort every so often. Your friends were utterly charmed by the Scot’s cheeky beam and the pretty Brit’s warm eyes as they moved from outlining bodily weak points with an emphasis on “soft targets” to discussing the pros and cons of different weapons.

But there was something about the man who initiated the discourse—some quality. He held an unspoken commanding presence, despite saying little. Here he was, the catalyst of the entire interaction, and yet he seemed content to observe rather than participate. It brought to mind some indifferent, deist higher power.

You estimated he was a decade his mates' senior, give or take. Apropos stormy eyes framed by heavy brows and the beginnings of crow's feet. Odd, antiquated facial hair, wood brown with smatterings of grey. Privately, you thought it suited him—looked distinguished. At some point earlier he caught your gaze.

He introduced himself as “John.” Although, curiously, none of his cohorts called him that or introduced themselves in turn. Not that your friends seemed to mind; that, or they didn’t notice. 

Along with his name, he offered a subdued Duchenne smile that disarmed you, softening his gruff countenance in an instant. For an instant, anyway.

You’d swear that, even in the bar’s low lighting, you caught his eyes twinkle. Some uncharacteristically childish sentiment swept over you for a moment, making you want to believe that the look was for you and that he wasn’t in reality only being polite.

“...honestly, if you have the stomach for it, your best choice is always gonna be a strap.”

The Scot readily agreed with pretty-boy, as he reclined, his chair balancing precariously on just the back two legs. However, they did quibble over the type of handgun, debating various specifications that were gibberish to the rest of you. While they all listen enraptured, only one of your friends really seems truly open to the idea. The rest unsurprisingly remain gun-shy. 

Another friend suggests a taser as a compromise.

“Not for me,” you laughed, “there’s absolutely no way my ass wouldn't immediately accidentally taser myself."

“No mace, no taser, no knife—not even one of those keychain alarms!” your friend groused. “You should have something—”.

Your eyes met again. You and John. Even with the subtle haze of alcohol relaxing you, it felt penetrating. 

Your eyes retreated down to his drink seeking relief. One of his large hands flexed slightly around his glass, thick tendons shifting under the skin and scattered vellus hair peeking over his cuff, dusting as far as his knuckles.

He seemed to be in thought as he took a drink. Whiskey you think it was. His shrewd eyes didn't leave you; maybe he was just looking through you—

“How do you keep yourself out of trouble then, love?” 

His timbre immediately cut through the chatter. If you weren’t feeling so fizzy from the drink, you might feel put on the spot when suddenly everyone’s eyes are singly on you.

You were effectively the token “fat one” of your group. While the rest of this friend group happened to be straight-sized, there was absolutely nothing “straight” on your body. Hell, there was hardly a part of you that didn’t jiggle, at least a little bit.

You didn’t resent it; you were just self-aware. You were perfectly cognizant that you blended in among them about as well as a hippo “blends in" with oxpeckers.

If you were entirely sober, you might be a bit put out, might worry he’s being mean, poking fun at your expense. But no, the alcohol thankfully chased away any anxiety from building in your gut.

Besides, there’s no humor to be found in his expression, no edge of malice in his eyes. None of his mates crack a smirk either, apparently also interested in your answer.

You were mid-sip when the question was lobbed your way, and you used it to stall. You weren’t sure precisely why, but you found yourself squirming in your seat a bit before recovering half a second later. 

“Me?”, you grinned around your straw, cocking a brow. “Trust me, I’m not worried about it. I’m practically un-kidnappable,” you asserted, in a way that sounded suspiciously boastful.

John’s focus remains steady on you, appraising, but the other men share a glance. 

You could have left it at that, but pretty-boy chimed in, brow furrowing. "How do you figure that?" 

You weren’t completely sure that the men weren’t just being intentionally obtuse, but you’d entertain a ridiculous question with a ridiculous response. Flippancy came naturally. 

You carefully set your drink back onto the table. You lean in, voice lowered to a grave tone, biting back mischief that threatened to give you away. “Listen, my strategy is airtight,” you paused. “If some guy comes along, tries something?" You hold again for dramatic effect.

"...Sit on him."

"Oh my god," your friends groan collectively.

But you went on, unfazed. "It's all over for him! Why would I need a weapon when I have positional asphyxia? Besides, if that doesn't kill him, the embarrassment will."

Any outrage falls on deaf ears considering your friends are fighting back grins.

Buoyed, you continue. "It’d be like someone trying to ‘kidnap’ a grizzly bear. I am not gonna get abducted unless the guy just happens to show up with a forklift—", that earns a swat from your friend sitting closest.

"—And if that's how I get caught? Honestly? I’d have it coming if I somehow missed the fucker rolling up and can't, what, power-walk out of there?"

Another friend beseeches, "Be serious!" 

“I am serious!" you shot back, laughing. "Those things go, what, 5 miles an hour, tops?"

Apparently, the rest of the group also found the image of a low-speed fucking forklift chase funny, judging by the Scot's almost spit-take that left him choking a bit. You were pleased that he and pretty-boy had a sense of humor and didn’t bother with the pretense of finger-wagging. 

You were disappointed you didn't get John, though. He only hummed thoughtfully, an odd liminal not-quite frown on his lips that was mostly obscured by his glass as he took another sip. 

Tough customer.

One friend challenges you, “Oh, yeah? You say that, but what if he pulls a gun and tells you to get in the car? What then?”

You pressed your lips together, tilting your head in consideration.

"Well, at that point, I guess I’d have to accept I'm going to die.”

"What?!"

You shrugged, "There's no way I'm getting in that car. You never go to a secondary location. Everyone knows that. Why drag things out unnecessarily when you can die in the street? After all, there are plenty of worse ways to go than by a bullet—besides, at least then my body will be found."

Worried the last bit would have more of a sobering effect on your company than you intended, you pivot and retrieve your drink. You tilt your chin up, gazing off into the distance dreamily, gesturing with your glass.

“My final words? 'Good luck trying to dispose of my corpse, asshole. Hope you know a good chiropractor.'"

With that you slurped down the dregs, ice clinking noisily at the bottom, finally giggling with everyone else at your own joke. Cue lots of your name and "Stop it!"s.

Hell, you even eked out a single low "heh" from Hot Topic that you’ll claim as a proper laugh. You were 3 for 4.

Your friends, bless them, are extremely predictable when you’re so candid self-deprecating. They laugh only to retreat to feigning scandal. When they recover, you’re peppered with more scenarios and protests. 

You’re barely able to suppress an eye-roll at their persistence. "I mean, it's a moot point from the start. I'm not the mark for that kind of thing in the first place."

Before your friends could cut you off, you clarified, “I’m not saying anything bad. I would just be—" you paused, searching for the right word—"an interesting choice." 

"No, I’m not the target demographic for something like that.” You waved a hand dismissively. “I'm simultaneously not preferable aesthetically and not worth the hassle logistically. So that ends up pretty convenient, considering I’d rather not be kidnapped." 

You swabbed the ring of condensation you left on the table with a bar napkin absently. "They want some dainty thing—they don’t want me,” you gestured to your person flippantly. “They want a trophy, but not the 'big game' variety," you gave a lopsided smile.

Your friends’ chastisement was swift, distracting enough that it didn’t quite give you a second to contemplate the strange, tenebrous emotion that was simmering just under the surface of John’s expression or that of his mates’. The nuance was lost on you. 

Mercifully, after experiencing a couple more variations of “You should be more careful!” from your friends, the topic finally changed.

It transformed and split, becoming a bit too chaotic for you to follow in your current state; several simultaneous threads of conversation going at once turned into white noise.

After a while you must have zoned out a bit, because among the din you didn’t notice that John was now sitting near you. He leaned over discreetly, at a respectful distance that still made your head foggy and face warm, voice low.

“They’re right, you know. You might think you're an exception, but you’re not. Is dangerous to think that.” 

You're so struck by the intensity of his steely gaze that you were slow to catch up to the actual words. You couldn’t fathom how blue eyes could feel so searing; you’d swear you could feel their heat. Completely caught off-guard by the sudden seriousness, you struggled with how to respond to that. “I—”

Before you could say anything, you realized the Scot was talking to you, asking you something, reeling you back into the fray.

…

Time seems to pass differently after that; you have no idea how long it’s been, all talking and laughing, sharing bants. More rounds of drinks. It’s a good time. 

But the night is winding down for you; you can feel exhaustion creeping in. By the time one of your friends’ partners shows up ready to continue the fun elsewhere, you decline the offer.

You hated being seen as a wet blanket, but right now all you wanted to do was go home and take a hot shower. Peel off your “going-out” clothes and change into something comfortable. Maybe order in and catch up on a show. A little, "dolce far niente".

They invited the men too, but apparently they had other plans. Your friends didn’t waste any time pouting, exchanging quick, tipsy goodbyes before heading out.

It’s much quieter after that. Even the light conversation between the men has fizzled out. The small bar that night was particularly slow, consisting mostly of your two groups to begin with. You pull out your phone to check the time, frowning when you find it dead.

“...I can call you an Uber?” John suggests, as you stand.

The silence is loud, somehow. Oppressive. It looks as if the men are waiting. The air is heavy with something unsaid, some kind of significance that’s entirely lost on your fuzzy mind.

You never noticed the inscrutable look Voorhees sends John after he spoke. You’d find too late that a lot of things skipped your boozy notice that night.

Your lip tugs at the offer. “Thanks, but I promise it’s fine. I actually live pretty close.” 

John simply inclines his head, doesn’t press further. As you’re headed to the door, glancing back, you offer an earnest, albeit tired, smile. “Was nice meeting you. Maybe I'll see you around?” 

“Maybe.”

…

You were barely halfway home before suddenly, out of the darkness of a Cimmerian passing alley, arms locked around you, ripping an undignified squeal out of you.

When you catch sight of the familiar faces of your “attackers”, you clutch your chest, trying to calm your hammering heartbeat.

“Fucking hell!” you heaved.

If you weren’t so rattled and clamoring over your words, you would have been especially mortified by the incidental contact on your squishy middle. You couldn’t remember a time someone has grabbed you so brazenly. By process of elimination, it must have been Hot Topic’s large form who was holding you against his front.

“Shit! You guys are assholes,” you exclaimed between pants. “That’s not funny!” Your hands grasped at the large forearms around you, yanking fruitlessly.

It was John who was standing in front of you, thumbs hooked in his pockets, backlit by a streetlamp, haloed in faint breath vapor. It was the first time you’d recall seeing him standing; he was even bigger than you expected. They all were. 

“You left, what—” he pulled out his phone and glanced down at the blueish light in his hand, “20 minutes ago?” His eyes return to your face, raising his thick brows. “Not very ‘close’, is it? Your home.”

John spoke conversationally, a picture of ease, like he was commenting on how chilly it was for this time of year, and hadn't just jumpscared you.

“Dinnae even try tae throw a punch, no’ even one o’ those girly slaps—” the Scot muttered, not particularly quietly, to pretty-boy, who kissed his teeth in disapproval.

You’re running on fumes, so your brain is moving in slow motion, only just processing John’s words, not yet able to summon even a glare for the Scot’s commentary.

“It is close,” you insist, coming out slightly more defensively than you intended. You’re still embarrassingly working overtime to catch your breath while trying to pull away from the hard body at your back in irritation. “Besides, how do you define ‘close’? That’s completely subjective.”

Not as if that’s any of your business. You held back that particular remark.

You took a measured breath or two more. “Look, of all people, I appreciate the commitment to a bit,” you clawed uselessly at Voorhees’ iron grip around you, “but can you call your dog off?” 

Hot Topic’s previous abridged facsimile of a “laugh” echoed in your ear, an amused huff so close that it made you flinch. That wasn’t really what you expected from your unadvisable barb.

You think it was the material of his mask that you felt slightly graze the shell of your ear, but it was fleeting enough that you couldn’t be certain.

“You can call me Ghost, sweet’eart”.

On any other day that edgy moniker would have garnered some kind of mirth, but your clouded brain didn’t seem fit to supply a witty retort with some strange man at your nape.

While John said nothing, something in his expression must have communicated to Ghost. You instinctively relaxed when his arms released your middle.

It soothed your nerves a touch, enough that you didn’t register that you were in the process of being edged backwards and were now partway through an alley you should have passed on your route home.

You crossed your arms, opting to ignore the introduction in lieu of another shaky inhale. “Just wait till my friends hear that you guys blew them off just to fuck with me. So much for having ‘plans’, huh?”

You tried to tease, still desperately attempting to slow your heart, recoup some composure, and match the men’s nonchalance. You’re not sure how convincingly you pulled it off. Some nagging anxiety still seeped out of you in a slow leak, despite your best effort to pull yourself together, to not be a buzzkill in response to a technically harmless pran—. 

“This is the ‘plan’, love.” John replied simply, not missing a beat.

You huffed in exasperation, brows pinched. “...What, ‘making a point’?”

John paused for a moment, seeming to weigh his words, “That’s one way to look at it, if you’d like.”

There was a pregnant pause, and suddenly the scrape of shoes on the dirty pavement seemed loud in your ears. The smell in the alley is particularly damp and musty now. Had you been moving this whole time? You’re getting all turned around—

Pretty-boy cut in, “You know, your whole premise was faulty from the start. ‘Sides you didn’t account for more than one person being involved”. 

“Involved in what?” you blinked, bewildered. 

“Your kidnapping, obviously.”

“My k—?”.

“—Speak for yourself, Gaz. I’d ‘ave ‘er either way.” Ghost interrupted, making you jump, a stark reminder of the presence still at your back.

You were stunned into silence for a couple of excruciatingly long seconds before choking out a pained laugh.

“Ha-ha. Alright—alright, fine. I get it.” You raise your hands in surrender, head swiveling back to John as you turn to press your back against the rough brick of the alley wall, trying to keep them all in your field of vision. 

“I’ll get a taser or something, is that what you want?” you offered, wearing your best expression of deferent contrition.

When John finally peels his eyes from you, he just sighs heavily, shaking his head at the pavement; either in disapproval or disbelief, you couldn’t be sure which. 

“Bit late for that now.”

“…What—what the hell is that supposed to mean?” You stutter indignantly.

You were starting to feel woozy; maybe you drank a bit too much.

Your sole scuffs against some debris, almost tripping you up completely if not for the brick wall to steady you. Your palms sting as they slide slightly on the stone, but you don’t dare take your eyes off them to look down for even a second. 

Suddenly, with a furtive glance over Ghost’s shoulder, you realize you're almost out on the other side of the street. His massive form fills the alleyway, destroying any hope you’d be able to squeeze your wide body past him or John and the others on your opposite side.

Your mouth is painfully dry. Your throat works, trying to swallow but still managing to somehow choke on nothing. You force some authority you don’t feel into your tone, but it tapers off rather weakly.

“Listen, you’ve had your fun. I really need to get home.”

You were struck by how different they all seemed compared to hardly a half an hour prior. The shift was dramatic—made your head spin. It was hard to rationalize that the people who were just sitting across from you in the homey local bar sharing drinks and the people now caging you into a dreary, abandoned street corner were one and the same. 

An approaching streetlamp visible through the yawning maw of the alley cast harsh shadows on their faces. A literal “light at the end of a tunnel” that only offered you dread.

You swayed slightly on your feet, head darting around, desperately trying to keep an eye on the four of them. You were feeling suddenly inexplicably drunker than you felt mere moments before.

As your knees quivered and you tried to steady yourself, John remained a pillar in your wobbly field of vision. Watching. Waiting. 

You're not sure which was preferable, the ominous comments or the ominous silence.

You weren’t small. You’d never felt small in your life. But with a group of large men looming over you, it was suddenly hard not to. It was not a feeling you were accustomed to and one you didn’t enjoy now.

You needed air, it was getting impossible to think. You tried to speed your gait to no avail; you couldn’t gain any distance. They prowled, following you closely, as if there was a gravitational pull anchoring them to you. 

“Fine. Fine! Okay, you proved your point, alright?!” you exclaimed, getting more frantic by the second, louder. “Let me pass. I’m serious.”

“Oh, so now she’s serious…” Gaz teases, somewhere off to your left.

“You think I’m not?” John husked, sounding incredulous, forehead lines deepening as he raised his brows, tucked his chin to stare down at you through hooded eyes. “Love, I’m serious as a heart-attack.” 

Then he was smiling at you again.

It looked the same as before. Sincere. But where previously it endeared you, now, now it makes your heart stall, then shudder in your ribcage; fill you with the sensation of a freefall, the one that jolts you awake while on the very precipice of sleep, leaves your heart racing, despite the tranquil darkness. 

His eyes flick over your head.

Before you are able to register the glance, Ghost is suddenly on you again, grabbing you round the middle quicker than someone his size had any right to be, this time actively herding your large form forward.

You realized dully that his last grip on you must have been relatively loose compared to his grip on you now; it was clearly only a fraction of his actual strength.

“What are you doing?!” You cry, a hair's breadth away from a shriek. Your head whips back to John, imploring, “Stop—Stop, I don't know what you want!”

This is probably what it feels like to be a frog. Pounced on and scooped up roughly by some huge creature—some grubby kid’s scrambling fingers. Slippery, round body gripped tight.

You were finally out of the alley, pulled by Ghost as well as your own unsteady feet, your body's instinct to try and avoid cracking your cranium on the concrete abetting him, betraying you.

“What we want?” Ghost chaffed over you, mimicking your voice. “Go on then,” he urged, “give your ‘ead a wobble?” 

You could practically feel him cocking his head, feel his smile even with him against your back, even behind the mask.

The open air did nothing for you. It didn’t clear your mind or relieve the claustrophobia churning in your belly a single iota. After all, it wasn’t really the walls closing in on you—it was bodies.

“You’re just trying to scare me!” You accuse sharply, voice strained, grunting as you only manage to nearly heimlich yourself on the last attempt to free yourself from the steel grip around your midsection.

Gaz and the Scot chuckle.

John says your name. He utters it like it was a complete sentence, but you're not sure what it means, what he wants. Either way, it made you regret giving it to him. You suddenly preferred not hearing it on his lips in that rumbling baritone.

Ghost scoffs. “For ‘avin such a smart mouth she’s a bit thick, eh, Soap?” he comments meanly over your head.

Soap’s responding before you have a chance to voice any displeasure, somewhere between a laugh and a scold.

“A bit? Haud yer wheesht!” He turns his attention quickly back to you, leaning in close, “Aw, pet, dinnae pay him mind…Lt kens our bonnie is well thick”, he pats your cushioned hips affectionately.

A shocked gasp slips out of you unbidden at the brief but unmistakable gentle fondle of your fat love handles.

They all drank in the vulnerable, little noise. It would be the first of many. It was impossible to interpret the gesture as anything but “familiar”.

Your body jolts. You would have practically jumped a foot off the ground if not for Ghost anchoring you. With the hold, stark realization floods you like a bucket of ice water—there’s quite literally nothing you can do to avoid any of their touch. Your skin crawls at the unfamiliar contact and doubly so at the threat of more yet.

“Dead fit,” Gaz says readily, sounding like an agreement if you’ve ever heard one, his eyes roam your form.

Words were stolen from your overheating brain, still trying desperately to reboot, to process what the fuck is going on.

“Captain ‘s a man of taste—such a pretty, dainty thing,” Ghost sneers in your ear. “Playin’ coy now, when she was practically battin’ ‘er lashes all night.” 

“—It’s not too late—it’s a joke, right? Let’s—we can just forget about this—”

Ghost completely ignores you. “Soft thing like you prancin’ ‘round, cunted at this hour, thinkin’ you're safe?”

“Cun—? I’m not fucking drunk!”

“You’re lucky someone with bad intentions didn’t hear you.” The grin is loud in his tone, oozes off every syllable.  

“You think I'm a dog? So you knew wha’ you were doin’ then? You were teasin’ a ‘ungry dog, waving a juicy steak under ‘is nose. Rubbing it in all our faces, of any bloke ‘n earshot? That it?”

“What—what the hell are you talking about?! You—you can’t be serious!” You finally parroted uselessly, equal parts baffled and horrified. These men are crazy.

“She keeps sayin’ tha’,” Soap comments, perplexed.

“‘Denial’ ‘s not just a river,” Gaz shrugs.

Ghost continues. “Captain—” A big hand is suddenly on your jaw, centering your gaze back on John, ”—‘s doin’ you a kindness. Keepin’ you safe n’ sound, makin’ sure you don’t get yourself chewed up and spit out 'n some dirty fuckin’ alley,” nodding back towards the way they came, “Nice of ‘im, innit?”

You flailed desperately, hoping to catch Ghost off guard for even a second. You send your elbow into his ribs, as hard as you could manage at the awkward angle.

It was akin to hitting granite. You sucked in air through your clenched teeth as pain radiated through your ulnar nerve. His grip on you didn't waver, he didn't flinch. He laughed.

A true, low “heh, heh, heh”, that you regretted ever wanting to hear—could have happily gone your whole life without hearing. It sent rogue shivers down your spine and piloerection up your arms as you gawked up in shock, pain forgotten.

“Och, that’s a bit better, Bonnie.” Soap feigns, judging your strike like he’s trying not to hurt your feelings.

“John—” you plead helplessly, turning your gaze back to him. But saying his name was a mistake, deepening the look already there. Rubatosis filled you.

“Think you're strong, eh?" His words still swollen with caustic amusement, "That you could ever ‘urt any of us? Show ‘im you can fend f’ yourself then.” Ghost wobbled you to and fro, shook you, as if you were some weightless bauble.

As your world tilted, you instinctively gripped his arm for dear life, dizzy, afraid you would topple over.

You knew he was right, of course; there is no point denying it. 

But a man like him, like them—saying it? It was wrong—it chilled your blood. It felt needlessly cruel, to rub in how weak you are compared to them. The provocation freezes you, making Ghost’s dark eyes crinkle. 

“Slim pickings, huh? Must be feeling desperate?” you bit out, before you could stop yourself, voice bitter and thick with emotion—panic and anger congealing into snark. A hole is a hole, after all. Bad luck that you happened to be the one around.

Who would you trade places with? Better you than someone else, your conscience whispered faintly.

“You really don’t get it?” John wonders aloud, bafflement mixing with a heady intensity.

“Imagine thinking no one would want all this—” Fingers grazed your curves. Touched every roll, every hill and valley on your side with a reverence that shocked you for the hundredth time that day, left your mouth literally agape. 

“—thought is an utter travesty. One of life’s greatest pleasures is a big, soft girl. Nothing sweeter,” he declared breathily despite himself. “Nothing. So much more to hold, to squeeze—”

There was a certain palpable greediness to his touch, even while he was clearly restraining himself. Groping, not bruising. He only went so far, skirting frighteningly close to your more private bits.

At least it appeared your actual debasement was not going to happen on this particular street corner. His hands make a slow jaunt, mapping your contours. Down your back, your side, your belly, your thighs—kneading and squeezing your ample flesh.

A pitiful, “Please stop—” is eked out of you. Your unadulterated fear on full display, sincere and raw. Begging. You were begging, or trying to, anyway. Your breath hitched, flesh jolting with every unwelcome brush against you, sending your nerve endings alight, already feeling overstimulated. 

There was that expression again, that you didn’t recognize before. But it was no longer just simmering under the surface; it was boiling. Emanating out through his pores, muddled with a touch of pity. You finally recognized it—hunger.

“I’m not cross with you,” he adds oddly. “You don’t understand now, but you will. This isn’t a punishment—it’s a consequence.” 

Your throat clamped painfully, words tumbling out of your mouth incomprehensibly, trying to find the right thing to say to make him stop. “Please, I don’t, I can’t, wh—”

More hands were on you, pulling your wrists together in front of you.

“Am not going to hurt you. You have my word.” The solemnity of the promise rattled you. Maybe he truly believed it, but you certainly didn’t. After all, you’d wager you had different definitions of “hurting”. You’d die on the hill that this was “hurting” someone.

Somewhere inside you, your body was screaming at you to do something. You’d take the inspiration.

Scream what, exactly? You couldn’t be sure. You should scream “fire” not “help”, right?

But you’d never get the chance, because on your inhale, John’d somehow divined your intentions, and suddenly a hand was clamped over your lips before a sound could escape them. The pressure of the palm was close to bruising this time, unyielding—he wasn’t taking any chances, apparently. 

Jerking your head did nothing to dislodge the hand, unlike those on your limbs. It followed the movement rather than impede it. As fate would have it, your struggles only left your head spinning, vision partially obscured by the force of the hand pushing your plump cheeks into your eyes. Whiplash pinched in your neck at the frantic jerks. God, you felt sick.

After that, everything happened very quickly. Suddenly it felt like there were hands all over you, everywhere. Grabbing, holding, pressing. You could hardly tell up from down.

You’d shut your eyes for even a momentary reprieve, willing the vertigo to cease. For everything to stop. For all of them to stop touching you. Hoping desperately that you’d wake up and find yourself safe in bed, this all a bad dream. 

Then there was a ripping sound, then a couple more. Someone was pushing stray hairs out of your face. The hands on your wrists moved up instead to grip your forearms. No sooner than you heard it, the large hand had fled your lips only to be immediately replaced by some large sticky substance that was stretched taut across your mouth, from cheek to cheek.

Startled, your struggles renewed, some expletives trapped by the stuff, transforming into useless “mphhhing!” as your hands jumped to pull the offending material from your face. An entirely fruitless endeavor considering the grip on your arms, which didn't budge an inch. John seems fit to ignore your pitiful struggle, simply smoothing it out carefully, layering a couple more pieces. He hums in satisfaction, wide palm patting his work, cupping your mouth and jaw again for good measure.

There was that sound again. With the fear it shot through you, it might as well have been a gun racking. You couldn’t see it, but this time your sloshy mind recognized the distinct creak and shrill shrrrrrrrrrrrp. It was duct tape being pulled from the roll, then wrapped noisily around your wrists, aided by the hands forcing your arms together. 

Trying to shove, to bully yourself between them was hopeless. They were all too close, too strong, too heavy, all bearing down on you. You didn’t have room to throw your weight around or even properly kick out at them. Round and round, the tape went, and round and round again for good measure before the end was ripped, smarting where it snagged slightly on the hair on your arms. 

You're quite literally fighting for your life, sweating with exertion and panic, panting behind the tape, but your desperate flailing didn’t deter them at all; you didn’t receive even a single hitch in any of their breath for your effort. Hell, it couldn’t even hinder some conversation. Not that you caught most of it with your head swimming, heart pounding loudly in your ears.

“—‘course she’s scrikin’, we’re nicking ‘er,” Ghost rolls his eyes. 

Something else was said, probably by Soap, based on the accent.

Ghost just doubles down. “No point tryin’ to talk sense into ‘er. Thing doesn’t know what’s good for ‘er—“

John took his time; he’s dedicated to his task. Precise yet generous with the tape. As soon as the hands left your forearms, more tape was applied where they departed, this time around your entire body, effectively pinning your arms down at your front, circling you enough times that you lost count.

Your struggles and thrashes reinvigorate, an absolutely method portrayal of a snared rabbit. It hurt—hurt how hard you were pulling against them. Bruises would undoubtedly bloom in the coming days wherever their hands gripped you from your wild jerking. That is, assuming you lived that long. Your chest heaves with anxiety. The men allowed you a bit more space, enough that you didn’t feel actively compressed on every side. By them at least.

Not John, though. It was his face that filled your vision, his eyes that pinned yours.

“Shhh. There’s a girl. It’s already over.” You hadn’t yet noticed the tears gathering, that you were so close to falling apart. He said it like it would be some sort of comfort, cupping your plump cheeks delicately. John spoke to you gently, in the softest tone you’d heard yet, softer than you would have believed his husky voice capable of, and yet, with an disturbing finality. “It’s done. Nothing you can do now,” he whispered into your terrified face. 

He was too close—there was a little mole on the right side of his nose you never noticed before. He smelled of smoke, and under that, something woodsy and spicy. A large, rough palm smoothed over your hair. Your terrified eyes squeezed shut, willing him out of your face, to stop looking at you. You’re certain he could feel your terror; hell, he could probably feel each little panicked puff of air forced out of your lungs on his face as you tried vainly to regulate your breathing through your nose. “There you go,” he praised, “In and out.”

Shining tears wobbled precariously in your waterline. You tried with all your might not to let them loose, to salvage any shred of dignity. Any sense of control. As if that would somehow make things worse, as you sucked in a wet, sniveling sound.

Your internal pleas for space were less than useless, as John leaned in ever closer, cradling your skull in his hands, pressing his lips to your crown in a chaste, whiskery kiss.

The sheer intimacy of the gesture made you balk. Held and boxed in, there was no way to move away, making you whimper pathetically. Sounding foreign to even your own ears. A savourable sound, that went right to John’s belly.

Trying to hold it in was all for naught; as soon as John’s lips touched you, your resolve shattered. Shattered into so many pieces even Kintsugi couldn’t repair it.

Your face was soaked with the onslaught, tears traveling as far as down your neck. Dizzy with panic, the duct tape swallowing up most of your damp sobs. You couldn’t recall the last time you'd broken down like that in front of another person, much less four near strangers. 

“I’m keeping you.” He says suddenly. He waits for you to take in the words, thumbs stroking slow circles into your cheekbones.

You hiccup behind the tape, teeth chattering in your clenched jaw as you realize you’re shaking. Face tacky with tears. You angrily tried to pull away again, but John just held you still as you quake. 

…John didn’t need Ghost for muscle, you realized dully. His grip was an epiphany, the promise of strength in his hands alone—it made you feel all the more useless.

Calloused thumbs rasped over your cheeks, wiping away the wetness there, only for more to replace them. “I won’t try to stop you from crying, won’t punish you for being upset,” he rumbled, “but, you have to understand it won’t change anything. What'll happen. From now on, you’re mine—but I take care of what’s mine. You’ll see.”

Why?! Your heart ached. You couldn’t understand how people you’d been chatting and laughing with mere minutes ago could do this to you. People who had seemed so normal—

Gaz smirks, nudging Soap, murmuring, “Oh, don't worry, she’ll feel heaps better when she’s creamin’ on—”

You didn't think you were capable of feeling worse. Your eyes bulge in horror, breath snagging again in your throat.

John sighs, interrupting him with a harsh jangle of metal as he pitched some keys to Gaz, who caught them easily in one hand. “Bring the car ‘round will you?” John asks, but it’s really not a request.

“On it!” Gaz’s reply is prompt and cheery as he steps off the curb into the darkness beyond the reach of the streetlamp, practically a spring in his step. 

You sniffled, sinuses starting to burn, following your eyes’ watery influence. Feeling humiliated as you can feel your nose start to run, tickling your philtrum. Soap cooed over your teary face. You flinched as he raised his hand to you, but he only wiped your nose, disgustingly with his own sleeve. 

He had the nerve to look chagrined at your reaction. When he spoke again, it was uncannily quiet compared to his familiar boister, as if he was trying to soothe a spooked horse. “Dinnae fash, it’ll be awricht, bonnie, swear it.”

His words were worthless; didn’t pacify you at all. You were possessed by a primal terror of a cornered animal that couldn’t fathom what was going to happen to it. Your eyes flooded, everything in your vision warped by tears. You couldn’t see, couldn’t hear over your own hammering heart. Soap’s cursin’, saying something. Maybe it was fucking Gaelic, you didn’t understand what he was saying.

“—Wee lamb, greetin—”

“‘Nough fussin’, Soap. You’re almost as bad as ‘er.” 

“Ah ken, ah ken…”

“I did warn you, even gave you an out.” John sighed, commiserating, as if he weren’t the source of your angst. It wrung completely hollow, he didn't sound disappointed in the slightest with any of the events. If anything, you'd suspect we has trying to tamp down the opposite.

“Jesus wept, Cap—” Soap blurts, any remorse apparently long forgotten as he suddenly grips your ample belly possessively, making you shriek, “—almost made us lose out,” he grumbled. “Ah knew ye were tryin’ tae tip ‘er aff”.

You thrashed in his rude hold, face hot, but he just grinned, loved how your squirms just showcased your enticing bounce. Despair and humiliation ached in your chest, heavy like lead. You just wanted to go home.

Headlights round the corner.

In a last-ditch attempt, you allow yourself to completely go limp, following through on the threat of being unmovable. You barely start tipping before Ghost and Soap are on either side of you, holding you up between the two of them, completely halting your descent.

Your mind shuddered to a halt with the idea they might actually be able to lift you. When you tried to buckle your knees, they went ahead and confirmed your fears true. Not even a slipped grunt of exertion gave you any satisfaction, when you were being half carried, half dragged practically kicking and screaming to the car. Well, as much as you could through the tape. As you’re urged onward, you lock your knees as your legs jam against the car’s running board.

“You’re going one way or another,” John calls simply, tapping something into his phone.

“Watch your head, trophy.” Ghost grins, huge hand spanning your skull, pushing you down past the door frame, but you think you just might have preferred the concussion. Your own weight does the rest of the work, sending you sprawling belly first onto the back seat, teary cheek smooshed against the cool, leather interior.

You should have been prepared to be absolutely as difficult as possible, regardless of whether or not it’d change your fate, but you were utterly spent. Your limbs ached at all the struggling. You couldn’t muster any more fight as Soap and Ghost maneuvered you into the middle seat. Your plentiful "handholds" aiding the process.

The lone lap belt buckled tightly across your lap before Ghost and Soap followed you in, sandwiching you, sitting in the seats on either side. You were practically spilling over onto them, it was a tight fit. 

You couldn’t quite swallow a yelp as rough fingers were wedged under your plush form on either side. Apparently unsatisfied with your positioning, you were swiveled so your ass remained in the seat while the rest of your body lay flat. Your upper body in Ghost's lap and legs curled in Soap’s, the seat belt digging into your soft belly at the awkward angle.

You were normally hyperaware of the space you occupied and tried to be as respectful as possible about it. You would be mortified, feel a bolt of white-hot shame if any squishy bit of you even accidentally brushed up against someone else. You’d do anything to risk a stranger's look of annoyance or disgust, god forbid someone say something. And yet, here you were, your fat body draped across two men's laps, both looking quite fucking pleased with the arrangement. There was nothing you could do about it, as Soap paws at your thigh, humming happily.

“Behave, you lot.” John stoops, smiling at the group fondly as he shuts the door.

The car is moving.

You were completely adrift. Maybe you were in shock. All it took was a handful of seconds for your life to become entirely and irrevocably derailed. 

While lying prone, the motion rocked you slightly. Outside the window, the world flitted by. All you could make out from your vantage point was the wide expanse of sky, purplish, the color of a dusky developing bruise, only swagging power lines and the tops of towering street lamps flashing across the horizon.

Just like that, slow conversation started up again, right above your head. It was as if they were back at the bar; the normalcy of it was chilling. Soap’s hands were still resting over your thick thigh, petting you. Repetitive strokes up and down your thigh that also eventually blended into the background. The car was so warm now—John must have cranked the heat. You feel the warmth dust across your face where it filtered into the backseat.

You're feeling floaty—disconnected. Your body couldn’t sustain the level of terror that should still be at the forefront of your mind. Adrenaline burned everything out of you, drained you till there was nothing left but fog, thick and cloying. It became a task to keep your eyes open.

You were so tired. 

Your limp body bounced lightly as the car went along. The voices were even more distant now, a muted background noise, like someone speaking on the phone in the next room over—you can just hear the mumble through the wall but can’t decipher any of the words.

…

“—get some proper rest on the plane.”

(I horked this up originally after re-reading one of @391780 posts. I think it was the one where Simon calls dibs on you while you're out with friends? Clearly things deviated a lot, but still. Do yourselves a favor and read all of their stuff.)

[vladtoly]

Thanos the Match Maker

Nam-gyu x Female!Reader

Requested: Yes

Proofread: No

A/N: Hope this is what you had in mind! I had to re-watch some of his scenes to get a feel for him again, so I hope I did it justice. Thanks for requesting!

You stared at the boxed meal in front of you, eyeing it warily before going back to your bunk. Surely, they wouldn’t poison all of you right? It seemed that their whole play was being ‘fair’ in the games, so poisoning had to be off the table. Even with that thought though, you inspected each piece of food before taking a bite.

While slowly eating, you let your eyes wander the dorms. Everyone was obviously rattled, most not even touching their food. A large group of them stood in front of Player 456 to interrogate him about the last games. Just for his own sake, you wished he had stayed quiet. You understood he was attempting to save everyone, but he was preaching to the wrong audience. None of these people wanted to leave without money, and it was very clear that no sum of it would be enough.

You looked back down at your food. Sighing, you stopped inspecting and just ate. If you died, you died, at least you wouldn’t be hungry.

Footsteps began to approach your bunk, catching your attention. You looked up just in time to see Thanos and his sidekicks in tow, Player 124 opting for leaning on your bunk railing. Your eyes met for a split second, you looking away when he gave a slight smirk.

“How can I help you boys?” You said, attention going back to your meal.

Thanos leaned forward, his elbows on the mattress as he rested his head in his hands to get a better look at you. “Couldn’t help but notice you alone. It’s not very safe in here, you may need a guy to protect you in the next game.”

Letting out a snort, you continued to pick at your food. “Not in the market for a bodyguard, thanks. I don’t need your help.”

“Who said I was talking about me, Senorita?”

Now that caught your attention. This guy didn’t like to be out of the spotlight, so this should be good.

You looked up, meeting his gaze. “And who exactly are you talking about?”

He slid back so he was fully standing, smacking a firm hand on Player 124’s shoulder. He seemed to know just as little about this interaction as you did, if his shell-shocked expression were to mean anything. “My boy here! Nam-gyu can protect you no problem.”

Nam-gyu quickly collected himself, going back to his usual expression as he leaned back onto the bunk railing. He leaned in close, his breath almost touching your face as he spoke. “We don’t know what the next game’s going to be. But what I can tell you now is that I’d make sure you’re safe, baby.”

You raised a slight brow at the pet name but felt your cheeks warm at it at the same time. However, you couldn’t let this guy win that easily. It’s not like he’s been a delight up until this point.

You met his gaze and cocked your head to the side. “Oh really? And how do you plan to keep me safe if we don’t know the game, hm?”

“Well,” he opted to sit on the edge of the bunk, resting his hand on the mattress. His face had moved closer. “I may not know what the game is, but if you stay close, I’ll personally make sure nothing happens to you. We may even have a little fun, who knows?”

Your gaze studied the rest of his face, pores and all. Then it moved to the rest of him, eyeing up if he really could protect you. You realized he was hitting on you, the goal was to get closer to you, which you admit was working.  But you wouldn’t mind some extra help next game if it was needed.

When you were content, you made eye contact again. “Fine. Meet me at my bunk tomorrow morning, before the next round.”

He chuckled, moving his hand off the mattress and onto your thigh. “Or you could come eat with us now, get to know each other better.”

You couldn’t deny how your stomach flipped at the touch. Yet you cleared your throat and slowly moved his hand. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, baby. Maybe I’ll come by in a bit.”

He seemed content with that as his face split into a grin and he finally stood up. When he turned though, he realized Thanos and the other player had already wandered off, probably during your conversation. He scoffed but made a point to nod to you before going in search of them.

You laughed lightly, before looking at your lap, where your half-eaten food still sat open.

Fuck it. Might as well have fun if you might die anyways.

----------

Squid Game headcannon/blurb requests are OPEN!

[starcurtain]

Comparing Phaidei and Other Hoyo MLM Ships (Part 1)

I barely know how to begin, honestly, because I'm still so taken aback by the absolute Phaidei feast that was 3.1. But perhaps because we were so overfed by the patch, I was actually jarred a little out of the story itself--too busy turning over the broader ramifications of such blatant queer-coding of two male characters in a modern Hoyoverse game.

Of course, Hoyo isn't remotely new to queer-coding their characters (or to queer-baiting, either, gacha games gotta hustle at all times). They absolutely have a history of hinting at both WLW and MLM ships and of including fanservice between the player's MC and other playable characters regardless of gender. Strangely enough, due to the unique confluence of their target audiences' tastes, the Hoyoverse team has an active profit motive to create gay characters:

WLW ships are appealing to heterosexual male players.

MLM ships are appealing to heterosexual female players.

Simultaneously, WLW and MLM ships are appealing to queer players.

Heterosexual ships with characters other than the MC are unappealing to a large percentage of the game's playerbase, particularly to heterosexual male players who want to keep their waifus to themselves but also to female yumeshippers.

Hoyo's market is literally telling them that 1) male characters sell better when they're ship-baited with other male characters, and 2) players don't actually want heterosexual ships between playable characters if the MC isn't involved. (Hell, look at Firefly--players hate romances with the MC too lol!)

But at the same time as the market is telling the devs to keep making queer characters, Hoyoverse also faces immense social pressure to avoid including actual queer content.

Let me hold off on the political and legal consequences of including gay characters in Chinese media for just a second, and look at the situation from the perspective of Hoyo's target audiences first:

Take this data with a grain of salt though; I'm not sure where they got their numbers.

First, Hoyoverse games are increasingly global and surprisingly popular in conservative/religious countries such as Russia, Malaysia, and the UAE. The western world as a whole is shifting increasingly right on LGBT+ issues. For the games to be marketed well across the globe, they've got to avoid challenging the morals of these highly varied audiences. (Perhaps this is why past Hoyoverse titles seemed more open to LGBT+ content than present Hoyoverse games do; a broader audience actually means more restrictions on content.)

Second, even though conservative heterosexual male players are actually surprisingly fine with MLM ship tease, that only applies so long as it stays at the level of "I can pretend I don't see it." As long as anti-LGBT+ players can write off any MLM content as "just close friends," the dev team can get away with frankly shocking amounts of queer interaction between male characters. (I'm sorry to any straight male fans reading this [could there possibly be any?], but half of y'all could win gold medals if mental gymnastics were a sport. The lengths I have seen some male Genshin players go to try to explain away Haikaveh are honestly awe-inspiring. 😂) However, the boundary must be respected. The moment a male character's queerness exceeds subtext and becomes text, when even mental gymnastics cannot come up with a heterosexual explanation, and the plausible deniability goes out the window, it is no longer acceptable to anti-LGBT+ players, and they will be "turned off" from pulling that male character en masse. In essence, the market is telling the devs: 1) Huge amounts of queer-coding = a-okay, but 2) Actual canon queer content = that's gayyyy, no wayyyy.

And third, the obvious: China's stance on LGBT+ people is weirdly stricter in media than it is in "real" life. It is not illegal to be gay in China but it is illegal to be gay in a video game in China. Restrictions on media portrayals of gayness are significantly more strict than restrictions on actually being gay (which is interesting cognitive dissonance for those from outside the country, but that's an essay for another day). Hoyoverse legally cannot show characters engaged in any explicitly queer behaviors--at least that can't be explained away.

Furthermore, the rules apply very differently for male and female characters. WLW content gets way more of a pass from the censors. Bronya and Seele can blush at each other, but Alhaitham and Kaveh cannot. You would never see "Rondo Across Countless Kalpas" happening with male Hoyoverse characters. The censors literally would not allow it, strictly because Chinese standards for portrayals of men are different--and more strict!--than standards for portraying women. Legally, there are strong and serious limitations on what Hoyo can do with their male characters.

Summing all of this up, in trying to create their male characters and content, Hoyoverse is actually fighting a battle of conflicting pressures: Male characters sell better when they are queer-coded, but their interactions can never rise to the level of being canonically gay.

Everything must exist in the realm of implication.

(Yes, I can hear you: "Can you please get to Phaidei already?" 😂)

All of this foreword was to lay a foundation for the actual point I want to make about Phaidei: Because Hoyoverse can only queer-code and not actually queer their male characters, they have (in their modern games), fallen into a sort of pattern with their MLM ship bait. Certain plots and personalities keeps reappearing again and again. They've developed a sort of short-hand set of traits to give to their male characters--the Hoyoverse "queer-coded MLM starter pack" if you will lol.

While not every popular MLM ship in Hoyo's games has the same traits (obviously not), certain elements seem central to creating the delicate necessary gray area between "They're just baiting fangirls" and "The devs intended these two characters to be canonically gay but just couldn't state that textually."

And yet... And yet...

You're not imagining things: Phaidei is actually different.

To demonstrate just how different though, I wanted to take the time to compare Phaidei with other popular Hoyoverse MLM ships, looking at both the similarities (the patterns that Hoyo relies on to reliably queer-code their characters) and the noticeable differences (where Hoyo pushed their own boundaries in surprising ways).

Unfortunately, in the interest of full transparency, my own Hoyoverse experience is limited, so I can only use examples from Star Rail and Genshin Impact. I just haven't played HI3 or ZZZ, so I don't feel comfortable trying to use examples from those games, although I think there may be many ships that fall into similar patterns in those games as well. (Maybe some people can share in the comments?)

Anyway, let's start with similarities:

1. A Pair of Equals

The number one "rule" for popular Hoyoverse queer-coded MLM ships is that the two characters must be evenly matched. This isn't to say they have to have identical levels of physical strength (although that is also often the case); instead, the audience needs to perceive them as being on equal footing in some way. They must either be intellectual equals (Alhaitham and Kaveh), political equals (Ratio and Aventurine; Neuvillette and Wriothesley), equal in social standing (Tighnari and Cyno), or, yes, actually physically equal their capability for going toe-to-toe against each other (Blade and Dan Heng; possibly Zhongli and Childe; for those who ship it, Diluc and Kaeya).

For modern Hoyo games, queer-coded MLM ships with noticeable discrepancies in power dynamics are particularly rare; possibly the only one that comes to mind is Ayato/Thoma (though this is mitigated by the game deliberately telling us that Ayato treats Thoma like family, rather than like a servant). And I think this actually says a lot about the devs' thought process: They are deliberately avoiding scenarios in which one male character seems capable of "preying" on another, where the queer-coding could accidentally be perceived as sexual perversion due to a discrepancy in power dynamics.

They're intentionally averting the "depraved homosexual" trope by--sometimes literally--spelling out for the players that both male characters in their queer-coded MLM ships perceive each other as, and are interested in each other as, equals.

We see this explicitly with Ratio and Aventurine in Star Rail:

And Alhaitham and Kaveh in Genshin:

Even Blade and Dan Heng are likened to "a pair" of identical objects:

So of course, Phainon and Mydei push this to an extreme. Phainon describes himself and Mydei as "friends and foes," and the game goes out of it way to reiterate over and over that they are perfect equals. Although they compete in everything they do, there is never a clear victor; their score card is constantly balancing out because they match each other's skill and power perfectly.

But there are even hints in the game that this isn't just happening naturally, but also by choice: Even when one of them triumphs over the other, they both backtrack and insist on getting on equal standing again. Whether you win or lose the "competition" in Kremnos in 3.0, the outcome is the same:

Phainon and Mydei perceive each other as perfectly matched (in strength, right, right...) and are actively working to keep it that way.

The game also goes out of its way to insist that Mydei and Phainon aren't just equals in terms of strength but also in social standing. It theoretically should be impossible to match Mydei's place on the social ladder--he's the literal crown prince of an entire nation of world-renowned conquerors. Even Aglaea is not a queen; we see her on screen being forced to contend with Okhema's Council who are fighting her for power. There technically isn't anyone in Amphoreus (at least that we've met so far) who should be able to stand on equal political or administrative footing to Mydei.

Except, of course, for Phainon, who supersedes all others by virtue of being the literal prodigal son, the "Chosen One."

The game insists on putting this in our faces over and over again: Mydei may be a king in the making, but Phainon is the "Deliverer." They are equally matched in terms of authority.

The game even goes out of its way to tell us they're perfect mirrors in personality too:

Hoyo, in the kitchen cooking up another gay ship: LISTEN GUYS, they're equals, do you understand me? A MATCHING SET.

But also...

2. Diametrically Opposed

It isn't enough for the queer-coded men to be each other's perfect equals. They also have to be opposites, typically in terms of their personalities. This is the pattern that repeats itself most consistently across Hoyoverse MLM ships with strong textual support: the two men may be equal, but they're also nothing alike. (At least on the surface.)

Alhaitham and Kaveh's entire plot hinges on their directly opposing personalities and morals, representing the clash between rationality and sensibility. Dan Feng was reserved and cool-tempered, while Yingxing was "arrogant" and brash. Hell, Xingqiu and Chongyun are "refined and clever" versus "forthright and trusting." I actually think Zhongli and Childe, despite being the most popular Hoyoverse ship in the western fandom, have very little canonical support, yet they still fit this pattern, with Zhongli as the refined gentleman to Tartaglia's blood knight tendencies.

We know how Ratio sees himself and Aventurine:

Hoyo really said "Opposites attract" and ran with it for every single MLM ship they ever teased.

And there's a logical reason for this. Making the two male characters dead opposites actually slightly decreases people's ability to argue that they're "just friends"--if they have next to nothing in common, they're not usually bonding over mutual hobbies or basing their connection on shared similarities. It becomes harder to portray two male characters as "bros who just get along great" when they're deliberately written with opposing tastes and personalities. (Real friends can sometimes be dead opposites, obviously, but most friendships are built on mutual interests rather than opposing ones, while romantic relationships hilariously have the "opposites attract" stereotype.)

There's no reason to shove polar opposites together again and again except to watch the sparks fly.

Even Hoyo's male characters' color schemes are often perfectly opposite. Plenty of people have figured out if you palette swap Alhaitham and Kaveh, Dan Heng and Blade, and Ratio and Aventurine, you end up with the same colors. Ayato and Thoma match the pattern here too ("red and blue gays" is a well-known trope).

But once again, the devs pulled out ALL the stops for Phaidei:

They're red versus blue. They're sun and moon. They're outgoing versus introverted. They're a king and a peasant (if we believe what Phainon's telling us about Aedes Elysiae). They're the "outsider" and the "golden boy." One fights with strength and the other with technique, brains versus brawn (actually they're both kind of idiots though, so take this one lightly lol).

However, what I think is most interesting about Hoyo's pairs of MLM opposites that is that the devs deliberately subvert expectations by assigning the opposing traits to the "unexpected" character. In both Haikaveh and Ratiorine, it's the rational scholar who is more overtly caring and attuned to their partner's feelings. In Renheng, it's the kind-hearted Yingxing who is consumed by anger, while the aloof, expressionless Dan Heng's voice trembles in wonder at the mere mention of Yingxing's name.

For Phainon and Mydei, this inversion of opposite traits occurs with their personalities specifically. People expected Mydei to be a gruff, hot-headed, battle-hungry berserker with a sarcastic or arrogant personality at best.

Instead, Mydei is an extremely thoughtful person, who struggles with his fate not because of what will happen to himself but because of a desire to bring the greatest good to the greatest number of his people. He's a respectful, gentle (when he needs to be), and even sentimental young man who continues to hold on to love for those who have long passed away. He's reserved around strangers but generous and warm to his companions, and struggles to express himself but has a clear desire to be considerate of others.

We also know he's deeply aware of and emotionally affected by the racism his people are experiencing in Okhema; one NPC in Okhema reports how Mydei, despite being new to Okhema himself, stood up to the very council still plaguing Aglaea in order to protect his people:

Despite having difficulties expressing his own thoughts, he even scolds Phainon for approaching their farewell with a nonchalant expression--Mydei doesn't reject emotions or shy away from becoming close with people he cares for.

Instead, it's Phainon who actually struggles to be honest. While he might connect easily with others on the surface, seeming outgoing and kind-hearted, he is actually a much more private person, one who is reluctant to show his true feelings and dismissive of questions about his past and identity. As opposed to Mydei's desire to avoid Nikador's power, Phainon is (despite his doubts) eager to prove himself, spurned on by the pressure of the prophecy telling him he needs to achieve greatness. We're told that he craved the power of strife specifically, while Mydei summarily wishes to reject it.

It's Phainon who frequently has to be reined in by others--he was ready to kill Oronyx for delaying his rescue of Mydei--and Phainon who fails to let go of his hatred and desire for revenge, causing him to fail Nikador's trial, which Mydei easily clears.

By inverting the traits of the characters, creating designs which visually oppose each other while assigning the actual opposing personality traits to the "mismatched" character, the devs hammer home an implicit message: These two characters complete each other. They fill in each other's gaps. What you expected to find in one of these men, you will instead find in the other. What they wish to be, they will be drawn to in each other.

(Frequently bought together, do not separate!)

3. The Distance is Artificial

Okay, so if they're so obviously written as a "pair," being perfect equals and perfect opposites, how are they just "queer-coded" and not explicitly queer? How is Hoyo keeping up the illusion of the characters not being an obvious couple when they're literally written to complete each other?

Hoyo has one major tool in their arsenal to do this: Prickly personalities.

With the exception of Renheng, which I'll get to in a second, Hoyo has a favorite method for enforcing the rule of plausible deniability, the idea that "Nooo, we promise, they're not in love; they don't even like each other, see??"--and that's giving one of the characters an intractable personality.

This can manifest, like Alhaitham and Kaveh, as constant bickering, where the pair's main method of communication is to devolve into petty arguments or sarcastic quips.

Fans who support the ship can view this as an "old married couple" dynamic; but for those who do not support the ship and choose to insist that Hoyo isn't actually queer-coding their male characters, they can lean on these arguments as "proof" that the characters don't actually love each other.

A similar pattern was recently repeated with Sethos/Wanderer, with Wanderer's prickly personality being used to keep Sethos at bay.

By placing the characters at odds with each other through bickering, Hoyo introduces just enough doubt to make the "They're only friends/roommates, we promise" argument hold some water. This allows them to get--quite honestly--a lot of queer content past the censors and past homophobic audiences too.

We see them repeat this trope with Aventurine and Ratio in Star Rail, introducing the two characters as initially "at odds" with each other and trying to pass it off as Ratio despising Aventurine.

Even after revealing that they were plotting together, the game insists on introducing some lingering doubts, suggesting that Aventurine fears Ratio would actually betray him.

This creates the necessary "gray area," the gap that Hoyo can use to hide in--no, Aventurine doesn't trust Ratio at all, see? Maybe they don't even like each other? Who knows! The doubt doesn't exist because the story particularly needs it, but simply so that Hoyo has a shield to hide behind if people begin to question how close the two male characters are.

Even in comedic material, Hoyo intentionally keeps this "necessary distance" in order to allow themselves wiggle room. Is Ratio an enamored tsundere who can't spit his real feelings out, or does he actually think Aventurine is illogical, mediocre, and ridiculous? Was the "Keeping Up With Star Rail" video an example of Hoyo deliberately baiting by making Ratio flustered over Aventurine "on air," or is he being Aventurine's biggest hater in this clip?

It's just questionable enough that those players who hate MLM to interpret it as the latter, and provides just enough doubt to help Hoyo slip queer-coding under the radar. Those who want to see it will see, while it's written just vaguely enough that those who don't want to see it will not see it.

(That's the point Owlbert, that's the point.)

When in doubt, and when stuck with a pair of characters who aren't likely to bicker with words, Hoyo sometimes has to progress to the next level: making them actual enemies.

What's better for creating plausible deniability than one of them trying to kill the other? (They definitely were not fooling around in a past life. We promise.) In an ironic twist with Renheng in particular, the fandom seems to have somehow come to the (mistaken) consensus that Dan Feng and Yingxing were "confirmed canon" (truly, I see this stated everywhere; we love when reading comprehension fails in the right direction for once lol), leaving only Dan Heng/Blade as being of questionable "canonicity." However, this still works as far as Hoyo is concerned, because only Dan Heng and Blade are left on screen.

By insisting on their present inability to reconcile, Blade and Dan Heng are able to introduce just enough doubt into the equation to offset even significant ship tease for Dan Feng/Yingxing.

Enemies to lovers 150k+ slow burn, please look forward to it.

Okay, but back to Phaidei. At first, it seems like Phaidei is going to follow this pattern to a T: When Phainon first introduces Trailblazer to Mydei, the two seem to be at odds, bickering over how Mydei is choosing to confront the enemy. Mydei even calls Phainon out for an unintentionally insensitive statement (when Phainon demands to know why Mydei isn't "protecting the citizens," Mydei asks "Who are you implying is not a citizen here?" i.e., "Are you saying because I'm Kremnoan I don't count as a citizen?" You can see Phainon practically bite his tongue to take back his words.)

Also known as: Mydei experiences a microaggression.

Mydei's very first line directly to the Trailblazer is to insult Phainon's hospitality, and we know they definitely have plenty of silly insults to lob at each other while competing.

But this is actually where we see the first deviation from the pattern for Phaidei. Although there's a few cursory lines throughout their early dialogue, that's all there ever is--just cursory attempts at suggesting the two bicker and don't get along.

Within one scene, the "tension" present in their first meeting entirely devolves into purely playful banter, and it is clear by the time we finish 3.0 that Phainon and Mydei are actually very close and get along well, with virtually none of Haikaveh's biting comments, Blade and Dan Heng's violence, or Aventurine and Ratio's questions of loyalty. Phainon and Mydei took one look at the rest of Hoyoverse's MLM ships and said "How about we skip that will they-won't they?" lol.

But I'm not quite ready to talk about the places where Phaidei departs from the normal pattern yet, so I'll leave this point by just saying that Hoyo did start Phaidei on the same path as a majority of their other MLM ships, making a vague attempt at using their rivalry to suggest they wouldn't get along--thereby allowing for the alternative interpretation to quiet the haters (and the censors).

4. The (Physical) Distance is Non-Existent

Okay, but if Hoyo uses personalities to inject just enough distance into their queer-coded pairings to avoid crossing any boundaries, then what do they do to tantalize the audience, to make it seem like the characters might actually like each other?

They use body language!

First, just to reiterate a basic video game design principle: All animations and character placements have to be programmed by someone, and that means that all animations and the physical locations of characters in scenes are intentional. Nothing happens in cutscenes by accident.

Designers are constantly making a series of choices any time they have to put together a cutscene, and one of the key choices they have to make is how to express each character through their movements and their positions relative to other characters. (I've talked before, for example, about how Aventurine frequently turns his back on people, forcing their eyes to follow him throughout his cutscenes, taking physical control of the reactions of people around him.)

Hoyoverse games have somewhat standardized scene layouts for conversation cutscenes, with characters typically being placed at different distances from each other depending on their relationships. A majority of conversations happen from a generally cordial conversational distance, which means that any time characters cross this gap and close the distance, the dev team is intentionally sending the players a message.

Like, no one mistook what this was about, right?

Heterosexual jumpscare in my queer post; I'm sorry, I was just too tired to find a video with Lumine lol.

Repeating for good measure: Unless it is with a male playable main character (where the presence of the female main character is what lends the deniability), Hoyo legally cannot show their male characters engaging in physical contact that could be construed as romantic. Male characters can't hold hands; they can't even really hug unless it's "caught you as you fell after battle" (props to Dan Heng for being the only male character in Star Rail to get a "hug" with Jing Yuan lol.) There's a boundary that Hoyo male characters do not cross, and that's almost universally the realm of physical touch.

But Hoyo can place their queer-coded male characters into scenarios of physical closeness that they don't typically show among other characters.

Alhaitham and Kaveh's table says hello.

So does Tighnari and Cyno's single tent from this same quest; Cyno's Story 2, truly the quest that kept on giving.

Aventurine, a character who traditionally keeps half a room's distance between himself and the people he's talking to, suddenly doesn't seem to mind closing the distance with Ratio:

And even Renheng, the eternal enemies, are depicted as crossing physical boundaries, explicitly "getting in each other's faces." Yes it's a battle, but also, I've seen yaoi with less domineering poses lol.

You might think these lightcone examples are a stretch, but seriously: Go look at all the lightcones in the game. Does a single heterosexual couple have a lightcone where they are in each other's space in this manner? No, because physical closeness is actually a tool Hoyo is consistently using to queer-code. (Well, there would probably be more heterosexual closeness too if the incels weren't so weird...)

Anyway, when I saw the devs might be heading the direction of baiting Phaidei, I fully expected that we would see them side-by-side more consistently and with less of a gap between them than between other characters. But I wasn't remotely ready for the degree to which Hoyo would take that.

Here is an example of Phaidei exhibiting the "normal" Star Rail conversational distance:

Andddd... here's where they spend the other 90% of their scenes together:

The unnecessarily large distance between them and the Trailblazer gets me every time. Like they are not leaving room for Jesus Kephale.

Even when they aren't standing practically on top of each other, the devs deliberately choose camera angles that frame them both in the cutscene at the same time, which is relatively rare for Star Rail (not unheard of, but usually the camera will just go for the "first person POV" when two people are speaking, allowing for a close up of the speaking character). Instead of back-and-forth close ups, many of Mydei and Phainon's conversations are framed from a "behind-the-shoulder" angle, to catch them both in the frame. This creates the illusion that they're standing closer together than they are, and also reinforces a sense of intimacy in their conversations--the camera (and thus the player) becomes an "outsider" while their bodies turn toward each other.

Again, Hoyoverse is under pressure to avoid showing physical contact between male characters that could be construed romantically. They can't show Mydei and Phainon tangoing like Black Swan and Acheron. When it comes to queer-coding male characters, they have to use the tools available to them, and their primary tool for visually signifying the possibility of romantic closeness is physical closeness.

The camera is telling you that Mydei and Phainon are close.

Anyway, just one more point I wanted to make before moving on to discussing how Phaidei completely crushed the mold for Hoyoverse queer-coding, but...

5. Oh God, We're Turning Into Your Parents

Listen, I'm a reasonable person. I can fully accept that I play games with LGBT+ goggles on at all times. Despite being fantastically aroace myself, I love yaoi. I love yuri. I even like plenty of straight ships. I'm a fangirl first, academic second, so believe me when I say that I understand how skeptics might view some of the points above. "You're just fangirling. Being equals and opposites doesn't automatically imply romance. The devs might have intended close friendship, not a relationship." This counter-argument is valid!

So I want to end with one more point which I think is actually the lynch pin to proving that Hoyoverse isn't "accidentally" making their male characters come across as queer. Hoyo's queer-coding for certain ships is very intentional and even sometimes very overt. In a few cases prior to Phaidei, they were already skirting the upper limits of plausible deniability, and I think the modern ship that previously pushed the boundary the most is Haikaveh.

You can say what you want about other Hoyo MLM ships and their lack of canon textual support (I love you ZhongChi, even if the devs actually hate you lol), but I believe people who unironically say "The devs are not baiting Alhaitham and Kaveh as a ship" are so media illiterate that it's actually embarrassing to share air with them. Whether you think the devs are just doing it to cash in on yaoi fangirls or because they actually want to depict gay characters, it is indisputable at this point that Alhaitham and Kaveh have in-game ship tease. They just do, and one of the most obvious and unmistakable instances of this is when Kaveh's hangout paralleled Kaveh's relationship with Alhaitham to the heterosexual marriage between Kaveh's mother and father.

To draw a direct connection between Kaveh's father and Alhaitham, who is repeatedly described as not being able to understand Kaveh's artistic sensibilities and idealistic world view but nevertheless chooses to stay by Kaveh's side through his many troubles, while simultaneously reinforcing the idea that Kaveh is his mother's spitting image, both physically and emotionally, can really not be interpreted in any other way.

Hoyoverse took a queer relationship and made a one-for-one analogy to a heterosexual relationship--Alhaitham and Kaveh are a direct reflection of Kaveh's very married parents.

This isn't something that can happen on accident. This is deliberate and unmistakable queer-coding.

Which makes it absolutely wild that it happened twice.

I've posted already about the obvious parallels between Mydei's parents and Phaidei, and I'm actually almost out of room for new images here, so I can't post the images again, but I hardly need to at this point: Mydei's parents met when Gorgo challenged Eurypon at the Kremnos Festival. They fought for ten rounds, determined that they were (what do you know) perfect equals, and Eurypon proposed on the spot. Eurypon is explicitly described as a swordmaster, while Gorgo used a spear.

Later, the game repeatedly (and in various separate instances), emphasizes that Mydei and Phainon's first meeting consisted of a duel lasting ten days and ten nights, where neither of them could secure the victory, proving them to also be each other's perfect equals. Phainon's role as Okhema's swordmaster is emphasized, while Mydei wields a spear just like his mother when killing his father and after taking on Nikador's divinity.

Then there's... everything that came after. Eurypon betrayed Gorgo, effectively stabbing her in the back, and took her life. The foreshadowing that Phainon will do this exact same thing to Mydei is unmissable.

Phainon has even expressed an explicit desire to take part in the same competition where Mydei's father crowned the winner his wife:

In the (very limited) Kremnoan dictionary, I'm pretty sure this is how you say "I'm down to fuck."

Just as in the case with Haikaveh, there is no way that this parallel could have occurred by accident. The devs did not go out of their way to give us entire flashbacks of Gorgo and Eurypon's meeting and downfall for no reason. You're supposed to see the one-for-one connection between Mydei's very heterosexual, married parents and Phainon and Mydei's relationship.

Simultaneously, the devs also parallel their MLM ships to heterosexual relations by incorporating shades of domesticity normally reserved for "traditional" male-female relationships into their MLM ships--including levels of domesticity that heterosexual ships in Genshin and Star Rail usually don't rise to. One of Genshin's most popular MLM ships shares a single-family home and has a chore chart. Thoma is Ayato's housekeeper. Tighnari and Cyno are just flat-out joint raising a child. Jiaoqiu cooks and Moze cleans. Yingxing and Dan Feng accidentally(?) made a baby.

And Phainon and Mydei aren't any exception. They live an apocalyptic world that is constantly calling them away to battle, but the devs went out of their way to tell us Mydei is an extremely good cook who prepares everyone's food and deliberately ruins Phainon's when he's annoying, which is definitely old married couple behavior lol. Mydei is framed repeatedly as being good with children, not just in the distant fatherly way but in the "plays house" and follows-along-after-unaccompanied-kids-like-a-mother-hen way. Yet when Mydei has to leave, taking the classic "I'm going off to war" ancient Greek exit, he doesn't depart without leaving Phainon his people--with the camera panning specifically to the little Kremnoans. Phainon got the kids in the divorce. D; The tragic domesticity is already off the charts, and then they hit you the second punch when Mydei's last question (just one or two lines later) confirms that it was Phainon who got the ring for him. Hoyo couldn't actually have given us a more heavy-handed "parting husband and wife" parallel if someone held them at gunpoint. That whole thing was some Odyssey level bullshit. I see you devs, I see you.

You might be tempted to say that is just heteronormativity, which it could be, but I actually think it serves a very specific place in Hoyo's queer-coding repertoire. In comparing gay relationships to heterosexual marriages, the devs effectively "legitimize" their queer characters, suggesting that the relationships between gay male characters are no less real or valid than those between men and women. In demonstrating that male characters can achieve stable and healthy domestic lives with each other, the devs reiterate that players are not supposed to notice a difference between gay and heterosexual relationships.

There isn't any clearer way for Hoyoverse to legally say "We want you to think of these two men as romantic partners" than to say "Wow, isn't it interesting that their relationship is identical to a married couple's." It's on purpose; at this point, you really can't say the queer-coding isn't deliberate without looking like you can't read, and if it was intentional when Haikaveh paralleled Kaveh's parents, then it was doubly so the second time Hoyoverse pulled this trick to parallel Phaidei to Mydei's parents.

PHEW! Okay, I finally made it through the foundational traits for Hoyoverse MLM ship-bait and where Phaidei fits in with those. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk! 😂

But... the whole reason I started this post was actually because I wanted to talk about differences between Phaidei and other Hoyoverse MLM ships, and particularly how bold Hoyo actually was in 3.1, pushing the envelop to an extreme degree to ship-tease Phainon and Mydei.

So, since the post was way, way too long, I've spit the rest of my point off into a second post.

Check out Part 2 over here. ->

[suevi-if]

Suevi is an interactive fiction WIP - Chapter 1 out now!

This story is about finding love and surviving in Ancient Rome... as a Germanic slave.

[Demo Link]

Prologue - 5.5k words (without code)

Chapter 1 - 21.5k words (without code) - added June 8th 2025

[genres: romance, historical fiction, low fantasy, dark]

This book is for mature audience only (18+). It's currently still in early development and everything released is subject to possible change. The book will contain mature themes like slavery, abuse of any kind, sexual content (mostly optional), death of people and animals (the latter for food and sacrificial purposes), diseases, suicidal ideations, homophobia, transphobia, body dysmorphia, possible self mutilation, swearing, attempted non consensual intercourse (this is not a definitive list of triggers!).

There will be trigger warnings at the beginning of each chapter.

This is a work of fiction. Wherever possible and plausible, I incorporate information that is available about how Germanic tribes lived, how Germanic slaves were treated, what life in a Roman city looked like etc.

However, especially about the Germanic tribes, and about the timeframe I chose, there is only very little information. They did have runes but only used them for ritualistic purposes, never to write anything down; they had no written languages. Because of that, actual legitimate information is extremely scarce, and the information that we have is mostly written from an "enemy" point of view - the Romans.

I might somewhat substitute with things we know about the vikings, which technically also were Germanic tribes, but they lived quite some hundred years after the timespan I aim for the main story of this IF to be set in (which is essentially shortly after/around 14 CE).

Other choices and possible changes of actual facts/information about the historical times and people are made for flavour and for the readers' comfort.

Because some people don't seem to understand:

I am not a historian. I am merely one person researching and writing this as a hobby. It will not be 100% historically accurate. It is still a work of fiction and I take creative liberties.

Movies with massive budgets and several research assistants have historical inaccuracies in them. Please let me also have some.

After a skirmish close to the Roman border, you are captured and transported to a city. Your capturer forces you into slavery and sells you off to a patrician family — wealthy Romans, in social and political standings only underneath the Emperor.

Desperately you try to adapt to these new circumstances — you don't even speak their language, know nothing about their culture... It's a whole different world for you. At first, you struggle to even communicate with the people that call themselves your "familia". Will you manage to live amongst them, or will you refuse to obey the rules and orders you are unfamiliar with?

What will your fate be? Will you stay with your new family, will you try to escape to your old family, or will you look for a better future elsewhere?

Will you try to abandon old beliefs and adapt to new ones? Or is the hold of the old Gods too strong on you to let go?

And what role does the person who enslaved you really play in all of this?

Customize your own Suevi — choose your sex, gender, sexuality, looks, the God you mainly pray to and your former occupation (depending on the tribe you are from).

Pick one of five love interests (includes one poly option):

Ing (Ingunn/Ingram), the quiet and angry Cherusci servant (f/m) [Tropes: Friends (to Enemies) to Lovers // Clueless Love // REDACTED]

Aquila (always named Aquila), the cheerful, friendly Roman artist (m/f/nb) [Trope: Sex first, feelings later — Fast burn fling, Slow burn romance]

D (Dewognata/Dagomaros), the Gaul weaver with a tragic backstory (f/m) [Tropes: Rescue Romance // (Not so) Secret Admirer]

Nefer (Nefertari/Neferkare), the chronically tired, sarcastic Nubian merchant (f/m) [Trope: Secret identity/Dark secret]

Xen (Xeno/Xenon), the gentle and wise Greek teacher (f/m) [Tropes: Single Parent // Child as matchmaker // Age gap]

Poly option: MC x Ing x Aquila

Find love, have a good time with no strings attached (flings!) or just do your own thing (and hopefully escape slavery).

FAQ

Support me on Patreon (extra content and early access!)

Support me on Ko-Fi (extra content and early access!)

Buy me a coffee (and have my eternal gratitude <3)

Popular tags (for each RO, RO reactions etc.)

Physical description RO's

RO Moodboards

Play the demo here!

Immersive playlist (Youtube Music)

Also, this is my first IF and I haven't written anything major really for the past 10 years — so I might be somewhat rusty in some parts and completely new to other parts (namely, ChoiceScript). If you have tips, tricks, resources to learn/get better and constructive criticism, or you found any bugs or mistakes in my demo, I'd love to hear from you!

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you'll enjoy my story!

[ennobletechnologies]

As the world of digital marketing continues to evolve, we are seeing a shift from traditional, one-way marketing methods to more interactive, two-way methods. This shift is being driven by the rise of social media, the proliferation of mobile devices, and the ever-increasing demand for more personalized content.

Interactive content is any type of content that requires the reader, viewer, or user to take some action in order to engage with it. This can include anything from taking a quiz or survey, to playing a game or watching a video.

So why is interactive content the future of digital marketing? Keep reading to find out!

What is interactive content?

Interactive content is any type of content that is designed to engage the user and encourages them to take some kind of action. This can include:

Surveys

Quizzes

Games

Videos

App-based content

Online polls

Interactive infographics

Calculators

Augmented Reality (AR)/ Virtual Reality (VR)

Interactive content enables digital marketers to engage with their audience on a personal level and provides an opportunity to gather valuable data. This helps digital marketers make better informed decisions when creating content and targeting campaigns accordingly. Furthermore, interactive content offers digital marketers an opportunity to create unique, engaging experiences for their audience.

Why is interactive content important for digital marketing?

Interactive content can be an important tool for digital marketing as it offers numerous benefits compared to content that is not interactive. Here are just a few of the benefits of using interactive content in digital marketing:

Increased Engagement – Interactive content typically has a higher engagement rate than traditional content. Users are more likely to engage with content when they are given the opportunity to interact with it in some way.

Improved Reach and Visibility – Because interactive content has higher engagement rates, it can also lead to improved reach and visibility for digital marketing campaigns. Content that gets shared frequently has a better chance of getting noticed and seen by more people.

Higher Conversion Rates – With the high engagement rates that interactive content can provide, digital marketers can enjoy higher conversion rates. When more people are engaged in content, it can result in more people taking a desired action such as making a purchase or subscribing to services.

Improved User Experience – Interactive content can create a better user experience, which can result in higher customer satisfaction. By offering engaging user experiences, digital marketers can set themselves apart from the competition and ensure that their content is remembered.

Read More: https://ennobletechnologies.com/digital-marketing/5-reasons-why-interactive-content-is-the-future-of-digital-marketing/

[aliteralsemicolon]

Yours - 18+

Main masterlist | AU Masterlist

Spencer never thought he’d be lucky enough to find you, but he has. You have all his devotion and all he hopes for in return is for you to let him stay yours.

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER I do not consent to my work being used to feed/train AI and/or re-posted anywhere by anybody else This story contains strong themes and detailed descriptions of adult content. It is intended for mature audiences only, minors do not interact!  You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read.

WARNING: Smut: softdom! Spencer, grinding, hickies, penetration, PinV, unprotected sex (this can lead to babies & stds btw, avoid this by being fivehead and using a condom), creampie. Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 5.3K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

The question regarding the existence of soulmates is not a question that can be answered using science. Any individual’s answer to the question is more of a personal belief than a factual answer. And as a man of science, one would think that Spencer Reid would at least attempt to refute the ideology when asked. 

The ideology that he himself is not whole, but only half of an intertwined soul. That another person is not only his other half, but also his better half. Somebody with whom he shares such a natural, deep understanding, that he feels complete simply by existing in their presence. It’s one of those phenomena he can’t explain, but only this one, he’s confident is true. 

“Spence?” A light nudge accompanied by the whisper of his name breaks him away from his thoughts.

“Hm?” He blinks rapidly, focusing his eyesight on your curious face with a matching look.

The light from a singular bedside lamp only reaches half of his face. It casts a beautiful, soft contrast on his sharp features. The gold that’s usually hidden by the brown makes his irises look like sparkling pools of honey. Ethereal -not a word you would use when normally describing a man- but that’s how he looks. 

“Do you believe in soulmates?” 

He hadn’t ever thought he could believe in such a thing. Mostly because he’d always been sure that he would never experience it. 

“Do you?” His voice carries your question back to you. 

You can hear the city buzzing outside. Cars honking angrily in a futile attempt to speed up the pace of the traffic. People conversing, arguing, laughing. Loud thuds of music from the upstairs neighbour who cares little about the piling noise complaints. Somehow, the hum of Spencer’s words is the only sound that your ears register. 

“I asked first.” You playfully scoff, breaking eye contact and swivelling your head straight.

Spencer mirrors your motions, both of you now facing the ceiling as you remain side by side on his bed. 

“Yes.” His answer is barely above a whisper. 

It seems that your bodies want to make up for lost contact. You can feel his pinky reaching out to touch yours as you meet him halfway. 

“Me too.” 

A comfortable silence takes over the conversation. Everything feels still. The only movement is that of his fingers grazing against yours. He’s touched you in far more personal places tonight alone, and this is still one of your most intimate moments. There are no expectations or hidden agendas. This is simply the two of you existing in each other's presence; his preferred way to exist. It stretches until another inane question makes its way to the forefront of your mind.

“Do you ever wonder if you’ll get to meet them in this lifetime?” 

He pushes his frame up and rotates to face you as he sinks back down to the mattress. His head rests on the arm folded below it. You turn your head back to him so that you’re both holding eye contact again. 

“No.” He mouths the answer, his voice hesitant to raise at first. “I wonder whether mine is a romantic bond or platonic.” 

Your stomach flutters at the insinuation and you shift to mirror his position this time. In the midst of shuffling, the two of you seem to have closed a good chunk of the distance between you. 

“What do you want it to be?” You whisper, entranced by his gaze. 

Two of his knuckles lightly skim your cheek before those fingers brush your hair away from you. The act alone is enough to make your face heat up, no matter how many times he’s done it before. He begins to lazily stroke your hair, scratching your head in the process. It gives you the same tingling sensation you get from some rare ASMR videos. 

You don’t follow up on your question, unable to remember anything that was on your mind beforehand. His touch, combined with the minimal lighting and close proximity provides you with a sense of security you rarely feel otherwise. Your lids begin to grow heavy and you're forced to break eye contact when the weight of them becomes too much. 

“That’s really distracting y’know.” You mumble, eyes closed and voice hazy. 

“I know.” He mutters, almost without sound. 

He can’t help his smile as he watches you drift to sleep. He’s studied every feature on your face at least a hundred times and he’s yet to find a single flaw. The fact that you’re okay with being this vulnerable with him is a privilege that he’ll thank any and every deity he doesn’t even believe in for. Faint snoring indicates that you’re now dead to the world, but he can’t let your previous question go unanswered. 

“Whichever one allows me to be yours forever.”

Waking up to the warmth of your body pressed against his is by no means a recent development in your relationship with Spencer. Your back is to his chest and his arm is draped across your stomach, trapping you against him. Not that you mind. You’ve been lying still as you are for almost a while now, your thumb caressing the side of his wrist. With a yawn nuzzled into your neck, Spencer attempts to pull you closer to him, closing distance that was never there to begin with. 

He can feel the rise and drop of your chest; you can feel the beating of his heart behind yours. Neither of you is fully awake yet, opting to enjoy the silence and comfort of the other's presence. Your bodies are so closely tangled that your skin is almost melding with each other. 

Almost. 

The unexpected brushing of his hardness against your ass sends a jolt of electricity passing through you, waking you up in an instant. If it were anybody else, perhaps you would’ve felt ashamed of how that passing moment made your insides jump. You definitely wouldn’t have arched your barely clothed cunt towards the obstruction. A sharp exhale fans across the back of your neck, and you can practically feel the corners of his lips pull into a lazy smirk. 

“Well, good morning.” A groggy voice leans into your ear and the grip on your belly tightens.

“Morning.” You breathe out, barely audible.

You feel yourself clench around nothing when a hot, sticky kiss lands just behind your ear. Your arch intensifies when another one lands below your jaw and you unintentionally grind against him. It earns you a low grunt from him, which only prompts you to repeat the motion without thinking. His head drops in the nook of your shoulder, taken slightly off guard. He meets you halfway the third time, and it sets both your hips in a slow motion of rubbing against each other.

He can hear you hum each time his confined erection strokes your bundle of nerves and it sparks a determination in him to get more out of you. His hand trails from your abdomen to your pelvis, stopping just at the band of your underwear. He tugs the fabric, not making any further moves until you allow him to. You know that if you don’t take control now he’s going to prolong his foreplay, something you don’t have the patience for right now. He always makes it a point to make you finish at least once before he even considers himself. 

Out of the four times you came the night before, three of them were with his head between your thighs. You can’t even count the number of times you’ve teased him about how he probably gets off on pleasing you more than you do. You surprise him when you grab his hand and push it away from you, swinging yourself around to straddle him. Your hands land on either side of his head and you lower your forehead to rest against his. 

“Nuh-uh!” You taunt and it makes him snort. 

His palms trace your sides, arms wrapping around you, pulling your torso down to him.

“You’re not allowed to touch me this time.” You add in a hushed tone.

“No?” His brows raise in amusement.

“No.” 

You barely breathe out the word when his arms drop from around you. A slight chill takes over the area.

“No!” You repeat in a whiny tone, pushing yourself to sit up. 

You’re looking down on him from this angle, and God, does he look beautiful. His fluffy, sleep-tousled hair frames his face beautifully, the faint light of the rising sun only adding to the sight. 

“That’s not what I mean and you know it!” 

“I don’t know. You need to be clearer with what you want.” He chuckles. 

“I want you to stop being a little shit.” You retort, reaching for his hands.

You attempt to settle them on your thighs, but he removes them again. 

“I’m not allowed to touch you. Remember?” He emphasises the word allowed on purpose.

Both of you know that he’s the only one allowed to touch you and vice versa. Even if it wasn't something you both agreed upon, you’d never let anybody else touch you like him. If they even knew how to.

“You can touch me.” You roll your eyes, pulling his hands back to your skin. “But you can’t fuck me with anything other than your dick.”

Your curt tone doesn’t surprise him. He’s used to your boldness. Using your hips, he pulls you down onto his bulge completely. You don’t anticipate the sudden friction and it takes everything in you to not topple over on him. Spencer wasn’t prepared for the impact of his actions either, his head lolling back as he hisses sharply. 

“Yeah?” He questions through half gritted teeth. 

He’s painfully hard and the current view isn’t helping. He can clearly make out the shape of your curves under your flimsy t-shirt. How it drapes on the apex of your breasts, how the hem pools just above your thighs. His grip tightens against the plush of your skin. 

“Mhm.” You breathe out, eyes fluttering as you keep your core pressed to him. 

“Words, sweet girl. Use your words.” His breathing is laboured and it’s taking all of his willpower to not rut his dick back up against you.

The praise breaks you. You can no longer hold yourself up, falling into his chest. 

“Please fuck me.” You can only whisper in his ear, sending chills down his spine. 

He groans, grabbing you by the waist and flipping both of you around so you’re the one lying on the bed. It seems that he’s become just as impatient as you, if not more. He captures your lips in a deep, demanding kiss as he tugs his boxers just enough for his length to spring free. His tongue swipes your lips, seeking entrance and you grant it to him. He finds your kisses addicting. It takes an incredible amount of willpower to break them, but he does, sitting up on his knees. 

He parts your legs, placing one on either side of him and yanking you closer to him. You squeak in response, not processing the action until your cores are once again pressed together. You sigh when he pushes your panties to the side and runs a finger up your slit. A satisfied hum escapes him when he learns just how aroused you are. You sigh when runs his tip against you next, lining himself up with your cunt and pushing just the tip inside. Each of his hands intertwine with yours as he moves them above your head. He then leans in and plants a feather-light kiss on your cheek. 

“Like this?” He whispers in your ear.

He pushes in a little more and pulls out just enough for him to stay lined.

“More!” You whine, breathlessly, brows furrowing from anticipation.

“Mhm.” He doesn’t properly acknowledge your desperation and instead latches onto the skin under your jaw, sucking gently. 

You sigh at the sensation, arching more as his shaft pushes in again. This time, he doesn’t stop until he’s completely bottomed out. You moan and squeeze his hands, still intertwined with yours above your head. You never expect how full he makes you feel. Spencer squeezes your hands in return, still reeling in from how well your cunt accommodates him. He takes a minute, resting himself inside you to allow time for both of you to adjust to the feeling. 

He releases your skin with a small pop and moves a new spot on your neck. You think about how you’re going to have to use concealer to hide the marks he’s surely leaving behind and it makes you clench around him. The effect on him is instantaneous, a harsh groan vibrating against your throat and he sucks harder. The sound only makes your walls tighten more and it cues him to start thrusting. 

The initial pace is slow, but calculated; the kind that makes your joints loosen and jaw slack. He takes the opportunity to capture your lips in another long and consuming kiss. A loud moan ripples out from both of you and your hands deepen their hold on each other. Spencer’s not shy about letting you hear how good you make him feel and that drives you insane. 

Your hands instinctively try to reach for his hair, but he’s pinned you down tight. You whine into his mouth, pressing your fingers between his knuckles. Your whine fizzles out into a series of smaller whines when his hips speed up, hitting that sweet spot with every thrust. 

“Mm–Spence–mmph–”

You try to break the kiss to speak, but he simply drops a quick kiss on your jaw before reclaiming his place against your lips. He’s too lost in the taste of you to pay full attention. It takes you a moment to find the willingness to try again, but you do. You arch your hips too high for him to be able to follow from this position, forcing him to slip out from you and try to remove your hands from his grip. His focus is brought back to you and he lifts himself back on his knees, releasing you. 

“What’s wrong? Have I hurt you?” 

“M-mm” You shake your head and push yourself up on your hands.

You then shift into his lap, draping your arms around his shoulders. He gives you a curious look, wrapping his arms around your waist. 

“I want to be able to hold you.” You admit with a slight shyness in your tone.

A light smile spreads across his face, brows arching in surprise. Being a genius and all, he’s always known he was needed in some way or another. You’re the first person who’s ever made him feel wanted, truly wanted. With no motive other than simply existing with him. It sparks a new desire, one you see light up behind his eyes. He leans into your lips, his hold on your waist tightening and he moves one arm to cradle the back of your head. 

You pull yourself flush against him, wrapping your arms around his neck as your tongues dance together once more. He lifts you up and places you back down against the mattress, mouth never leaving yours. You feel his palm raise one of your legs by the back of your knee and he’s entering you again. He rests that leg on his shoulder, while the other hangs by his waist and begins to build an unrelenting pace. 

You wail into his mouth at the intensity of his thrusts, eyes rolling behind closed eyes. It’s almost brutal, the way he’s slamming into you. Your hands desperately cling onto his bicep and shoulder, nails digging into the skin. His grunts and groans increase each time he gets deeper, if that’s even physically possible and it only makes you desperate for more. Your kiss breaks with a slight sting against Spencer’s lip. You didn’t realise how hard you were biting it in an attempt to stay grounded. 

There’s a shift in the atmosphere that you can’t explain. Even though Spencer was railing you so hard that even the bed had begun to cry out, there was an overwhelming sense of longing between you two. An ache to express how you belong to the other, hidden behind an uncouth sight. It’s compensation for those lack of words, a physical exchange expressing your biggest secret. He’s everywhere; your current position has you feeling Spencer in places you didn’t deem possible. 

His mouth works over whatever exposed skin it can access along your jaw and throat, leaving goosebumps and bruising stains in its wake. His cock is driving into you so fast that you swear it’s going to imprint on your walls. There’s a fire in you, one that only he can put out. Every inch of him can be felt within every inch of you. Now you’re truly melded with each other. 

“Fuck–oh my God!” You scream out, your nails digging harder into his flesh. 

He’s consuming all of your senses, at this moment you don’t know anything other than him. Eyes open or closed, all you can see is his sculpted face. You’re drowning in his scent. Melting at his touch. The taste of his kiss still lingers on your tongue. Your ears are flooded with the slaps of his skin meeting yours and your mixed moans and grunts. 

“Spen–fuck–gon–fu–cum!” 

He hasn’t even spared your ability to speak. With a short kiss, he brings his forehead back to rest on yours in a firm manner. 

“Me too, pretty girl.” He pants his sentence in broken pauses. “Me too.” 

He secures the leg on his shoulder from the back of your thigh and then brings the other leg on his other shoulder. It gives him room to drive himself deeper and makes you lose all control, every joint in your body threatening to fall limp. Your face contorts and you bite your lip, trying to control the flurry of screams. It results in high-pitched whines forcing their way out. 

“Spencer! I can’t–I can’t–I can’t” 

You can’t hold on any longer. 

“I know. I know.” There’s barely any voice accompanying his words. “We’ll do it together, okay? Where do you want me?”

“Inside–inside–ins-shitshitshit…” 

“Inside? Inside.” He struggles to keep himself together while talking you through it. “Ready?” 

You nod fervently and he steals one long, final kiss from you as he finally empties himself in your spent cunt. Your own orgasm crashes through in a long passing wave. You feel like you’re floating in the ocean with millions of stars as your only view for miles. He follows up with a few final thrusts, burying himself as far in you as possible. 

When you finally come to, Spencer’s pulled out and is lying right next to you. Peppering kisses over your face in intervals and muttering praises as strokes away hair glued to your face. 

“Did so well.”

“So good to me.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

For some reason, the water always feels nicer running down your body when you use Spencer’s shower. He’s a simple man; he doesn’t really have a lot of products to use besides the basic shampoo, conditioner, soap, and body wash. The exfoliators, masks and such were your initial additions that he keeps topping up after they run out. 

You haven’t said much since coming out of your euphoric state, only showing your gratitude and appreciation through small touches. Brushing a hand against his cheek, leaving a peck on his shoulder, wrapping your arms around him in a hug. He doesn’t mind your silence. It doesn’t deter him from showering you with praise while he looks after you. You’re so disorientated that you’re letting yourself be guided from one instruction to the next. 

“Lift your leg for me, sweet girl. Hand on my shoulder.” 

He helps you act out his command, grabbing your wrist and draping it on his shoulder while helping you lift your leg. His touch is tender, but he’s careful to cover every area with body wash. 

“Good girl.” 

You don’t physically react, but his approval makes you swell with pride. Sex is the least intimate part of your time with Spencer. What you really enjoy is how safe he makes you feel. You know that even if you show him your worst and ugliest moments, he won’t reject you. You trust him with parts of you that you barely trust yourself with. 

Anybody who’s touched your naked body before him doesn’t matter, because not one of them has gotten to touch it past the realm of physical pleasure. To you, the act of washing one’s body is so private, so sacred that it can’t be trusted with just anybody. How many are able to look past the lens of sexual release and view your skin and bones as something to cherish? Not even you can claim to view yourself in such a precious way. 

But Spencer does. 

Even as pats you dry and wraps you safely in a warm towel, he doesn’t demean your worth. They’d be thoughts he could easily keep hidden in the comfort of his own mind, but the thoughts simply don’t occur. You don’t realise how long the two of you are standing there, leaning into each other's arms against the counter. Nor do you realise how long it’s taken you to mentally return to him. The first thing you do notice is so trivial, it’s almost laughable. 

“You’re out of apple juice, by the way.” 

Even you’d laugh if you heard yourself bring up something so random.

“Do you want apple juice? We can go buy some more.” He replies in a quiet mumble.

In his presence, you can think such thoughts without the concern of being laughed at. 

“No, I’m not gonna make you go to the grocery store just for apple juice.” You shake your head, expression oozing sarcasm. 

“I need to buy a lot more than apple juice. I’m pretty sure I don’t even have enough to make eggs or coffee.” He snorts, running his fingers through your hair. 

“Right. I forgot, Mister F.B.I.” You snort back, playfully poking his arm. “How was your time in Alaska?” 

It’s really common for your brain to malfunction around Spencer. You don’t feel the need to think or stay on alert if he’s with you. 

“Grim. Bleak.” He keeps it short on purpose. 

He doesn’t want to taint what little time he has with you focused on the gory parts of his job. Or any parts of his job at all. He spends too much of his time there as it is, so he’d much prefer to keep that part of his life separate from you. Spencer didn’t understand what it truly meant to live until after you came into his life. He’d never admit it out loud, but being around you made him realise how much of his soul his job steals from him, piece by piece. You make it whole again.

“How bad was it?” Curiosity still gets the better of you at times.

“Awful. You weren’t there when I woke up every morning.” He steers the conversation again. 

“Uh-huh.” You smirk, looking up at him. “You say that to all your girl-friends the morning after?” 

He takes a small step back, creating space as he cups your face.

“Even if I had the social skills required, when do you honestly think I would have the time between being at work and being with you?” 

“When you’re at work. Duh.” You tap his temple, playfully, voice dripping with sarcasm.

He scoffs, unamused. It’s something Spencer can’t honestly even imagine. You’re his solace, his best friend…his person. 

“Get dressed.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “We’ll stop by that bakery you love and get some food in your system. Hopefully before your suggestions start becoming more and more insane.” 

You don’t appreciate the awestruck look on his face when you’re certain you’ve got chocolate lining the corners of your mouth. You attempt to glare at him, but it doesn’t last and you find yourself fighting back a smile.

“Cut it out!” You groan, stringing out the end of your sentence. 

The trolley comes to a halt as you stop to grab your phone, but he snatches it out of your hand before you can open the camera.

“Hey–”

“I’m revoking your phone privileges until your urge to keep checking your reflection fizzles out.” He states casually, slipping the phone into his pocket as he reaches for a loaf of bread on the top shelf. 

“Revoking my– what are you my fucking mother?” You reach for his pocket, but he grabs your wrist before you can retrieve your phone. 

You try to use your free arm, but he traps that one in his hands too. 

“I don’t wanna walk around with chocolate around my mouth!” You whisper-shout, mindful of other shoppers passing by.

“For the fifth time, you don’t have chocolate anywhere on your face. It wasn’t there after you finished your shake and it won’t be there no matter how many times you check.”

You ignore him, trying to free yourself from his grip.

“You don’t believe me?” The look on his face is more entertained than shocked.

“Spencer, my fluffy-headed, genius bookworm, I would put my life in your hands if you asked me to but after that time you let me walk around with my lipstick smudged–”

“That happened one time!” He gripes, less concerned about his volume. 

“I looked like I came straight off the clock from a circus!” 

“It wasn’t that bad!” 

“Six hours, you let me walk around like that!” 

If he were to be completely honest, he was completely enraptured by your long tangent about why you despise dolphins. Most of it wasn’t based on facts and the parts that were, weren’t really a feasible argument since morals are a uniquely human concept. However, that was the day he uncovered how brightly you light up when you talk about something you’re passionate about. He spent the rest of that time, subtly digging, trying to figure out the topics that made you glow so he could keep bringing them up. 

“There’s nothing there. Your face is– looks perfect.” He fumbles on his words.

“I can feel it!” You protest.

“That happens because–”

“Reid?” An unfamiliar voice calls out from behind you.

Spencer lets go of your wrists as you turn to face the owner of the voice. Two blondes, one behind the other. One of them is a lot more colourful and bold, with large statement jewelry and a pair of gorgeous platform heels that match her dress. The other is less vibrant, but with no less confidence and blue eyes that stand out like diamonds shining under lights. 

“Hey! What are you guys doing here?” 

You’re not a profiler, but you don’t miss the immediate shift in Spencer’s demeanour. He seems a lot more reserved and shy, as compared to the confidant and playful version of him that you know. 

“We’re picking up some things for my birthday bash this weekend.” The brown-eyed blonde chirps. “The one that I will definitely see you at, no excuses allowed!” 

“Right.” He gives an awkward, tight-lipped smile. 

Spencer loves his coworkers, he really does. They’re basically his family. However, he wants nothing more for them to go away right now. Not for any reason other than wanting to keep you away from them, because he knows them. For all their amazing qualities, there’s one that annoys him the most and that’s how nosey they can be. Especially when it comes to him. 

“Hi. I’m JJ.” The blue-eyed blonde takes the initiative to introduce herself, reaching out her hand for a friendly shake.

He knows it’s from a place of love. He’s the youngest member of the team, they all want to protect him, but he detests how they coddle him. He can already sense the incoming invitation from Garcia to her birthday. He knows that it won’t take long for you to befriend everyone on his team, because, well, they’re all amazing people. Integrating you with that part of his life is something he’s just not ready for. Not like this.

“I’m Penelope and oh my goodness, you are just gorgeous!” 

He enjoys how when he’s with you, he can exist in a separate bubble. Where all he is, is not the resident genius of the BAU. More than that, he knows of the dangers that come with integrating the two separate lives. He’s seen the losses that occur, whether they be by generic circumstances or unplanned deaths. And there’s nothing he can do to stop his worlds colliding, a fact he has to grasp as soon as he zones back in to find three sets of eyes staring at him, expectantly.  

“Right.” He clears his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “These are my– um– this is Penelope Garcia and Jennifer Jareau, or JJ. We work together.” 

The introduction is hesitant and rushed at best, but you chalk it up to him being taken off guard. You want to gauge his mood, try and figure out where his head’s at, but that’s going to have to wait. 

“Oh my God! I knew it!” Garcia gasps dramatically, taking your hand in hers. “You’re the reason he’s always in a rush to leave now! It is so nice to meet you!”

Garcia’s not wrong. You are the reason he’s always in a rush to get away. You’re his escape from the harsh realities he faces every day. You’re unsure of how to respond. In fact, you’re not even certain as to what’s going on. Nobody else seems to match Penelope's enthusiasm. Spencer looks mortified, while JJ looks like she wants to drag Penelope away. Still, everybody’s too frozen to stop her. 

“Did you know that you have him checking his phone more than a lovestruck teenage girl? Him! One of the biggest technophobes I’ve ever met!”

This is also a fact. Spencer’s not an idiot. He’s not oblivious to the open-mouthed stares he gets every time he’s caught smiling like a dopey idiot after looking at the screen. He’s just never cared. It’s almost impossible to ignore any notification from you. He doesn’t feel great about that coming to bite him in the ass right about now. 

Given different circumstances that were more in his control, Spencer would be elated to introduce the most important people in his life to each other. This whole interaction is actually shorter than he feels it is, but for Spencer, time moves too slowly. He can sense how the safety of your company as he knows it, the most valuable aspect of his life, is under threat of being ripped away from him with every second that passes. Without you, Spencer would once again find himself lost. 

“Spencer, you have to bring her to my bash this weekend! Everybody would love to meet your girlfriend!” Garcia wiggles her eyebrows, eyes smirking beneath her glasses.

Because all he is, is yours. 

“Oh! Uhm–” You begin.

“No Garcia, she’s–this is…my friend..” He adds at the same time, unable to hide his stutter.

At least, that’s all he wants to be.

“Right…we’re just…friends.” You confirm with a half-hearted smile at the reminder of your reality. 

It was better this way. The two of you agreed on this at the start of your arrangement. 

Spoilers: Mostly just fluff, a sprinkle of angst, smut, lots of mutual pining, friends with benefits.

AN - I felt a surge of evil take over my bones when I wrote this and any events that unfolded were out of my control. This is not my finest work, but once I thought of it I had to share it. Also I know I said not to bother me about fics bc uni and I still mean that, I just don’t know what happened. It’s like I got a bit of inspo and couldn’t help myself. Huge thanks to @mrs-dr-reid for beta reading! FWB Writing Challenge by @imagining-in-the-margins Prompt - "I wanna be yours" by Arctic Monkeys

No bc writing that opening scene on the bed might be my favourite and u should tell me if u agree bc I wanna write more like that, but if u hate it then I won't.

Thanks for reading.

[lovverletters]

my god . . you sound like a sin

IN WHICH, an avid asmr listener fell head over heels for you, his favourite asmrtist.

tw/ yan is a gooner, mentions of self deletion but bro is not serious dw, yan goon over ur voice, delusional af, typical yan behaviour

yandere fan x gn asmrtist reader

. . . 🍒

he's lonely. like REALLY lonely.

he barely goes outside unless he was forced to by either the people around him or necessarily. for the most part, he doesn't interact much with othersㅡ not even his own family.

it's bad but he couldn't care less. the online world was much kinder to him than the outside will ever be. it's not the he's ugly or anything. he's just painfully average.

average grades, average looks, average social life, average job.

his existence is fucking average.

which is why he doesn't have much luck in the dating pool. nobody wants an average joe like him. except for, you.

at least the 'you' in this asmr fantasy he's invested in. he had been scrolling through the youtube page watching videos to pass time while he waits for his game to update.

when he came across your channel. you're an asmr youtuber, specifically those boyfriend/girlfriend audio kind of asmrtist. he hesitates at first, he finds these kind of thing cringe due to it's cheesy plotline.

but something within him, perhaps the curious part of him made him click on your most popular video. and oh boy, was he hooked for life.

you voice were like honey in his ears, dripping and overwhelmingly sweet. he swore he almost popped a boner from hearing you address him 'darling' or 'dear'. your production? absolutely amazing that he'd forgot you were just doing this for a side hussle. if he hadn't known better he'd think you were a professional.

immediately after he finished your first video and himself, he was clicking on the next. that day, he spent hours going through your catalogue. by the end of it he was still itching for more.

that's when he subscribe for your patreon. for more of your exclusive and extra contents. but your patreon has more than just extra audios. you'd share bits of your life that only made him all the more obsessed.

at this point, he doesn't view your asmr audios as a mere fantasy. but it's that you and him were a genuine couple. you're no longer just an asmrtist to him, you're his partner.

all of these audios you've made are just a way of communicating with him while also letting others whom in his opinion were undeserving of, to delude themselves in a fantasy where they're dating you.

as if, you're dating him.

and out of kindness of his heart, he's letting those pathetic bunch have a piece of you. if it were up to him, he'd wanted to hog you all to himself. though, he sometimes wished he could hear a personal audio just for his ears to listen to.

and that opportunity arise when you were hosting a charity event. anyone could commission a personal audio from you. you'd hope that it would be nothing weird and for the most part, plenty of your audience requests were tame.

some even sent a script for a storyline they wanted you to act on for them. those were the most fun to do in all honesty.

ding!

you noticed someone had commision an audio from youㅡ oh well let's hope it's a normal one. you've yet to find the odd once yet and something in you had an inkling this might be the first out of many.

what the fuck. the commissions were all from the same person but there was at least 5 of them. they're very generous. . . you think.

you checked the scripts they've sent and the four seems somewhat normal enough though a bit . . sexual. the commissioner basically asked for a whimper audios from you.

but the last one took the cake for the wildest requests you've ever gotten.

can you please tell me to kms? you sound so hot.

[vampzity]

stray kids twitter links!

★ BONUS DAY: SKZ MAKNAE LINE TWT LINKS ★

[ DISCLAIMER ]: the following links contain PORN which is only suitable for mature audiences!! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+!! all links contain hetero content! some dont have any sound :’)

[warnings]: porn… duh!, fem fucking m., unprotected sex, titty play, milking??, femdom, clit play

⭐️: author’s favorite

[ HAN JISUNG ]

⭐️ switch of roles: han loves to submit to you. by any means necessary. he loves when you fuck him, it practically makes him drool. he’ll ride your strap slowly as his cock rubs against the material, making him lose his mind. it hits his spot just perfectly, making him want more with every passing second. he hates when you laugh at the kind of person he becomes when you fuck him, but god it’s such a pretty sight to see.

ride it, tease it: one thing you loved to do was tease han. he absolutely hated it, but you didn’t care. you loved grinding your wet folds against his leaking cock as his tip poked out of your panties. you loved watching him helplessly lay there hoping you’d stick his cock inside of you but to no avail. your pace would get quicker, your sensitive bud running along his length as he whimpered from the overstimulation.

[ LEE FELIX ]

play with me: if there was no time, felix would make the time to play with you. correction, to play with your pussy. he loved sitting you in his lap, pulling your panties to the side and rubbing your clit gently. your soft folds brought him immense joy as he listened to your soft whimpers fill the room. his free hand would cup your tits, playing with them as his pads worked your clit hungrily, desperate to get your arousal all over his fingers just so he could amen you taste it afterwards. “you taste better than I play with you, yeah?”

⭐️ ride like you want it: you always had fun getting on top of felix. you’d ride him for hours on end, in different ways until you practically milked him dry. he’d beg for you to ride him faster, harder as his hands danced around your body. and boy did you love it you always admired how his groans would turn into soft breathless whimpers as your cunt squeezed around his cock.

[ KIM SEUNGMIN ]

⭐️ touch me like you do: if there’s anything we know, it’s that seungmin loves teasing people. meaning he loved to tease you. he would lay your stomach on a bed, rip your panties off and run his fingers against your pussy. he’d make you sit there and take it as his hand fondled rapidly with your clit. “you look so stupid begging for me like this.” it was so condescending, but you loved it. you whimpered and cried out as he annoyingly toyed with you, smirking as he watched your body become squeamish beneath him.

[ YANG JEONGIN ]

(might have to make a drabble out of this one??)

⭐️ soft and squishy: jeongin loved your tits. any chance he got he would play with them, squish them in his hands like they were some kind of stress toy. hell, he even used it like that too. he would sit you in front of him after a long day, lift up your shirt and fondle with your tits softly, flicking your sensitive nipples until they turned hard. “you’re my precious toy, isn’t that right baby?” you couldn’t resist his soft hands, and you craved them.

drain me: as i said, jeongin loved your tits— to the point that he’d do anything to get a feel for them. even if that meant sitting there and letting you jack him off until he was milked dry. you agreed if he touched you good, you’d touch him until he couldn’t feel his cock anymore. it killed him hie sensitive his tip was, but he did whatever was necessary to feel your body. to hear your demanding words as he cummed all over your hands.

back to valentine’s masterlist

a/n: YIPPEEE i actually like a few from this one idea wise. i may have to make them into a drabble.

taglist: @scarfac3 @h4untedgrl @rvereri @jjongibears @hwasddeongbyeoli @joonezra @potentialgay @dollywoo @losrpark @motherseonghwa23 @inniesfanblog @stephanieeeyang @galaxy4489 @nickgurl4life @fangirljas929 @desirehorizon @channiesluvrclub @katsukis1wife @unbel1ve4ble @sojuxxi @bbykaixx @felixleftchickennugget @jwnghyuns @bluesungology @gncbnahc

★ comment to be added to the taglist or fill out the form here!

[turquoizxe]

𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐬

Sevika x Piltover!Fem!Reader

content ― one-shot; hatefucking, "til' the room stank", light pain kink, degradation, some biting, the reader is also bratty highkey, smut, overstim, fingering, strap, pillow talk, mentions of possible feelings, Sevika is down bad for you, #needdat #realbad

author's note ― this was supposed to be a small < 500 word drabble, but ovulation had other plans. enjoy!

wc ― 2.445k

You didn't have it in you to give up whatever this was. It felt too good. She wanted to hate your guts, ruin you, and deprive you of any happiness that she thought you didn't deserve. But I guess other plans were written on the cards.

Thoughts about how you were, how you felt ― it plagued every corner of her brain. And even you didn't understand how much she needed you.

Despite you being from Piltover, your parents were from Zaun. And due to your luck, your family had somehow found themselves outside of poverty. The unfortunate thing is that their corrupt principles still remained despite being surrounded by riches; It in fact made it worse.

Politics was always a rough issue at the dinner table, and you had your opinions about the council. You'd be lying if their narcissism didn't rub off on you quite a bit, and Sevika could tell from miles away that you'd be a problem.

Despite your background and upbringing in Piltover, you and your friends would sneak out to Zaun on more than one occasion. Your parents were unaware that you had as many connections to Zaun as they did, and possibly even more. You'd often run into Sevika more often than she'd like to. Your favorite interaction being within the brothel.

Silco had recently hired you and asked you to find Sevika, who hadn't known that you had become a partner in their line of work. She was often seen at The Last Drop when she was on downtime. You knew her features all too well, and it'd be nice to greet her with your lovely face.

You didn't think she would be able to fuck as good as she looked. While it had been made to your knowledge that she was also a regular at the Brothel, you had been browsing, the familiar voice had echoed. And you hated admitting to yourself how her baritone and shaken up the core inside you. You were gone before you could even make an attempt to find a partner that night. And you couldn't help but hear the filthy words that left her lips every time you had to interact with her.

"That pretty little cunt is mine, isn't it?"

God, you hoped those thoughts didn't chase through you with every moment she spoke with you. Once you started working together more, the tension got stronger, and neither of you could pinpoint when and where it started. But you knew what strengthened it. Your quick wit and smart mouth kept her entertained, and some days she wondered how the hell you didn't end up in this line of work sooner.

Your involvement with Zaun made her feel like the mission was being prolonged with your presence, and she made it known with every passing moment the aversion she had reserved for you. You'd believe it if she spent less time staring at your ass when you were tweaking with her mechanical arm.

The small audience that knew of your partnership was often left in question, as they couldn't describe the relationship you had with one another. And fondness wasn't a word they would state it as.

The seamless flirting felt so harmless at first, the prolonged stares. She could tell how she made you feel, and she always refrained from acknowledging it because she wants to fuck you more than she hates you.

And she couldn't tell if that hate was mutual when all you did was toy with her when under pressure. And finally, she gave in to what she knew you both wanted.

You two got caught up when you started bringing up your parents and your involvement with Zaun. You had spent so much time trying to convince her that this wasn't some sort of savior complex moment for you. You had known better than to engage with someone of her stature. You'd be as good as dead. Sevika was impressed with your combat skills, but that fell short once your teeth sunk into her skin. The lust that clouded her eyes was clear as day in yours.

You knew better than to use Silco's desk for anything other than work, but neither cared enough about him to consider that.

You had Sevika right where you wanted her.

Her mechanical arm had you pinned upon Silco's desk. Your breasts were on display, riddled with bites and hickeys; Your bottoms dangled over your ankles, and your undergarments were barely recognizable after Sevika tore them. And you whined under her so desperately.

"What happened to that shit you were talkin' earlier, huh?" She scoffed, her fingers working inside your walls, eager to pull more cries from you. It was embarrassing for her to admit how much pleasure she derived from you crying like a bitch in heat.

You had stopped counting how many times she had made you come at this point. It was constant teasing and banter until you took it upon yourself to rile her up.

"Fuckin' brat, I just knew you'd break.." Her wrist flicked up, her strong arm adjusting your bottom half. The pressure on your clit only intensified once she realized the change in her angle led to finding your spot.

She had slowed down her movements to get a better look at you, and going only slower every time you averted your gaze. She looked down, your fluids soaking her palm. She let out an audible moan when she slowed down to take a better look at the white ring that was forming around her fingers that prodded you. If Sevika knew anything, you hated when she got under your skin, but how much does that matter when she's already gotten in your pants?

Sevika leans forward, peppering kisses across your chest, soothing the love bites she left behind on your neck, leading up to your ear as your body arches to feel her, yearning to be closer. Her breath ghosted over your ear, softly biting the skin. She slowly lifts her body so she can see the torment in your eyes.

"Look at me when you come, doll."

You cried out, tears welling up in your eyes. It was hard for you to form words, incoherent mumbles, and uneven breaths. You were only able to form a string of "fuck" as she abused your puffy clit. Your mind was clouded by lust and yet despite the knot in your stomach once again creating and becoming painful; You took it upon yourself to move your hips to meet the thrusts of her digits.

Sevika clicked her tongue before removing her fingers from your cunt, your remnants coating her fingers and desk. She backs away and turns away from you, wandering off to a dark corner of the office. A loud groan of frustration falls from your lips. Despite your body being pushed to its limits, you felt you could come for her once more than the last. You couldn't remember the last time anyone has fucked you that good, or if anyone even has until she strolled along.

"Following the rules seems to be a tough concept for you."

"You're such an ass" you sneer, sitting up. Your partner seemed to have stopped entertaining you, your hands finding their way to your pussy, frantically searching for its release. Much to your dismay, Sevika was not far away enough to not hear the cries of your pussy.

"I didn't say you could touch yourself."

"Not like you're doing it", you heave. A strong hand had taken hold of yours, halting your movements. You had been too busy trying to chase another orgasm, you hadn't realized Sevika's strap-on was excited to greet you― a thin layer of lube covering it. As prepped as you were, neither of you doubted you took whatever she gave you.

Sevika's stature was much larger than the average woman's, and she could tell how much you enjoyed feeling small under her with every moment she took to hover over you. While her mechanical arm held you up, firmly grasping your ass, the sharp metal, left small scratches on your backside, while her other hand ghosted over your thigh, her orbs remaining on yours. Your bottom lip stuck between your teeth to stifle a moan. You didn't think you'd become much weaker under her than you did at that moment.

Sevika had you right where she wanted you.

You both leaned forward, your chests heaving against each other, and were enveloped in what would be your first kiss. You were messy, and she adored you. Her tongue quickly found its way into your mouth, your lips softly suckling on the flesh as your hips started to grind against her, craving for Sevika to use her toy. She quickly took that into account, but she still had a sliver of pettiness within her.

"Sev..." drawls from your lips. Your only support is your arms upon Silco's desk as Sevika has her bionic arm grasping under you, her other hand wrapped around your neck, forcing you to look at her as she slowly inserts herself inside. Despite your slick being noticeably scattered across Sevika's hands and Silco's desk, you couldn't remember the last time you had something so big inside you. She pushed further, her thumb caressing your cheek, still holding your neck to see you lose any form of restraint you have left.

Sevika had finally removed her hand from your neck, retreating back to your breasts, pinching your nipples between her fingers. Once her length bottomed out, a gasp forced out of you from the sudden probe. Sevika grunts, your weight causing the friction against her clit. Your head flung back, white was the only thing you could see. You could feel the head of her strap probe at your spot once again.

"So fucking sexy...you're mine aren't you?"

You weakly moaned out a yes, too fucked out to even think of a witty comeback. Seeing you this fucked out was a dream before her eyes. Ever since she saw you catch a glimpse of her animosity at the brothel, she had only wondered how much of a beating you could take when she took you to pound town. She placed both of her hands on your hips, a grasp so powerful, that you were more than sure they would leave marks more than she already has.

You felt her hips rut against you, the guttural moan that erupted from your throat felt almost embarrassing. It was unfortunate for you that this was the calm before the storm. Still, Sevika searched your eyes before escalating.

She placed her hand on your stomach, where you could feel her with every thrust, you felt the knot forming faster than you'd had hoped. Your legs had begun to shake, tears prickling at your cheeks once again after Sevika's thumb applies pressure to your clit for the umpteenth time. You felt her bionic arm exert a warm sensation beneath you, only heightening your sensitivity.

"I thought you said you could take it? Be a good little bitch like I told you to."

The grip she had on your hips only tightened, the fervor in her ruts only reaching desperate heights, chasing her own orgasm. Seeing you coming undone like this was heavenly, and she'll never let you live this down.

The sweat beads formed on your forehead, and your body felt like it was on fire. You were reaching the edge, your hips quickly finding Sevika's rhythm, eager to reach ecstasy with her. Your hand intertwined with hers, your gaze never leaving her orbs as you witnessed her coming undone.

She didn't need to be told much else, as you hadn't been able to form coherent sentences after your first nut.

"ah..Sev― I'm gonna"

"Fucking do it", she commands, landing another bite on your neck as you both reached your climax. Her hips hadn't shown any signs of stopping, but her intensity decreased as she guided you through your orgasm.

You were already thinking about the next time she would tear your shit up like this. I think the passions you shared would only be the beginning of a unique relationship.

"Thaaaat's it baby..", she coos, landing kisses on your temple before placing a final one on your lips again. You both moaned at the sight of the aftermath, slowly pulling herself out of you. Her strap coated in your juices, your chest rising, a small chuckle leaving your lips admiring the mess you made. Sevika cackles weakly. She was still working on catching her breath from your physical activity.

Sevika's bionic arm squeaks, some steam erupting from the device. It seems like her new adjustments cause some overheating when exerted too much.

"I can take care of that", you motion toward her arm, slowly walking over to your toolbox, careful not to embarrass yourself from the short distance to acquire your items. From your peripheral, you could see Sevika's smirk, taking amusement from watching you struggle to make it. You finally make it, picking up the heavy box. Sevika took it upon herself to carry you back over to the chair across from the desk.

You took some time to gather yourself while Sevika cleaned up the desk, cautious to make it look as if nothing had taken place moments prior.

Afterward, she plopped next to you, putting her arm on display as you removed her vials.

Despite her ruining you just minutes prior, an awkward silence fell between the two of you. While it started rough, the displays of affection made it feel as if there was something else to explore further.

"Soo..." you start. You could feel her gaze upon you, likely wondering the same thing.

"I'd like to think whatever this is may be worth exploring."

Even if it remained this way, you wouldn't mind, but the moments when you both could hold a conversation, there was something else lingering in the air.

Sevika didn't know how to feel― this was beyond lust, but she didn't want to put other labels on it unless she knew for sure.

"I wouldn't mind exploring this with you", she admits, her hand caressing your thigh, your muscles loosen after the assurance from her, continuing to fix her arm. A small smile forms on your lips, and Sevika follows, averting your gaze. You were eager to tease her again, but that wasn't until Silco walked through the door.

The both of you looked in his direction. While his room looked the same as he left it, he couldn't ignore the stench that invaded his nostrils, including the state of your clothing, the only thing covering you being her cloak. You both felt the glares on you, his teeth gritting through his words of frustration.

"Fucking degenerates.."

― turquoizxe