#a while before this thread even started actually))

[smahell]

A while ago I found an interesting Reddit thread about the VA’s/ Solmares decision about hiring the obey VA’s

https://www.reddit.com/r/obeyme/s/K8OuEEfdXq

Even though I knew they weren’t popular VA’s or had many/ any works I didn’t think they came from a radio host agency and I’ve been thinking about it for a while ever since

It’s not exactly directly related to the VA’s but what’s your take/ speculation on why Solmare decided to hire VA’s from radio agencies over seiyuu agencies?

I’ve read a bunch of replies on the thread but I think it’d be interesting to have more takes on it

You can answer this only if you’d like to, though! But I’m pretty interested in it and um this is the first blog I think of when I think about asking a question about obey me VA’s (; ´ v `)

thank you so much anon! i'd love to answer your question!

I've seen this thread like, a million times when doing my own personal research about the voice actors, but I don't think I've ever questioned why they got hired in the first place. Finding out that they weren't even professional voice actors in the first place was, well, pretty surprising.. As such lively and entertaining characters they are, I didn't really expect most of them to be invested so much in radio..

However, if you look deeper into some of the voice actors, you can find that some of them (some notable ones include Kada, Sumi and Onishi) have been involved in stage productions and acting! Take a video of Kada Satoshi acting on stage!

(untranslated, of course, but acting doesn't need the boundary of language anyways; look at him go!)

And check this! A video of Sumi and his own acting troupe!

I completely disagree with the statements saying that they were "cheaper to pay" because wouldn't it be just common sense that you should get paid the same as your peers because you're doing the same vocal work? (Besides, I'm not sure how wages should work in Japan but I do think that for the time, skill and patience they deliver behind the microphone that they deserve to get paid as much as even the most prolific voice actors.. they're doing the same work utilizing the same skill...). Most¹ of them have previous experience in stage plays, where many voice actors actually started before moving into individually voice acting.

Genuinely, I think the reason why they got hired is pictured clearly within one of the comments within the thread: people from radio have great voices and big personalities. Watch an episode of Otaku FM, or even Boys in the House, and watch how people from a radio agency can still engage you as much as a regular variety TV show. Listen to how smooth and intertwined segments are, watch how conversation flows so naturally and freely from their microphones and out of your speakers. These are talented people, for god's sake, and I think if you look at them as "cheaper alternatives to the real thing" you are not only discrediting the work that they've done for Obey Me! for past five years, but you view them and their jobs as so replaceable when in fact, if other people voiced these lovable characters, they may have a completely different feel to them. Listen to the TTWF event (fully voice acted, BY THE WAY) and ignore the fact that they may have come from a radio company and watch your favs come to life; it's one of the best for a reason.

Solmare's decision to hire local talents will always ring personally with me as it allowed them to further their careers and build their own personal fanbases.

¹ Yes, Miura Ayme is an outlier, but as is first professional vocal performance Ayme has done an amazing job.

thank you for wanting to hear this ramble, lol... and regarding the end of your ask and being the "first blog I think of when I think about asking a question about obey me vas", i am soooo flattered ^^, i never really thought of myself as the "voice actor guy" but this sort of made my day

^^^^^ like reallyyy made my day :D mini tangent but thank you everyone for your support, i thought i was sorta yelling into the voice with my rambles but jesus christ this blog and the people that surround it make me happy.

[twistedheartsclub]

The Alphas Claim Male X Female Reader #2

⚠️ Non-consent • Psychological Manipulation • Obsession • Power Imbalance • Forced Mating • Emotional Trauma • Predatory Behavior • Dark Werewolf Lore • Pack Mentality • Control & Possession

PART ONE HERE

The living room was warm and bright, scattered with soft pillows and low music playing from a speaker tucked somewhere behind a plant. Half a dozen women lounged with drinks—pack mothers, older cousins, and visiting relatives. They greeted her with cheers and exaggerated claps.

“There she is!”

“Took her long enough.”

“Miss Romance Novel finally joins us!”

A glass was placed into her hand before she even sat down—sweet red wine, slightly chilled.

“So,” one of the women leaned forward, eyes twinkling, “we heard you’re engaged.”

Y/N blushed, holding up her left hand, the diamond catching the light.

The women gasped in delight.

“You didn’t tell us it was that pretty!”

“Do we get to come to the wedding or are we just summer flings to you?”

Y/N laughed, cheeks warm. “Of course you’re invited. I’d never survive the planning without you.”

“When is it?”

“We haven’t set a date yet,” she admitted. “He’s away for work at the moment.”

“Mmm,” Isela said, refilling her glass. “So you’re free right now.”

Y/N grinned. “Temporarily.”

Then someone changed the subject with a sly smile. “And what about children?”

Y/N blinked. “What about them?”

“Oh come on, you’re engaged. That’s the next question.”

Y/N hesitated, then gave a soft smile. “He wants kids. A big family, actually.”

“Awwww!”

“And you?”

She blushed deeper. “I think I do too. The idea of raising them… staying home with them while they’re little… it’s not something I ever imagined for myself, but lately... it sounds nice.”

The women hummed in agreement—some nodding, others launching into their own stories.

“You’ll want to start soon,” one said, swirling her glass. “Best to get the body used to it early.”

“First one’s the hardest. After that they just slide out,” someone added, laughing.

Y/N choked on her sip of wine, laughing with them, utterly unprepared for how casual childbirth sounded in this house.

“He said once the kids are in school, I can go back to work if I want,” Y/N added, her voice softer now. “But he wants me home with them, especially at first.”

The women nodded—some with approval. Others more thoughtfully.

“Sounds like he wants a sweet, quiet life,” Isela said, almost too gently.

Y/N nodded, looking down at her glass. “He’s good. He wants to give me something stable.”

The air shifted slightly.

Soft.

But behind them—unnoticed—Caelum stood in the shadowed hallway.

Watching.

Listening.\

His face was unreadable.

But the glass in his hand cracked.

And no one saw it but Marisol, standing behind him.

Her heart sank.

Because she knew that look.

That animal in her brother’s eyes.

Y/N wasn’t just a guest anymore.

She was something being circled.

And she didn’t even know she was bleeding.

Caelum’s POV

The moon was high and swollen with silver, dripping light between the pines like blood between teeth.

Their paws hit the forest floor in synchronized rhythm—six wolves, large and sleek, moving as one through the thickets. The world was sharp in this form. Cleaner. Real. Every heartbeat, every shift of wind, every tremor in the underbrush felt.

And beneath it all, a silent thread wove through their minds—the pack link.

::Three to the east, one younger buck. He’s lagging.::

That was Ruben.

::I see him,:: Caelum answered. His tone was cool. Commanding.

But beneath it, his wolf paced. Restless. Burning.

He hadn't shifted in days. He’d been watching. Smelling her in the house. Listening to her laughter echo down halls that used to be still. He saw her hands brush children’s hair, saw the imprint of a child’s head rest against her chest like it was their mother’s.

Like she was already someone’s.

And it boiled in him.

::You’ve been quiet tonight, Alpha,:: came a teasing tone.

::Don’t start,:: Caelum growled through the bond.

::She’s been here one week, and already you’re wound tighter than a snare trap,:: Liana purred, her wolf old and silver-striped but still fast. ::You should be thanking me.::

::You brought her into the house, knowing what it would do to me.::

::Of course I did,:: she said smugly. ::You’ve been circling her since spring. Growling at shadows. Ruining plates. Acting like a beast in a man’s skin.::

::It was for the children.::

::Mmm. You keep telling yourself that.::

They stalked lower, bodies low to the forest floor. The deer was near—its scent sharp, twitchy, afraid.

::She’s engaged,:: Marisol reminded tightly. Her wolf was fierce, sleek with muscle and control. ::She wears another man’s mark on her hand. You need to let her go.::

Caelum didn’t answer at first.

But then—

::He’s not here.::

The thought was cold.

::She is.::

::You’re playing with fire,:: Marisol snapped.

::I am fire,:: he replied. And it wasn’t a boast. It was truth. He was Alpha. He did not ask. He took. And the world bent for him.

::The moon doesn’t ask permission to rise,:: Liana added quietly. ::And wolves don’t wait for rings to be removed.::

They fell into silence.

Then—a rustle. A flash.

The buck.

It darted through the trees, muscles flexing, hooves kicking up dirt as it bounded over roots and ferns.

Ruben was first to lunge, cutting off its escape. The others flanked left and right, herding it, pressing in.

Caelum waited.

Eyes locked. Breath still.

The buck turned—met his gaze.

It knew.

Too late.

Caelum leapt.

Teeth sank into the deer’s throat, crushing windpipe and bone in one violent snap. The others followed—ripping, tearing, silencing.

The forest went still again.

And the buck’s eyes—so wide and terrified—lost their light.

As they stood over the body, blood wet on fur and teeth, the bond rippled again.

::She’s not yours,:: Marisol whispered, almost begging now.

Caelum’s mind burned with the scent of Y/N. Her voice. Her body. Her soft, blushing smile as she held a child and talked about making more.

::She is,:: he said, low and final. ::She just doesn’t know it yet.::

POV: Caelum

The summer heat pressed down like a heavy blanket, thick with the scent of pine, sun-warmed soil, and baked fruit. But here, surrounded by trees and stone, it was tolerable. Manageable. Still, the children ran wild through the shaded yard, limbs flailing, feet pounding against the grass as they screamed and laughed with unfiltered joy.

A birthday celebration.

One of the younger pups—Isela’s middle child—turned six today. Tables had been set outside beneath canvas shade, iced drinks and berry-stained cakes laid out, with gifts wrapped in tissue and twine. Colorful scarves hung from tree branches, fluttering like little flags of temporary peace.

But Caelum wasn’t watching the decorations.

He was watching her.

Y/N moved like the center of gravity.

Barefoot in the grass, her light skirt swaying just above her knees. A pale blouse tied loosely at the waist, sleeves rolled to the elbow. Her cheeks flushed with heat, curls pinned off her neck. Radiant didn’t even cover it—she glowed.

She laughed as she helped one child balance a tray of juice cups, knelt to fix another’s shoelace, brushed a sticky smear from Ines’s cheek with the same tender patience she had back in the classroom. Every gesture was soft. Thoughtful. Natural.

Liana was right.

She didn’t just belong here.

She fit.

The old wolf matriarch leaned over to him from her perch in a carved wooden chair, fanning herself with an embroidered napkin.

“She’d make a strong mother,” she said quietly.

“I’m aware,” Caelum muttered, not taking his eyes off Y/N.

“She keeps them calm. She even settled Marisol’s youngest into a nap last week. Haven’t seen that child go down without a fight since he was born.”

Caelum didn’t respond.

“She’s sweet. Teachable.”

That made his jaw twitch.

“She’s taken,” he growled.

Liana chuckled, low and amused. “Engaged is not married. And your problem, my boy, is that you’re not used to wanting something that doesn’t kneel when you snap.”

He didn’t dignify that with a reply.

But inside, his wolf paced.

Then Y/N’s voice rose, full of light. “Okay! Time for cake!”

The children whooped and scrambled toward the long table.

Caelum watched her clap and cheer with them, helping serve slices, dotting frosting on the tip of Ines’s nose and laughing when Leo tried to swipe his finger through the icing.

He turned to walk away—until she spoke again.

“And next week, my fiancé’s visiting!” she beamed, her voice drifting over the children’s chatter. “He said he’ll drive up Friday and stay for the weekend. I can’t wait.”

The words hit Caelum like stone to the chest.

Her smile. The way she said it.

How the excitement danced in her tone. How genuine it was.

He didn’t hear the rest.

Didn’t need to.

When he passed her near the porch—just as she turned to carry a plate of watermelon slices inside��he let the bitterness slip.

“Try not to tire yourself out playing pretend.”

She paused, startled. “What?”

He looked her over slowly—her flushed cheeks, sun-warmed collarbones, bare feet in the dirt. Every inch of her screamed fertile, soft, meant to be claimed.

“Some of us don’t believe the performance.”

Her smile wilted. Her lashes lowered.

She didn’t argue.

Didn’t defend herself.

She just bowed her head slightly, nodding once before slipping inside.

That obedience—that stillness—was worse than if she’d fought him.

It wasn’t fear.

It was surrender.

Even if she didn’t know it yet.

Caelum turned his head away, biting back the growl rising in his throat.

The sun beat down.

But it wasn’t the heat that made him burn.

Caelum’s POV

From the window on the second floor, Caelum stood motionless, one hand braced against the frame.

The sunlight poured in, soft and golden, but his gaze was cold steel—fixed on the driveway below.

Y/N was outside.

Her arms were wrapped tightly around him—a tall man in a pressed shirt and sunglasses, city-polished, with that easy, confident stance Caelum hated more than anything. The man pulled her close, kissed her forehead, then her lips.

Her lips.

Caelum’s vision blurred for a split second.

His wolf snarled—fiercely, violently—beneath the surface.

Tear him apart. Tear him limb from limb. Bite his throat. Show her who she belongs to.

But Caelum’s jaw clenched until it ached. His fingers curled into a fist at his side, nails biting into his own skin.

Control. Control.

He watched as Y/N smiled up at the man—his teeth on her, her body leaning in, like it was natural, like it was right—and then she grabbed her overnight bag and climbed into the passenger seat.

The car pulled away.

She didn’t look back.

Not once.

The house changed almost immediately.

By nightfall, the entire energy had shifted.

The children were loud again—too loud. Screaming. Bickering over toys. Running through the halls like they were feral.

Ines bit Leo hard enough to leave a mark.

Two of the omega boys got into a wrestling match that ended in a broken picture frame and a bloody nose.

One of the babies refused to sleep. Another child had a full-blown tantrum when asked to brush their teeth.

The house, once lulled into calm under Y/N’s presence, had turned to static.

Even the walls felt restless.

In the kitchen, Marisol threw her dishrag onto the counter with a sigh. “It’s like they’ve lost their rhythm.”

“They have,” Liana said without looking up from her tea.

“She’s only gone for the weekend,” Ruben offered carefully.

Liana’s gaze lifted to Caelum, who stood silent near the back door, eyes shadowed and sharp. He hadn’t said much since the car left the gravel drive.

His silence was loud. Menacing.

Marisol crossed her arms. “Your jaw’s been clenched for hours. Let it go before your teeth shatter.”

“She shouldn’t have left,” he muttered.

Marisol frowned. “You don’t own her.”

Liana didn’t speak.

She didn’t need to.

Her expression said enough: Yet.

Later that night, Caelum walked the perimeter of the property alone, barefoot in the grass, sweat beading at his temples as the heat clung to his skin.

He didn’t shift.

Didn’t hunt.

He just walked.

Pacing the edge of where her scent used to linger.

The porch. The garden path. The far side of the yard where she liked to sit and read. All of it felt wrong without her there. The house felt like it was breathing differently—off rhythm. Even the air was heavier.

He looked up at the stars.

Her absence was a wound.

And when she returned, he would make sure—

it never opened again.

The tires had barely kicked up gravel when her fiancé waved out the window and pulled off down the mountain road.

Y/N stood in the doorway, cheeks pink, hair still tousled from the open car window. Her overnight bag was slung over her shoulder, a little flower tucked behind her ear—one he’d given her during their walk by the lake. She was glowing, soft, and smiling as she stepped into the cool, familiar air of the house.

“Hello?” she called gently.

But the sound died in her throat.

They were all there.

Not just Marisol and Ruben—but Liana, Isela, three other women, a few of the older male pack members. Sitting. Waiting. Watching.

They weren’t speaking.

Just staring at her like she'd arrived late to her own trial.

Her smile wavered. “Is… something wrong?”

Marisol’s eyes caught hers—and they were already filled with guilt.

Y/N’s heart clenched. “What’s going on?”

She gently set her bag down, the silence around her too thick.

Then he appeared.

Caelum.

He emerged from the shadows behind the hallway arch—broad, tall, dark as thunder, eyes burning gold beneath the low light. His shoulders were tense. His jaw locked. His every step sounded like a warning.

He didn’t even greet her.

Just growled, low and sharp:

“You don’t leave this house again.”

Y/N blinked. The chill that ran down her spine was instant.

“I—what?” she asked, voice soft.

“You heard me,” he snapped, voice deeper now. “No more visits. No more weekends away. No more running off to him.”

“That wasn’t the agreement,” she replied gently. “I told Marisol—before I even said yes—that I’d leave on weekends if needed. I came back, didn’t I?”

“You left,” he snarled. “That’s the problem.”

She looked toward Marisol.

Nothing.

Then to Ruben.

Nothing.

Even the others—kind, chatty, sweet women who had poured her wine and asked about her wedding—stayed still. Silent.

No one moved.

He stepped closer.

She took a half step back.

“Caelum,” she whispered. “I don’t understand. What is this?”

“You don’t get to understand,” he said coldly. “You’re not here to choose.”

“I came to help—”

“You came and made everything better. You smiled, and the children listened. You held them like they were yours. You tamed this house like it belonged to you.”

His voice grew lower, more furious.

“And then you left to kiss another man with my scent still on your hands.”

Y/N’s breath caught. “That’s not fair—”

“It’s truth.”

He moved closer, and she instinctively looked around the room for help—but no one made a move.

His presence loomed.

His hunger cloaked the room like a stormcloud.

And still—she didn’t raise her voice.

Didn’t curse him.

Didn’t even tell him to back away.

She just dropped her gaze. Like always. Obedient. Soft.

And that—

That was when he knew.

He could take her.

And she’d let him.

Not because she wanted to—but because she wouldn’t fight him.

She was good.

Too good.

Breakable.

“I should’ve torn his throat out,” Caelum whispered, stepping into her space. “Let you see what real strength looks like. What a mate is supposed to be.”

His hand lifted.

Not cruel. Not violent.

Just slow, claiming—his fingers brushing up along her jaw, creasing her cheek.

Her skin flinched beneath the warmth of it.

But she didn’t pull away.

That made his chest ache with violent want.

Then—

“Enough,” Liana’s voice cut through the room like a silver blade.

The tension snapped.

Caelum’s hand dropped.

The air shifted with a sudden ease, false and sharp.

“Let the girl breathe,” Liana said with a wry smirk. “She’s barely through the door.”

Y/N blinked, like waking from a trance.

Marisol finally moved toward her, gently tugging her by the elbow.

“Come on,” she whispered. “Let’s get you something to drink.”

But as Y/N turned, she could feel it.

Caelum’s eyes on her back.

Like a predator who knew his prey would never really escape.

The mountain air was sweet with pine and late-summer blooms. Birds chirped softly from the trees above as Y/N walked the winding path behind the estate with Marisol and three of the other women—Isela, Flor, and Dalia. The ground was soft beneath their feet, worn smooth by generations of footsteps. Somewhere in the distance, water babbled over rocks, unseen but ever present.

It should have been peaceful.

It usually was.

But today, Y/N’s heart wouldn’t settle.

“I just… I don’t get it,” she said at last, voice tighter than she intended. “I came here to help with the children. For the summer. That’s it. I didn’t think it would—change everything.”

Marisol glanced at her sidelong but didn’t speak.

Y/N slowed her pace, twisting the flower ring she’d picked from a bush earlier, fingers restless. “I feel like I’m walking through someone else’s life. I sleep in a stranger’s house, teach children who look at me like I’m their mother, and now... I’m not even sure I’m allowed to leave.”

“You’re not a prisoner, Y/N,” Isela said gently, though her tone held something more.

“Then why does it feel like one?” she whispered.

They reached the clearing, an old bench tucked under a tree, worn smooth by sun and time. The women sat. Y/N remained standing.

Finally, Flor sighed, her voice low and serious.

“You don’t understand, Y/N. Because you’re not one of us.”

Y/N blinked. “I’ve never pretended to be.”

“No,” Flor said, “but that doesn’t change what you’ve walked into.”

Marisol reached out, tugging gently on Y/N’s wrist until she sat beside her. “You’ve been good to our children. Kind. Patient. You make this place better just by being in it.”

Y/N smiled, but it faltered. “But that’s not enough, is it?”

Silence.

Dalia finally broke it.

“You’ve stepped into a wolf’s den,” she said, voice laced with meaning. “You don’t understand what that means. When a wolf recognizes what’s his, there’s no turning back.”

Y/N blinked. Her mouth went dry. “His?”

Marisol looked down. “Caelum.”

Y/N swallowed. “No. No—he’s just intense. Harsh. I didn’t even think he liked me, not really.”

“His wolf doesn’t like anything,” Isela muttered. “Except you.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Y/N protested, but her voice was softer now. “He’s barely spoken to me since I got here. And when he does, he’s cold. Angry.”

“That is his version of liking you,” Marisol said.

Y/N shook her head, eyes shining now. “It doesn’t matter. I’m getting married to someone else. He loves me. He’s—he’s good. And we have a plan. A life.”

The women were quiet.

But not because they disagreed.

Because they were mourning her.

“You don’t understand,” Flor said gently. “Wolves don’t let go once they choose. Not if they’ve recognized something as theirs.”

Y/N’s voice cracked. “I’m not a possession.”

“No. You’re not.” Marisol reached over, tucking a strand of Y/N’s hair behind her ear. “But his instincts don’t care about human laws. Or wedding rings.”

Y/N’s eyes burned.

“He can’t just… take me,” she said, but even she didn’t believe it fully.

And they didn’t answer.

Instead, Isela whispered, “He will.”

Dalia’s voice followed, hushed but honest. “And once he does, you’ll never leave this mountain again.”

Y/N stared at the ground.

The wind picked up, cool against the back of her neck, and for the first time since she arrived, she realized how quiet the forest had become. No birdsong. No water.

Just silence.

Heavy, waiting.

Her voice came out small. “I thought I was doing something good. That I was helping.”

“You were,” Marisol whispered. “And that’s why he’s going to keep you.”

Y/N stood suddenly. “I have to get back. The twins asked me to finish the story before bed.”

She didn’t wait for their responses. She just turned, walking quickly down the path, away from the truth.

But as the women watched her go, none of them followed.

Because they all knew—

She wouldn’t leave this mountain again.

Not as herself.

Not as she was.

And when he finally claimed her, there would be no softness left to escape with.

Only the wolf.

The click of the lock echoed louder than it should have.

Y/N stood in the middle of the room, her hands trembling slightly as she zipped up her suitcase and set it by the foot of the bed. Her heart was racing—not wildly, but in that slow, steady dread that lingers under the skin.

She had tried three times to send a message.

Each time, it failed.

“Call Failed.”

“Message Not Delivered.”

“Try Again Later.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at her phone screen, the soft blue light illuminating her pale fingers. She couldn’t stop picturing her fiancé’s face—his steady, reassuring voice, the comfort of being known, normal. Far from this place.

Far from him.

She hadn’t cried. Not yet. But her eyes stung. Her jaw ached from clenching it too long. She didn’t undress. Just curled under the blanket in her clothes, suitcase ready, door locked, phone pressed to her chest like it might suddenly come alive and save her.

She didn’t sleep.

Not really.

Just drifted, breath shallow, every creak of the floorboards outside her door tightening her chest.

And somewhere, deep down, she knew—

That door wouldn’t stop him.

Not when he decided to come.

Caelum’s POV

He stood at the edge of the woods, bare-chested, sweat slicking down his back from the sparring match he’d just broken up between two young betas. His knuckles were bruised, his pulse steady—but his mind was far from calm.

The house breathed behind him.

She was inside it. Packing. Trembling. Trying to run.

He could smell her fear through the walls.

It thrilled him. It disgusted him. It made him ache.

She still thought this was about choice.

Still thought she could pick up a bag and walk back to a world that had never deserved her.

His wolf paced beneath his skin, restless and growling, demanding what was owed. She is yours. Why are you waiting? Why are you letting her choose when wolves do not beg?

He turned and headed back toward the house, his body moving on instinct alone, every inch of him a tightly wound spring.

When he reached the back steps, Liana, Marisol, and Ruben were seated around the fire pit, voices low, posture tense.

They looked up when he approached.

“You spoke to her,” Liana said, not a question.

“She’s packing,” he said flatly.

Marisol stiffened. “Let her go.”

“No.”

“Caelum—”

“She doesn’t belong with him,” he growled, pacing the edge of the firelight. “He doesn't know her. He didn't see her raise our children. He didn't see how she carries them on her hip and tells them stories like they’re hers. She is ours. She belongs here.”

“With us,” Ruben corrected gently. “Not just you.”

Caelum shot him a sharp look, but Ruben didn’t flinch.

“She is part of what calmed this house,” he continued. “But if you try to force her—”

“She won’t fight,” Caelum said, voice rough, low, filled with something dangerous.

That made Marisol flinch.

Liana, however, simply nodded. “Because her heart’s soft. Not because she wants it.”

“That’s not the same as love, Caelum,” Marisol said quietly.

He didn’t answer. Because he didn’t care.

Because the wolf inside him was no longer asking for love.

It was demanding possession.

“She came to us,” Liana said at last. “She fed our children. She brought peace to this house. You think fate does that for no reason?”

Marisol’s voice broke. “She’s not one of us. Not yet. If you take her, Caelum—really take her—she won’t be able to go back.”

“She never will,” he said.

Not as a wife.

Not as a teacher.

Not as herself.

Only as his.

Liana looked at him, her gaze sharp and ancient. “Then you better do it clean. Do it quiet. And if you break her in the taking, Caelum—”

“She’ll break softer than most,” he murmured.

Marisol turned her face away.

Ruben stood slowly and walked into the house.

Liana remained by the fire, watching the flames dance.

Caelum didn’t wait for permission.

He was done waiting.

And upstairs…

the lock on her door would not save her.

The house was quiet.

Too quiet.

The kind of silence that felt heavy in the air, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.

It was well past midnight when Y/N eased the door open and slipped out into the backyard, the night warm against her skin. The moon was swollen overhead, casting silver across the trees, the grass, the stones beneath her feet. She walked quickly, glancing over her shoulder, holding her phone tight in her palm like a lifeline.

One bar.

She swallowed hard. Her fingers shook as she typed.

please call me

i love you

i’m scared

She hit send.

The little bubble spun.

“Trying to escape again, little dove?”

Her breath caught in her throat.

The voice came from the shadows—low, rough, dark with fury.

She spun, eyes wide, shoving her phone behind her back like a guilty child.

But it was too late.

Caelum was already walking toward her.

He stepped out from beneath the trees, shirtless, chest rising and falling in slow, controlled breaths, like he’d been running—or waiting. His eyes were gold in the moonlight. Bright. Burning.

“Give it to me.”

“C-Caelum,” she stammered, backing a step.

“I said—give it.”

Her fingers trembled. She tried to hide the phone again, but he was already on her—too fast, too strong.

His hand snapped out, snatching the device from her hand. He didn’t even need to unlock it. The message was still glowing on the screen.

please call me

i love you

His breath turned sharp.

His eyes darkened.

“You love him?” he asked, voice nearly a snarl.

She flinched. “He’s my fiancé—”

“Don’t say that word.”

He stared at the message like it had personally offended him. His nostrils flared. His jaw flexed. His fingers curled tighter around the phone—until he threw it, hard, into the grass.

It disappeared into the dark.

Y/N gasped. “Don’t—!”

But before she could take a step toward it, he was there, grabbing her wrist, pulling her close, his grip iron.

“You think you can run from me?” he growled.

“I wasn’t—I just wanted to talk to—”

“To him? The man who leaves you alone for weeks? The one who didn’t even stay to walk you in?” His voice dripped contempt. “He’s not here. I am.”

She shook her head. “Please don’t do this—”

But her voice broke as he slammed his mouth against hers.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was a claim.

His other hand tangled in her hair, holding her still as he kissed her with bruising force, like he wanted to erase every memory of another man from her lips. Her hands pushed weakly against his chest, but he didn’t move.

Her protests were soft.

Her tears were salt between their mouths.

And her obedience—her stillness—was the final thing that unraveled him.

He tore his lips from hers only long enough to snarl against her skin:

“Mine.”

Not a question.

Not a hope.

A sentence.

A sentence she would not escape.

Her heart beat like thunder in her chest.

It all happened so fast.

One moment his mouth was crashing into hers, and the next—his hand was over her lips, cutting off her breath and her scream as he dragged her bodily across the yard and into the house.

“Stop fighting me,” Caelum hissed, breath ragged with fury and desire. “You’re mine. This was always going to happen.”

“No,” she tried to scream into his palm, but it came out a muffled cry.

She twisted in his grip, legs kicking, heels scraping the floorboards as he shouldered the back door open and hauled her down the hallway—toward his bedroom.

The scent of pine and his cologne suffocated her senses as the door slammed shut behind them. Her bare feet scrambled across the floor, nightgown twisted and clinging to her legs. She managed to plant one good kick against his shin—but it didn’t stop him.

His eyes were glowing now, wild and gold.

Predator.

“Don’t make me hurt you,” he warned darkly, slamming her back into the edge of the bed. “You were always meant to be mine.”

Her trembling fingers grasped for anything—anything at all—and when he leaned too close, she did the only thing she could.

She bit him.

Hard.

Right into the muscle of his hand.

He roared—a deep, primal, inhuman sound—and shoved her with such force she fell backward onto the bed, breath knocked from her lungs. Blood dripped from his hand as he snarled down at her.

That sound, that look—was all she needed.

Adrenaline surged.

She scrambled from the bed, tearing the nightgown in the process, and bolted for the door. Her scream finally burst free, piercing the night.

He lunged after her—but his claws scratched down her shoulder as she slipped past, crying out again in pain and fear.

She didn’t stop.

Didn’t look back.

She ran.

Through the hall. Out the back door. Into the forest.

Barefoot. Bleeding. Terrified.

Behind her, lights in the house flared on.

Doors opened.

Voices shouted.

“What’s happening?!”

“Who screamed?!”

She heard Marisol scream her name. Ruben call for help. Liana’s voice like a knife in the dark.

And over it all—his voice.

“Don’t let her leave these woods. Bring her back. Now.”

Footsteps thundered behind her.

The pack was moving.

And Caelum—faster than all of them—was following the scent of her blood.

She ran until her legs gave out.

Branches tore at her arms, roots snagged her ankles, but still—she ran. Blind, barefoot, bleeding, she pushed herself into the deep of the forest. The world around her had become shadows and breathless panic.

And behind her—

they came.

Not as people.

Not anymore.

They were wolves now.

Large, fast, whisper-quiet despite their size, slipping through the trees like smoke. She could hear their paws against the ground—heavy, deliberate, teasing. She didn’t understand at first. Why weren’t they catching her? Why didn’t they just stop her?

Because they didn’t need to.

She was already surrounded.

She collapsed near a clearing, lungs burning, heart slamming in her throat. The trees circled her like prison bars, and then—she heard them.

Growls.

Not feral. Not angry.

Amused.

Cruel.

They circled her in a slow, almost mocking rhythm. Massive wolves, pale-eyed in the dark, shapes shifting behind leaves and trunks. She turned in a full circle, panting, unable to tell them apart. Which one was Ruben? Was that Marisol, or Liana? She called out—

“Please—please, stop—”

But no one came forward.

Only in her head, a voice echoed.

Marisol.

"Let her go, Caelum. This isn’t the way—”

Another voice interrupted, colder, final.

Liana.

"It’s too late. She’s already part of us. She must be claimed—for the pack."

Y/N fell to her knees, tears stinging her face.

She didn’t hear him coming.

She felt it—

a force, sudden and brutal, slamming into her back.

The world tilted. The air left her lungs. She hit the forest floor with a cry, crushed beneath weight and instinct.

A massive black wolf stood over her—eyes glowing, breath hot against her skin. He was panting, his chest heaving, the sound of possession deep in his throat.

Then—

He shifted.

The wolf disappeared.

And in its place, crouched over her, Caelum.

Naked. Human. Unashamed.

His skin steamed in the night air, muscles taut, eyes wild and unreadable.

She tried to scramble backward, legs kicking weakly against the dirt—but his hand caught her wrist. Then her hip. He forced her onto her back.

Around them, the other wolves closed in, forming a tight circle of bodies and glowing eyes. Silent witnesses. Watchful. Complicit.

Y/N couldn’t breathe.

She looked up at him, face streaked with tears.

“I don’t want this,” she whispered.

His expression twisted—part anguish, part hunger.

“You were never going to have a choice.”

He leaned in.

And the forest closed around her.

She didn’t remember the exact second it happened.

One moment she was trying to scream, the next—it caught in her throat and vanished. Like the forest itself swallowed it. Like the night was complicit.

The trees loomed above, crooked and unmoved. The circle of wolves didn’t shift. They stood, massive and silent, like ancient statues carved from bone and breath. Their eyes glowed. Some silver. Some gold. All cold.

And in the center of them all—her.

Her back against the earth, skirt torn, chest rising in short, panicked gasps as his weight pressed down. Her wrists pinned.

Caelum.

Human now. But not man.

Wolf.

The feel of his skin was searing. Hot. Overpowering. She tried to buck, once—but he snarled above her, and the sound paralyzed her more than any hand could.

“I waited,” he growled into her neck. “I gave you time. I warned you.”

Her mind was fraying at the edges. This couldn’t be real. This wasn’t happening. She wasn’t really on the forest floor—not like this, not with wolves watching, not with her heart breaking open in her chest.

Her mouth opened to scream again, but the noise never came.

Because that was when she saw her.

A wolf—white as ash, eyes wet and glowing.

Marisol.

Y/N didn’t know how she knew. But she did.

Their eyes locked.

And then slowly, with deliberate, aching grief, Marisol closed hers.

Looked away.

Y/N’s body went still.

Her eyes, wide and glassy, stared past the treetops now—unseeing, unblinking.

She stopped trying to fight.

Stopped trying to flee.

It didn’t matter anymore.

He was inside her.

He had taken what he wanted.

Her limbs trembled, but she didn’t resist. She couldn’t. Her mind floated somewhere far away—above the trees, above the mountain, where no one could hurt her. Where the weight on her body couldn’t pin her down anymore.

The wolves around them remained quiet.

Not out of shame.

Out of ritual.

Out of reverence.

Because she was being claimed.

And when it was done—

When her body was marked with claw and sweat and earth—

He pressed his face to her throat, inhaling deeply, like she belonged to him now in every way.

Because she did.

@cutelittlesugarfairy @lilyalone @alebrasil0101 @amanduhh1998 @bananaasfordewin @rachfart @hopingtoclearmedschool

[sturniolo04]

YN Sturniolo, a sophomore and younger sister to the well-known Sturniolo triplets, overhears cruel rumors at school but about her relationship with her junior boyfriend, Nathan Doe. and he find her crying and helps her calm down .

A/n:  ofc! I put a little spin on it and made it into a little blurb! I absolutely love these requests I have coming in, you guys are amazing!! I hope you love it! And remember to leave requests in my inbox! If you don’t like the pre added name in my works you can simply put in your own or don’t read it, it up to you :)-Charli

dividers: @issysh3ll

Being the younger sister of the triplets which were your brothers had some major great things that came along. I mean their friends were kind of your friends. So when you and Nate became close and started dating you really didnt think twice about what could go wrong.

You of course didnt factor in the fact that Nate was a year older than you making him a junior in highschool while you were a sophomore. That age difference allowed alot of people to make assumption about the realtionship as a whole.

It was supposed to be a normal friday in school last day of the week before the weekend. You didnt think that you would over hear a bun h girls in you grade calling you 'easy' and a 'slut.'

At first ignoring it seemed to work but as you got closer towards the last couple of passign periods of the day it got worse.

"oh my god there is no way they are actually together he like has to be in it because she puts out"

a random girl in the back of the class whispers a few feet away. The truth was you and Nate have never had sex so there was no way what they were saying was true butyour brain was telling you something completely different.

You scurried off to an empty classroom once the bell rang singalling that school was over, bawling your eyes out. How could they say something like that they didnt even know you or nate and they geuninely believed what they were saying which made it all worse when you thought about how many others might say and believe the same thing.

"hey you ready to head to the house since i know you and sis are wanting to hangout"

matt asks nate as they all met up by his locker for him to grab the jeep keys.

"yeah i just cant find her i saw her at lunch and then walked her to her last class but havent seen her since"

nate states shurgging his shoulders kind of worried.

"thats weird did you check by her locker"

nick asks as Nate simple nods his head 'yes'

"maybe she went to the bathroom then"

chris suggests.

"maybe i will look there and wait for her you guys can go out to the car"

nate states as they all nod and begin to bhead to the parking lot.

Nate walked his way to the bathrooms calling out your name to see if you were even in there but of course you werent.

"where could she be this school isnt that fucking big"

nate mumbles to himself. Nate stops in the middle of the hallway hearing muffled sob from a random class next to the bathrooms. Turning on his heels he follwoed the soun walking into the classroom to find you tucked in the corner by a bookshelf crying.

"baby"

nate quietly coos out making his way over to you sitting in front of you running comforting hands along your legs that were tucked into you chest. You continued to cry not bringing yourself to have response back.

"what happened talk to me"

nate softly asks you as you lfit your head up slowly eyes puffy from how long and hard you had been crying.

"girls are mean nate"

you mumble shakily out.

"what did they say"

nate asks.

"they said you were only with me because im easy"

you trails off.

"they are calling me a slut saying that you also just with me still because they think that i put out good"

you shakily let out.

"baby you know thats not true right"

nate asks you.

"yeah i know"

you huff out

"okay then let them talk you know and i know thats not the case okay"

nate states softly reaching his hand to thread through your hair softly. you leaning into his touch.

"yeah"

you sigh out.

"i got you princess always"

nate replies leaning over to place a sweet kiss to your forehead.

Taglist🗂️

@mintsturniolo @spicymuffins03 @dirtylittleheart333

@stayingstromboli @wh0resstuff @ksturnz @chaoswithus @emely9274 @ivysturnss @sturniolo-szn2 @lezleeferguson-120 @courta13 @chrepsi @lyingonchris

@tezzzzzzzz @babytomatoes21 @sturniolosymphony @zenithsturniolo @bernardsbendystraws @sturnioloslut101

[twinsarekeepers]

Reading some of the critiques of pjotv and now I know why y’all are on tumblr and not in the writer’s room 💀💀

[arolesbianism]

Finally fixating on some nugget relationships that aren't horrible for everyone I love friendship <3

[chillichats]

have you ever felt like the smartest most. bigbrained mf on the planet. im riding a high i havent felt since i got 100% on a philosophy essay in high school

i just came up with the most genius fucking sequence of events for my fic. GOD im so smart. im so smart that im GOD now.

it solves like four plot threads in my fic that ive been trying to find solutions for, and even ties them together in a tidy diamond knot

there i was, happily writing dialogue between characters after having finally figured out what in the scene was causing me writers block (it was the pov character. i had to switch to an entirely different pov character which meant i had to change the entire scene) and then one of the characters said something weird and i was like 'huh. that is weird. i wonder what would cause that to happen' AND THEN IT HIT ME!!! AND WITH EACH NEW REVELATION ANOTHER ONE FOLLOWED. and now i suddenly have a half finished tapestry on my hands instead of the bare bones of one

^^^^this is my brain after the first revelation

^^this is how i felt by the last one

in conclusion i forgot how much i fucking love writing and how much i love this fucking fic. my god. what a brilliant person i am....

[icharchivist]

I haven't played Dragon Age before btw but I think Veilguard looks really interesting. I hope I can get into it despite being a complete beginner

oh damn

I hope you can too.... from experiences while th DA games clearly follow heavily on one another, the fact each entry has it's own protagonist, they usually use it to really go "we can't assume you know what happened previously so here's a run down". I've seen people who never played the previous games get fully entranced by da2 or dai, and i have no doubt da4 will do the same on that regard, so if this is the way you want to go about it, i'm sure the game will be accomodating. and the game does look a hell of fun.

Personally i think it's a terrible idea but i'm also a person who has been living those past 8 years on the incredible high DAI's ending left me on with its major plot twist that literally changed everything, all while actually having been set up for all 3 games that going back to any of the prev game is a treat in term of treasure hunts of how "everything was there all along, we just didn't know any better" and genuinely i'd be saddened by people being introduced by the twist /first/ when the games have set this beauty up in 3 games.

The current promo cycle revealed also very early 20mins of the gameplay (not the very beginning and it skips around on a few scenes, but it's basically huge part of the prologue), and they will throw you into it right away (and there's no way it won't spoil the prev game, like, at all lmao), which is... so exciting as a long time fan, but is going to be a lot of biased exposition dump too.

("biased" bc the person who's going to fill you in on the situation has a history with the character it's about as well and the chara in question is so incredibly built through all of DAI and is such a nuanced, interresting character, that describing him in a few sentences is. very likely to get you the wrong idea about him. *mumbles* not like playing DAI has ever stopped people from being wrong about him, but,)

(Because yeah also 2 major characters/companions from da2 and DAI have been confirmed to coming back, as well as one of the most detailled secondary characters from DAI becoming a companion in DA4, so there's a lot of history there. The concept arts also teased a lot of returns from possible DAO, DA2 and DAI characters as well.

Not to mention they also confirmed the protagonist of DAI is coming back for a considerable portion of the game to "finish their story with [one of the major character of DAI (and possible romance option) that is going to be super important in DA4]" and has been mentioned to have a significant part to play/that sometimes you'll have to play them.)

But hey i'm talking from the place of someone who spent the last 8 years replaying the three games so often i have 700 hours on the first game, 600 on the second, and nearly 1500 hours on the third one (i've been replaying it those past few weeks, i'm 130 hours in and i am still "early" ish in the plot lmaoooo, and i already planned to replay the game when i'm done.), and have diven into everything the saga has to offer, from books to comics to movies to TV shows and webseries.

(speaking of TV shows, Dragon Age: Absolution on netflix was released a couple years ago and it was a great entry. It also has spoilers from DAI but if you decide to still going on with playing DA4 despite that, you can also watch DA:A to see if the universe compeels you to get deeper into. The show is short, 6/8 episodes? And the full cast (aside from Fairbanks being a big npc on dai and the cliffhanger refering to prev games as well) are new characters so the story can work as a stand alone thanks to that. and it's 2D animated, it's lovely)

point is i'm fully biased and the one thing that thrills me more than anything else about the game is really just rereading the pages of lore and seeing how they connect, so while to me the twist is 100% worth discovering in full, it's also just /my/ concern personally.

(and i can't even begin to touch on the specific high i've been on for the past month by the fact the trailer + gameplay showcase already went on to confirm theories i've been having for /years/ and there's a specific type of high that comes from "oh my god i picked that up!!! i did!!!! holy shit!!!" that would be lost on a new player who's introduced to it right away)

but it's MY way of experiencing DA and i think if you want to go into da4 first, esp since the other games are intimidating in some way (and god knows i've tried to drag ppl into DA and they all ditched early in DAO because DAO has some slow gameplay and some slow built before really hooking you in, so while i can't relate i know it's a deal breaker for some people when i say "no please start from the start"), i'm sure you'll still be on for a treat and everything.

If you end up getting into da4 without playing the other games, if you have questions my inbox is opened. I tend not to talk about DA much on main bc i can't stand the fandom esp on here and don't want them to find me at all (which is why every single of my completely unhinged rantings about DA have been confined to private conversation with friends and spamming my private twitter account i mostly have my IRLs on), but at least in term of lore clarification i should be able to help o7

anyway sorry lots of thoughts about it but i've been thinking about it a lot lately especially as i'm replaying DAI and i'm constantly crying just playing exploration phases because i'm just so enamoured with the way the game saga grew and rewards you for caring yaknow? and how as happy as i am people are interested in DA4 because i do want the game to do well and personally i feel in every fiber of my body that it's going to be a blast, but it saddens me to think the whole saga and the way the twists and turns affected one another will not be experienced fully by newcomers.

but again. ranting of a raving fan, and the game itself will surely ease you through it, so don't mind me too much about it.

I genuinely can't wait, my brain has been only DA for the past month.

happy it got your interest though <333

[lvrsfilm]

Lieutenant Simon Riley has a favorite nurse. She's sweet as sugar and polite, stitching up every bloodied soldier with gentle words and touches so light they barely feel the push and pull of the suturing. Appreciative, whether they return the soft conversation or not. He likes the way she floats around the medical wing, the way she smiles softly at everyone, even him. He's sure she knows what he's been doing, but she isn't stopping him, so he assumes she doesn't mind.

Every morning, without fail she gets up and comes into the wing in a different colored pair of scrubs. A new color every day, never the same one twice in a week. She sits at the front desk or at another station somewhere around and sips a can of ginger ale through a straw, pretending she doesn't see Simon's eyes on her while she works.

"Wha's it t'day?" Simon says gruffly as he approaches her, bypassing the other nurses almost completely. "Blackberry," She says softly, looking up at him and displaying the can. He takes a look at her scrubs, and of course, they're a dark purple, matching the can. It suits her, he thinks. Not an obnoxious shade, one that matches her skin tone well. "Good?" He asks her, like he always does. "Not my favorite,' she says as she sets the can back down. He hums lowly in reply as his eyes linger on the fabric of her scrubs, the way the cloth dips over her soft curves.

"You hurt?" She asks him cheekily, "Or just taken an interest in the medical field?" He grunts, pulling his eyes away from her scrubs and meeting her own. "Nae," He says lowly. "Just passing by," he adds, shoving his gloved hands into his pockets to keep from touching her. Or reaching out to smooth out a wrinkle in her clothing, or tucking some of her hair behind her ear.

He doesn't know what else to say, wanting to keep her attention on him. "Suits ya," He ends up saying softly, trying to sound as gruff as possible, but his eyes are trained on hers, his hazel eyes staring into her own irises. "The purple." He grumbles, cursing inwardly because why is he acting like he's never spoken to a pretty bird before?

"Thank you, Lieutenant." She says sweetly, a nice red tinting the apples of her cheeks. Simon shifts his weight from one foot to the other, unsure what to say next. Small talk hasn't ever been his strong suit, but walking away feels wrong, like cutting a thread that’s barely started to weave.

"You sure you're alright?" she asks again, but this time there's something softer in her voice. A note of genuine curiosity, her hands stilling on her keyboard. "You don’t usually linger this long."

He scowls—not at her, but at himself for being so obvious. "Dinnae know I was bein’ timed," he mutters, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets.

She chuckles, the sound low and warm. "You’re not. Just... noticed, is all." Her gaze flicks over him, quick and subtle, like she’s trying to piece him together without openly prying. She's familiar with Simon, knows how private he is. "Busy morning?"

He shrugs. "Same as usual. Training, Paperwork."

Her lips quirk upward in a faint smile, but there’s a shadow of worry behind her eyes. "Sounds like you could use a break."

"Aye," he says gruffly, a hand leaving his pocket to scratch at the base of his balaclava. "Reckon this is it."

Her smile softens at that, and for a moment, neither of them speaks. There’s a weight in the air, something unspoken that presses against his chest, and hers. He wants to say more, to keep her talking, but the words are tangled up in his throat.

"Y’know," she says after a pause, "I think purple might actually suit you too."

His brows furrow softly, squinting at her a bit behind the mask, and for a split second, he wonders if she’s teasing him. But her expression is sincere, her eyes glinting with a quiet kind of amusement.

"Me?" he scoffs, shaking his head. "Don’t reckon that’s in regulation."

She shrugs lightly, leaning against the desk. "Wouldn’t hurt to try. Maybe a mask or something. Just a little color." There’s a playful glint in her eyes now, and he feels the corner of his mouth twitch despite himself.

"Don’t think I’d pull it off," he mutters, though there’s a faint warmth creeping up his neck, hidden by the black fabric.

"I disagree," she says softly, and the weight of her gaze feels heavier than before. He looks at her then, really looks, and finds himself rooted to the spot.

"You always this cheeky with the patients?" he grumbles, trying to mask the fact that she’s gotten under his skin.

"Only the ones who hover around the nurses' station without a good excuse," she quips, her smile widening just a fraction. "But I don’t mind. You’re welcome anytime, Lieutenant."

His heart gives a traitorous thump at her words, but he swallows it down and grunts in reply. "I’ll hold ya to that," he says, his voice rougher than he intends.

As he turns to leave, her voice calls him back again, soft and lilting. "Oh, and Simon?"

He stops dead in his tracks. She’s never used his name before. Slowly, he turns his head to glance at her, his hazel eyes locking onto hers.

"Next time," she says, lifting her can of ginger ale in a mock toast, "you could at least bring one of these to share."

His lips twitch into something dangerously close to a smile. "Aye," he murmurs, his voice low. "I’ll see what I can do."

And as he walks out of the wing, he finds himself already wondering what color she’ll be wearing tomorrow.

[cuntyji]

will be writing this as a full-length fic soon…..amen!!

your relationship with nanami kento is the definition of ironic.

the office sees him as the perfect gentleman—level-headed, dependable, the very image of an ideal husband. meanwhile, you? you are the sweet, naive darling of the workplace, someone who gasps at crude jokes and stumbles over words when discussing anything remotely risqué. ‘a match made in heaven,’ they all say.

except, unbeknownst to your dear colleagues, you are a raging nymphomaniac with a one-track mind and a concerning dedication to testing nanami’s limits. 

and unbeknownst to you, nanami is a retired playboy who has seen, done, and invented things that would make your little schemes look like a child's game of seduction.

case #1

it’s after work, and you two are in the break room. you “accidentally” drop your pen, bending down waaaayyyy too slow to pick it up, making sure your skirt rides up just enough to be suggestive. when you glance up at nanami, expecting maybe a sharp inhale, a slight stutter, anything—he just averts his eyes politely and sighs. “you should be more careful,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee.

…excuse me? that was textbook seduction! and all he’s giving you is a life lesson? “right,” you mutter, picking up the pen and standing up. he hums in response, unbothered. internally, you are seething. externally, you giggle and twirl a strand of hair around your finger.

but, on the other side of things—inside nanami’s mind, sirens are blaring. red alert. red alert. his eyes are on the ceiling. his knuckles are white around his coffee cup. he is chanting sutras in his head because he is one wrong move away from pinning you against the fridge. but no. no. he will not be like his past self. he will not ruin your innocence with his past perversions. “next time, hold onto your pen properly,” he adds.

you nearly choke. that sounded so suggestive. was that suggestive? but his face remains neutral. damn it.

case #2

one morning, you decide to test the waters by “accidentally” wearing one of nanami’s dress shirts to breakfast. you stretch a little tooooo much while reaching for the honey, making sure the fabric lifts enough to tease him. “oh no,” you say, “i think i grabbed the wrong shirt! it’s so big on me, kento.” you add a slight pout for effect. nanami doesn’t even blink. “ah, my mistake for folding it with your laundry.”

you stare at him. that’s it? not even a pause before responding? no flustered reaction? what is this man made of?????

meanwhile, nanami is gripping his fork like it’s a stress ball. the sight of you in his shirt is awakening something inside him that he spent years suppressing. memories of past flings, of long nights and tangled sheets, of being far from the gentleman he’s known as today—no. no. he is different now. he is refined. composed. civilized. “you should eat before your food gets cold,” he adds, stuffing a piece of toast into his mouth before he can say something dangerous.

you slump in your chair. you’re starting to think your boyfriend might actually be asexual.

case #3

you opt for the classic “watch a horror movie together” trick. the goal? get scared and cling to nanami, maybe “accidentally” bury your face into his chest. standard. foolproof. except—

“you’re shaking,” nanami notes. you look up at him, eyes wide and watery. yes. yes. take the bait. comfort me, kento.

he reaches for the remote.

“huh?”

he turns the movie off.

“i don’t think this is good for you,” he says. “we should sleep.”

…you are speechless.

meanwhile, nanami is on his last thread of sanity. if you keep clutching his arm like that, he is going to fold. but he will not. he cannot. he must protect your innocence. even if it kills him.

case #4

one rainy evening, you come home completely drenched from forgetting your umbrella. hair dripping, clothes clinging to every curve—you look like the lead actress of a romcom who is about to get thoroughly ravished by the male lead. nanami, who opens the door for you, malfunctions. but on the outside? his face remains blank. “you should change before you catch a cold.”

what. the. fuck.

“c-can you lend me one of your shirts?” you try, shivering. “of course.” and with that, he disappears into the bedroom, returning with sweatpants and a hoodie.

A HOODIE.

where is the white button-up? the gray sweatpants?  you take the clothes in silence. this is your lowest point.

meanwhile, nanami is pouring himself a glass of ice water. his soul is escaping his body.

case #5

you decide to take a break from your antics. maybe you were reading into things too much. maybe nanami truly is just that reserved. maybe…maybe he just isn’t interested in you that way.

that night, nanami is in bed, scrolling through his phone when he stumbles upon a post:

"when a man truly loves you, he will control himself so he doesn't ruin you."

he stares at the post. then at the ceiling. “ah,” he mutters.

so that’s why.

in the darkness of your shared bedroom, you both lay in silence—both believing you’re the one restraining yourself for the sake of the other.

a tragic comedy. a love story with too many misunderstandings.

a match made in heaven.

[anonf1writer]

My Current Boyfriend — LN4 TikTok Trend

hiii i felt bad after giving such a boring answer to this ask so i wrote around 800 words to make it up to you, lovely anon!! it's not much and i wrote it in a rush but i hope you enjoy it! xx

────────────

“Wait!” Lando says as you’re about to start recording the video. 

Rolling your eyes, you stand straight and turn to him, watching him fix his curls for the fifteenth time in the last three minutes. 

“Baby you look fine! Can we please start?”

“I look like I just woke up from a nap on your lap.”

“That’s probably because you actually just woke up from a nap on my lap.” 

Lando doesn’t answer, he just keeps staring at his reflection on the kitchen window and threading his fingers through his hair. 

With a sigh and the tiniest smile, you turn back to your phone and lean down, placing both forearms on the counter and deciding this moment is as good as ever to start the prank on him. 

“What did you just say?”

“Hey guys!” You smile and wave as soon as you start recording. Lando is distracted, but still in the shot as he stands right behind you. “So, I’m at my current boyfriend’s kitchen right now,” you say casually and cheerfully, watching him freeze with both hands on his hair. Your smile grows bigger at that, but you don’t stop yourself, nor the prank, focusing on what you’re saying and trying your best to keep going. “And we’re about to make some pasta for—”

You press your lips together and swallow back your laughter, then tilt your head to watch him over your shoulder. 

Lando is already looking at you, his eyes wide and eyebrows high up on his forehead. 

“What?” you ask. 

“Did you just— Did you introduce me as your current boyfriend?”

“Yeah…”

“On camera,” he says. “You’re making a video. And you’re calling me your current boyfriend on camera.”

“Yes. Was I supposed to call you something different?”

He stares at you for a moment, then shakes his head and drops his arms. 

And just like that, he walks away. 

“Lando, c’mon!” you chuckle, a tiny part of you feeling guilty for making him feel bad enough to the point of storming out of the kitchen. “Come back here…”

He doesn’t answer, but he also doesn’t take too long to come back. In fact, you don’t even have time to stop the video before he’s already walking straight to you. A frown on his face and eyes on his phone.

“Current,” he says, pausing to clear his throat and then quickly speaking again. “Adjective. Belonging to the present time. Happening or being used or done now.”

He purses his lips and nods, as if processing the information he just read. 

You blink, and the smile on your face turns into a grin. You want to know where this is going, so there’s no way you’re going to interrupt him now. 

“I mean,” he says to his phone, and then, without even glancing at you, he looks up to the counter where the video is still recording and adds straight into the camera, “I guess I do belong to the present time. And I am being used right now. Although I don’t know what for. But I’m clearly being used for something here. And ok, it’s not happening right now, but I was being done earlier today when—”

“Oh my God!” You drop your jaw and laugh, stepping toward him and placing both hands on his mouth as soon as you realize what he was about to say. “Lando!”

Still ignoring you, he places his hands on your wrists and pulls them away from his mouth. 

“So yeah, I am the current boyfriend,” he says to the camera, hugging you while also forcing your arms behind your back, and stepping forwards while also guiding you to step backwards. “But just to be clear, I’m also the past boyfriend and the future boyfriend.”

At this point, you don’t fight him anymore. You just drop your head back and laugh at the ceiling, letting him cage you against the counter and between his legs. 

“Bold of her, or anyone else, to assume there’ll ever be a next one after me.” He crosses his arms around your back and talks over your shoulder, still focusing on the camera. Always focusing on the camera. “Don’t let her fool you. It’s husband material here. She’ll eventually put a ring on it.”

You gasp. “I’ll put a ring on it?” 

“Down on one knee, asking me to be hers forever…”

You raise your brows and purse your lips, holding back a smile. 

“She loves me. She can’t resist this face. Or this charm. So yeah, I might be the current boyfriend, but I’m also the only current one.”

“And the forever one,” you add with a whisper, then lean in to press a kiss to his cheek.

“And the forever one,” he repeats with a nod, right before stretching his arm to stop the video and just as he turns his face to press a kiss on your lips.

────────────

[ceramini]

✦ DAMN! YOU’RE SUCH A LOSER HEESEUNG

pairing 𐐪𐑂 heeseung (hes a loser) × hot!reader

word count 𐐪𐑂 approximately 0.9k words, 28 hcs

genre 𐐪𐑂 smut, fluff, crack, mdni 18+

synopsis ───── lee heeseung is the smartest dumbass you’ve ever met. hes annoyingly hot, painfully sincere, and completely deranged in his devotion to you. he sucks at sex, hyperfixates on nonsense, and has no idea how he pulled you, but he’ll do absolutely anything to keep you. hes pathetic, but he’s yours. <3

nini’s note 🗒️ this one’s been a long time coming. you asked. you screamed. you demanded I deliver loser!heeseung in his full dumbass glory, and I have. this is the boy who begs you to watch his favorite anime with him but doesn’t know how to ask properly. who thinks buying you snacks is a love language. who shuts down during sex because he’s so overwhelmed by how pretty you are. I adore him. I hate him. enjoy responsibly, likes & reblogs are very much appreciated <33 + lmk if u want the fics 💕

𓋜 if want to read something else, check out the ꕀ LIBRARY

DUMB IN BED BUT HES TRYING

loser!heeseung who has no clue what he’s doing in bed but insists he “knows what women like” because he read half a Reddit thread in 2017. He gets cocky real fast, but the moment you start undressing, he forgets what breathing is.

loser!heeseung who talks a big game, but the second you start touching him seriously, he stutters so hard he ends up apologizing mid-makeout. “Wait, s-sorry, I just—can we go slower? Or faster? I don’t know.”

loser!heeseung who gets hard embarrassingly fast. Like, one kiss to the neck and he’s already pitching a tent in those gross sweatpants he wears every day. He covers himself with a pillow, but it’s so obvious.

loser!heeseung who literally googled “how to eat a girl out” and made a whole annotated doc with bookmarks. He reads it in bed the night before seeing you and is so stressed about “messing it up” that he forgets to actually use his tongue at first.

loser!heeseung who goes down on you with his whole soul once he gets over the nerves. Like messy, shaky hands on your thighs, moaning while he figures out what makes you gasp. He takes it personally if you don’t come.

loser!heeseung who says the most pathetic shit during sex. Things like “you feel so good I think I’m gonna pass out” and “wait—wait are you close? Oh my god, are you gonna—oh my god.”

loser!heeseung who starts with missionary because he thinks it’s “safe,” but accidentally gets way too into it. His hair falls into his eyes, he’s biting his lip, moaning helplessly, and now you’re the one losing it.

loser!heeseung who cums quick but apologizes for hours. Texts you at 2AM like “i swear i can last longer next time 😞 please don’t think i’m lame.” You end up having to reassure him while he spirals.

loser!heeseung who needs to be coached into talking dirty. The best he manages at first is “you’re so hot i could die,” and then he panics and asks if that sounded weird.

loser!heeseung who gets hard again after you cuddle for five minutes. Pretends it’s not happening. Fails.

SOFT WHERE IT COUNTS

loser!heeseung who hyperfixates on a new anime or game and talks about it for days. You nod along lovingly while he info-dumps about lore you don’t understand, because he gets so animated when he’s excited.

loser!heeseung who has a rotating cast of dumb hyperfixation objects: currently obsessed with modding your shared Minecraft world, was deep into urban planning videos last month, and once spent 3 weeks only talking about frogs.

loser!heeseung who makes you playlists with weirdly specific titles like “songs that sound like you in the rain” or “if we were NPCs in a JRPG and i was in love with you but couldn’t say it.”

loser!heeseung who leans his head on your shoulder when he’s tired at his desk. Doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until you turn and kiss his cheek, and then he melts completely.

loser!heeseung who makes you ramen at 2AM and gets all shy when you compliment it. “It’s just instant, I didn’t really do anything,” but secretly smiles the whole time you eat it.

loser!heeseung who texts you “are you home safe?” the second you leave. Follows up with “ok gn 😴” and then continues sending you TikToks until 4AM.

loser!heeseung who gets weirdly quiet when he likes you too much. His confidence completely evaporates. He just goes all soft-eyed and fidgety like “um… do you want to stay over? like—only if you want to.”

loser!heeseung who makes you sit on his lap while he games but doesn’t focus on the screen at all. He keeps dying in-game because he’s too busy sneaking kisses to your jaw and whispering, “i’m gonna lose because of you.”

loser!heeseung who writes you little notes and tucks them into your things. They say stupid shit like “u looked hot today 🔥” or “don’t forget to drink water or I’ll cry.”

loser!heeseung who kisses you so sweetly it makes you forget how dumb he is. His lips are soft, he holds your face gently, and the second you pull away he mumbles, “I like you so much it’s actually insane.”

HIS BRAIN IS EMPTY, BUT HIS HEART IS FULL

loser!heeseung who is insanely good at rhythm games but can’t drive. Has 100% accuracy on Osu! but has never parallel parked in his life.

loser!heeseung who drinks monster energy at 9PM and then complains when he can’t sleep. Lies awake in bed like “why am I like this.”

loser!heeseung who doesn’t know how to fold laundry. Just leaves clothes in a chair and lives out of the pile. But your stuff? Folded like it’s sacred.

loser!heeseung who wears the same hoodie for 8 days in a row until you threaten to take it home and wash it yourself. (You do. It comes back smelling like you. He doesn’t take it off again.)

loser!heeseung who gets so intense about his hobbies that he forgets to eat. You have to literally put a snack in his hand like “chew this or I’ll break your computer.”

loser!heeseung who remembers everything you say even if he seems like he’s not listening. Mentions it randomly weeks later like, “didn’t you say your favorite flowers were tulips?” and you’re like HOW DO YOU EVEN REMEMBER THAT.

loser!heeseung who blushes when you compliment him. Full-on red ears, shy little laugh, won’t look at you for five minutes.

loser!heeseung who is so in love with you he doesn’t even know what to do with himself. He just stares at you sometimes like you’re something unreal. “I don’t get how you like me,” he whispers. “But I’m so glad you do.”

TAGLIST ───── @gxwesn @gyarumindd @somuchdard @ssanhwatto @jinxedly @seokjinthescientist <3 you can join my taglist through this doc! —> here

[snail-day]

Satoru thinks you might actually enjoy tormenting him at the worst of times.

Of course, not like, physically. Just with your brattiness that always seems to blossom the second Suguru steps out of the house. Like his presence alone is the only thing keeping you from touching base with that inner gremlin, and now that he’s gone? Now that it’s just the two of you?

You're insufferable.

Because you're in the bedroom - his bedroom, Suguru's bedroom, your shared bedroom, whatever it is - and you're throwing a tantrum. While he’s brushing his teeth.

“You don’t even love me,” you announce with a dramatic huff, flopping onto your back, doing a little leg kick. “You think I’m ugly. You only wanna be with Suguru. You only want me - ”

His brain breaks. Briefly. He’s standing in the doorway, blue toothbrush hanging from his mouth, staring at you as some foam drips down his chin.

It’s not the words themselves - he knows they’re not true. Knows you like to stir the pot and that you like the attention. But there’s this tiny, razor-edged part of him that whispers, what if you’re saying it because you actually mean it a little bit?

And he hates that part. Wants to knock its teeth out with his toothbrush.

Because he does love you. Horribly. Desperately. In ways that make him stare at the ceiling at 2 a.m. and wonder if he’s hallucinating this whole relationship. If he touches you wrong - if he holds on too tight - you’ll remember you could do so much better than them.

But you’re sprawled across his bed with your lower lip pushed out and your voice all wobbly and teasing, and now he’s walking. He doesn’t even decide to walk. His body just moves, like his soul’s been yanked forward on a leash.

He presses you into the mattress with one hand, climbs over you without ceremony, toothpaste still threatening to drip down his chin.

You blink up at him with that stupid, perfect face. Lips parted. Eyes wide. Waiting.

So he does what any emotionally stunted man would do: he squishes your cheeks together and mumbles, “You serious right now?” around a mouthful of mint.

You make a noise. Possibly a protest. More likely a suppressed giggle.

Doesn’t matter. He’s already hiking your legs up over his arm and swatting your ass a few times, because clearly you’re asking for it. The little wiggle you do after confirms it.

God, you’re so annoying. He’s obsessed with you.

And then - because he’s disgusting, and this is love - he spits his toothpaste into your mouth.

You screech, attempting to launch yourself away from him, spitting the remainder of the toothpaste onto the bed, whining and crying about how gross he is while he's full-on laughing - legitimately, head thrown back and utterly unrepentant.

He snorts. “That’s what you get,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Start shit, get spit.”

You’re hitting him with a pillow now. He takes it. Deserves it.

But he also sees the way your eyes shine a little at the corners. The way you’re laughing, even as you call him a freak.

He sobers slightly, tilting his head while you glare up at him.

“You really think I don’t love you?” he asks quietly. “That I want Suguru more than you?”

You hesitate. That kills him a little.

“Don’t play like that, baby,” he says, softer now. “Not when I’m already hanging on by a thread.”

You stare up at him like you didn’t expect that answer. Like maybe you thought this was a game. Like maybe you're realizing how serious it is for him.

And he realizes, maybe you needed to hear it.

So he rolls over, pulls you into his chest, still a little minty and damp, and mumbles: “Now brush your teeth before I tell Suguru what you said.”

But he kisses your temple right after. Murmurs an I love you. And while you get up to get ready for bed, he's putting a note in his phone to buy you flowers tomorrow.

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

[trusweethrt]

╰ . ✶ ┆ MISSING OUT 〃 R. CAMERON.

notes 𓂃 honestly quite proud of this....everyone clap ૮₍ ˃⤙˂ ₎ა — content includes smut, nsfw. 18+ only!

rafe laid on his bed, his head resting comfortably on his pillows with his arm draped lazily over his eyes. he had been listening to you talk about your day for the past hour, just barely listening to bits and pieces. he was really only waiting for you to skip to the lunch date you were supposed to have that afternoon, but you were so stuck on the topic of wanting to try out a new lip combo—whatever that was. so he decided it would just be quicker to just ask you himself.

“what about that date?” he cuts you off mid sentence, moving his arm from his eyes to peer over at you while you leisurely span around in the swivel chair at his desk. “with uhh...what was his name? ayden?” your glossed lips pull into a frown, stopping your spinning “andrew,” you correct, your finger twirling around a loose thread on your shorts. “and it didn't happened. he never came”

rafe's eyes shifted to yours, an annoyed furrow in his eyebrows forming at your admission “you mean that asshole never even showed up?” he scoffed, now fully sitting up against the headboard.

“nope,” your murmur, shifting in your seat “not only that, but he texted me an hour later to tell me he didn't feel like coming.”

“what a pussy,” rafe muttered under his breath, pushing his greasy hair away from his forehead as he tried to suppress an eye roll. he hated it whenever someone wasted your time or let you down. he always thought any guy who you even batted an eye at was incredibly lucky. “he just doesn't deserve you then. n i already told you that you were too good for him. don't know why you don't listen to me. you need to go after guys who would treat you better.”

your lips purse, tilting your head sideways as you toy with the polish on your manicured finger. “uh huh. and who would that be, hm? you?”

“yes.” rafe’s answer is almost immediate and without hesitation. he had no shame, no remorse, no fear. he was straightforward and honest to a fault. “i’d never let you down, you know that. and i'd show you what your date should've done.”

your fingers stop picking at your nail polish, your lips pulling into a thin line. you knew rafe was a good friend, he always had been. but boyfriend material? you weren't so sure. you've seen the way he's run through girls like t-shirts; and you refused to be one of his discards. “rafe—” you started, but he cut you off, waving his hand dismissively.

“nah, nah. don’t ‘rafe’ me. i’m serious. you don't wanna date me? fine. understandable. but at least let me help ya out. y'know, as your friend. i could be uh...setting a standard or...whatever you wanna call it. i could give you a better time than he would've.”

you weren't stupid, you knew what rafe was trying to do. it's how he got all of the island girls to flock over him─manipulation. but was it really manipulation if you wanted it too?

‎ ‎ ─── ✷ ⊹ ࣪

“you taste so fuckin' good. shit — you're drippin for me.” rafe groaned, his eyes trained on drenched folds before they locked on your face, watching the way it contorted in pleasure with every swirl of his tongue against your clit. “feel good, yeah?”

you were only able to force out a few incoherent sounds, the overwhelming pleasure making your brain fuzzy. any guy you've ever slept with never offered or made the slightest effort to eat you out like this. so the new sensation of rafe's tongue had you seeing stars and gasping beneath him. “c'mon, i asked you a question, i want actual words, alright? i want you to tell me how good it feels. and look at me when i'm taking t'you.” rafe spoke against your sex, the vibration of his words making your hips twitch.

“mngh....y-yes.” you breath out, forcing your eyes open to lock to his, “feels good...s'good.” you whimper, glossed lips parting as you stare down at him.

“mmh, there ya go, that's my girl. when i ask something i expect a real answer, yeah?” rafe murmured as two of his long fingers easily slipped into your soaking hole, pulling a mewl from your lips and making your back arch off the mattress slightly. “fuck baby, you're perfect — s'fuckin tight.” he groaned, watching the way your narrow pussy sucked in his fingers, a ring of your slick coating the base of his digits. “y'been giving this pussy to amateurs i bet. don't worry though..i'll stretch ya out real nice.” rafe murmured, wrapping his lips around your clit, sucking on the sensitive bud, your eyes rolling back while his fingers moved in slow, deep strokes, finding the spongy spot that made you cinch around his fingers.

“mgnh...fuck, rafe. i—” you gasp, hands fisting the sheets under you, your words being punctuated by rafe purposely humming around your clit, the vibration making your hips twitch. “mmh yeah i know, pretty girl. gonna cum, yeah? go on baby...make a mess f'me.”

his hands squeeze your thighs as they start to tremble, a loud whine falling from your lips as your orgasm hits, your cunt fluttering around his fingers, glossy eyes squeezing shut. rafe groans against you, lapping your juices as he helps you ride out your orgasm. “yeah, that's it, baby...good girl.”

you felt completely boneless, muscles trembling and skin buzzing all over as you slowly try to come down, catching your breath as he pulled himself up to hover over you, his hand tapping your trembling outer thigh “open up f'me baby.”

your eyes flutter open, thighs shaking as you slowly let them fall open. your eyes half lidded as you stared up at him. rafe groans softly at the sight before him, positioning himself between your legs and slowly slid his leaking tip up and down your glistening lips, teasing your clit slowly.

“fuuuck” rafe groaned as he started to slip his twitching member into your leaking cunt, his eyes fluttering at the sensation of him bottoming out. “shit baby, you're so fuckin' tight...suckin' me in s'good” rafe grunted, his hips starting to snap against yours as he drove his cock in and out, watching your lips part and eyebrows furrow in pleasure.

your head falls back onto the mattress as you mewled beneath him, your lips opening but no words leaving your mouth, already too cock drunk to form any coherent sentences. “bet you needed this, hm? needed this pussy taken care of s'bad, you just had to be fucked by your best friend — you like that, don't you, baby? you like your best friend's cock stretching you out?”

before you could even process what rafe said, the sharp, jarring sound of your phone ringing pierced through the air. the loud and harsh sound causing rafe's eyes to snap up in annoyance, his grip on your hips tightening. “fuckin' christ — who's calling?”

with your brain slowly working to catch up to the situation, the persistent ringing of your phone seemed to finally sink in. your hands fumble around as you search for the phone, eventually finding it. glancing at the caller id, your eyes flutter in surprise, and you let out a whimper, forced to keep your eyes open as rafe's hips continue their relentless rhythm. “w-wait,” you stammer, struggling to catch your breath as you see andrew's name flash across the screen. “i — shit — i need to-”

“answer it.” he ordered, smirking down at you as he watched the name flash on the screen. “let him know your best friend's takin' good care of this pussy.” rafe murmured, noticing the hesitance in your expression.

“wasn't a question.” rafe grunted, taking your phone from your hand without any consent, his thrusts getting rougher as he answered the phone, putting it on speaker. “mmh, y/n's busy. fuck— y'know you're really missin' out though, man. this pussy's a fuckin' dream.” rafe spoke between breathy moans, the sounds of skin slapping and both you and rafe's moans clearly heard on the other end by andrew. “hear that? s'the sound of quality pussy, she’s sucking me in so tightly. bet you wish you were me huh?”

“hey, what is…” andrew's voice comes through the other end of the line, his words trailing off when he realized who he was talking to. “rafe?” rafe's smirk only widens at the sound of the obvious confusion and uneasiness in andrew's voice. “uh huh..” rafe groaned, “fuck man, she's takin' my dick so well; she even makes the prettiest noises f'me wanna hear?” the condescending, almost faux sympathy in rafe's voice was clear, it was obvious he was getting off on this.

he angled the phone closer to your face, making sure the sound of your lewd, almost pornographic moans and whines were clearly heard over the phone. “mmh yeah, all those pretty sounds just for me. but i uh— fuck, she might need to call y'back, man. gonna fill this pussy up soon.”

true to his word, rafe led you through four quivering orgasms after he hung up, letting himself go after your fourth one, his hips stuttering as his cock twitched, his warm liquid spilling inside of you.

“that definitely wasn't our last time...pussy's mine now.” rafe breathed out, collapsing next to you.

taglist 🪽: @bunbun-3 @drewscoquette @untitled10351 @rafesweetie @meetmebehindthemallrafe @supercutelovergirl @drewswife @plaidcowboy @missquantic @rafesdiorperfume @minitarayummy @this-one-weeb @akobx @mystianqel @lacebambidoll @dolletebun @milamilkie @ch6rm @rafesprecious

[shotmrmiller]

since Simon isn't one to celebrate much, whether it's a holiday or his own birth, it comes as a complete surprise that one day, he's lugging in a stuffed teddy bear the same height as him through the front door.

did you forget your anniversary? no, that was last month. you dog-ear the page of your book, paper folding neatly beneath your fingers before setting it down on the foot table. oh no. what did he do?

"nothin'," he scoffs, "can't bring my girl nothin' nice every once in a while?"

no, actually, he can't. this looks like a 6-foot apology. you ought to keep an eye on the news tonight, in case that young man from the cafe down the street coincidentally ends up missing after asking for your number in the presence of simon last weekend.

"well it isn't. i can take it back if ya like." the rich, chocolate brown fur feels incredibly soft as you thread your fingers through it.

"no, no. thank you for the oversized bear, i'll be sure to throw out the mattress so we can make it fit in the bedroom." you're no big fan of plushies, but you're no ingrate and if he thought of you when he saw this beast well, then you'll just have to accept it.

it sits in a corner of the room after that, beady eyes pointed your way even when you're on all fours with your sweat-slick face pushed into the bedsheets as Simon pistons into you from behind, or when he stuffs his fingers into your sleepy cunt before he goes to work in the morning.

(maybe it's his exhibitionist kink raging full force. who knows.)

until he decides to bring it into play when your mind is fuzzy from the glasses of wine you had for dinner that night. Simon, with your express permission, ties you up with a sturdy, coarse rope, the kind that feels like you've got tiny little claws digging into your calves and wrists when you try to move. he ties face down, legs and arms to the bear's, cheek flat on its chest, the bow on its neck sitting prettily at the crown of your head.

a doll, he says, roughened palms smoothing over the expanse of your bare skin, raising gooseflesh when he glides a hand along your folds, tip of his finger catching on your clit. lookin' pretty as a peach.

he takes you as if he's trying to fuck you right through the bear, the bed, the fucking floor and you're left to muffle your own cries on the stuffed animal itself, occasionally coming up for air when Simon claims a fistful of hair, breath warming the side of your throat.

you come the first time when he pushes a thumb against the furl of your arse, tight ring of muscle burning with the threat of him sinking into it.

(you stopped counting after the third climax, quietly cursing yourself for bagging a military man who's been so deprived of pussy he keeps fucking you even after his own orgasm.)

when you move it to clean up one day and leave it facing whichever way, by night it's facing the bed again.

definitely an exhibitionist kink.

you'll just ask him nicely to face him another way, the eerie red glow you sometimes catch in its eyes are starting to creep you out.

[rongloa]

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢’𝐦 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭 (𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮) — m.grayson oneshot

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲. being mark’s best friend has always been difficult, he’s a nerd. but when he suddenly starts disappearing mid-hangout you can’t figure out what you’ve done wrong.

𝐰𝐜. 4.5k

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. you’re acting like a doormat again, generous use of angst, big misunderstandings, feelings of abandonment, mark being a dickhead and not realising what he’s been doing is hurting you, swearing, and then they kiss, after arguing though

𝐚/𝐧. i actually had so much fun writing this darling ( @flwrch1d ), thank you sm! it’s not a lot but i tried my hardest for you 💪🏽

Before everything, it was always the three of you.

You, Mark, and William — the trio glued together by years of inside jokes, movie marathons, and a shared cafeteria table that was somehow always sticky. But really, it was you and Mark who were inseparable.

It wasn’t weird, not to either of you. It just was. Movie nights that turned into sleepovers on the couch. Falling asleep with your head on his shoulder while he quietly changed the TV volume. Late-night walks with no destination, sharing earbuds and arguing over which Studio Ghibli movie was objectively superior— you always won those types of arguments.

He wasn’t exactly popular, but Mark had that quiet, harmless kind of presence that didn’t invite trouble. He wasn’t the smartest, a little awkward, one of those nerds no one hated but no one really hung out with either—excluding you and Will.

But you were his person. The first one he texted when something stupid happened in math class. The one who knew what his hoodie smelled like and the kind of cereal he ate when he was stressed. You made space for him in your life without even thinking. And for a while, it felt like he made space for you too.

But then things changed.

Slowly at first. One missed hangout. Then another. Then a week where he barely answered your texts. He started looking tired all the time — eyes rimmed red, shoulders tense like he was bracing for something invisible. You asked if he was okay. He’d smile, say “just tired,” and change the subject to the newest Seance Dog comic.

You started doing more things without him. William did too. The table at lunch got quieter. Your weekends got longer.

And then you met Daniel.

It was dumb — your pen ran out of ink in chem lab, and he offered you his like it was a grand gesture. He had an easy confidence to him, the kind that wasn’t trying too hard. Funny, in a smug but charming way. You told him a joke Mark once made and Daniel actually laughed. And for a second, it felt nice. Like being seen again.

You never meant to start spending so much time with him.

But Daniel texted back. He showed up when he said he would, at that cafe you and Mark used to go to religiously. He didn’t vanish without explanation. And when you smiled at him, he looked at you like he knew exactly what it meant.

The hardest part? Mark didn’t fight it. He didn’t ask where you were going. He didn’t stop you. He just watched— from across the hallway, across the lunchroom—with that Mark Grayson-specific look on his face.

You’d convinced yourself he didn’t care. But that wasn’t Mark, not at all.

It still hurt, walking past his locker and seeing him laugh at something William said, only to fall quiet the second he noticed you looking.

It all started small.

Daniel offers to walk you to class one day when Mark doesn’t show up in the morning. You’re used to that by now — used to watching your phone screen go dim, unread texts hanging in your chest like anchors on sewing thread. Daniel doesn’t make excuses. He’s just there. Warm smile. Easy laughter. He knows your coffee order, knows you hate the sound of metal chairs scraping on tile. He starts waiting for you outside of lecture halls. Offers you half his lunch.

And you let him.

Because he makes you feel noticed. Present. Not like someone left on the back burner while other things pop up.

It’s not like you mean to pull away from him. Or William, for that matter. It’s just… easier, sometimes. Being around Daniel means no tight smiles, no dodging questions, no waiting for at least a ‘still alive’ text.

Still, every now and then — when Daniel says something funny and you laugh without thinking — you catch Mark watching.

He doesn’t say anything. He never does. But his eyes follow you like he’s trying to decode a language he forgot how to read.

It happens during second period.

You’re in the back row of your history class, seated beside Daniel like you have been for the past few weeks. Mark’s two rows ahead, and slightly to the left — close enough that you can see the curve of his jaw, the way he keeps tapping his pencil against his notebook, like he’s itching to be anywhere else. He always did hate Mr. Jace.

You try not to look. Or at least, not to be caught looking. But it’s hard. Not when a muscle flutters in his jaw like he’s thinking about anything but the Industrial Revolution.

Daniel leans closer, nudging your elbow with his. It snaps you away from Mark, away from the thought of Mark’s hair being longer than it was last time you hung out. Your heart stutters, is he gonna call you out?

“Tell me again why this guy thinks he can teach history through interpretive dance?” Oh.

You snort. It slips out before you can stop it—and for a second, you forget.

“That’s what I used to say to Mark all the time,” you say, grinning. “W–we had this running joke that Mr. Jace choreographed the French Revolution.”

You glance back towards your best friend—your old one—before you can help yourself.

He’s frozen. Completely still.

His pencil is hovering mid-air over the page, like he’s paused in the middle of writing. You see his shoulders stiffen — just barely — and then he presses the pencil tip to the paper hard enough that it snaps. The sound is small, but you feel it in the way Mark’s fingers tremble. In the way those brown hues are cast down straight at the shards of graphite scattered on his book.

He doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t even flinch at the fact he just crushed a pencil in his fingers. Just calmly gets up, gathers his things, and walks out of the classroom without a word.

You blink. Flinching at the way he slams the door shut behind him. Little wooden bits scatter onto the floor, and a girl at the back of the class shrieks.

The teacher didn’t even notice he left, but he damn well does now.

Your heart starts pounding.

Daniel nudges you again, quieter this time. “Hey… what was that about? Is he okay?”

You shake your head slowly, the joke dying in your throat. “I don’t— I don’t know.”

But you do. You just don’t want to say it.

Because you remember that joke. The dumb one about Mr. Jace tap-dancing through history. Mark used to do it with a fake accent, arms waving dramatically in your living room until you were wheezing with laughter in the throw blanket Mark brought over. It was your little thing, one of many.

And now you’d handed it off — just like that.

You glance back at the door again, chipped at the edges and swinging on its hinges, as Mr Jace huffs and puffs in all his red-faced glory.

The hallway is empty.

You don’t see Mark after that class.

You check the hallway. The stairwell. Even the front entrance of the school where he sometimes stands, where he used to wait for you.

Nothing.

You tell yourself it’s fine. That maybe he just needed air. That he wasn’t angry, just overwhelmed. But the lie tastes bitter, and your phone feels impossibly heavy in your fingers. You glance up at your chem teacher—an older lady with large lensed glasses, she’s too nice for this school—then back at the screen. It’s a selfie of Will and you at Burger Mart, Mark standing behind the counter with your order held out like the world sent him a punishment in the form of his friends. You miss them, both of them. You breathe out a half-sigh half-laugh.

Swallowing your stupid sorrow, you unlock it.

You open your messages and stare at your last conversation with him—from nearly two weeks ago.

You: did you wanna go for lunch at that new cafe today?

You: markkkkk?

You: we can go somewhere else if you want

All left on read. You didn’t say anything after that, didn’t wanna bother him. Maybe he was finally moving on. Better friends or something.

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard. You type something. Delete it. Type again. Biting at your nail as you resist the urge to rip it off entirely.

Finally, you send:

you okay? i saw you leave class

Three dots appear. You sit up straighter, heart kicking like it’s on a timer. You spare a glance at Miss Lily to make sure she hasn’t caught you.

They vanished.

No reply. No message. No explanation.

Just that haunting “Read 2:33 pm” stamp glowing beneath your text like a ghost.

You shove your phone back into your pocket, frustration and something deeper rising in your throat. You sit back into your chair too hard, making the metal legs scrape across the scratchy linoleum, staring at the ceiling like the answer might be written in the cracks.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m all good Danny.”

It doesn’t stop you from thinking about him.

It’s worse at night. When the house is still and your phone’s gone quiet. You replay old voice messages—ones you never deleted, where he’s laughing too hard at his own joke or asking you where you are that time you got lost in the shopping mall.

You see him everywhere, too. In the hoodie at the back of your closet that still smells like popcorn and the cologne he used to borrow from his dad. In the half-empty slushie cup in your freezer from the last time he showed up unannounced and dragged you to 7-Eleven “just because.”

You sit at your lunch table now with Daniel sometimes. William stopped sitting with you last week. You don’t blame him. It’s not the same. Maybe Mark said something.

And the worst part is that you still look for him—in the hallways, at his locker, in the corners of your classrooms where he always slouched like the chairs offended him personally. Horrible posture even for a teenage boy. You tell yourself you don’t care. That if he wants to ghost you, fine.

But you do care.

You care so much it feels like grief.

And every time you check your phone, you still hope the read receipt disappears—replaced by something that feels like him again.

The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the pavement as you and Daniel make your way down the neighborhood sidewalk, your steps syncing in that easy, casual rhythm that comes from walking the same way more than a few times.

Your backpack digs into your shoulder, but you walk slower than usual. You’ve been doing that a lot lately. Drawing out the silence between things. Trying to outrun your own thoughts.

He’s talking about something—a goofy movie, maybe, or how the vending machine still owes him two dollars and a grudge match. You nod along, offering the right laughs at the right places, but your heart’s not really in it. Hasn’t been, not lately.

Because your mind keeps flickering back to Mark.

To that pencil snap in class. To the unread messages. To the way he looked at you like you were a stranger.

Daniel notices your quiet. He always does. For a guy he’s a bit too in tune with your inner workings.

He nudges your arm gently. “You’ve been kinda spacey today.”

You force a smile. “Yeah, just tired. Long week.”

He buys it. Or at least pretends to. “Well, you sure you don’t want me to walk you all the way home?”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, slowing as you reach the corner where his street splits off. “Thanks, though.”

He hesitates, like he wants to say more, then just nods. “Alright. Text me, okay?”

You nod and wave as he heads off, then slide your headphones on, turning up the volume just enough to fill the empty space.

The music cushions your walk—from the odd 80’s song to something stupidly sad that you skip because you can’t handle that right now, to ‘Get down on it’ by Kool and the Gang of all things.

You laugh at that switch up, you remember that one time Will, and Mark, were playing blind karaoke and Will somehow, out of all the songs in the world, began singing Pitbull. You were dying on the couch, quite literally. You choked on one of the sour strips you were eating. Mark fell over himself trying to save the day. He did end up saving the day and ending your near-death experience, your ribs were so sore that night.

Your shoes crunch along the sidewalk. Your fingers trail over the stray flower bushes as you pass. You miss those dumb little sleepovers you used to all have. It makes you miss the group.

What you don’t notice, is the footsteps behind you.

Not until you reach your gate—the familiar squeaky latch already at the tips of your fingers—when a haggard voice cuts through the one quiet song in your playlist.

“Please wait!”

You freeze, nearly like a deer in headlight.

Your heart does a strange, sharp flip. He’s a little breathless, like he jogged to catch up, hands tapping at the sides of his sweater you know better than your own. He looks bigger, or maybe the sweater’s gotten smaller. You can’t tell. You slip your headphones off, scratching at the stupid little sticker he put onto it.

His brows are furrowed like he’s barely holding it together. His lip is split—not badly, but enough that you notice.

He’s standing at the edge of your driveway, chest rising and falling like he ran the last block to catch you. His hair’s a little messy, wind-tousled. There’s a quiet desperation in his eyes—the kind that makes your own throat tighten.

“I need to talk to you,” Those bay brown eyes you missed so much flickering all over your face. “Please.”

You stare at him for a second.

Then push open the gate, you take two steps in and when you don’t hear him behind you, you simply turn. Tugging at the loose threads of your cardigan as you watch him. Finally, finally he’s here and you don’t know what to say, or how to feel. So you spit out the first thing you can think of, the way you used to talk to him. Like slipping back into normalcy.

“You coming, or what?”

He blinks like you’ve just broken whatever trance had him frozen in place, then finally moves—quick strides crunching over the cement path behind you. The two of you slip through the side gate like you used to—like nothing’s changed, like the silence between you hasn’t cracked the foundation. The gate creaks shut with that familiar metallic whine, and the two of you are alone in the backyard.

The sky has moved slowly into dusk. The sky’s already dipped into shades of gold and lavender, the edges of the day softening like bruises fading. The backyard is lit by the warm glow of the string lights above flickering to life as they sense the dark. You’d put them up with Mark last spring, threading them between the beams with both your hands dirty from potting soil and pruning the gardens. Your hanging plants sway gently in the breeze—ivy and succulents and little flowering herbs you’ve been nursing for months. Longer than all this stuff, has been happening. Ferns and ivy hang from every corner.

Little ceramic pots painted by hand line the railing, overflowing with green and bursts of colour that slowly blur with the darkening of the sky.

It smells like rosemary and fresh dirt.

Mark lingers by the patio entrance as you step up onto the wood, slipping off your shoes before curling up into one of the cushioned chairs closest to the back door. You don’t invite him to sit. You don’t have to. You know he loves these chairs, not as much as you, but still.

He doesn’t, at first. Just stands there, watching you like you’re the only thing right this moment.

You break the silence. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

For a moment, a singular breath between you both, the only sound is the hum of the lights and the soft creak of the wind swaying hanging pots.

He exhales through his nose.

“I’m sorry.”

You cross your arms, eyes fixed on a chipped piece of the wooden patio floor. “For what?”

“For avoiding you, for not answering, for all this stuff that I’ve done.” He pauses, toeing at a stray leaf. He can’t even look at you as he says it. “I just want us to go back to normal.”

You laugh.

Not because it’s funny, but because it’s the only thing stopping your throat from closing. A dry, bitter thing that makes Mark’s shoulders tense.

“Normal?” you echo, your voice sharp. “Mark, you haven’t even spoken to me in weeks.”

“I know,” he says quickly, eyes snapping up. “I know, okay? But it wasn’t because I didn’t care—”

“Then what was it?” you cut in. “Because from where I was sitting, it sure as hell felt like you just didn’t want me around anymore.”

“I was trying to protect you!” he fires back, louder than you expected. He catches himself, fingers curling so hard his knuckles turn white. “God, I didn’t want to drag you into—into the danger, the pressure. I thought if I just… let you go a little, you’d be safer.”

“That’s not your decision to make,” Your voice starts to shake now. “You say you’ll meet me and you don’t show up. You never explain anything, you just disappear. You don’t get to disappear, an—and then act like we can just snap back to what we were.”

“I was doing my best!” He starts pacing toward the edge of the patio. “You don’t know what it’s like, okay? Balancing everything. Trying to be there for everyone and still not being enough.”

“And you think I don’t know what that feels like?” You’re on your feet now too, arms at your sides, fingers curled into fists. “I’ve been showing up for you, Mark. Even when you wouldn’t answer me. Even when it felt like I was screaming into a void just hoping for one text back.”

His jaw flexes. He turns, hands gripping the railing, back to you.

“I didn’t know what to say.”

You stare at him, your voice dropping, cracking. Like one of the pots he dropped when you were painting them.

“You could’ve said anything.”

The string lights buzz quietly above, casting halos around the plants you’ve poured your heart into, into him. The air feels heavier now, thicker, like it’s trying to hold the weight of everything that’s never been said between you.

“I felt like you hated me,” you say. “Like I did something wrong.”

He turns then, his eyes wide, like the idea guts him. “No. God—no. I never hated you.”

“Well, you sure made it feel that way.”

He’s breathing harder now, chest rising and falling like he’s been running, but this time, it’s not from chasing you down the block. It’s from running in circles inside his own head. And you’re just… tired.

“You don’t get to play the victim in this,” you say, quieter now, but firmer. “You ghosted me. You left. And you only came back when you saw someone else being there for me.”

That hits. You see it land, like a real punch.

His lips part like he wants to argue, but no words come out. So you just stare at him. And wait.

Because if this is going to mean anything at all—he needs to mean it.

“I was trying to protect you.”

“Bullshit,” you snap.

The word hangs in the air between you, sharp and ugly. You don’t regret saying it.

He doesn’t look away, doesn’t glance out at the garden. “You don’t get it. I couldn’t tell you. Not then.”

“Why not? What could possibly be so bad that you’d rather have me thinking you hated me?”

He chews on his words, opening his mouth more than once, it makes you angry. He can’t even find a good reason. Right as you’re about to start up again, he blurts it out. “Because I’m Invincible.”

Silence.

The word falls like a nuclear bomb in a suburb.

You stare at him.

“What?”

Mark steps closer, eyes flicking over your face like he’s watching you come apart. “I’m Invincible. The superhero. That’s where I’ve been. That’s why I leave. That’s why I’ve been gone.”

You’re frozen. Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

“I didn’t want to drag you into it,” He’s jumping all over his words, speaking so fast it hurts your brain as you try and figure out, how? “I thought if I distanced myself, if I cut it off before it got serious, I’d be keeping you safe. But I was wrong. I just hurt you.”

You don’t say anything at first. You can’t. The boy you grew up with is a superhero? Invincible? He was scared of cockroaches. How—how could, why could— your brain muddles and flips.

Your chest feels like it’s caving in—everything you’ve been holding back for weeks, maybe months, starts clawing its way out of you in shallow breaths and a pressure behind your eyes that refuses to stop building.

“I thought you hated me,” you whisper.

Mark’s face crumples. “What? No. No, I—”

But it’s too late. Your throat tightens and the tears start falling, hot and fast. Not the kind you can wipe away and pretend never happened—these are ugly sobs. The kind that rip out of your chest in pieces, leaving your voice shaking and your hands trembling. You try to cover your face, embarrassed, but your body won’t stop heaving.

“All this time,” you gasp, “I thought I did something wrong. I thought I pushed you away or—God, something. You stopped texting back, you’d look right through me, and I kept trying to pretend it didn’t hurt but it did, Mark. It did, and you didn’t even say anything.”

Mark’s already moving before you finish—stepping forward, arms wrapping around you with a desperation that almost knocks the wind out of you. You don’t fight it. You collapse into him, fists gripping the front of his sweater, sobbing into his shoulder like you’ve been carrying this pain in silence for way too long. You have been.

“I didn’t hate you,” he whispers, over and over again, holding you like the world is ending. “I never hated you. I thought you’d be safer if I stayed away. But it just made everything worse. I’m so, so sorry.”

His voice breaks at the end.

You cling to him like you’re scared he’ll vanish again, shaking with all the weight of what’s gone unsaid. He just holds you tighter, like he needs you just as badly.

“I missed you,” you manage through the tears, voice muffled by his shoulder. “I kept waiting for you to come back.”

“I’m here,” Mark whispers, forehead pressing to yours as he holds you so lovingly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You sniffle, the sound ugly and wet and real, like everything else.

His thumb catches a tear slipping down your cheek. You open your eyes, and his are right there—wet and glistening, holding yours like they never stopped trying.

“I’ve been in love with you since the day you made me sit through that terrible romcom and you cried harder than the main character,” he says softly, lips curved with the smallest, saddest smile you’ve ever seen on him. “And I didn’t even care that it sucked because you were leaning on me the whole time.”

You let out a watery laugh, tears still spilling, and he cups your face gently, reverently, like you’re made of glass and starlight and a thousand things he almost lost.

“I didn’t know how to be both,” he murmurs. “A hero and myself. But every time I was out there—saving people, fighting monsters, almost dying—I just wanted to come back.”

You reach up and hold his wrists, holding him now. “You should’ve told me.”

“I know,” he breathes. “I was scared.”

“So was I.”

He leans in, foreheads still touching, your breath shared under the fairy lights of your backyard. The rosemary sways in the breeze, brushing against your leg like a memory.

“I love you,” he whispers.

You let out a broken sound—half sob, half laugh. “Say it again.”

He smiles through his tears, nose brushing yours. “I love you.”

And this time, when he kisses you, it’s like the sadness finally gives. It’s messy and tear-soaked and trembling, and everything you both have been holding back for too long. His hands are in your hair, yours around his neck, and the kiss is so, so soft but aching—like the words he couldn’t say finally found a way out. It’s messy, so messy but you need this. Need him.

When you break apart, foreheads still pressed together, you whisper, “I love you too.”

You don’t need to ask if he’s staying. You already know the answer.

.

[unladielike]

    Vivian nods away in agreement for to her, having a considerable amount of burgers without any soda didn't seem like something that's really heard of... and yeah, perhaps there were way better palate cleansers to be had than carbonated drinks, but as this was a food truck and not a restaurant, the selection of beverages they could realistically order would understandably be a bit limited.

    "Welp, I wouldn't go as far as to say I necessarily understand 'everything', per say, but yeah, once you manage to live through twenty one years on this planet, you start discovering some pretty basic stuff... like, for instance, how the human body gets thirsty if you consume salty snacks yet do not occasionally bring yourself to drink water throughout regular intervals," Vivian states. Granted, most would consider that to be 'common sense', but as per usual, she frames it more like an academic study than redundant knowledge nobody would truly bother disputing.

    Either way, it doesn't take long for her bespectacled gaze to soon settle on the drinks menu, which was situated to the right side corner of the food truck... and to her delight, Coke was listed as one of the drinks that were available to order, causing her to clasp both hands together.

    "Ooh, what do you know?! They do indeed have Coke! No Fanta to be seen, though... then again, at least we aren't forced to choose Pepsi, which is the mid alternative to Coke," Vivian pipes up. Of course, after the final customer leaves, she'll then finally pull out her wallet before turning to Mizumachi. "Alright, so to summarize super quickly... we want ten teriyaki cheese burgers with two cokes?" Vivian repeats in order to ensure they were on the same page.

[水]

“Bia is so smart! I love it!”

Who knew there was such a place so close by? He hadn’t found the place yet, and who knew how long it would’ve taken before he found it. The food truck  now had a new fan who was bound to visit pretty often any time homesickness struck him- which was surprisingly often if he was left alone with his thoughts.

The jock laughs at the comment that the food truck wasn’t going anywhere. It wouldn’t sprout legs and run away—but it had wheels, didn’t it? Couldn’t it drive off?

“Yeah! A Teriyaki cheese burger sounds great!”

Sometimes, he’d go into restaurants and find that the food was very different compared to his expectations, but if going by the smell alone, he was sure that he was going to like the burgers here. He normally wasn’t that picky when it came to food anyways, but still! It was a kind of betrayal for someone who craved familiar tastes to walk into a restaurant and walk out of it confused over what he’d actually eaten. He learned the hard way that many ‘fusion’ places weren’t… the best. Guess not every fusion was stellar and epic. Sorry Goku and Vegeta.

“You really understand everything, huh? You’re right! If you’re going to be eating a lot of burgers anyways, ya gotta drink something that pairs well with it. Coke is the best! Fanta is also good, though.”

If you were going to be eating your fill of burgers, was there really any real difference if you chose to drink soda over water? The difference was minor at that point, so there was no point in picking straws. Water was his preferred drink for regular hours, but if he was doing rigorous exercise, then he would reach for sports drinks to replenish his electrolytes. Soda was for whenever he was treating himself to some junk food. Might as well go big or go home (and eat healthier).

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co