#and i will not object at all to romances that are a part of the plot

[cdllevantae]

Headlines & Heartlines | 전정국

You weren’t there to fall for an athlete.

You were there to tell the story right.

As a courtside reporter trying to make a name for yourself, your job is to stay objective. Observant. Unbiased. Jeon Jungkook is just another rising star—talented, media-trained, and used to people asking all the wrong questions.

But he surprises you.

He listens. He remembers. He notices.

And somehow, he starts asking you the questions off the record.

What starts as passing glances and guarded interviews turns into something quieter, something slower—shared coffees after games, long walks to the parking lot, moments where neither of you says the thing you’re both thinking.

He’s not the story you were supposed to chase.

But maybe he’s the one that stays with you when the cameras are off.

pairing: bball!player jungkook x (fem) courtside!reporter oc

genre: fluff, angst, slowburn, strangers to lovers au, workplace romance, sports au, slice of life, emotional realism, mutual pining, smut (?), forbidden romance

rating: 18+, MDNI!

word counts: TBA

warnings: TBA

A/N: okay sooo… this is gonna be my first ever series au 😭🫶i’ve been holding onto this idea for a while and i’m finally doing it!!! it’s called “Headlines & Heartlines” and it’s about a basketball player (👀 jungkook ofc) and a courtside reporter (aka you!!) slowly falling for each other 😳 lots of fluff, banter, pining, and feelings they definitely try to ignore. i’ll be posting this right after my current au ends, so pls look forward to it!! i’m a little nervous but mostly excited hehe 🥹🖤thanks for always supporting me fr, can’t wait to share this with u soon!! and lastly, comment if you want to be added to my taglist!!🫶🏻🫶🏻

[ mini teaser 🏀 ]

“Still not a fan of interviews?”

Your voice cuts through the quiet locker room, soft and unbothered, as if you haven’t just watched him drop thirty points with terrifying precision. Jungkook looks up from untying his shoes, a small breath of a laugh escaping him.

“You’d think I’d be used to it by now, huh?”

You smile, thumb tapping lightly on the recorder in your lap. It’s off. The interview ended five minutes ago. This — whatever this is now—isn’t part of the job. Not really. But neither of you have moved.

“Well,” you tease, “maybe you’d enjoy interviews more if you stopped answering every question with five words or less.”

He hums, leaning back against the cool metal of his locker. “Maybe I save the good answers for people who actually care.”

That makes you pause.

You look up, and his eyes are already on you — steady, unreadable, a little tired, but still watching you like you’re something more than just media credentials and a microphone.

You try to keep your voice light. “What, and I care?”

He shrugs. “You don’t ask me what it feels like to win. Or how I plan to stay focused. You don’t treat me like a quote waiting to happen.”

You blink, heart skipping a beat at the weight of his tone.

“I think you see more than you let on,” Jungkook says. “I notice that.”

Silence settles between you like a second skin. Not uncomfortable — just there. Heavy in the way things are when they matter and you’re both pretending they don’t.

“…I’m just doing my job,” you murmur, but even you don’t sound convinced.

Jungkook lets out a soft laugh under his breath. “Yeah. You are.”

You don’t know what to say to that. You’re not sure you want to say anything. Because something about the way he’s looking at you — calm, patient, like he’s already learned how to wait for things — makes you feel like you’d say too much.

So instead, you both just sit there. The locker room humming with the quiet of post-game, shoes squeaking faintly down the hall, a few teammates’ voices echoing in the distance.

Neither of you moves.

Neither of you wants to.

And maybe that’s how it starts—

Not with fireworks.

But with silence.

With being seen.

© cdllevantae, all rights reserved.

[indiaalphawhiskey]

Hello India, i think you might’ve already answered a question about this, but these are a bit different:

1. I’ve always felt like Harry’s tried to distance himself from that empty sex-symbol image and take back some agency over his sexuality—something he never really got the chance to explore on his own terms. Do you think that, with the release of a line of sexual products under his brand, he’s kind of given up on that and is now leaning into the image instead? Or how do you interpret it?

2. This one’s not necessarily related to the first, but I saw someone recently say he’s in his “c*ke era” or something like that and might be having a mental breakdown because of his interest in Berlin, techno, etc., and that’s why he hasn’t released any new music. Personally, I’ve seen it more as him finding freedom or taking an emotional breather away from all the public scrutiny—I honestly believe he has a really complicated relationship with fame, especially after being so overexposed in recent years. Do you think he’s going through a rough patch, or is he just taking a break and living his life?

Thanks

Hi darling,

Okay, so I'm going to try my hardest not to write a bloody tome on this, mostly because I really should be writing my fic, but let's tackle this as concisely as possible.

There are a few ways to answer your first question.

One is to acknowledge that Harry's relationship to his brand has very likely evolved over the years due, I think, in no small part to the fact that being branded a "sex symbol" in your mid teens and early twenties is very, very different to carrying that brand as a full grown adult with a lot more personal agency and control over the strength of your boundaries.

I hope I don't have to expound on why those two things are vastly different, but I do think that this fandom has to constantly be reminded that Harry has been in the spotlight for fifteen years. He has grown up in the public eye, and thus what, for normal people, is simply a natural evolution of one's sense of self and identity, is, for him, unfortunately a fairly public ordeal. But, it is still natural. He is going to grow, and change, and evolve, and redefine his personal relationship with the way the public sees him many, many times over his lifetime, just like every other person will, and this fandom needs to learn to react to that very natural growth with at least some sense of rationality, object permanence, and nuance, instead of treating it like he's some sinister two-faced money grabbing goblin with the world's most nefarious intent.

He's human. He can change his mind. He can expand. He can learn how to deal with burdens he couldn't deal with before in a different way with different tools. He's not trying to trick you guys, and we really need to stop acting like having a multi-dimensional personality or earning a level of grace he didn't have access to in his younger years is some grave heinous betrayal of our trust. It's really not.

Two is to focus on the fact that him not welcoming being treated as an empty sex-symbol - as simply a vessel for people's fantasies - doesn't mean he doesn't like sex or being sexy. Those are not the same things. Not wanting to be objectified and poised as some faceless dark romance hero people can use to get off is completely valid and can exist alongside the fact that he's also a fucking good-looking human who enjoys sex and being viewed as sexy in the right context.

Three, and I think the most relevant when pertaining to the discussion of the Pleasing vibrator is, honestly, its not all that deep. Harry's cheeky and has always had a cheeky sense of humor. He wore a Keith Haring mutual masturbation t-shirt to an interview. He wore a Christopher Kane 'Sex' t-shirt on SNL. His daily jewelry stack consists of a banana dick necklace. The through line to creating a line of sex toys is fairly clear. He thought it was fun (correct), he thought it would sell (correct), and he, like most well-adjusted adults, can talk about and interact with the topic of sex in a normal and healthy way without it delving straight into objectification (correct). Most people who are so fucking shocked Harry Styles released a vibrator don't know him all that well, because frankly, its so reflective of his sense of humor and his vibe (pun fully intended).

It's cheeky, it's cute, it's a unique and brave choice, and it starts a conversation -- Harry has been doing all those things with his music, art and fashion for years. Why should this be so shocking?

As for your second question, I say this with as much affection as I have in my body, but if you really believe this, you guys really need to get out more. This narrative that partying in Berlin is self-destructive and reflective of a descent into madness is... super naive and uncultured, frankly. I don't think it's symbolic of anything other than the fact that Harry likes to immerse himself in any city he's in (see: learning to speak Italian, dressing differently in Japan), and if you know anyone who lives in Berlin (I do), you'll know that that's a big part of that city's culture.

Seriously, half the stuff you guys are freaking out over is just Harry being a normal human, hanging out the way normal humans with a lot of disposable income and varied and multi-dimensional interests do. Not everything he does is reflective of some big, ethical, existential shift in who he is, and we'd enjoy him a lot more if we stopped trying to catch him in a lie and just accepted the fact that we can never know all of him, just like we can never know all of anyone.

[au-roulette]

Why are you allowing a fandom made by a rapist misogynist (good omens) on this?

The official rules for AU Roulette state that all fandoms and types of content are allowed, so long as they are appropriately tagged. Since this is a policy not everyone is going to agree with, I am willing to take this opportunity to elaborate a little on why.

For some context, the person who runs this challenge is a relatively sex- and romance-repulsed aro/ace, who primarily reads and writes genfic, and who has several of the fandoms people signed up with this year blacklisted (Good Omens included -- since 2019). In the years since I started AU Roulette, I have allowed a lot of content that I personally object to. I am trans, but have still given assignments to people writing Harry Potter fic. I personally dislike reading about sex in most contexts, but have never excluded a fic because it has smut.

The point is, I have tried to never let my personal squicks, triggers, or other preferences dictate who gets to participate in the challenge. Because frankly, I have a lot of them. What I have been militant about is insisting that the fics that get written for AU Roulette are all properly tagged with their fandoms, as well as relevant tropes and content warnings, so that people who want to avoid reading those things are able to. At the end of the day, that's far more important to me than futilely trying to dictate what things people like.

I'm not here to debate whether or not people should write for certain fandoms or use certain tropes in their writing. That seems like a personal choice, and also something I have very little actual control over. Because at the end of the day, I also know that my choosing to include or exclude them in AU Roulette is not going to change what people write. The people who write ships I don't like are still going to write for those ships, the people whose favorite tropes squick me out are still going to like those tropes, and the people who write for fandoms I have blacklisted are still going to write fic for those fandoms. That's just how fandom works.

I guess what I'm trying to say is -- I think we could all have more productive conversations about how to make people feel safe and welcome in fandom (which, again, more often involves proper tagging than it does outright prohibition of content) if people weren't so aggressive about assuming that allowing things = endorsement. That doesn't tend to be a productive starting point, in part because it is often genuinely untrue. And even when it is, it's incredibly subjective. There's probably someone out there genuinely upset or at least bothered by something you love, too. If I tried to prohibit certain content in this challenge, it would 1) be extremely rooted in my own personal opinions about what is and isn't "problematic" and 2) also become something of a moral OCD Saw trap for me, and thus untenable to run. Especially considering AU Roulette is multi-fandom, because there's no way I could familiarize myself with the #discourse surrounding every single fandom people sign up with.

I hope that makes my stance clear. If that bothers you, there is nothing wrong with blacklisting certain tags or even unfollowing the main blog for the challenge if it helps you avoid content that you find upsetting. I am a huge fan of curating your own fandom experience to make yourself as comfortable as possible. But in the same vein, getting bogged down in conversations about what media, ships, or tropes are allowed as a part of this challenge would very quickly make it un-fun for me to run.

The world sucks right now. I'd rather put my energy towards materially helping people harmed by real, actual social forces than get mad because they showed up in a fanfic -- or even because an author, screenwriter, or other creative is affiliated with them. One of the ways I personally have chosen to do that is to run a silly little challenge on the internet every summer, to give people something fun and creative to look forward to. I encourage you to find something similar. It will probably be a lot more fulfilling.

[deus-ex-mona]

so aizo really is a demon in meoto… demon aizo x human sacrifice yujiro huh~~~~~~

[o-uncle-newt]

I read Possession by AS Byatt after people told me "if you liked Gaudy Night you'll like this" and WELL.

Warning- spoilers for both books abound below!

So it sounded great- as a lapsed academic (though not in the field of literature by any means) there's a part of me that loves reading about academia because it's full of such obsessive people, and this book seemed to be exactly that and so I was excited.

Then I read it, and on the one hand, my first thought was "all these people are dull as heck, the only sane modern-day one is Val, and at the end of the day the historical stuff is just two people having an affair, who cares." My second thought was "there's just enough stuff here that makes me think that maybe the author knows that all of this is stupid, like the fact that Val is obviously one of the few sane ones here." But the ending made me doubt even that. Essentially, and I say this even as that lapsed academic, the author could not convince me to care about the important things at stake here, and as a result couldn't get me to care about the people who only seemed to care about those things.

I didn't care about Ash and LaMotte- they came across as two people high on their own supply who had a tawdry affair. (And each of them is the less interesting person, as a person, than their official partner!) As a result of not caring about them, I couldn't POSSIBLY care about Roland, Maud, and the rest of their crew, because their only functions were to be possessed by, and weirdly possessive of, these two entirely unworthy individuals, whose in-universe historical and literary significance Byatt couldn't convince me of, and to use that possession as a mirror for their own very lame romance. Beyond that they're utterly uninteresting, and there isn't even meant to BE much beyond that so it's not that surprising.

Anyway, I didn't like this book much, but it still made me think a lot. And there's a way in which a certain kind of person might say "well if it made you think then that's surely a sign of some positive quality" and... maybe? I don't know. I didn't hate all of it, and some parts were interesting, and I do have a whole separate list of things about the book that bug me including a breakdown of some of the book's (perceived by me) themes that I particularly disliked lol. Perhaps I'll post it another time. So I guess you can say it spurred me to thought, but loads of things that I don't like do that, and the only positive thing that that draws from me is that they're not downright dull.

The thing is, after finishing the book I was immediately struck by that "if you like Gaudy Night..." element, because it has a situation that felt weirdly similar (if for totally different reasons)- a young scholar stealing a letter from a library/archive. The circumstances are different- in Gaudy Night, the scholar does it to hide its existence so as not to contradict his thesis, and in Possession, the scholar does it so as to explore the document further, though still secretly- but there are still some interesting parallels vis a vis class. Possession goes into the class thing more than Gaudy Night does, but neither book goes much into it- the scholar is lower-class and someone who has scraped their way to their position, and is encumbered by a female partner of lower social and academic standing, and in the end they are juxtaposed against scholars who come from an elevated class and who have more money and opportunity. In Gaudy Night, Arthur Robinson is judged by the likes of Lord Peter Wimsey and a college full of women who don't have to do anything but think, teach, write, and grade papers; in Possession, Roland has to convince a bunch of academics of standing and resources to take a chance on him (and while this is more about money than class, he's the main one who's like "maybe it's good if Lady Bailey gets her wheelchair"). Byatt elides over this at the end by having him magically become in demand and on his way to achieving his academic goals, but I think in both books, the class element really could have taken on more significance in the text.

(I'd add as well that Byatt pits the upper-class and moneyed Maud, who of course is doing things for "the right reasons," vs the evil American businessman who clearly... doesn't care about Ash enough? Despite how much he clearly and obviously cares about Ash? The book was way more interesting when he seemed like a valid rival to the British team, who only thought that they deserved the letters more because of their obsession, rather than how it turned out at the end where the American dude is an actual cartoon villain. What made him genuinely less worthy besides having money without class, and of course having the bad taste to be American? What makes one scholar's possession more justified? Sayers was never this unsubtle.)

So that made me think more about Possession vs Gaudy Night, and the thing is, there are actual living people in Gaudy Night! Say what you will about the unworldliness of the academics at Shrewsbury, but you get a very keen view of their personalities by the end, even as they are (by necessity given the rules of their world) subsumed by academia, or subsume themselves in it. And the people who do fall in love are REALLY in love, and you understand why...

And somehow a book from 1935 feels far more interrogative of the possession (or lack thereof) found in love and romance, and just about the place of women in academia and relationships overall, than one from the late 80s. In Gaudy Night, Harriet accepts Peter once she has determined that despite their power differential (brought on by class, money, history, and to a degree gender) he will not threaten her personhood, because he has proven himself to her. In Possession, Maud accepts Roland because she has the power (money, class, position, even height) and so Roland actually cannot threaten her- and yet still that final scene is about her being taken by him, basically to prove some kind of a point. In contrast, in Busman's Honeymoon, the euphemistic sex scenes are about Peter trying to please Harriet.

When I say it's to prove a point, I'm paraphrasing Byatt, incidentally- who said: "And in the case of Maud I had made it very inhibiting. She was a woman inhibited both by beauty (which actually isn't very good for very beautiful women because they feel it isn't really them people love) and she was also inhibited by Feminism, because she had all sorts of theories that perhaps she would be a more noble kind of woman if she was a lesbian. And so she was a bit stuck. And Roland was timid because I am naturally good at timid men. It's the kind of men I happen to like. He's a timid thinking man, so of course it took him the whole book." I mean... yikes, but also that explains a lot. Maud can only bring herself to be with a man who is weak/effeminate (?) enough to justify whatever weird psyche Byatt has imagined up for her, but still she needs to get over her inhibitions and under him because... reasons. I don't know.

(Height is also interesting here as a point of contrast- Byatt makes Maud taller than Roland to make a point about how on the one hand she retains the power but on the other hand there is now even more of her that has to surrender. Peter and Harriet are the same medium height and wear the same size gown.)

I think the thing that most stuns me is how regressive Possession feels when it comes to gender politics on relationships than Gaudy Night does. I'd need a whole other post to talk about this, but the theme of Possession seems to me to be "relationships that produce things (whether art or children) are worth more than ones that don't." Roland is better with Maud than with Val because Val is a second rate scholar who drags him down (while supporting him financially) and Ash is better with LaMotte than with Ellen because LaMotte didn't only inspire his writing (Ellen's contributions are described only in the negative "didn't impede"), she gave him the child that Ellen refused to. Incidentally, in both cases it's the man pursuing a relationship that will give HIM something... But, to paraphrase Peter in Busman's Honeymoon, one wouldn't want to regard relationships in that agricultural light. Gaudy Night is about how two people can produce great things without each other but choose to be with each other for their own, and each other's, happiness. They aren't each less apart, and as I noted in a prior post, they don't need to solve cases together or conjoin their work in order for their relationship to be worth something. It is worth it for them to be together because it encourages some kind of inner balance within them and between them, as people. They enjoy collaborating but that is by no means the basis of their love (and, incidentally, I think that a lot of, if not most, detective series romances fail this basic test of "would they have fallen in love if they were accountants who met on a dating app." Peter and Harriet definitely would have- would, say, Albert Campion and Amanda Fitton have? I do NOT think so).

And here's the thing- another reason why Byatt's quote above is so off-putting is that it makes it clear that not only in the text but on a meta level, the purpose of the relationships is to prove a Point. I found Roland and Maud to have zero chemistry, and honestly I was expecting them to get together 3/4 of the way through and split up at the end when it turned out they had nothing in common- it seemed like that kind of book. I was kind of stunned when they only got together at the end in an "it's meant to be" way because nothing about it seemed meant to be. They were stuck together by that one thing and they each apparently needed the relationship for some kind of self-actualization or historical rhyming or other. (Whatever I say about Ash and LaMotte... at least they seemed to like each other!)

Peter and Harriet... they get together because they love each other. Do they change over the course of Gaudy Night, and over the course of the other books they share together? Of course they do. But if it makes sense, I'll put it this way- Harriet doesn't accept Peter's proposal as proof that she got over her hangups, Harriet gets over her hangups so that she can accept Peter's proposal. Her hangups only matter because they were keeping her from this particular kind of happiness- she was a fully actualized person even with them. She is a person who does things for human reasons so that she can build a mutually happy life with the person she loves, not a little plot mannequin being moved around in order to tell the author's desired Message. People can say what they want about Gaudy Night and its flaws, but despite the intricacies of its construction, nobody can call the characters' actions and motivations anything but brutally human.

Whether within their universes or on a meta level, the books have SUCH different things to say about the value and nature of love, the place of and purpose of sex, the place of art and intellectual accomplishment in relationships, all of the above in the context of femininity… and I can't help but feel that each time, Gaudy Night wins the contest. It's possible I'm missing something major about Possession, and maybe sometime I'll post the rest of my notes about the things I disliked and people can tell me what I'm wrong about- but if nothing else it made me appreciate Gaudy Night even more, so for that I'm grateful.

[morallygay]

If I love a romance that’s the highest compliment bc I truly really do not give a shit about romance so that means that the rest is just that good that I love it despite the chunk romance takes

[f1owermoon]

btw you'd never guess what crazy ass dream i had last night

[zeawesomebirdie]

This is probably just me not knowing how to utilise google correctly but WHY is it so hard to find Western novels about gay men that aren't romance novels

[newspecies]

ROSE TYLER *SHAKING YOU*

[yan-randomfandom]

Wait! Can you do the Yanderes Saja boys x reader pls? Except the reader is aroace and isn’t a fan of Kpop

Saja Boys x GN!Reader

a/n; oh anon luckilyy i'm both of those things ☺️ BUT I'M SO SORRY since it's my first time writing them, i kinda lost the point n it turned to a character study MY BAD 😭😭 feel free to send a request again!

summary; the most common imagine for the Saja Boys right now—them finding a human manager. They find the human's company a little too enjoyable....

— 🥤 [not proofread]

During their debut, Soda Pop—the Saja Boys had a passive objective: find someone in the audience who wasn't even the slightest bit interested in them.

It was Mystery who noticed you first.

Among the crowd, you glanced at them like the rest. Paused and listened like the rest. However, unlike the rest, you pulled out your phone not to record—but to draw your attention, and eventually walk away.

Mystery memorized your face. After all, with how obsessed humans are with paperwork and management, they had to have someone deal with the annoyances just to make them seem like the real deal.

So, after their performance, your presence was mentioned. They ultimately deemed that you're the one who stayed the shortest.

Jinu approached you first.

But he was an absolute loser and couldn't keep his story straight (hundreds of years of human society blurred from his knowledge), leading the rest of the Saja boys impatient and embarrassed for him.

The next best thing they do?

Reveal themselves. Threaten you. It's either your soul goes, or your free will goes.

They're not exactly the smartest, for sure... that came from Jinu's thoughts.

Nevertheless, it worked. You work for them now.

When you first got into this mess, you thought you'd be scared for your life every single day.

"But now I'm stuck with attention-seeking, clingy, needy arrogant—"

A slim finger touches your lips in a silent gesture. You glare pointedly at the demon.

Romance's stupid face is smiling. "Sshh. You should smile more. Like this." He stretches his lips further. "See? You're so much prettier when smiling."

There's nothing to smile about. You only huff and roll your eyes before obliging—a forced, crooked smile that genuinely made him wince.

Ignoring that and turning around, you spot Baby rummaging through your fridge again. You notice how loud he was doing it too; he intentionally does that to get your attention when he couldn't find anything he liked.

"I have some popsicles in the freezer," you say, walking over and opening the top part. Baby perks up at the sight and chuckles. "Bunch of flavors."

"Always know what we need," he snickers as he casually grabs all of them.

You ignore that and sit on the counter with Abby who's fumbling with his shirt buttons. He stiffens at the sight at you and plays it cool with a smile.

"Jinu's out again, huh?" you hum, gently taking over his task a moment ago. He relaxes in your care.

"Yeah," he nods. "Only a matter of time until the big boss calls him again."

Hmm. You don't know how to reply that. So, you simply don't. They rarely tell you anything, and if they do, it's always something you'd never have any context of.

You slip the last button off and pat his chest. "Done."

Abby stands up, his shirt flying dramatically away at the same time. You squint your eyes at his exposed abs that he's clearly so proud of.

Despite yourself, a snicker escapes you. Abby smirks and traces his pec with his thumb. "Beautiful, is it not?"

Cornball.

"Hey, wait," you turn away, leaving Abby disappointed from your lack of response, "where's Mystery?"

Oh, no.

You rush to your room and almost slam the door open—

Great. He's laying on your bed. Again.

"Mystery!" you yelp, and he immediately sits up at your voice. "Out! Out!!"

He scrambles out of your bed and teleports away. You do a quick inspection on your bed—alright. Nothing damaged at the very least.

You swear—you had two rules for them to which they agreed to: one, keep their human form. Second, STAY OUT OF YOUR BEDROOM. You have a guest room for their resting needs.

You head back to your living room, seeing them all huddled up on your couch. Each one of them having a popsicle with unique flavors.

"Baby," you call, only to end up with all of them turning to you. Your face flushes. "Uh, Baby. Give me one too."

He throws you a surprisingly not melted popsicle with a sweet smile.

"Thanks," you smile back. Then an idea comes in. They all seem like they're in a fairly good mood, so maybe you can take a break—

You grab a jacket from the rack. "Anyway, I hope you guys don't mind, but I'll go for a walk in the park—"

"NO," all of them growl, you flinch, turning around to see their demon forms—an exception to rule 1 is that it will be broken when they're deadly serious.

"..OkayIwon't"

— 🥀

working with crumbs.... saja boys writers u guys r killing it... also huntrix too pelase

[ravencromwell]

I have to add Archivist Wasp and its sequel Latchkey by Nicole Kornher-Stace. (Both those links lead to Weightless Books, an arm of the incomparable Small Beer Press that sells drm-free versions of numerous small presses' books for ease of reading and to avoid the amazon monster; to tout the awesome of Small Beer and Mythic Delirium, both primarily responsbiel for publishing Kornher-Stace would be a post of its own, but look them up if you're unfamiliar because they've provided some of the most envelope-pushing, queer-heavy scifi of the last decade.) Archivist Wasp is in the "destroyed earth" rather than the space category of scifi and...well, Amal El Mohtar can sell it better than I ever could:

An Archivist has two jobs. The first is to hunt and catch ghosts in order to learn about the precataclysm past from them; the second is to defend her life and position against “upstarts” — the other girls marked by the goddess Catchkeep’s claw-shaped scars at birth — once a year. Wasp has been Archivist for three years, and wants nothing more than to escape a dismal life of killing her sisters and obeying the Catchkeep-priest — so when an unusually powerful ghost asks her to help find his former partner in the underworld, she agrees. But, as is so often the case with the underworld, she finds both more and less than she bargained for. More than anything else, this book is sharp. You could cut yourself on the prose — Wasp’s world is one of thorns, knives, edges of thick, broken glass, a constant background-hum of pain that sometimes swells into a shout. Wasp’s perspective absolutely thrums with tension and violence, but also aches with a fierce, hollow loneliness to break the heart. The longing and gratitude for the smallest beginnings of true friendship make the betrayals more vicious, and the stakes just keep rising. I burned through this book in about three hours, desperately rooting for her. It’s also a brilliantly constructed narrative and world. The gods are cruel and absent. The underworld is a maze in layers, a twisting, turning palimpsest, one that allows Wasp to descend almost archaeologically through time by literally experiencing her ghost-partner’s memories. The pre- and post-apocalyptic worlds reflect each other in shards and fragments, all the more powerful for being subtle, for their resistance to being spelled out. It was also keenly refreshing — especially in something that’s ostensibly YA, where the Love Triangle of Doom is so annoyingly pervasive — to find a book in which all of the strongest, primary relationships are friendships; where friendship has the narrative, motive force usually reserved for sexualized romance. I very much wanted to see the A in QUILTBAG represented in this column, and this is a fine example: while the connection between the ghost and his (female) partner is intense and loving, it is never represented as sexual, and sex is in fact completely irrelevant.

Sci-fi books where a queer woman has the ghost of an annoying dead guy in her head

*Misery is nonbinary (she/they) and who’s in her head is not dead or a guy but I’m counting it, okay

[a99jazzybean]

HIIIII! I just binge read your date everything fics and I love them! May i ask for yet another Chance fic, where y/n is familiar with g&g and used to play with their friends from time to time - using his dice of course! And... y/n used to kiss the piece for the "lucky shot", doesn't matter if it worked or not. So now, with Skylars help, y/n can speak with him and even play a session or two and it is so much fun! But she is completely oblivious to the fact that he remembers every time y/ns lips touched his dice-y form and each time he silently yearns for her lips to touch him once again... The rest is up to you, lots of love!

I love this prompt so much! Thank you for the request!

With a Taste of Your Lips...

Part 2

synop: You and Chance decide to play another session of G&G. Little do you know, a special tradition of yours has him feeling all sorts of hot and bothered. i.e. You discover Chance can feel when you kiss his die.

words: 4.7K

includes: chancexfem!reader, ttrpg playing, making out, fondling an object?, cumming untouched kinda, smut

a/n: I might make a part 2 to this one, thoughts? Also, its got smut. No minors!

“You feel yourself growing weaker. The spell the lich cast on you drains your life force. All of your comrades are downed. You are their final hope.” Your GM stares you down, brow raised. “What would you like to do?”

Looking around the table you see all of your friends' faces are grim. All eyes are on you. Taking a look at the battlemap before you, your eyes widened. 

“Past the cliff, it’s the Abysmal Pit, correct?” You asked the GM. 

“Correct.”

“And anyone who falls in is erased from existence, right?

“Correct.”

“No!” Sam shouted. “I know what you’re thinking. You can’t do it!”

You give her a solemn look, eyes filled with sadness. 

“I’m sorry.” You pick up your red D20. “But you can’t stop me. I’m going for a grapple on the lich, then I’m dragging him over the edge with me.” 

A chorus of gasps erupts from your party members. Some are getting teary-eyed. 

Two years of a campaign filled with adventure, friendship, romance, and tears. This is how it ends. Perhaps it was destined to be. 

“Make your roll.” Your GM feels tears prick in their own eyes. Not knowing whether they want you to succeed on this or not. 

As is tradition on major rolls, you bring your trusty die to your lips. Pecking it softly, you pray that this works. 

“Lucky shot,” you hear Sam say under their breath. 

Cupping the die in your hands, you give a good shake. Then you release it onto the table. Everyone in the room is holding their breath as it rolls. Finally, it stops. Natural 20. 

Normally, the table would erupt with cheers. This time, it wasn’t proper to celebrate. 

“Prim,” your GM took in a shaky breath as he spoke your character’s name. Trying to hold back tears. “You muster up the final dregs of strength within you. Pulling yourself up with a groan. Everything hurts, but your mind has been made up. Pushing through it all, you start to run. Taking one final look at your fallen teammates. This is the last time you will see them. Tell me how this ends.” Their voice wavered. 

“As I run toward the lich, I let out a final ‘goodbye’. I grab it around the waist, then throw both of us off of the ledge. No matter what it does I keep ahold of it. It’s coming with me.” Your own eyes fill with tears. 

“As you fall, the lich tries to get you off of it, but to no avail. For a brief moment you can see a flash of its past humanity. Fear filling its face as it realizes the one thing that it tried to run from has finally arrived. Death in the shape of a half-elf rogue who risked it all to defeat it.”

Chance sighed dreamily, remembering your great sacrifice. Seemed like you frequently played characters that laid their life on the line. No wonder he was absolutely smitten.

While you weren’t able to see his personified form at the moment, he was able to see you. Back hunched over as you typed on Mac. The computer feeling pretty good about themselves as you cranked out your latest self-insert fanfic. What else were you supposed to do when an AI took over your job? 

Chance wasn’t able to see what you were writing, but could see Mac occasionally blush and chuckle at the words you were typing onto them. 

“Care to share?” He asked the computer. 

Mac glanced over at him, then back to one of the screens in front of them. 

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. She’s kind of mortified that I’ve even read this stuff.” Mac turned back to read what you had just typed out, red blooming on their face. “Yeah, no. You don’t need to know about this.” 

Chance grumbled to himself. It didn’t feel fair that Mac got to see the sexiest innermost thoughts of yours. Actually, he was kind of jealous of many of your objects. Betty slept with you every night, witnessing the limited sexual exploits of yours. Johnny, he wouldn’t talk about it, too much of a gentleman. But the massage setting on his shower head? He might have alluded to activities you had accomplished with that. 

It was frustrating to say the least. Seeing how much better the other beings in the home got to know you intimately. All Chance wanted was a taste of that knowledge. 

He hoped you’d put your Dateviators back on again. Now that you had been able to see him, all he wanted was your attention. It didn’t help that you enthusiastically offered to play G&G with him. Only feeding into the ever-growing obsession with you. 

It didn’t start when you put those glasses on, no. It started when you came up with that damned tradition. Kissing the 20 side of his die body. You didn’t know, couldn’t know, really. But he felt it, every single time. It was special, something you only did when making a major roll. And you always picked him. Your “lucky shot” for your “lucky die”. 

The thing was, you hadn’t ended that tradition. When you began playing with Chance, you continued to make your lucky shots. Not realizing that although the personified version was sitting in front of you, Chance was still very much connected to the object he was. He would have you roll on something difficult, and as if it were instinct, you pressed your soft lips right on the20 side. Thankfully, Chance had been able to maintain his composure as you watched the die roll. However, it was beginning to become too much. 

Each press of your lips to the die had him falling for you harder and harder. 

With a sigh, you pushed away from your computer. Eyeing the die beside you with a smirk. Tapping on the desk, your gaze flitted over to your glasses. It had been a few hours since you had them on, couldn’t hurt to say hi to your office. And there might have been a specific object that held your affections.

“You know. I can feel you looking at me, right?” You teased the die before putting on the Dateviators. 

Chance’s face was ruddy when you looked at him, caught red handed. Rubbing his neck sheepishly, he gave you an apologetic look.

“What can I say? You’re nice to look at.” 

Now it was your turn to blush. The damned man always seemed to fluster you in such innocuous ways. Somehow always polite with his flirting. 

There were times he could be fairly forward, but he never pushed. It was sweet. 

Thinking about it, you could go for something sweet now. But nothing that was consumable. 

“Do you have a session prepped?” You asked.

Immediately, he perked up. A bright smile on his face complimented by an enthused flush. 

“Of course! Ever since you’ve come along, I’m like ten sessions ahead!” He leaned toward you, bouncing on his toes. 

“I’m glad that you’ve been so inspired. I love your stories.” You gave him a soft smile. 

His eyes widen, practically sparkling at your words.

“Y-you love my stories?” He held his hand to his heart, feeling the muscle pump faster at your compliment.

“Why do you think I want to play with you so often?” You pulled his die over with a finger, rolling it around. “I have a lot of fun with you.” 

“We could have more fun.” He raised a brow suggestively, looking over his glasses at you.

Red in the face, you waved him off with a giggle.

“Do you have time to play now?”

“I always have time for you.” 

You were sure you heard Timothy scoff somewhere in the distance. That was no matter though, for now you had the full attention of your favorite die. 

“Shall we play, then?” 

Chance nodded enthusiastically, then proceeded to get his GM station set up. When his screen and notes were all in place, he gave an approved nod. Looking up, he beamed at you again. Feeling his heart squeeze at the content smile on your face as you sat on the other end of the table from him. Oh how he wished to always keep you happy. He would play forever with you just to make sure that smile never fell from your lips. 

“Alright, where did we leave off?” He glanced over his notes.

“I managed to talk myself out of being eaten by a giant.” You had your own notes pulled out. 

Chance felt his heart swell again. You took notes! Oh, you truly were the perfect player. 

“That’s right! My charismatic girl!” He chuckled as your face grew red. 

He was glad that he managed to make you as flustered as you made him. Equal opportunity flirting to make the other squirm. Again, perfect. 

“You’ve gotten away from the giant, but you still have yet to find the gilded egg laying hen.” 

“Thankfully, you have quite the wise girl as well!” You let out a satisfied huff. “Can I make a perception check to see where the chicken is?” 

“You may.” He motioned for you to continue.

Shaking the die in your hands you urged it to roll well. 

“C’mon D20, show me what you’re made of!” 

You released the die, it clattered into your dice tray. After a moment of circling, it landed on a 16. 

“Nice! And that’s a plus four to my perception!” 

“Wonderful!” He cleared his throat, continuing his tale. “As you look around the foyer of the giant’s castle, you aren’t finding any indications of where a hen might be roosting. However, after a moment of hearing silence, there’s a new sound filtering down the hallway to the north.”

“What’s the sound?” You ask with a knowing smirk.

“It’s soft harp music, almost dreamlike.” 

After your previous character died valiantly saving a village from a dragon, Chance asked if you would mind experimenting with a fairytale themed game. Of course, you agreed, excited to see what he would come up with. While some of the quests you have been on so far were a bit predictable, he had many twists and turns added in. 

Like Cinderella’s slipper turning out to be a baby mimic. When you had managed to aid the prince in finding his lost love, the mimic revealed itself, chomping down on her foot. However, she didn’t scream. It turned out, Cinderella’s ballgown had already consumed her and was using her head and limbs to blend in. The fairy godmother revealed herself as a demon looking to collect on the souls of the kingdom. All she needed was the prince to disappear so she could take his place. 

It was a lovely twist that ended with a fairly hard battle. Thankfully the prince that accompanied you turned out to be part of the bloodline of very powerful sorcerers, so he was able to aid in the defeat of the fairy godmother. 

The prince tried asking for your hand in marriage, but you had other adventures to go on. Instead, you left with a hefty amount of gold. A token of appreciation for saving the kingdom. The engagement ring hidden amongst the coins didn’t go unnoticed, Chance giving you a cheeky wink when he mentioned it. 

You had noticed the man had been throwing romance options at you throughout each of the fairy tales. Many of them were love stories, sure, but it seemed like he really wanted you to get with someone. Little Red Riding Hood, growing smitten with you after you saved her from the belly of a wolf. A huntsman asking for your hand after you aided him in saving the kingdom from a corrupt king. Snow White practically begged you to marry her after you turned out to be her “true love's kiss”. He was laying it on pretty thick, so to speak.  

Truthfully, the reason why you never accepted was because you wanted Chance to stop hiding his affections behind characters in your game. The two of you had constant flirty banter, but it felt like he could only speak through innuendo when hinting at wanting anything more. While it was endearing, it was starting to become tiring. 

Though admittedly, you were a coward too. It would be hypocritical to judge the man considering you couldn’t muster up the courage to do anything either. Instead, you sat in a flirtatious purgatory. Something that could be viewed as a comfortable platonic relationship, but in reality had very, very heavy overtones of desire. 

Neither you or Chance could be subtle. There were times where you could feel the hunger in his eyes as he ran your game. Usually when you did something quite clever. 

That time when you answered his Latin riddle? The man was very glad he had baggy pants on. 

Then there was you. Easily bending to his dominating whims when he was GMing. Something about him having that kind of authority over you often had you clenching your thighs and squirming in your chair. And don’t even get started on the villain monologues. He pulled one of those out, you left the gaming table with your panties soaked. Giving Betty quite the show when you couldn’t get to sleep. 

Back to your current game, Chance asked for your next move.

“I follow the sound of the harp.”

“You feel almost entranced at the music. Your steps pulling you to the north hallway. After about an hour of walking (remember, this is a GIANT’S castle) you made it to the room the music was coming from. Peering inside, you see a giant sitting on a bed. She appears to be much shorter than the one you first encountered, but still clearly a giant. You can tell she is related to the other giant, both sporting the same nose shape. The giant girl is playing the harp, her fingers delicately plucking at the strings. You look across from her and see what you’ve been looking for. A hen nestled in a nest of straw. Its body swaying side to side with the music. Below it you see a peek of gold. What would you like to do?”

“I’m not going to try and hide.”

Chance looked at you with wide eyes, surprised at your blatant move.

“I handled the other giant with my words, I can easily do the same again.”

Oh, he loved your confidence. Your willingness to dive in despite the consequences. He just hoped that it wouldn’t end with your bones ground up to make bread. Quite the horrific way to depart this mortal realm.

“If you say so. You stride inside with confidence. Hyping yourself up from your previous encounter with a giant.” He rolled a die, giving a grimace. “The giant girl doesn’t appear to see you. She’s looking right at the hen, swaying side to side as she continues to play the harp.”

“I try to catch her attention by clearing my throat loudly.” 

“You clear your throat, and she stops playing. A sour look grows on her face as she looks for the source of the sound. Looking down, she finally spots you. Crossing her arms, she gives you a pout.”

“You know, it’s quite rude to interrupt a performance.” Chance put on the voice of a little girl, making you chuckle. “What’s so funny?”

“Chance, you know that wasn’t in-game.” You gave him a stern look. 

“I know, I’m just messin. Anyways… she looks at you, waiting for you to respond.”

“I apologize, your music is lovely.” 

“Then why did you interrupt me?”

“Well, I have some important matters to discuss.”

“Important matters? What’s important is that Bailey gets her proper rest.” Chance returns to his normal voice. “You follow her gaze to the hen in the nest.”

“Is Bailey your hen?” 

“Obviously!” The character voice returned. “And she won’t lay eggs unless I play for her.” 

“I see.” You ponder on that information for a moment, then ask. “Is the harp huge?”

“It’s giant, so is the hen.”

“Didn’t the asshole who hired me say he had been here before? Why send me up if there’s no way to bring the items down?” You huffed in frustration at the quest-giver.

“Who said there wasn’t a way to bring them down?” He clicked his tongue at you, admonishingly.

“Hmmm. I think I'll talk to the girl some more.” He motioned for you to continue. “I’m sure Bailey loves your music.”

“She does, she always lays an egg when I play! My daddy says I’m gettin just as good as my mama!” Chance goes back to narrating. “After she says that she goes quiet. Her eyes widening as if she’s just realized you were here. There’s a darkness in them that surprises you for a girl so young.”

“I don’t have a good feeling about this.” You bit your lip nervously.

“You’re a human. Humans aren’t allowed here!”

“Um, you’re dad let me go. At least I think it was your dad.” You give Chance a nervous glance.

“Roll on persuasion.”

Shaking the dice, you let it drop. Watching in fear as it lands on a three. Chance’s gaze grows dark.

“You only think you know? How can I know if you’re telling the truth?” Chance narrates again. “The giant girl stands up, towering high over you. A glare on her face as her eyes narrow. But you spot something odd, her eyes are watering.” The little girl voice is put back on. “All humans lie! I bet you’re no different!”

“I decide to stay quiet, letting her speak.” You say to Chance. Again, he’s surprised at your action.

“Your people killed my mom!” He switches back to normal. “You now see tears falling from her eyes. She’s going to reach for you.” He rolls a die, eyeing you expectantly. “Would you like to do anything to stop it?”

“No. I let her.” 

“A large hand grabs you with a crushing squeeze. You feel the air forced out of your body by the strong grip of her hand. She lifts you to her head.” He clears his throat, going back to the girl voice. “I should just eat you, show you how it feels.” He gives you another expectant look. “Are you going to try and do anything?”

“Nope. I’m gonna close my eyes and accept my fate.” 

Impressed, Chance sits back with his arms crossed. Pondering on what to do next. While you had managed to talk your way out of the last giant encounter, he thought you would at least try to fight your way out of this one. The giant child’s stat block was something that you could manage on your own. 

“Okay. I want you to roll persuasion, and I’ll be nice and give you advantage for what you’ve managed to do so far.”

Pumping your fist in the air, you reached for the die. This time, you brought the D20 to your lips, giving it a light peck. This was a roll that was gonna need it. 

“C’mon lucky shot, don’t let me down now.” 

The first roll landed on a 6. Again, you brought the die to your lips. The kiss to the dice slightly lingering, just for good luck. You shook it in your hand and released, crossing your fingers for a good roll. Slowly, it spun to land on a 20.

“Nat 20 babee! Let’s gooooo!” You stood up and cheered, your character saved.

Chance remained seated, face beet red. His breathing had become labored. For some reason, he couldn’t get himself to calm down. Maybe it was the fact that you had kissed the die in succession. Something he could feel burning through his body. 

Coming down from your high, you realized Chance hadn’t continued. Turning, you gave him a concerned look. Walking over, you eyed the state he was in. Face still extremely flushed. 

“Are you okay?” You leaned toward him, trying to figure out what was wrong.

“I-I’m fine. We can continue!” He rubbed his neck nervously.

“Are you sure? Your face is really red.”

“What did you expect after kissing me like that!” He clamped his hands over his mouth, face turning another shade darker. 

“What? I didn’t kiss…” You looked over to the die, feeling a heat crawl up your neck. “C-can you feel that?”

Hands still over his mouth, he nodded. You realized you had been performing your luck ritual the entire time you had been playing with Chance. He could feel it. Every. Single. Time. 

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” You felt terrible, doing that to him without asking.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He said softly.

“But then I kept making you uncomfortable! Kissing you without your consent, ugh. I’m so sorry, Chance.” You gave him a sad look that pierced his heart. That wasn’t what he meant at all!

“I never said I was uncomfortable.” He composed himself somewhat.

“Huh?” 

“I might have liked it…” He trailed quietly. 

“What was that?” You couldn’t make out what he said.

“I like it!” He blurted. “I really like it when you kiss me.” His face grew red again as he waited for your response.

“Y-you do?” 

He nodded sheepishly. 

“Yeah. It feels… nice. Really nice.” He bit his lip nervously. “You’re always so soft and sweet.” 

“Oh.” Your face was burning.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” He gave you an apologetic look. 

“Chance…” This time you were nervous.

“Yes?” 

You leaned down toward his face. Arms planted on the headrest of his chair.

“Can I actually kiss you?”

“I-I mean technically you are ‘actually’ kissing me…” He stuttered out, eyes flitting between your eyes and lips.

You gave him an unamused pout.

“You know what I mean. How’s about this? Can I give you a reciprocated kiss? One that you also participate in?”

“Yes. Please.” 

With that, you pressed your lips to his. Chance froze up at first, eyes wide at the fact that this was happening. Leaning into the kiss, his eyes fluttered shut. You let out a content sigh at the feel of his lips against yours. Soft and plush, perfectly meldable with your own. 

With your tongue, you teased at his bottom lip. Gladly, he slightly opened his mouth for your tongues to intertwine. A low groan left him as he tasted you. So fucking perfect.

The man pushed the chair away from the table, letting you sink onto his lap. Your hand trailed up his neck, fingers lightly scratching at his scalp. He moaned against you at the action. His own hands trailed over your body, mapping out your slopes and curves. Ultimately they landed on your ass, giving it a quick squeeze. You giggled against his lips, pulling away to get a good look at him.

Face still flushed with kiss bitten lips and blown out pupils. He stared up at you like you were a goddess that was granting him a blessing. That was sure how this encounter was feeling. Something that he had only dreamed of. 

“You’re so handsome.” You pressed kisses against his jaw and down his throat, making him shiver. 

“And you’re beautiful. So perfect.” He pressed a kiss to your lips. 

Leaning your forehead against his, you smiled. Then an idea came to you. Biting your lip, you wondered if the man beneath you would oblige to your whims. 

“Chance…”

“Hmm?”

“When I kiss your die, where do you feel it?”

“Oh, um, I guess on my face? Like a whisper against my cheeks and the corner of my lips.” He let out an awkward chuckle. 

You shifted off of him to grab the die, then returned to his lap. Holding the die in front of you, you looked over the numbers.

“So what would happen if I kissed the other numbers?” You asked, gaze hungry.

Oh, oh, this was hot. So fucking hot. Chance thought just kissing you was a dream come true. You wanting more from him? That was merely a fantasy.

“I suppose I would feel you kissing me on other parts of my body.” He answered. Truthfully, he had no idea what would happen. You only ever kissed the 20.

“So if I kiss the one.” You brought the dice to your lips, pecking the side.

Chance giggled at the feeling. Right on the bottom of his foot. 

“I take it that was your foot?”

He nodded, excited to see where this was going. Already feeling himself growing semi-hard in his pants as  he watched you in anticipation.

You pressed a kiss to the five, eyeing Chance��s response. He twitched under you with a whimper. 

“Where was that?”

“My left thigh.” 

Okay, so if five was the left thigh then… you pressed a kiss to the six.

“R-right thigh.” He groaned out. Having your lips on him like this was something else. 

It was probably a good thing you never kissed the other numbers. He was sure you would make him cum from just kissing him alone. 

“So if six is your other thigh then that must mean seven or eight is likely your-”

“What if we avoided that area?” He cut you off, a nervous sheen of sweat on his forehead. 

“Why’s that?” You leaned in, giving him a deep kiss.

“I-I just…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. 

“Chance, would me kissing the dice equivalent of your crotch make you cum?” Wow, just right out with it. 

“Y-yeah, yeah. It would. I’m gonna be honest. With the way that you’re already going at it, I’d probably cum just from you kissing me.” 

“Really?” You sat upright, eyes sparkling. 

He nodded, blushing furiously. 

“Could we try it?” You bit your lip. 

The thought of having the man fall apart just from you kissing him had you riled up. You could feel yourself growing wetter at the thought. Seeing him squirm from your kisses before coming undone. Oh, that was very appealing. 

“You want to?” He was surprised.

“Yeah, I do. Only if you want to.” 

“You don’t have to ask twice.” He wrapped a hand around your neck, pulling you in for a kiss. Your tongues tangled with each other as you moaned. 

Pulling away, you brought the dice back up to your face. Eyeing the numbers, you decided to go for the 19. You gave it a slow kiss, watching Chance as he shivered and moaned. The feeling reached a sweet spot on his neck that had him keening. He was pretty sure he was addicted to your lips now. 

You continued to press kisses to various numbers. Loving every whimper and moan you managed to get out of the man. Occasionally you would lean back in to give him a proper kiss on the lips, only to return to tease him with the die. 

Chance could tell you were avoiding the seven and eight. Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore. 

“P-please.” He groaned through gritted teeth as he felt your lips on his chest. “I need you…”

“Need me to what?” You teased with a smirk.

“Kiss the seven and eight. Please.” He begged, squirming beneath you.

“Hmm. Good boy.” Oh fuck. That had his dick throbbing. 

Slowly, you brought the die to your lips. You pecked all over it, then finally pressed a kiss to the seven. Chance cried out at the feeling. Your lips right where he needed them. Feeling them press against his throbbing length. He was sure the next one would be the last he needed. You gave another slow kiss to the eight. It was his undoing. Cock twitching in his pants, releasing a sticky load into his boxers. His hands gripped at your hips as he rutted against the feeling of your lips. 

“Oh f-fuck.” He stuttered out. 

You pressed your lips to his, then kissed all over his face. The man melting into your affection. 

“How was that?” You asked softly.

“Amazing. Perfect. Wonderful. Perfect. Did I mention perfect?” He chuckled.

“I’m glad I could give you that.” You picked up the die again, giving it a peck on the 20. 

“Guess I’ll be keeping my lucky shot tradition for our other games.” You gave him a sweet smile. 

“Oh sweetheart,” Chance pulled you back to him, “did you think playtime was over?”

[monimccoythings]

The Dirtiest Corners Of The Mind

I had A LOT of fun writing this. I wanted something silly and funny. I was thinking about Trilogy!Logan and the raw sexual energy that radiated from his pores.

Summary: Being a telepath has its perks, but it also comes with a great cost, specially if the object of your desire just cannot stop having very sexual and indecent thoughts about a coworker.

Tags: f!reader, Logan has a dirty mind, he's a perv (but he's in love), reader is clueless, telepath reader..

I wanna bend you over the counter and fuck you so hard I'll erase the memory of any other man from your mind.

You closed your eyes. Here we go again. Many people thought that being a telepath was a big win in the mutant lottery, but sometimes you'd wish you could stop hearing those voices altogether. Especially if they came from Logan.

Logan.

From the very moment he stepped foot on the mansion you had desired him like you had never desired anybody else. Big, muscular, with a roughness that made him handsome, he sure was a walking wet dream. But the thing that attracted you the most was his heart, behind all that toughness and snarkiness laid some sweet gentleness that one would have never thought possible coming from a man like Logan.

However, reality is a lot different from a cheesy romance novel, in the real world, where sadly you all have to love in, men like Logan would never spare a single glance at you. In fact, they always went after women like Jean. And how could you blame them.

Jean was sweet, kind, smart, and with looks that came out of a model catalogue. Anybody would be lucky to have her. You, meanwhile, were just... you. The sooner you accepted that Logan would never be interested in you the better.

That didn't mean it didn't hurt.

Because if Logan was anything was overly open with his thoughts.

Yeah shake that piece of ass f'me, sweetheart, can't wait to grab a bite.

You nearly dropped the bowl you were beatings the eggs in, your breakfast almost ruined.

Jesus Christ, you thought to yourself. He never stops. A part of you bitterly wondered why he wouldn't think that about yourself, but you quickly shut it down. Better lower your head, and accept reality as it is, even if it was the most painful thing you had ever done.

Maybe a bit of music would help you get distracted from the awkwardness and the soft pang in your chest.

It was like you could never escape him.

At the library, where all you wanted was some peace and quiet to finish your novel while sitting in the most unladylike manner ever known to woman, your fantasies were soon disrupted by his wild train of thought.

Open nice and wide. The big bad Wolverine wants his meal.

Fuck. You didn't know what Jean was doing to provoke that reaction nor did you want to stay long enough to discover it. You promptly shut your book and hurried away.

At the pool, on a hot summer day, enjoying an iced tea, and praying that they'll be too busy preparing for the next mission.

There are many ways to get you wet

You choked on your drink.

The last straw was during a team meeting, everything was supposed to be serious and professional. Keyword 'supposed'.

Wanna breed.

You paled. Out of all the things anyone could think during a meeting, that's the last thing you'd expect. You couldn't look at Logan, Jean or Scott in the eyes after that. Poor Scott. If only he knew what went through Logan's mind.

Something had to be done. Leaving the mansion until things cooled down or they finally fucked was too extreme and you didn't think your heart would survive that. Confronting Logan about his very inappropriate and very private thoughts was out of the question as well, it was too embarrassing and pathetic.

So, that only left you with a choice: avoiding him as much as you could for the rest of your life.

You didn't want to be rude. But it was getting harder and harder to escape him. It was a vicious circle of awkwardness and heartbreak that you didn't seem to be able to escape from. No matter what you did, there was a constant reminder that the only man you had ever loved would never give you the time of the day. Maybe some distance would help you heal.

And for a while, it worked. You found your well deserved peace and it helped you push any thoughts about Logan or your unrequited love to the back of your head.

Until they came back. Stronger than ever. Impatient. Angry. Desperate.

Where is she?

Where is she??

WHERE IS SHE

You knew Jean and Scott had parted in one of those super secret missions a couple of weeks ago, huh, you thought Logan knew it too. Weird.

It was a constant drilling in your head. Sometimes you had to take something from the mansion's self aid kit to be able to sleep well.

After another week of endless agony, Scott and Jean finally returned from a successful mission. That called for a celebration, and you were not going to say 'no' to a big party with all your friends.

It'd help you to let loose a little and have fun. And you were, until a thought, as powerful as a hammer to the head invaded your mind.

There you are.

You nearly sighed with relief, finally. Logan would see that they had come back safely and would stop driving you nuts with his miserable thoughts. You didn't know you could miss the horniness yet here we are.

As you looked up from your conversation, expecting Logan to be making puppy dog eyes at Jean for the rest of the evening, you found instead that at the end of his heated glare wasn't the redhead.

It was you.

As soon as he noticed you staring back at him, his eyes hardened. He started marching towards you like a man with a mission, not caring who got in his way. Somehow, you felt (and looked) like a deer in the headlights.

You quickly excused yourself and tried to get out from there before Logan pounced on you. You believed yourself safe in the hall, but you didn't get too far before his deep voice startled you.

"You've been avoiding me." His flat tone suggested he was indifferent to that fact, but boy did you know better.

"Uh-"

Naughty kitten let me put you over my knee and give you a good spanking.

He sure knew how to make the most out of a bad situation. Even now he was thinking about Jean?? Still, you were starting to have your own doubts about it. His intense gaze never wavered from you, and there was no Jean in the nearest vicinity. She was completely oblivious of whatever this confrontation was back at the party. It was impossible he could have directed that thought towards her, right? And if he wasn't thinking about her right now, then that would mean-

Oh.

Oh. Indeed.

"I've been hearing your thoughts!" You blurted out without thinking. You thought you'd never see the day when The Wolverine would turn red, well, you thought wrong.

His surprise soon turned into embarrassment, and after several seconds that felt like an eternity and your lack of reaction, his embarrassment turned into disappointment.

"Oh. I understand." His voice sounded calm, too collected and eerie. For once, you wished he threw at you what crossed his mind. "I'll let you be." He sounded so dejected, so defeated, it tore at your heartstrings. You knew you had to do something, you had never been one to give yourself false hope, but if there was a little chance, an itty bitty chance that all this time he had been thinking about you, shouldn't you be daring and take it?

What could you lose? Apart from your dignity? If things went south you could just move out and swap identities. Easy peasy, nothing to worry about.

"I thought they were about Jean."

That made him freeze in his trucks. Cautiously and angonizingly slowhe turned around. One of his bushy eyebrows formed a perfect arch that perfectly portrayed his disbelief while his head slightly titled like a confused kitten.

"Jean?"

You gulped, already regretting your stupid moment of bravery and mentally choosing which country would be best to spend the rest of your days.

"Well, it's a well known fact you feel something for her."

Well it's a better known fact I wanna put my dick in your mouth.

Your gasp may have come out a bit more short breathed and needy than intended. But what could you say, he was breathtaking. Logan smirk widened when he caught sight of your flushed face and prowled towards you like a lion cornering a tasty gazelle.

One of his large hairy hands went towards your waist, pulling your flush against his with a low chuckle, while the other delicately grabbed your chin to force you to look into his eyes. His pupils had blown up so much there was barely any room left for that soft tone of hazel you absolutely adored.

"You don't need to worry anymore, sweetheart. We ain't gonna do much thinking from now on."

[tsuy4n]

The Artist Who Lives for the Plot

Warning/s: Fem!Reader, Mild language/swearing, Still Chaotic™, Verbal bullying disguised as flirting, petty drama, reader still very much suffering (comically), Unwilling reverse harem, Reader is done with them all (not really), reader needs sleep

[A/n]: A little calm before we spiral again 😌 Still the same day as the fire rescue, just some filler flavor and sketchbook chaos. Next chapter? More damage. Stay tuned.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 >Part 6<, Part 7, Part 8

Abby lingered outside of your room.

Slowly, inevitably, his lips curled into a smile. He didn't even try to stop it. He exhaled, shaking his head before glancing down at the object in his hand. The sketchbook.

Your sketchbook.

You handed it to him. Not Jinu. Not Baby. Not Romance. And definitely not Mystery, who felt like the favorite and possibly even closest to you.

Just him.

Abby grinned wider, his ego inflating by the second.

You liked him best. That had to be it. Why else would you let him be the first? Obviously, your taste was impeccable. Stunning. Refined. Tragic, really, that it took a near-death experience for you to admit it.

(Even if you hadn't technically said anything.)

He flipped the sketchbook open with a lazy flick of his thumb, smirking like he already knew what he'd find.

Time to confirm it, their (mostly Jinu) wild theories about blueprints for assassination, pages of data collection, maybe even labeled diagrams of their emotional weaknesses in comic strip format.

At the very least, a panel or two on how she planned to kill them.

But no.

None of that.

His smirk faltered. Then settled into something gentler.

These weren't schemes. Or secret weapon notes. Or a coded confession to Huntrix.

They were just… drawings.

Real ones. Good ones. Frustrated ones. Admiring ones. Art for art's sake.

"…Hah," Abby said quietly, a little too pleased with himself. "Told you she wasn't the enemy."

He clutched the sketchbook closer.

"I knew it all along."

Despite his words, he continued to look through the pages. Not because he doubted, but because he's curious.

These were your drawings, after all.

The first few pages were older, lined with haphazard doodles and messy pencil marks, as if you were racing thoughts before they slipped.

Some were half-finished, others just empty silhouettes. Characters in stories. Fantasies. Whole worlds, sketched in a haze of graphite and ink.

He paused at one that looked vaguely like a knight, then another of someone with a glowing arm. Magical girls. Monsters. A fox-eared barista.

Huh. These were just fictional things. All fantasy. Impressive, yeah—but not what he expected.

Kind of amazing, honestly. The detail. The shading. The style.

Still, for someone who got yelled at, tripped over, and harassed by him at least three times a day, you'd think he'd have at least one angry doodle dedicated to his face. Just one. Was that so much to ask?

A little disappointing.

Not that he cared. (He totally cared.)

He sighed. Just one more page, he told himself. Then he'd hand it off to Jinu and the others so they'd shut up about their "data-gathering spy artist enemy" theory or whatever insane thing they were cooking up.

He turned the page.

And stopped.

A familiar shape came to view. Broad shoulders. Lean frame. A shirt he definitely recognized—

"...Is that a pigeon head?"

He blinked then tilted the book as if from a different angle, it might suddenly become respectful.

It did not.

The shading was immaculate. The pigeon eyes sparkled with contempt. The little caption beneath it read: 'Soaring dumbass, probably eats gravel.'

He stared.

Then he laughed—sharp and startled, hand slapping over his mouth as if you'd hear him from across the house. He's literally still standing in front of your room.

You drew him with a pigeon head. That meant something. That meant everything.

He didn't know whether to be offended or deeply honored.

So he settled on: "Yeah. She totally likes me."

He flipped the page.

The next was a hastily drawn Baby with 'Most Likely to Die First in a Horror Movie' written under his face. Next to it was Mystery frowning at a ghost with a speech bubble: "Please stop haunting me. I'm busy."

Abby tried not to laugh. He failed.

The page after that?

Romance. Shirtless. Dramatically posed on a pile of books. Except one of his eyebrows was taped to his forehead like a glued-on caterpillar. You'd scrawled, "He wouldn't shut up about Greek myths so I gave him a tragedy."

"Oh my gah—" Abby wheezed.

There were more.

A doodle of Jinu staring at a calendar like he was calculating your death date. Baby in a clown costume. Romance crying because his tea was too bitter. Mystery. Just Mystery. But instead of arms, he had spaghetti noodles for limbs.

He was already moving to flip another page but then he heard footsteps.

Abby quickly slammed the sketchbook shut just as Baby and Mystery rounded the corner into the hallway. Both looked immediately suspicious.

"Why do you look guilty?" Baby said, eyes narrowing.

"I don't." Abby straightened. "I look smug. Which is my default."

Mystery didn't say anything but when he saw the sketchbook, he looked at Abby like he was hinting or accusing him of something.

"Oh, this?" Abby gestured with the book, conceited. "[Y/n] gave it to me. Advance payment she said."

"...You mean she didn't threaten you?" Baby asked flatly after sharing a look with his friend.

Abby's lips curved even wider. "No. She let me borrow it."

He held the sketchbook a little higher, like it was a trophy.

Baby narrowed his eyes immediately. "You're lying."

Abby gasped, scandalized. "I would never lie about a legally binding sketchbook transaction between two consenting weirdos."

Before Baby could point that irritatingly snobbish smirk of his, Romance entered the hallway holding a bowl of soup like it was a peace offering from a much cooler alternate universe.

He raised a brow. "What's this about?"

"She's staying." Abby said smugly.

All three stopped.

"She what?" Romance blinked.

"She's staying here." Abby smirked, voice practically dripping with self-satisfaction. "And gave me this as advance payment."

He lifted the sketchbook again, flipping it over in his hand for dramatic flair. "Which means, by the way, I am currently the most trusted, most beloved, and most artistically appreciated member of this group."

Baby scoffed. "She was probably delirious."

"Deliriously into me." Abby shot back, beaming.

Mystery's gaze shifted toward the door to your room. His stare was neutral but sharp, like he was calculating just how deeply he should be concerned.

Romance squinted at the book in Abby's hands. "...She gave you her sketchbook?"

"Borrowed." Abby corrected. "Lent. Entrusted. Gifted temporarily with intent to impress. The phrasing isn't important."

"You asked for it, didn't you." Baby muttered, his arms crossed.

"I was charmingly persistent." Abby said, playing along with him. There was no need to go into detail with that story to someone who's in denial.

Mystery tilted his head the faintest bit. "Did she threaten you?"

"Nope." Abby popped the ‘p’. "Voluntary. Consensual. You can ask her yourself."

He gestured for them to enter the room as if it was a dare to go into somewhere scary.

Then he points to Romance's bowl with flair. "Thank you for bringing the sacrament."

Romance looked deeply unimpressed. "I'm starting to think we should've let her burn you."

Abby didn't seem offended, his mood too good that it broke the meter.

Jinu appears from down the hallway. He blinked at them, already annoyed. "Are we having a meeting here or—?"

His words cut off when he saw the sketchbook in Abby's arms. He stopped walking, his eyebrows furrowing. "You didn't steal that, right?"

"For the last time." Abby groaned dramatically. "She let me borrow it."

He placed one hand over his heart. "Do I look like a thief?"

"Yes." Baby, Jinu, and Romance all said in unison while Mystery only nodded.

Jinu squinted, skeptical. "And she just handed that over?"

Abby flashes a toothy smile. "With the grace of a woman who knows quality when she sees it."

"...So she was hypnotized."

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, Jinu."

Mystery remained silent, but his arms slowly folded. He looked at Abby like he was trying to find the exact moment he lost all respect for him. (It might've been now.)

Romance sighed and gave up trying to rationalize it.

So naturally, they opened it.

Abby was chill so maybe whatever's inside wasn't horrible? No data collections or death panels. Probably.

And also, Abby was glowing. Not in the supernatural way (for once), but in that "I knew it" kind of way that came with unbearable levels of smugness.

Without another word, he opened the book again. (He refuses to hand it over) Though instead of the first page, Abby just resorted to continuing on where he left off.

Not that they knew.

The first page they saw was a drawing of Baby and Jinu yelling at each other—with you in the background holding a sign that read: "Both of them are wrong. I just don't have the energy to argue."

They flipped again.

There were more. Some ridiculous. Some terrifying. One had Romance and Baby in bunny suits dancing under a disco ball.

Another had Jinu mid-sneeze with a line that said 'Bless you, you cursed little man.'

Then came the sketch where Abby was floating outside your window with glowing eyes and a handwritten caption: "Ghost of Unpaid Rent."

He was labeled 'Menace, Grade A' in the corner, with little sparkles around his head and an arrow pointing to your drawn self screaming inside the apartment.

Baby was drawn curled up on top of the copier, limbs dangling off the edges like a spoiled housecat who had declared the office equipment his throne.

There were papers flying out of the machine, most of which had blurry selfies of his face on them. One paw (hand) was slapping the copy button lazily, over and over.

You were drawn in the corner, screaming silently into a folder.

The caption beneath it read: Day 2. I've started negotiating with God. He hasn't responded. Probably because Baby threatened him first.

A Post-it was stuck to the corner of the page with an added note:

"I sprayed him with water. He winked. I think it made him stronger."

Next to it, there was a doodle of a smug cartoon cat, slouching in a shoebox labeled 'Do not disturb unless you're ready to be emotionally attacked.' The cat wore tiny sunglasses. The resemblance was alarming.

Baby stared at the drawing. Then stared harder.

"…I look good." He announced, looking somewhat proud. Either because of the drawing itself or it was you who drew it while thinking of him. Or maybe both.

Jinu snorts at him. "You look like a possessed raccoon."

"Exactly." Baby grinned, completely unbothered. "Handsome. Untouchable. The moment."

Romance tilted his head. "You're a cat. Slapping a copier."

"I'm the cat." Baby corrected, tapping the page. "This is art. She gets me."

"You're in a box labeled 'Do not disturb unless you're ready to be emotionally attacked.'" Abby read flatly, brows raised.

Baby smirked wider. "Tell me that's not accurate."

Baby leaned back smugly, arms behind his head. "Can't believe I live rent-free in her head and her sketchbook. What a life."

"She sprayed you with water." Romance pointed out, holding back a laugh.

"She drew me surviving it." Baby shrugged. "Only makes me stronger."

Mystery didn't say anything. But he did flip the page like even he had enough.

Jinu stared at the drawing.

A crown. A sash. The words "King of losers!" printed in bold, cursed lettering. The others were all kneeling dramatically around him like his loyal minions.

There was a beat of silence before he scoffed.

"Well," He said with a hand on his hip, "She got the royal part right."

Romance tilted his head. "Did she though? It's giving more... dethroned monarch who got kicked out for embezzlement."

"Wrong. I'm clearly adored." Jinu flipped his hair with dangerous precision. "Look how everyone's bowing. Even you, Baby. I should frame this."

"Frame it and I'll draw a mustache on you." Baby said, unimpressed.

"Oh no. Anything but facial hair." Jinu said dryly, already miming where he'd hang the sketch on a nonexistent wall. "I think above the bed. Or the throne. Whichever comes first."

"You don't have a throne." Romance states while the others hummed in agreement.

"Yet."

Abby clapped him on the back. "Buddy, she just publicly declared you the supreme loser."

"And she drew it," Jinu grinned. "Which means [Y/n] thought about me. Emotionally. That's art. It proves that despite everything, she still likes me."

Mystery blinked. Even he found this absurd. "You sound insane."

Jinu replied with his chin up, "I sound royal."

Yeah, they had enough. Abby turned the page.

Then came Mystery.

He was sketched multiple times—always in the background. In windows. Reflections. Crouching behind potted plants. One drawing had red circles around his eyes like a cryptid sighting, labeled:

"Proof he exists (???)"

And underneath it, your handwriting scrawled: "Seen only during 3AM snack runs. Leaves no footprints. Possibly floats."

Baby side-eyed him. So far drawings of his friend were 'mild' compared to them.

"Favoritism..." Jinu mutters with narrowed eyes, also noticing it. (He said it before, he'll say it again)

Mystery blinked slowly. Then flipped the page himself.

All five of them, in the rehearsal studio. Abby lying on top of the prop table like it was a chaise lounge. Jinu standing on a chair arguing with the director's notes.

Baby was trying to mic-tape his face like a mustache. Romance sipped your very obviously labeled thermos.

And Mystery, for some reason, was sitting on the stack of foldable chairs in the corner, watching all of it happen like he was above mortality.

You, meanwhile, were drawn half-sitting, half-falling on the floor with a bundle of tangled cords in your arms.

You had a speech bubble that read: "Are they even idols? They rehearse for ten minutes then torment me for the next three hours."

The caption beneath it: "Maybe this is my hell. Maybe I offended a sea witch. Maybe I didn't hold the elevator for someone and this is cosmic justice."

At this point Jinu was now convinced this is your kind of your humor.

And then came the threat.

The one Mystery still remembered clearly, mostly because he'd spent the whole day trying to decode what "suspicious things" meant.

A sketch of Baby and Jinu.

Kissing.

Violently.

Beneath the drawing, you had written: "Keep testing me and this becomes canon. Watch out Romance and Abby."

Baby recoiled like he'd just seen his future flash before his eyes and it owed him money.

"...No. Absolutely not." He hissed, staring like the paper personally offended him. "Is this legal? Can she do this?"

Jinu just stared, expression blank. He was silent and processing whatever that was you drew.

Then, very calmly, he said, "I'm setting that thing on fire."

"Don't you dare." Abby frowned for a second then grinned as he held the book tighter to his chest. "This is proof she likes me more."

"You can have that delusion," Jinu snapped, "but this—" he jabbed a finger at the page "—is psychological warfare."

Romance leaned over for a peek and blinked. "Oh wow. There's shading. She spent time on this."

Mystery said nothing. Just turned to the next page like he was trying to erase the last ten seconds of his life.

Romance doubled over laughing.

Mystery exhaled through his nose. Barely. Which was basically a wheeze by his standards.

"…Wait." Baby said slowly, brow furrowing as he squinted down at the sketchbook again. "Where's Mystery?"

The laughter stopped and they all turned back to the page.

Romance leaned in like he’d misread something. "She only threatened four of us."

Abby blinked, flipping the page back just to be sure. "...That's true."

Jinu's gaze sharpened. "That can't be right."

But there it was. Just beneath the drawing of Baby and Jinu kissing like it was a war crime, and beside the note that had Romance and Abby explicitly name-dropped.

A tiny, passing doodle. Casual. Effortless.

'Mystery… kinda safe, ig'

Abby recoiled like he’d been slapped. "Wow. Wow. She even hesitated putting you in danger. Look at that lowercase energy. That's affection. That's favoritism. That's emotional treason."

Romance leaned in again. "You're the favorite. I'm telling you."

Mystery tilted his head, as if considering this deeply. "Neat."

That one word was enough to send everyone into a spiral.

"No." Jinu said tightly, brows twitching. "No. We are not doing this. I know what this is. This is war."

"You're just mad she called you a 'cursed little man.'" Abby muttered.

"She did more than that!" Jinu snapped, voice shooting an octave higher as he jabbed a finger at the drawing like it committed slander.

Then he paused.

Straightened his back. Smoothed down an invisible wrinkle on his shirt. Cleared his throat like a prince about to deliver closing arguments in a courtroom.

"Ahem, 'Bless you, you cursed little man.'" He recited flatly, every syllable laced with quiet fury. "She weaponized politeness. That's a hate crime."

"I got called a spoiled cat and she still gave me sunglasses," Baby grumbled, crossing his arms. "And this guy—" He pointed at Mystery like he was snitching in court. "—gets a diplomatic immunity clause?"

Mystery blinked at them. "I didn't do anything."

"Exactly the problem." Jinu muttered, doing his best to keep his tone civilized and failing.

Abby turned the sketchbook toward them again and jabbed a finger at the corner of the page. "'Mystery… kinda safe, I guess.'" He read, voice filled with righteous fury.

Baby squinted at it. "Kinda safe." He echoed like it personally wounded him.

"She didn't even fully commit to complimenting you." Jinu scoffed, struggling to keep his composure. "That's worse. That's passive favoritism."

"This feels rigged." Baby said it lightly, almost casual—except for the way he side-eyed Mystery like tomorrow was already scheduled for revenge. "She gave me cat sunglasses, and gave him a pardon."

"You literally broke into the supply closet last night and used her office chair as a ladder." Abby snapped.

Romance raised a brow. "Are you jealous?"

Baby didn't even blink. "I'm confused." He said flatly, tone smooth as ever—too smooth. Like he'd already rerouted the emotion into something more useful. "And offended."

Jealous? Please. As if he'd admit to that. Even to himself.

"She gave me a tragic teacup breakdown." Romance added, rubbing his temple. "Meanwhile, he got a Get-Out-Of-Roast-Free pass."

"She said you cried." Baby pointed out. The former only shrugged at him.

"I got called 'king of losers.'" Jinu hissed, voice low and bitter. He practically dared them to top that humiliation.

"She chased me with a fork." Baby added, casual but pointed. Like he’d been waiting to bring that up again.

"She called me basic." Abby said after a blink, one of those slow, thousand-yard stares like he was reliving a nightmare. A war flashback, straight from 3 days ago.

The room went quiet.

Abby's voice dropped to a whisper. "It still echoes in my head at night."

Baby looked like he had to bite back a laugh when he shared look with the others. "Who's most beloved now."

Abby snapped his head toward them, basically glaring. "You don't understand. That's why I joined the stupid challenge. I deserve redemption."

"I got head-pats." Mystery chimed in.

Four heads turned toward him.

"Called me cute, too." He added while meeting their gazes, unbothered and simply proud, maybe even overjoyed. "Also... 'Baby.'"

Actual Baby twitched, his shoulders stiff and jaw tight. Like Mystery had just defiled his name in real-time.

"Oh, you're done tomorrow." Abby muttered.

Jinu's face went unnervingly still—cold, calculating, and so openly vengeful it was clear he'd stopped pretending not to be plotting emotional sabotage.

Romance noticed their leader and nodded his head in approval of whatever the former was cooking.

And Mystery? He just turned the page.

And just when they thought it couldn't get worse—there it was.

A soft page. A shift in tone.

You'd drawn them in moments they clearly didn't notice. The sight made them forget the previous page. (for now)

Romance with his head tilted as he tuned a guitar, expression oddly serene.

You'd written beside it: "When he stops talking, he looks almost… poetic. But don't tell him. Ever."

Jinu, caught mid-yawn, hoodie half-on, sprawled on the greenroom floor like someone unplugged him.

A soft note beneath it read: "Still a jerk. But weirdly peaceful when asleep. Must be the only time."

Mystery, drawn in profile, alone at the stairwell window. You'd captured the shadows under his eyes. The slant of light across his cheek.

All it said was: "Still as a ghost. Probably judging everyone. I would, too. Quiet like it's a power move. Whatever. It's kinda cool."

Then Baby. who was mid-laugh, one eye squinted, head thrown back at something you couldn't see. The motion was messy. Light. Alive.

You scribbled beside it: "Ugh. Fine. He's got a nice smile. Disgusting."

And finally, Abby. He was drawn from the back. Slouched on the rooftop ledge. Hoodie up. Earbuds in. Sunset behind him. You'd shaded it with more care than the others. As if you were afraid of ruining it.

No caption. Just a heart, scratched out once, then drawn again beside it.

No one spoke.

The room, which was moments ago bubbling with pettiness and sabotage, turned so quiet you could hear Romance blink.

Mystery was still, eyes on the page like he hadn't just exposed them all to emotional whiplash. He turned it again.

Another page.

Another quiet sketch.

And then another.

Romance swallowed first. "...She drew me like a sonnet." He whispered.

"You would think that's romantic" Baby muttered, but it lacked the bite. He was too busy staring at his own sketch, the one where he was laughing. Laughing, like he wasn't plotting crimes five minutes before.

"She said I had a nice smile." He added, softer this time. Then, like he realized it out loud, he frowned and leaned back. "That's disgusting."

Abby hadn't moved since seeing his drawing. Still clutching the sketchbook like it was sacred scripture.

"She drew the sunset..." He murmured. "From my perspective. That's...she saw me. I mean really saw—"

"Get a grip." Jinu hissed. Except his voice cracked halfway through.

He cleared his throat. Sat back with the practiced indifference of a man actively pretending he wasn't touched.

"She...must've drawn that when I dozed off." He said, eyes lingering on his own sketch. "Still a jerk? Seriously?" But his hand twitched like he was about to flip back to it. Again.

Mystery, still unmoving, just said, "She saw the light."

Romance blinked. "...Are you talking about the sketch or, like, metaphorically?"

Mystery only nods.

"..."

Abby wiped a hand down his face. "We were going to emotionally ruin her tomorrow."

"We still can." Baby said.

But no one sounded committed. Including him.

The next few pages shifted again.

Random characters you'd doodled on a whim. Some looked half-human, others completely monstrous—fangs, claws, elegant horns spiraling across the page.

Then came a string of gorgeous, fictional men. All sharp jaws and slanted eyes, bare shoulders and complicated armor. Some looked like swords-for-hire with tragic pasts. Others were clearly just soft pretty boys with luscious lashes and cheekbones that could slice bread.

One had demon horns. Another had earrings. Another had…a tail.

They stared.

Baby leaned in with a frown. "Who the hell is this supposed to be?"

"Her type." Jinu said dryly, eyeing the silver-haired swordsman with a six-pack.

Romance squinted at the page like it hurt his pride. "Looks like her type is emotional damage and abs."

"She has taste." Abby said, suspiciously quick to defend you.

"She has fantasies." Jinu added, flipping another page. "And a very active imagination."

Mystery just blinked once. "...This one has wings."

"I could wear wings." Baby said abruptly. "Like a cool cape. Or a feather coat."

"You'd look like a drowned pigeon." Jinu muttered and maybe even snickered at his imagination.

Baby scowled. "I could pull it off."

Yeah, they all knew he could.

Even Jinu knew it. That’s why he was still snickering, low and petty.

Baby crossed his arms, unimpressed but unbothered. "She called me a cat. I can do birds. I contain multitudes."

Romance raised a brow. "You'd preen all day."

"I already do." Baby replied smugly.

Mystery nodded once in agreement, like this was a known fact.

Romance leaned over, chin on Abby's shoulder, and sighed dramatically. "Wow. She really went in with the detail. Is this guy holding a sword with his mouth?"

"I think that's an earring," Abby said, already knowing what he'd do first thing in the morning. "But he is shirtless."

A long pause.

Baby tilted his head, voice smooth, almost bored. "If she wanted a shirtless model, all she had to do was ask."

He didn't even blink when all four of them stared at him like he'd just threatened world peace. Just that same smug little smile like he knew exactly what he was doing.

"It's not about the abs." Jinu said, arms crossed. "It's the brooding. That man looks like he's carrying five backstories."

"And a ghost lover." Baby added.

Romance nodded solemnly. "We're going to need…mood lighting."

They stared at the page a beat longer. Long enough to realize just how much effort you put into it.

Then Abby flipped to the next page.

There they were. In various candid sketches—practice pieces. Messy strokes. Shading studies. Notes scribbled on the side like:

"Jinu's jawline is unfair. Might have been chiseled by guilt and generational trauma."

"Romance's hair is shaped like a heart. Literally. This man is a walking valentine. I hate it here."

"Baby's lashes are too long. For what. Why."

"Mystery's silhouette at the vending machine—lighting test. Eerie but weirdly pretty."

"Abby's profile is great when he shuts up. Rare."

Baby barked a low, amused laugh. "Okay. Rude. But fine. I do have great lashes."

"You would cling to that." Jinu muttered, though he lingered on the jawline comment like he was trying to decide if it was a compliment. "...Unfair?" He repeated under his breath. "What does that even mean."

Romance was staring at his line in betrayal. "Heart-shaped?" He echoed. Then, smugly, far too smugly, he tossed his hair like he was auditioning for a shampoo commercial.

"Well. She's not wrong. I do radiate effortless appeal."

"She literally called you a valentine." Baby said, arms crossed. "Do you want a bow on your forehead or something?"

Romance raised his brows and smirked. "I can be gift-wrapped."

"I will set you on fire." Baby said sweetly.

Mystery, quiet as ever, was still focused on the vending machine sketch. His expression barely changed, but he tapped the edge of the page once. Thoughtful. Like he was mentally reconstructing the light and shadow.

"She noticed that?" He murmured.

Abby leaned in beside him. "Dude. You stood there like a cursed statue for twenty minutes. You were glowing."

Mystery looked at him. "I like vending machine light."

Baby made a strangled noise and slapped a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing.

Meanwhile, Jinu's brow twitched again. He squinted down at his line like it was a personal attack. It didn't click with him earlier.

"'Chiseled by guilt?'" He muttered. "I should sue."

"You should moisturize." Abby said, unbothered.

Romance chuckled. "At least you got chiseled. I got Cupid-coded."

"You're shaped like an ego." Baby deadpanned.

"Thank you." Romance replied brightly.

"Not a compliment."

"You said 'shaped like love.'"

"I said you look like a valentine. Those get thrown out." Baby smirked like he'd just dropped the mic.

But then, Abby found his line.

He went quiet. Then read it aloud, slowly, as if tasting every word:

"'Abby's profile is great when he shuts up. Rare.'"

He gawked at the words for a few more seconds.

"She watches me."

Jinu rolled his eyes. "She suffers through you."

"No—studies me." Abby said, clutching the sketchbook with reverence. "She's memorized my angles. My profile. This is a confession. An apology. A love letter in disguise."

"She said you talk too much." Baby pointed out.

"She said I look great." Abby countered, eyes wide with genuine delight. "And you know what? She's right. I am rare. Like a fine wine. Like a star aligning. Like a—"

Jinu raised a brow, bored. "Like a fungus. Persistent, irritating, and hard to get rid of."

Abby gasped, scandalized. "How dare—!"

"I dare hourly." Jinu said, folding his arms with a smirk. "And I'll do it again."

Romance snorted. "You're all so fragile."

"You just flipped your hair twice." Baby muttered.

"And both times it was magnificent."

Mystery watched them banter for a moment longer, expression unreadable beneath his bangs.

Then, wordlessly, he glanced back at the drawing—his own silhouette under vending machine light. He lingered on it this time, thumb brushing the edge of the page like he was seeing it anew.

A quiet huff of breath, almost a laugh. His mouth curved, just faintly.

Abby cleared his throat, then held the sketchbook a little closer to his chest. His grin dimmed into something smaller. Still amused. But softer.

"Focus." He said. "She captured all of us. That means we're eternal. Immortal. Muse-level icons."

Romance tipped his chin. "She drew my hair like poetry."

"I was slandered with lashes." Baby grumbled.

Jinu stared down at his note again, deadpan. "'Chiseled by guilt and generational trauma.'" He sighed. "She didn't draw me, she diagnosed me."

Mystery didn't say anything but smiled gently. He flipped back to the vending machine drawing and stared, basically admiring it.

But of course they had to check for some more.

They stared for a long beat.

Romance hadn't moved for the past three pages. The soup had gone cold in his hands, completely forgotten as he leaned in with the others, eyes scanning the final set of sketches.

Quiet, unfinished ones. You hadn't meant to show these.

There was one of Abby with his head down on the breakroom table, fast asleep mid-rant. One of Baby leaning back in a chair, still as ever, like the moment caught him off guard.

Jinu laughing, hand covering his face. Mystery sipping coffee in the early morning haze. Romance, caught mid-spin during one of his practice routines, looking like he actually belonged on a stage.

None of them said anything. Not at first.

Then Abby let out a low whistle. "Doomed, she is."

"Agreed." Romance murmured.

"Do we tell her?" Baby asked, eyes glinting with the kind of mischief that spelled nothing but chaos. "Or let her stew in suspense?"

Jinu grinned, matching the former's energy. "We weaponize this."

Mystery didn't speak, but there was a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth.

From the other side of the room:

You groaned, dragging a hand over your face.

They were still out there.

"…Didn't Abby say 'goodnight' already?" You mumbled. "It's been fifteen minutes. What are they doing, summoning demons? Planning a musical?"

Another chorus of remarks about your drawings and little side notes made you want to bury yourself under a hundred blankets and a rock.

Your eyes flicked to the door. You were debating whether to throw it open and yell, or crawl out the window and change your name.

And just to make everything worse? Your stomach growled.

Loudly.

You dragged a pillow over your face.

Why were they so obsessed with that sketchbook anyway? Jinu asked for it like it was sacred currency. Not even cash. And this was the same guy who called your mattress a "commoner bed." (Dick. Ridiculously pretty, but still.)

You didn't even want to think about the rest of them. They were rich, nosy, and clearly had nothing better to do than rip apart your art like it was state evidence.

They probably expected praise. Or bribes. Or attention. (And maybe you gave them that. Once. Briefly. While concussed.)

But still.

The sketchbook? That was weird. And a little flattering. And… okay, really flattering. But you need sleep.

You peeked out from under the pillow. Nope. Still loud. They sounded like they were bartering for pieces of your soul.

And that was enough for you to move out of the comfortable bed.

The door creaked open with the weight of divine wrath.

And there you were—hair a mess, expression hollow, wearing the kind of dead-eyed stare only the sleep-deprived and soul-shattered could pull off.

Your injured arm was still wrapped, your— Baby's hoodie slipping off one shoulder, and your entire aura screamed: You were this close to snapping.

The boys froze.

Five grown men. Silenced in an instant.

Romance still held the bowl of soup like an offering to a war goddess. His arms went stiff while he suddenly remembered his original purpose.

Abby slowly lowered the sketchbook behind his back as if he was afraid you'd take back his privilege on it. He's already planned to skim through this, his scenes to be exact so you can't.

Nobody breathed.

You looked at each of them. One by one. No words yet. Just eyes.

Baby stood straighter on instinct, locking eyes with you like it was a test. A flicker of something passed behind his lashes—surprise, amusement, respect, a twist of pride—but he didn't speak.

Didn't dare.

He just inhaled sharply through his teeth and let it hang in the air. Calculating.

Jinu blinked, and for once, visibly faltered. He actually took a half-step back, as if your glare had weight and presence.

"Okay," He said under his breath. "She's terrifying again."

Mystery raised one hand and slowly covered his mouth. Whether it was to hide a grin or out of self-preservation, no one could tell.

Romance's lips parted like he was about to say something flirty but chose to be smart and closed them. He blinked once. Twice. And stood still.

Even Abby, smug as he was earlier, froze like a man trying not to spook a bear.

You opened your mouth. And in a voice flat, tired, and sharp enough to kill:

"Shut up."

Mouths shut.

Even Romance's soup almost shivered.

You dragged a hand down your face. "I have been trying to sleep. I have been trying to exist. And you—"

You pointed at Abby, then slowly gestured across the rest, like you were condemning them all to community service.

"You've been out here narrating my sketchbook like it's a damn novella."

Jinu opened his mouth to speak.

You raised a finger.

He shut it.

Your stomach growled again.

And with the most exhausted sigh known to mankind, you nodded toward the soup. "Gimme that."

Romance stepped forward and held it out carefully, like handing over a precious relic.

You took it and said a quick thank you. No matter how angry and tired you were, you still needed to show gratitude.

After that, you turned around like a ghost, the door already swinging shut behind you.

But then you paused and looked back over your shoulder.

"...If I hear one more thing about Cupid, eyelashes, or emotional damage, I'm jumping out the window. Try me."

Door slam.

Silence.

They stood there, stunned into stillness. Then, very quietly, reverently, like he was witnessing a divine act:

Romance exhaled, slow and reverent. "She's so hot when she's angry."

"She said she'd jump out the window." Mystery cut in, tone flat before the others could add in their own reactions.

They all froze. A slow, dawning realization crept in.

Baby clicked his tongue. "...She might actually do it."

"A hundred percent." Jinu nodded without a second thought. "Wouldn't even hesitate."

Romance sighed, adjusting the soup bowl in his hands like it was suddenly heavier. "Can you blame her?"

"Nope." Baby said with a lazy gaze. "I'd jump too."

"Do we stop her?" Abby asked weakly.

Jinu shrugged. "We can catch her."

Romance grinned. "Or join her."

Mystery finally spoke again, voice soft like a threat: "We wait at the bottom."

Later that night, well past midnight…

They were still awake.

The apartment had gone quiet in that strange, heavy way it did only after all the laughter faded—leaving the charged tension behind, like static clinging to skin.

Abby was on the couch, legs crossed, flipping casually through the sketchbook like it was a sacred relic.

He wore an expression that could only be described as smug aristocracy. As if he had won.

Across from him, Jinu stood with arms crossed and eyes narrowed, like a general preparing a diplomatic attack.

"I'm offering you five favors." Jinu began, dead serious.

Abby didn't even look up. "Declined."

The former scoffs, offended. "You don't even know what they are."

"I know it's not the sketchbook."

"I'll throw in a back massage."

"Jinu, no amount of blackmail or physical affection is getting you this book."

Jinu narrowed his eyes further. "You're bluffing. You want something."

"Yes," Abby said, closing the book slowly and dramatically. "To continue living. With her favor. Which I currently have. Because she handed me this personally."

Jinu muttered something demonic under his breath. It sounded like a curse or maybe a marriage proposal. Hard to tell.

Romance, curled up at the end of the couch with a half-eaten protein bar, raised his hand without lifting his head. "I'll sing you praises for a week. Out loud. In rhyme."

"Tempting," Abby mused. "but also sounds like a headache."

Baby padded into the room, popped a chili pepper into his mouth, crunched slowly, then said with absolute calm, "No sketchbook? Cool. Then your next water bottle's going to taste like regret."

Abby stared. "What does that even mean—"

Baby only gave an enigmatic smile as he continued to eat his peppers. "You'll find out."

There was a pause. Abby clutched the sketchbook a little closer, suddenly feeling like the air got hotter.

"…Is that a threat or a curse?" He muttered.

No answer. Just the sound of another chili crunch.

Abby flipped the book open again, not even pretending to entertain it now. "You guys don't get it. This sketchbook is proof. Not just that she tolerates me. But that she chose me."

Romance tilted his head. "You're not her chosen one. You're her chosen distraction."

Mystery didn't speak. He just sipped his drink without blinking, staring directly at Abby over the rim.

That was worse. Way worse.

"That's not what happened." Abby said proudly, hugging the book to his chest and ignoring Mystery's thing. "She handed it to me. Me. She knows art deserves art."

"You're art now?" Jinu asked, offended on behalf of all creative history.

"Art and muse. Model and icon. Multi-talented."

They stared at him. He grinned wider.

Silence.

Romance nudged Jinu. "We're going to steal it eventually, right?"

"Obviously."

"Good. Just checking."

Mystery nodded after sharing a look with the demon beside him.

Baby grinned. "I'll hold him down."

Abby just closed the book and stood up. "I'll sleep with this under my pillow now."

"You're insane." Jinu muttered, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. His tone was flat, but the twitch in his jaw gave him away.

"She was supposed to give it tomorrow." He huffs, a little pout seen on his lips. "After I convinced her to stay. You stole the climax, Abby."

Abby just grinned, smug and undeterred. "Should've moved faster."

"I was building tension!" Jinu snapped. Then, muttering under his breath as he turned away: "Some of us are storytellers. Not speedrunners."

[valer1esgallery]

Small ways they show affection

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

Lucifer

Leaves roses on your desk or bedside table with a small cup of tea/coffee for you in the mornings, even if he isnt there, i feel like he would make you something warm to drink along with his normal coffee he has in the morning. Its not outright said, but he cares alot for you to do this every morning without fail, its become part of his routine now, not that he minds

Mammon

I feel like he would subconsciously play with your hair or your jewelry if you both are together, you both could be lost in deep conversation and he would just reach up and start playing with a strand. If you mention it to him, he would turn red and look away, claiming that he did nothing of the sorts

He gives you small shiny objects like a crow. A small bracelet, a pair of earrings, shiny rocks, coins, a cool leaf he found, he would give you those types of things

Leviathan

Leviathan is pretty socially awkward so you don't really get large displays of PDA from the demon, but if your waiting in line or are in a large crowd, he intertwines your pinkies together or holds onto your sleeve

I feel like he would also pre-save games that he thinks that you would really enjoy, sending you a vague text about saving it for you while his face is bright red behind the screen

Satan

He leaves you little note with quotes from romance novels, i will die on this hill. If he finds a book that he thinks you will like, he will leave the book on your desk with a small sticky note that reads something like 'and for the first time in his life, he felt comfortable, and its all thanks to her/him', cheesy stuff like that

Asmodeus

This man is so into PDA, a arm around your shoulder, his hand on your waist, arms linked together, fingers interlocked, he just loves PDA. But when you both are alone, you could just be talking and you have your legs over his lap, he rests his hand on your calf as you both talk

Alone, his touches are more gentle, more loving. He likes touch, and he feels just resting a hand on your leg or just resting his head on you

Beelzebub

He knows all of your favourite devildom drinks and snacks, he makes sure that he brings enough for you while he's on snack time. Sometimes they don't make it to the house but its the thought that counts!

But when they do, he restocks your small snack draw and leaves some on your desk, making sure you never go hungry

Belphegor

He would give you a small bracelet that he tops up with magic every night so that you don't have bad dreams, Is it annoying? Yes, but is it worth it to see you happy? 100% Yes

He would just lean on you, not out of sleepiness (even though it does happen), he likes to lean against your arm or rest his head on your shoulder

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

Sorry i disappeared off of the face of the earth for a while, things came up and i was in a massive writing rut for a good long while lol

but anyways, IM BACK :D

This has not been proof read lmao, what should I do next?

[silentaffirmations]

⠀ 💭 ۪ 𓂃 KISSMARKS ON OBJECTS!

─ multi x gn!reader. drabbles of kissing various objects and getting lipstick all over them.

➴ romantic relationship(s) prestablished, possibly unrealistic &. weirdly characterized, cursing, tooth rotting fluffy-ness me thinks, romantic and possibly suggestive, kissing &. making out, neck marking/kissing, post- or pre- realization idgaf, player is meaning to be gender neutral but wears lipstick for the sake of this writing. do with this what you will, player is hinted to be shorter then hank four, i have no consistent writing style and it lowkey continously changes with each character i write but we ball, seems a little free-use on the hanks part but whatever 💔, I HAVEN'T FINISHED PARKERS LOVE ROUTE YET SPARE ME OF HATE. lowercase intended &. not proofread. inspired by date-eveeything!

THE HANKS!

everything was a blur of lips and giggles. endlessly were you pulled left and right, meeting a new mouth or just part of someone's face each time. it was nice nonetheless, the soft feverish drag of lips on one another, lipstick smeared haphazardly among the six. you kinda forgot how this had even begun, but worrying about something like that instead of the, quite literal, push and pull of intimacy would've been idiotic.

broken out of your thoughts, you felt someone pull you up to their firm chest all the same, eyes catching the sight of those familiarly red curls. a low squeal escaped you even after it all, feeling hank three eagerly kiss you and effectively scrubbing off your lipstick further. hank three surely had it the worse, positively covered in lipstick marks that ran from his forehead down to his neck, and it contrasted beautifully with his ginger hair and flushed, freckled covered cheeks.

you pulled away from the kiss, dazed eyes glancing around, really just taking it all in. you were met with grins, and felt yourself back once more, feeling your head get tilted back and lips meeting theirs like a scene in a romance movie. you can't dwell on it long, giggles muffled into your mouth, and it was a safe assumption that it was hank four.

slowly pulling away from hank fours lips, you blinked multiple times, swallowing built up saliva. you let your head tilt back into place, back still pressed up against hank fours chest, and you found your head reeling for thoughts.

"breathless already?" you heard hank three question teasingly, and you could only jump as hank one suddenly slid infront of you. you suddenly became aware of how your breath was shallow, yet quick, and how your heart was beating loudly in your ears. your cheeks felt unbearably warm.

you were about to answer, though felt hank one stopping you with his mouth. you sighed lowly, hank fours hands drifting to your hips and keeping you in place gently, and you couldn't help but lean back into his comfortable embrace, prompting hank one to lean forward as to keep the kiss going.

your hands reached up, bracing themselves against hank ones shirt. they balled up into fists, getting a soft grab at hank ones top. feeling hank one back away, you bit your bottom lip, breathing deeply through your nose.

hank two sheepishly slid over to your side, timid touch reaching your chin and tilting your head over to where he was. your lips connected with his easily, and you let your bruised bottom lip free from your teeth.

you tensed just barely, feeling someone's, surely lipstick-covered, nose prod at your neck. you eased quickly, feeling soft pecks pressed against the skin, and you get just a small glimpse of light brown skin; hank five. it was a little ticklish, but naturally nice feeling. it was abruptly broken, the soft romance of his little kisses paired with sudden bites against somewhere near your jugular, and there was no mistake it was hank three.

the night was sure to end with your lipstick completely transferred onto the other five, lips puffy and used, and neck filled with markings that would've taken days to ridden of, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

MAC!

infront of you was such a gorgeous sight. mac was covered in lipstick marks, looking hazy with eyes filled with love, pupils almost carved into hearts. they smiled sweetly, feeling the comfortable feel of your body ontop of theirs. it was grounding, feeling you cautiously seated upon their lap, kept in their wheelchair that had been locked, assuring it wouldn't move.

"i love you," they murmured quietly, almost mistaken as another sound of wind, but you heard them loud and clear anyways. you return a smile, leaning forward and pressing further kisses upon their burning face, feeling the heat under your lips. sure, they were overheating most definitely, but they would rather die then ruin such an intimate moment with a complaint of how they were burning up. it could wait.

kisses trailed down their face to their soon-to-be-marked neck, letting your lipstick drag against their skin. your actions spoke more than the words you never said, lips brushing against their body being enough said. it was a silent 'i love you', and they basked in the warmth of it, no matter if it wasn't verbal.

they steadily moved their hands to move from your hips to your waist, pulling you closer till it would've been impossible to shift you any more near them no matter how hard they tried. they gave another breathless whisper of confessing their love, surely having been the tenth time they had stated it, and it only made you laugh quietly with adoration. it was admiring how much mac could repeat their words of love over and over, yet could make it feel like it was for the first time again.

moving back up, you let your lips meet theirs, the world outside of the feeling of their lips upon yours forgettable. it was gentle, yet told a million words that could've been spoken poetically, and it was something to relish in. even after it ended, the love it carried felt endless.

"i love you too," you finally respond. it was quick, quiet, but cute. mac sighs dreamily, leaning forward and resting their forehead onto your shoulder, letting the thoughts of them being oh so warm be buried away with how much they loved you.

with a red face and a bright smile, they flutter their eyes closed, wanting to be as close too you as possible, and it worked. curling their arms around your waist completely, your chest pressed against their own, they could've ugly sobbed at how much love you two shared. they were happy to know you were theirs, and they were yours, and maybe that's all that mattered at the end of the day.

PARKER!

parker loved games, and of course it made sense. he loved the games you made up specifically, and especially so when you would play the kissing game with him! he found himself shifting excitedly beneath you, feeling kisses pressed against anywhere you could reach. giddy giggles bubbled in his throat, as if each movement you did was ticklish upon him, and maybe they truly were.

"tickles," he hums, confirming your thoughts and it was as if he could read your head. wouldn't be that crazy for parker to be able to do such a thing, as i mean, cmon. its parker.

you laugh a little, comfortably straddling his hips with your hands shifting up to hold his jaw. you lightly tilt his head up, exposing unmarked skin, and it was quick to be covered in the familiar color of your lipstick. parker helped you a little, lifting his head up further till it was completely lulled back onto the planks. although the floor was unforgiving and rough against his back, your warmth cradled him like a towel would after a cold shower.

he stared up at the roof, feeling your lips make work on his pretty skin. it was nice to kick back every once and a while and let himself go, even if he did occasionally still miss playing a board game despite being literally loved on completely at the moment.

"thanks," he sighs absent-mindedly. he, himself, wasn't sure what he was thankful for, but nonetheless it was said, and he didn't dull on it for to long feeling your lips press right over where his heart would be underneath his clothing. you felt the beats slowly spike under your mouth, insinuating parker was flustered, and it made you just let out another laugh, though this one softer, kinder. it lingered there, if not just for a moment, before you unfortunately pulled away, admiring the work of art below you.

he pouted slightly, your lipstick staining his clothing, but it vanished quickly as you pressed a chaste kiss on his mouth. he couldn't stay mad for to long, and you knew that very well. nevertheless, you gave a little apology, a hefty amount of playfulness in your tone expectantly.

"its fine, lucky charm." he sat up slightly, expecting the game to be over, before he felt himself be gently pressed down by your hand that rested front and center on his chest. he blinked, looking at you before feeling your lips against his own, hearing a small murmur that you weren't done yet, and he couldn't believe how much his face reddened, eagerly reciprocating the kiss afterwards.

all credits to silentaffirmations on tumblr. everything made by me. do not reupload, feed to 🤖, take as your own, etc.