#and then proceed to attempt to come up with something to help him

[taeyongdoyoung]

cherry

summary: you are looking for danger to distract you from your dark thoughts but you find something you weren't even hoping for... pairing: seungcheol x reader genre: strangers to lovers, smut warnings: stranger danger, mentions of alcohol, spiked drink (not by cheol !), lying, swearing, non-consensual touching, bar setting, morally grey characters, unsafe drinking practices, danger/risk kink, threatening, brat!reader/brat tamer!cheol, kissing, unprotected car sex, pet names, attachment/abandonment issues, lowkey angst with a happy ending, roleplaying as strangers author's note: okay so...my initial idea was a fun night out with cherry-flavoured kisses but i got carried away and delved more into the realm of troubled psychology, proceed with caution & please stay safe out there! 🍒 word count: 2.3k playlist

Seungcheol watches the situation from afar, somewhat concerned for a total stranger. You are staring at your third cocktail for the night, absent-mindedly playing with the maraschino cherry on top of it. The guy talking to you looks sketchy from a mile away but for some reason, you keep entertaining his advances. Or rather…you feel unsafe to outright reject him?

For now, Seungcheol decides to observe only. Maybe he's making an assumption based off the guy's looks, which isn't very nice of him. Then, he notices you excusing yourself to go to the bathroom. He wonders if the alcohol is starting to affect you. Seungcheol is about to go back to his own glass whiskey when he notices something even more suspicious. He swears he sees the creepy guy putting something white in your drink! Seungcheol's grip on his glass tightens.

Everyone seems to be lost in their own business. Should he intervene? Would things escalate? Should he attack the weird guy trying to drug you? But then again, he has no proof for what he saw other than his honest word. You come back from the bathroom and Seungcheol is on the verge of approaching, when he overhears your conversation.

"I don't wanna drink more," you mumble dizzily. "I've had enough."

"Come on, don't be such a party-pooper," the creep tries to convince you.

You shake your head in disagreement and that total shithead of a man has the audacity to bring the spiked glass towards your lips in an attempt to force you to drink.

Oh, hell nah! Seungcheol can't watch this any longer and dashes in, gripping the guy's wrist mid-air, causing the drink to spill.

"The lady said no," he hisses.

"Yah, why are you butting in our business? I know what my girlfriend wants," the beast grunts.

"I'm not your girlfriend," you say in a slightly louder, more confident voice.

"Pfft, babe, don't be like that," the guy loops an arm around your neck, but even in your drunken state, you attempt to get him off you.

"We literally met tonight. Leave me alone already," you reply, obviously emboldened by Seungcheol's presence.

"You heard what she said," Seungcheol insists. "Leave her the fuck alone."

His fiery gaze seems powerful enough to burn holes in the wicked guy's soul. Wanting to avoid a physical confrontation, the creep finally gives up and leaves the bar.

You breathe out a sigh of relief.

"Thanks for your help," you mumble nervously. "I was trying to get rid of him all night."

"He spiked your drink," Seungcheol informs you suddenly. "I probably wouldn't have intervened otherwise."

"Shit…" you drawl but you don't look particularly worried about that discovery.

"Why did you drink alone if you didn't want attention? And why did you leave your drink unsupervised?" Seungcheol can't resist asking all these questions.

"Apparently, it wasn't unsupervised, if you were watching," you respond only to the second inquiry.

"You shouldn't do that. It's…dangerous. What if I hadn't seen it? Do you have any idea what might have happened if I wasn't here on this particular night and if I hadn't decided to step in?" Seungcheol is starting to get angry.

"Do you want a reward or something?" you scoff sarcastically. "You don't know me. Maybe I was looking for danger."

Oh, you were like that. Self-destructive tendencies. A bit of a brat. Nothing he hasn't seen before. And yet…

"There are better ways to feel an adrenaline rush," Seungcheol explains patiently.

"Do you want me to buy you a drink?" you ask out of nowhere. "Will that get you to stop fucking lecturing me?"

Ouch. Nobody speaks to him that way. Ever. Nobody who knows him anyway…

"I can afford my own drink, thank you very much," Seungcheol rolls his eyes. "But no more drinks for you."

He doesn't know what possesses him to do that but he grabs your wrist and leads the way towards the door. He usually isn't like that but your ungrateful behaviour is so frustrating he feels the overpowering urge to teach you a lesson.

"What are you doing?" you whisper in a small voice, as he opens the door to his car and pushes you inside, locking the door. What the fuck?!

"Showing you what happens when you drink alone and leave your drink out of sight," Seungcheol growls.

"W-what?" you mumble and the actual fear in your eyes stuns him.

"Are you scared?" he laughs maniacally and leans in, facing you from up close. "Imagine what might have happened if you actually got drugged by that guy. Imagine if-"

"P-please, s-stop, I g-get it," you cry out, eyes tearing up in terror.

Seungcheol realizes his point was driven home and lets go of you, unlocking the car door.

"Get out of here," he orders.

You blink in shock and drunkenly stumble out of his car. No goodbyes are exchanged. The encounter so unusual, intense and emotionally charged that a goodbye would only mar it with its trifling nature.

A couple of nights pass and Seungcheol can't bring himself to go to his favourite bar. What was once a relaxing activity after a long day at work now seems like it would be a stressful ordeal. What if he sees you again? Drinking alone, purposefully putting yourself in danger?

He tries to convince himself that it doesn't matter. You're just a stranger he'd probably never cross paths with again. And yet…his curiosity gets the better of him.

Seungcheol returns to his favourite bar. Dreading (or perhaps hoping) that he'd find you there. And just like that, as if his thoughts manifested your appearance, he sees you.

Only this time, you are not alone, but with a girl friend who seems very happy to be spending time with you. Another major change is that you are gripping your drink tightly, not letting it out of sight. Good. Even though you're with a friend, it looks as if you learned your lesson from that bittersweet night.

Seungcheol wonders if he should approach you. Despite the fact that his intentions were noble, his behaviour back in his car was near abominable. He decides against ruining your fun night with your friend and tries to focus on his own drink, slowly sipping from it.

However, you seem to have a different plan.

"Long time no see," you greet him, as if he's an old friend and not a complete stranger. "You haven't been here recently."

"I didn't want to catch you getting yourself into trouble again," Seungcheol reminds you.

"I've been good," you promise, but for some reason he can't fully believe you. "And besides, what does it matter to you? We don't even know each other's names."

Are you asking for his name, then?

"Seungcheol," he introduces himself calmly. "I would say it's nice to meet you but I don't lie."

"Harsh," you chuckle. "I'm Y/N. I love lying, so…nice to meet you."

"Where did your friend go?" Seungcheol suddenly notices, not paying attention to your little jab.

"She went home to her boyfriend."

"So, you're drinking alone again?" he points out.

"I'm here with you, aren't I? So, I'm not alone," you explain logically.

"You don't even know me," Seungcheol shakes his head, as if to convince you that he's not trustworthy enough.

"I know your name, though. Doesn't that count for something?" you tilt your head to the side, taking a bold sip of your cherry-flavoured cocktail.

"You haven't changed," he groans bitterly. "You're just pretending to be more responsible to grab my attention."

"I thought I already had your attention," you grin flirtatiously.

"You do," Seungcheol admits reluctantly. "But that doesn't mean I'll act on it."

"What if I want you to?" you bat your eyelashes at him.

"You're insane, you know that?" he laughs.

"Aren't we all?"

And Seungcheol loses every last ounce of self-control he prided himself in usually possessing. He kisses you savagely, conquering your mouth with his own. The need to have you, to wipe that bratty smile off your face is overpowering.

You kiss him back just as eagerly, ravaging his lips.

"Let's get out of here," he suggests. Only this time, the words carry a different meaning from when he kicked you out.

Seungcheol leads you to his car again, too impatient to bother with finding hotels. It's so dark outside and he's parked at a place so empty and hidden that it gives you goosebumps. Not a soul in sight.

Perhaps, he is right. Perhaps, you are acting up, no self-preservation instinct in your body. But who cares? You've spent too long not feeling anything. This is the first time in a long while you've felt something so real.

There is no tenderness in the way he fucks you on the backseat of his car. It's as if Seungcheol makes it his mission to corrupt you even further, satisfying your reckless need for adrenaline.

"You're so sick, letting a stranger do this to you," Seungcheol grunts in your ear, as he rubs your pussy.

"You're not a stranger," you stand your ground, fully convinced this is normal behaviour.

"Knowing my name doesn't make this any better," his words are drowning in anger, but his actions are overflowing with the desire to pleasure you.

"What does this say about you, though?" you fight back verbally. "You're just as irresponsible as me."

"I. Need. To. Teach. You. A. Lesson," he punctuates with each thrust.

"Too bad I'm terrible at learning," you confess, scratching his back with your sharp nails.

"Say my name," Seungcheol demands.

"Seungcheol," you mumble obediently.

"Again."

"Seungcheol. Cheol. Seungcheol-ah," you repeat mindlessly.

"Good girl," he whispers.

"No, I'm not," you argue, biting his neck, while he's still fucking you viciously.

"I'll make you," Seungcheol promises and you are stunned by the assuredness in his deep voice.

"I'd like to see you t-" you fall apart beneath him before you can finish the word "try".

He truly ruins you so deliciously, making you forget everything that ever bothered you.

The only thing that remains in your mouth is the taste of whiskey mixed with the flavour of cherries.

Your first instinct is to run away. Every time you meet someone decent, you do that. Because if you don't, they'll leave you first. And you'd never let that happen again.

You start to put on your clothes hurriedly, attempting to flee the scene.

"Chérie..." Seungcheol pleads tenderly.

Fingers on the car handle, you hesitate upon hearing the gentle French endearment.

"What?" you ask despite yourself.

"Where are you going?"

"Doesn't matter. Did you think I'd stay?" at this point, being mean is a defense mechanism. Looking for danger, finding it and then running away.

Only Seungcheol is more dangerous than danger itself. Because you can see in his eyes that he cares.

A total stranger, you don't even know if you have anything in common. And yet...he cared enough to intervene that night. He cared enough to discipline you. He cared enough to give you just what you need.

But you are so afraid. That he'll start to care too much. And one day, he'll stop.

"I'm not done with you," Seungcheol stands firm, gripping your wrist. "I told you I'll make a good girl out of you, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did," you confirm weakly. Too weak to fight him on it. Too weak to escape...

"Well, I'm a man of my word."

"And if I want to go?" you still try.

"You don't," Seungcheol pronounces with certainty.

"How do you know what I want?"

"Because we want the same thing."

He doesn't say what that is. But he's right.

You bury your head in his chest, allowing him to hold you tightly.

Somehow, this turns out to be not just what you wanted. But what you needed.

"I'll take care of you," Seungcheol vows. "I'll be so good to you."

And for some reason, you believe him.

You let him consume your darkness with his own. And bring your shared light to the surface.

Bonus:

~ A year later ~

That same bar where you met. A cocktail in hand. Your red dress. The dim lights.

"What's a bad girl like you doing in a nice place like this?" Seungcheol teases you, pretending to be a stranger.

Oh, how times change.

"Looking for love," you joke, as you slide the maraschino cherry into your mouth.

"You seem like the kind of woman who already has that," Seungcheol reminds you of the reality of your relationship.

"And how would you know what kind of woman I am?" you play along, enjoying this game far too much.

"Because of the ring on your finger," he points out.

Oh, right! You never take it off. You completely forgot how about you'd explain it in such a scenario.

"Careful, there. My fiancé is a very jealous man," you poke fun at Seungcheol.

"Is he, now?" your fiancé leans in. "What would he do if I did that?"

Seungcheol kisses you warmly but possessively. What starts as innocent turns more heated and passionate. Never before have you felt so safe and wanted.

"He'd probably kill you," you shake your head, gasping for air. "Lucky for you, you're him."

"I must be the luckiest man in the world," Seungcheol announces proudly.

"Not really," you jest. "Your fiancée is a bit of a brat."

"A bit?" he quirks an eyebrow.

"Okay, maybe a lot. But she loves you very much," you admit honestly.

"Then, it's a good thing I love her, too," Seungcheol hugs you strongly.

You don't get the urge to run away anymore. Because this? This is better than any adrenaline rush.

"Watch me dance," you request mischievously.

"Oh, I will," he promises.

Seungcheol watches you at a close distance. Always concerned. Only this time, you're not a stranger. You're dancing freely, feeling protected from danger. Not keeping an eye on your drink. It's okay. He's here now to keep you out of harm's way. You allowed him to use his darkness to devour yours. But there is light, in this world, too. And light will always prevail.

The End

[zenshigarakilover]

saw people talking about afo having heavy eye bags due to his lack of sleep from the nightmares from his quirks and I like it.

I think he would have them covered up with either a quirk or some make up as to not make himself look weak to his enemies as it'll make his lack of sleep obvious and also for vanity reasons.

having yoichi near him while he sleeps helps as he would hold his wrist similar to how he held his wrist when they were babies as they lay next to each other and it would comfort him (thank you kstbj for this hc), I would say he gets an average of 6 hours when he can sleep at this time. not in a row he wakes up often during the night.

after yoichi died he would hold his severed hand as he slept and pretend the real yoichi was there next to him to help him sleep or else he would only be able to sleep when he felt on the verge of passing out from exhaustion. he still gets far less sleep after yoichi died than before, about 3 hours on average. I do imagine during the time when yoichi left til where he realized a part of yoichi was still around he would get no sleep for days at a time. the nightmares of yoichi falling to pieces combined with the regular nightmares would make him force himself to be awake and then hallucinations ensue from the sleep deprivation....

[mwphisto]

It takes you a while to accept Sylus’ praise.

He notices this, of course, because each time he offers it you get this little crinkle in your nose.

As if you are wary of seeing it as real praise. He doesn’t take offense, no of course he doesn’t. He’s had time to come to terms with the current situation he has been presented with when it comes to you.

You don’t remember him. Not your past lives nor the childhood you two spent together. As hard of a pill as it was to swallow, Sylus tries to look at it positively.

As odd as it sounds. He’s been given a third chance at winning your heart all over again.

It may have started off rocky, he had let his emotions get the better of him during that initial meeting. Then continued to stew on it during the days he held you “captive” in the N109 Zone.

Of course you wouldn’t be all that accepting of his praise. Granted, the hostility had stemmed from both sides. Looking at it with a clearer head, Sylus recalled how stand offish he came off to you. Especially since you had known him as nothing other than the leader of Onychinus.

He equated it to getting mad at a feral kitten for scratching him when he attempted to pet it. So, he worked on reigning things back. Swallowing his own upset in order to truly regain the trust he craved so dearly.

“You did very well, kitten.”

And there it was again. The hesitance in your eyes, the slight scrunch of your nose, and the wary “…thanks.” He swallowed the lump in his throat, he made the bed so he’d just have to sleep in it. “I mean it.”

There was the smallest of tremors in his tone, one he prayed you’d miss. “Are you alright?” He should have known better. Of course you’d pick up on it.

“Yes, sorry. Something got caught in my throat.” But you weren’t satisfied with that sort of response.

“Did I do something wrong?” And Sylus swore he could fall to his knees then and there. Your eyes, the eyes he had loved through countless lifetimes, seemed to see right through him despite everything.

“No, nothing at all, kitten. It’s…” but he trailed off, it was so unlike him that you stepped a little closer. “But it’s something.” You murmur, a hand on his forearm.

“You don’t trust me yet.” Sylus starts, he’s always been straight forward. There is no reason to stop now. “I understand our relationship can be a bit touch and go. We didn’t really make great impressions on each other in the very beginning but…” he looks away, inhaling deeply.

“My praises for you are genuine. The way I’ve come to care for you is also genuine.” Truth is, he never stopped. “I can see that hesitance in your face whenever I praise you.” And you feel like your chest is frozen, full of air you can’t seem to exhale. You had hurt his feelings.

“Sylus, I’m so sorry.” And his mouth immediately opens to hush you but you keep talking. “I have been guarded, and I know you can’t blame me for that. But the least I could do is give you some grace. You’ve been nothing but kind to me after we got over our differences. Your reputation proceeds you, just as I’m sure mine has proceeded me.”

You swallow, tightening your grip on his arm. “Thank you, Sylus. For the praise. For your faith in me. For continuing to help me despite my difficulties.” And if he could have kissed you stupid right then and there? He would have.

“Thank you, kitten.”

[moon-ttokki-x]

Helloo

I'm here to ask something like a little too sad? I really like those scenarios. Like members reaction to 9th member's attempt to suicide? But like one of them(Minho or Jeongin) accidentally come to bathroom and see her? It's a little sad but I like those ones. Maybe even add a relationship between her and Chan?

hi~ i love sad requests . . . the sad ones are some of my favourites too, and hopefully this will help someone feel better <3

butterfly - (ot8!skz x 9th member fem!reader)

pairing: ot8!skz (mainly lee know) x 9th member fem!reader

summary: butterflies; the symbols of hope, growth, and recovery.

genre: idol! au, 9th member!au, fem!reader, su*cide attempt, graphic descriptions of self-h@rm, mentions of blood, cvtting, bandages, depression, alienation, mentions of blades, razors, sharp items, mentions of eating and drinking, mentions of fainting, passing out, blood loss, lee know referred to as 'minho' in this fic, bf!chan, please proceed with caution, and remember that you're not alone <3

a/n: this hit a little close to my heart, so i'm hoping this might help some of you who are struggling . in no way am i romanticising any of the heavy and triggering topics in this fic, so please skip if you are uncomfortable . my dms are always open if you'd like to talk . be safe, my loves <3

skz masterlist

The world is grey.

Greyer than you remembered; you thought you'd been getting better. You thought you'd learnt to feel the sunshine warming your skin again, remembered the way you found your mouth curving into a smile randomly. Embraced that familiar feeling of a happy buoyant bubble in your stomach.

Apparently not.

You're not sure how you feel right now. Distracted, angry, dull? Nothing seems to light you up, not even the deepest rage or the best news. Everything simply hit your crumbling shield and absorbed. Like pouring water on a sheet.

The patch simply darkened and sunk, drying but becoming more saturated with sadness every single time. And it felt heavy, heavier than you ever thought it would feel.

You can't taste the food on your plate; the noise of the members laughing and bickering around you seems to fade into the background, the soundwaves passing through as if you were simply a ghost.

A numb ghost sitting at the dinner table with a fork in one heavy hand, rather than a valued member of Stray Kids having dinner with the rest of her group. The atmosphere of the familiar dorm is foreign, unusual.

Like a hotel room rather than your home.

You scrunch your hands and rub your fingertips over your thighs, feeling the raised tissue of old scars bump in smooth, small dunes under the pads of your fingers. You feel the denim of your jeans rustle with the movement, the fabric rough and once-comforting. Now it just feels itchy.

Jisung shouts right in your ear then as he argues with Changbin across the table, and you don't even flinch. It simply passes over your head. Even if you wanted to, you can't find it in yourself to be annoyed at him. At least he's happy.

Is this normal? Am I overreacting?

Surely it can't be fake if you feel like this. But-

Your eyes lift themselves slowly and land on Chan. Previously, you couldn't look at him without a blush tinging your cheeks and the familiar view of a red rose in your mind's eye. The memory of his confession was always one that made you giggle, sometimes at inappropriate times.

Like when JYP fell over on stage and you were laughing because you remembered Chan doing the same thing, falling, and the image of his lovely face accompanied by his cheesy pick-up lines and warm hands came to mind.

But you don't feel like smiling now. Not like you did then.

You're both in the settling-in stage of your relationship; as always Chan has proven to be the best partner anyone could ever ask for. He's never let you down, carried you through the tough times, held your hand and wiped your tears. He knows how you've been feeling, but after a while, out of worry, you began to keep it secret.

And you felt bad. You did. Really.

Because he deserves to know. Deserves to know so that he can help you, kiss it better like he always has. Because that's just how he is, and how he's always been.

But he also deserves to be kept in the dark. Deserves to be able to continue with his life, be a leader and a producer and everything else without worrying that one day your feelings will take over and you'll disappear.

Because right now, that seems like the best option. Surely things will be easier for him, for all of them, if you took yourself out of the equation.

What would it feel like, you think. To drown, to accidentally slip and fall, to walk into the road without looking, to feel the chair leave the soles of your feet, to cut too deep on accident, it would all be an accident, Chan, it was an accident, I'm okay, I promise you'll be okay, everything is okay, I promise-

The fork clatters out of your hand. Nobody notices, the din of the members covering it up. Chan is almost on his feet opposite you, giggling and laughing and trying and failing to quiet the group. He doesn't notice when you begin to stand, then hesitantly sit back down.

None of them do.

It's not a secret that sometimes you need to be alone; the guys understand that you need time to yourself every now and then, when your head gets too loud or the members yell too much. All you have to do is stand up and leave, and go and lie down, tell them that's what you need right now.

Of course, that isn't always the case. Sometimes you just want to be alone, and not because they're being too loud or rowdy. You want to be alone because being around these happy people puts you in a state of disconnect so brutal and numbing that you can't stand to look any of them in the eye.

That's not what's happening right now. A mad impulse rises, a dangerous little thought pops into your head, and begins to simmer in a rather sinister manner in the back of your mind.

You swallow thickly. Your throat is dry. The now-flat soda you were previously sipping did nothing to quell the dryness. Your windpipe feels scratchy and your stomach bubbles in apprehensiveness, but you ignore it and steel yourself.

You turn your head to the left, feeling your neck creak; you've been still for so long- and look at Minho. He's grinning past you, watching as Changbin almost flies at Jisung over the table, clearly unaware of the hollowness rooted in your stomach, no, your whole being.

In every fibre of you-

"Minho," you say, hardly a whisper. His gaze meets yours, and even though he's still smiling and his gaze is not intense, joy dimmed faintly as he takes in your ghostly pallor- you still feel yourself shrink under it. Like an underwatered flower in the hot, baking sun.

"Yes?" He says. You feel Chan turn his head slightly in your direction, and your heart lurches unpleasantly. He's listening in, clearly in concern, but it makes you irritated. Unreasonably so.

"I'm gonna go lie down," you say, not acknowledging Chan as he fully turns to face both you and Minho, the chaos in the background forgotten.

Minho's eyes meet Chan, and his eyes gaze back, asking a silent question.

Is she okay?

Minho nods faintly and smiles at you, placing a warm hand over yours. You fight the urge to wince at the contact; it feels wrong, and all you want to do is shake it off. You exhale slightly as he removes his hand.

"Sure," Minho says gently. "Go ahead. I know we're being noisy."

You nod and force a weak smile before pushing your chair back. No one looks at you, save Chan stealing a glance as you stand up, but it feels like getting up in front of a crowd. You almost throw up over the table.

Excusing yourself from the group, you turn and leave the room. You trail a hand along the wall of the corridor, your knees strangely aching as you take the stairs upwards. Guilt and a mad sort of happiness take over your being and you move faster, almost driven by the manic feeling. Your body feels foreign and alien, possessed almost.

Entering your room, you shut the door as carefully as you can, and swear. No lock. You forgot about that.

Well, there's the bathroom... But it's bright in there, and you won't be able to see what you're doing in the dark either.

You gaze thoughtfully around the room, your brain going faster than it has in weeks. Your LED lights are on; the ones Hyunjin gifted you for your birthday are set to a gentle purple glow, casting soft violet hues over the bed and shelves. His smiling face appears in your mind and you push it away before you can get distracted.

The bedroom will do.

You avoid looking in the mirror as you pass it by, opening the door to the bathroom and rummaging in the drawers, not bothering to turn the light on. You know this routine well enough.

You pull out a pack of tissues, crumpling it in your hand, and reach under the top of the drawer above it. You move your fingers side to side until they catch on a piece of metal, hidden under a strip of tape, and pull it out. The tape dangles and you carelessly push the drawer shut.

Reentering the bedroom, you sit down at the foot of the bed. Shimmying off your jeans, and then taking off your shirt too, you set them aside to avoid any stains. Not that it matters anymore. They'll find you here with the razor blade still in your hand. You tug at the strap of your bra, trying to relieve the sudden tension stuck between them.

You're really doing this.

Because it doesn't matter, right?

Right?

No, you shake your head firmly, tears building in your eyes, stubborn and despondent. This is for the best.

Your eyes scan your thighs. Looking for the unscarred skin, the parts of you that are still smooth, still clean, not too-far-gone, not rough around the edges, not crumbling, not breaking, not you-

It stings a little the first time. Your breathing becomes shallow as you watch the skin. Nothing wells up, and you can't see the first slicing impact of it, the lighting too low to be able to see anything much. Nothing happens, so you do it again.

And again. And again.

The mad impulse takes over.

You draw your hand in messy, deep, harsh lines across your thighs, quick and brutal, and when you look down, your fingertips are stained in blood. So is the blade, and both thighs are a mess. It aches, but it feels so, so good.

Like greeting an old friend, like embracing someone you thought you'd seen left behind. It burns and the wetness of tacky blood sliding down your legs feels... nice, almost. Familiar, definitely.

Your breathing becomes even more shallow, coming in quick, short gasps, your eyes scanning the skin, moving to your arms, drawing long, deep slashes, welling with blood, spilling like the tears in your eyes, tacky and slippery and iron-smelling, black under the light.

The air smells like blood. It's cloying and you breathe yourself in, gruesome in the best way.

Your hands are sticky and drying with the faint sheen and splotches of scarlet, and when your eyes meet your wrist, you pause.

Just for a second.

And then you raise your hand, the blade sticky and red, smeared and slippery between your shaking fingers. A salute, the colour of finality staining your fingertips, wet, raw, real.

You smile as the tears slip down, soaking your cheeks. Squeezing your eyes shut, taking a last breath, and bring your hand down.

Down...

You feel the deep bite of the blade, hear the slight scrape of it, push it deeper, and rip sideways. As hard as you can.

Gritting your teeth, your eyes squeeze even tighter closed and you lift your hand and rip into the soft skin again and again, determined to draw every drop of blackened scarlet out of you, stain your body, stain the floor.

Then a rustle, a flash of light, a tackle to your curled figure.

You smell faded cologne and the world tips sharply sideways. The blade goes flying and your head hits the wall, dull, not enough to knock you out but enough to stun you.

You blink as a warm weight settles over you, emerging from a dazed stupor, frantic and shaking and gasping, and your eyes meet Minho's, welling with violet tears under the artificial light.

"No," he gasps, crying. A sob rips from his throat. "No, Y/n, why- Y/n, oh, fuck-"

You don't say anything, heart pounding, watching as Minho lifts a hand, stained in scarlet, shaking, distressed, cradling your arm. You think you're wearing a sleeve over your arm before you realise the sleeve is wet, and it's not a sleeve of fabric at all, rather a stream of wet, tacky blood.

Dark and deep. White peeks at the edges of the cut, stinging under the coolness of the movement of air around you.

You don't move, but Minho does. He pulls you upright, into his chest, gasping and gulping for air like he's the one bleeding out.

His scream for Chan chills your heart, chills you to the bone.

"Chan-hyung," he shouts, voice breaking, almost a scream. He screams it over and over again. He sounds like a child more than anything else.

You can't see anything, face buried in Minho's shirt, but you feel the back of your head being cradled, eyes drooping, and Minho's tears begin to drip onto your face as he leans over you, holding you like a precious item, fragile, breakable. He looks terrified, but you feel calm, strangely so.

He's shaking, and the sound of thumping footsteps and shouts of concern, not just one set of them, but multiple, thunder towards you, assaulting your ears like a shower of dull bullets.

Light floods the room, blank and yellow and foreign from a lamp in the corner, and Chan's hands are on you, and when you look across, Jeongin is on his knees at the doorway, wailing, Hyunjin and Seungmin at his sides, the rest of the members a horrified, terrified cluster of bodies behind them. You hear a thud and see Felix fall, then more shouting, someone rushing into the bathroom, noise and crying and gasps and-

"Y/n," Chan gasps, phone to his ear, shaking, tears slipping down his cheeks. You can't feel his warmth, or maybe his hands have gone cold. "Y/n, you'll be okay. Stay with us. You're gonna be fine, baby, I promise..."

You let yourself relax in Minho's shaking arms, stare up at the ceiling. His sobs sound nothing like him. Having never heard him cry, it's strange to finally hear his misery. It sounds soft, breakable, almost unreal. It makes you smile.

The world screens out to black.

Minho's prominent sobs fade into the background.

.

It still hurts. Sometimes.

But only sometimes. Like a bruise that you forget you have, it only stings when you push too hard, knock it against something.

The wound is healing. So are your thighs.

But it still hurts. Just like the memory.

You'd woken in a dazed stupor in the hospital, doctors and nurses and the members and the staffs' faces all blurring together in white flashes, smelling faintly of iron and disinfectant.

Two weeks later, you were back home. The cut wasn't actually that bad. Just bled a lot, made a mess. But not enough to...

Anyway.

The memory, the stinging pain of the event floats faintly around your head like a cloud, filled with rain but unsure whether to pour it all out. You still feel dazed, numb, but not as much as before. Guilty, definitely, but never more loved.

You wonder what would have happened if you'd actually followed through with it. Because deep down, you know that you didn't really want to die. Leave everyone behind, escape entirely, hand your pain over with shaking hands to those you knew. But part of you is still reeling, shaking, frantic inside, when you remember how you felt.

Upstairs, alone, numb.

While your members, unknowingly laughed and bickered on the level below. You wonder what went through their heads when they heard Minho's screaming, saw you almost lifeless, a half-dead, scarlet mess in his arms, saw Chan's shaking hands and the dull light of his phone as he called the ambulance. Felix fainting, the thud of his knees hitting the cold hardwood. Jeongin's devastated wailing.

You hear the sounds of it all, expressionless, barely-alive, but so, so real.

The thin tip of a pen slowly pulls you back to the surface. Makes your skin tingle on the inside of your arm, the sensitive skin around your wrist that you somehow managed to avoid in your distress. That vital vein.

You look down.

Minho's hair brushes against your cheek as you peek at your arm; you can feel the soft tip of the black pen in his hand poking lightly at the skin.

"What are you drawing?" You say softly.

He doesn't reply, too focused on the black lines flowing out of the pen. They're a little shaky, and he's careful not to touch the bandage wrapping your wrist, but you can tell he's clearly invested in leaving the drawings over your arm. You can't see what it is yet.

Chan comes over then, sitting down quietly on the couch next to you. He sets a cup of tea on the table, and you feel the familiar, warm weight of his head on your shoulder, nestling in the crook of your neck. You both watch a tendril of steam rise from the cup, curling and fading into the air in soft, white wisps. The scent of heated chamomile fills the room, and you smile as Chan inhales deeply.

His hand finds yours, resting on your knee, warm and dry and calloused. You feel the steady, solid weight of it over your own, his fingertips brushing your knuckles as he glances at your left forearm.

"Whatcha doing, Min?" He murmurs.

Minho responds with a hum, a little squeak that makes you smile. He sounds like one of his cats. He pulls back, capping the black pen with a smile of satisfaction.

"Do you like it?" He says, clearly proud of himself. Chan chuckles, leaning in to get a closer look at his drawing.

You smile back. It's small, but it's real, genuine. So is the slightly-smudged butterfly on the soft skin of your inner forearm.

"Yes," you say, touching it gently. "I do."

a/n: okay well now i'm sad . div by @webc00re

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[stealingyourbones]

Mr. Mxyzptlk decides to have some fun and decides it’s time for some bodyswapping shenanigans. Behold, a list of varying bodyswaps I think would be neat to explore:

—

Jack Fenton and Clark Kent

Jack being Jack and getting used to his powers and being INCREDIBLY confused that he woke up NOT in his bed, not next to his incredible wife, and assuming this is a ghosts shenanigans. Clark is freaking out because he’s human, not next to HIS incredible wife, assumes this is a Mxyzptlk plot, and cements himself as an incredibly good father figure with Danny and Jazz, reaching out to other Supers for help to teach Jack the ropes and to wait out whatever Mxy has done.

—

Artemis swapping with Jazz

during an Outlaws mission and DURING some test for Jazz. Both freak out, both have to adjust to the other persons strengths and abilities, and Jason and Bizzaro have to calm a very confused and scared teenager who’s in an Amazonian body. While Danny’s friends are DESPERATELY trying to stop Artemis from throwing hands with every ghost she sees.

—

Johnny 13 and Jason Todd

Jason Todd is dead again. Not Good. Johnny is alive again. This ROCKS! Jason’s Red Hood goons lock him up because their boss is clearly compromised. Jason figures a way out of the Ghost Zone and asks Phantom for help. Along with having to acclimate to being able to control a sentient shadow and ghostly powers, Jason is in for a doozy. Johnny on the other hand, is going through many many attempts to escape Red Hood’s room and failing… until Red Robin crashes through a window. Apparently he should have answered the calls on Red Hood’s phone. Red Robin near instantly clocks that whoever is in Jason’s body, isn’t Jason. Ok, time to bring Not Jason to the Batcave to figure out what’s going on.

—

Vlad Masters and Alfred Pennyworth

Instant character change from both parties. Alfred is midway through talking to Bruce about over exerting himself and Vlad is midway through nearly successfully capturing Phantom.

—

Paulina and Wonder Woman

Paulina having to adjust with Amazonian strength and being lassoed by another party to figure out what’s happening in full (prolly Batman and his paranoid ass wanting the absolute truth <3). Diana having to adjust with being an average teenage girl who’s also high up on the Highschool food chain and pretending nothing is wrong until she can contact the League to figure out what just happened.

—

Tucker Foley and Dick Grayson:

Tucker swapping with Dick while Dick is at the Batcave. He’s too busy marveling at the tech and not really registering that he’s Not In His Body until he hears a roar of a motorcycle somewhere in the distance (One of the Batfamily coming back to the cave), and his reality comes crashing down. Tucker is mid ghost capture when Dick swaps with him and realizes VERY quickly that he’s not in his body and proceeds to go “fuck it. This hero he doesn’t know is genuinely struggling and he needs to blend in until he knows what’s going on. Dick doesn’t know this guys fighting capabilities but he has to AT LEAST know how to dodge well and aim well (Spoiler alert: Tucker doesn’t.

—

Danny Fenton and Martian Manhunter

DANNY IS AN ALIEN! THIS IS THE COOLEST THING EVER!!… Danny also has absolutely no idea how to shapeshift so he’s stuck in J’onn’s true Martian form and uncontrollably shapeshifting random parts of his body out of stress because he can hear *everyones thoughts* within a few miles. Danny’s grown to be a quick learner with powers but with all this noise he just. Can’t. Concentrate. J’onn doing his damndest to act as a regular human boy while not panicking about having absolutely zero telepathy. He’s told the boy’s friends after they noticed something wrong. He found out midway on the walk to Sam’s house that J’onn can turn invisible quite easily. It’s not the same as it is in his body but it’s not too different, kind of like flexing a different sequence of muscles to create the same movement.

[trivia-yandere]

does milf oc ever get jealous at the thought of jungkook possibly having girls after him at college…? 🤭

well let us see

m.i.l.f (4)

you visit the dorm rooms one evening to restock your sons necessities expecting for him and his roommate to be out; yet you aren't so lucky.

word count: 4.178

warning: age difference, milf reader, smut, dirty talk, humping, nipple sucking, jungkook is a yearner, milf reader is also whipped, impregnation/breeding kink, unprotected sex, fingering, oral sex, overstimulation, squirting, creampie, possessive sex,

part 1 | two | three

You sigh once you slam your car door shut and proceed to lock it. You’ve managed to hold six bags as you walk up the concrete stairs to the dorm rooms. You weren’t expecting to get a message from Dash stating that he needed more snacks and drinks for his dorm, stating that he and Jungkook had gone through them all.

Truthfully, it was all your sons doing as he was known to snack more than Jungkook, but you were his mother. You had gotten everything he asked for and then some and now here you were. 

The dorm room hallways were dimly lit and quiet. During the weekend it was like a ghost town and it allowed you to come in freely just like this without having to sign in. You hoped when you walked in there you wouldn’t come to a complete mess. Jungkook was a naturally organized person and you’re positive being with Dash had to be annoying.

Jungkook.

Your mind travels to the last time you saw him was at dinner and that was nearing a week ago. You had basically kicked him from your home to go to a party and he had not made an attempt to speak with you. You aren’t sure if this was the end for you and him - and if it was, then you should be glad.

Right?

You would be lying if you said Jungkook wasn’t the best fuck you had in years. You had several one night stands, sure, but that wasn’t exciting. You’ve dated men throughout your time, but that also didn’t lead anywhere as Dash always came first and they didn’t like that.

Jungkook was far more attentive than anyone you’ve ever met. Him pleasuring you was something he actually enjoyed doing - as if it brought him his own pleasure. He had more stamina than any man you’ve had before and it didn’t help that he was insanely attractive.

Even Dash’s father didn’t last - obviously. You getting pregnant was an act of two horny teenagers and all the responsibility was left on you. While he went on to go to college, you had to stay behind and work and raise Dash while his parents paid you on his behalf. He visited only when he was on break, and when he graduated college and got into his respected career, being a father was the last thing on his mind.

Maybe you couldn’t blame him much - but then again you could. It was around that time of  year for him to visit  and pretend he cared about his child.

You reach Dash’s door and sigh. Dash told you that he and Jungkook were at another party and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. But maybe it was childish to feel any type of way - Jungkook wasn’t yours to be territorial of. He was nothing but a good fuck that so happened to be your sons friend. You were growing far too comfortable with having him pleasure you that in the end, he could be doing this to someone else.

You open the door to the dorm room and close it behind you. The lights are off, but the led lights surrounding the walls are on and suspiciously, they’re red. Your eyes squint into the bedroom and you let out another sigh of finding a line of clothes onto the floor that belonged to your son.

You drop the bags onto the ground and you begin to stock them onto the shelves and mini fridge.

You’re far too engrossed in organising that you don’t notice the bathroom door open and close and footsteps come closer. 

“Mommy?”

You drop a can of soda and yelp when it cracks open and begins to fuzz. You go to grab it, turning your head to look at the sound of the voice.

This was highly unfortunate.

“Jungkook…” you murmur, lifting to your feet to throw out the soda can. “...why are you here?”

“In my…dorm room?” Jungkook cracks a smile. He’s naked - only sporting a towel; again, how unfortunate. Not because you don’t find the man attractive and would be willing to mound him, but because you thought you were having enough self-control lately. 

“Dash said you and him were at a party.” you murmur. You turn your head away with warm cheeks.

“He stayed.” Jungkook licks his lips. “He was occupied.”

“With Hana?” you question, not truly caring if he was or not.

Jungkook snorts. “Sure,” he says with a shrug. He hasn’t seen Hana since dinner and that was the norm with Dash.

“I’m only here to stock up on snacks and drinks.” you nod towards the newly stocked shelves. “I should be going-”

“Why?” Jungkook asks. He takes a seat onto his neatly made bed opposite of the disheveled one of Dash’s. 

“What do you mean?” you scoff.

“What’s your issue?”

You knit your brows. 

“You’ve been avoiding me, mommy.”

You want to laugh at Jungkook’s words. “I’ve been avoiding you?”

In the red light, Jungkook thinks you look hot. Especially while irritated. He knows that what he’s doing is a form of manipulation by putting the blame on you. He had decided to ignore you - against his best wishes; he missed you so much. You were obviously upset about hearing Yvette’s name that it caused you to push him away.

Witnessing Yvette at her party had irritated him enough to leave said party early against Dash’s wishes. He had driven home wanting to call you, but instead decided against it. He wanted to see how far it would go until he could see you again.

To think Jungkook was going to facetime you tonight, but here you were. It was like the universe was speaking to him now.

“Yes. You haven’t called me.” Jungkook shrugs. He doesn’t care if his towel is slowly unravelling.

“I never call you.” you squint your eyes, pondering what in the world he was going on about.

“Exactly, mommy. It’s like you don’t care about me.” Jungkook pouts a bit. “Or is it because you want me to keep following you like some type of lovesick teenager.”

You tilt your head. What game was Jungkook playing here? If anything, you should be questioning him. Why in the world would he give you the best dick in years and then ghost you for Yvette?

You mentally curse at yourself for sounding like this. You weren’t the age to care what in the world a man did - especially one your son's age.

Jungkook watches you for a moment before snorting.

“You can’t even admit that you were using me.” Jungkook shakes his head. “You’re probably off to the next college boy.”

Your eyes widen at his words. “Am I some type of cougar to you?!” you hiss at him. Why you were still here discussing anything with Jungkook was beyond you. Dash could walk through that door any moment now and see you with his nearly naked friend.

“No.” Jungkook answers swiftly. “I just thought you liked me for me.”

“I do like you, Jungkook.” you say between gritted teeth. You cannot believe you were having this conversation. “It’s just not morally correct for us to do this. You know that.”

“Then why haven’t you walked out yet?” Jungkook questions. You were asking yourself the same thing. “Since you want to be so “morally correct”.”

You stand a bit straighter. “I will.”

Jungkook leans forward, watching you. Witnessing him in the red lights in person was far better than over the phone - yet you couldn’t allow yourself to grow weak. Not now while he was obviously testing you.

“Have a good night, Jungkook.”

You turn away from him, deciding that he could organize the rest of the snacks. Whenever Dash returned, you didn’t need to be here. It was risky already sneaking around with his best friend - no matter how much of a rush it was.

Your hand wraps around the door knob and just as you open it, it closes once more. A tattooed arm is right beside your head. Another hand locks the door swiftly, leaving you caged between the door and him.

“Jungkook.”

Your tone is so soft, yet stern like that it causes Jungkook’s cock to harden instantly. 

“Yes?”

“I have to go.”

“Why? Dash won’t be back.” Jungkook states - because he texted Dash himself and told him to stay out. It was a code that the both of them came up with when the other had company over. Dash was far too oblivious to realize that recently, his eyes only ever been on you. “I missed you. You pushed me away, mommy.”

You take a deep breath. “You should be with girls your own age-”

“I knew that was why!” Jungkook quips. “Yvette is just a friend.” He wouldn’t call her that, but it was wrong to say that she was nothing to him entirely. It made sense in Jungkook’s mind.

“If I had her do you think I would be craving you every time?”

And there it was, the hand around your waist to bring you closer. The nose against your neck to inhale that sweet scent he enjoyed so much. 

Fuck.

“I missed you so much, mommy. Just stay for a while.”

This was wrong.

You couldn’t stay here in the dorms. What the fuck were you going to do if Dash did come? How would you explain that?

What if somehow someone knew you were here and you were charged with something - or Jungkook or Dash?

Why hadn’t you said no to Jungkook and why hadn’t you stopped his wandering hands?

“Please, mommy. It’s been so long since I’ve tasted you.”

And of course you folded, allowing Jungkook to pull you to his bed. It’s a dorm and the biggest you could fit in here were full-size beds, but it was big enough for Jungkook and you. Somehow, you were out of your clothes in under 3 minutes and beneath his covers. Your mind screams at you to act like the grown adult you were and get out of whatever spell you were under, but your core was begging for you to stay.

“You didn’t miss me even a little bit?” Jungkook murmurs, hovering above you. His lips are kissing along your neck, leaving behind wet trails. 

“I did.” you admit, as stupid as it was to.

“You pushing me away kept me horny all night, mommy. I guess we’ll have to make that up.”

Jungkook never cared about being quiet while he was in the doors - especially during the weekends when it was as quiet and dead as it was. That meant that he could do whatever he wanted and he was fully intending on doing just that. And it always started with your breast - the perfect mounds to sit right in the palms of his hands. His hands roam your body as he finds his mouth wrapping onto your right one. His cock rubs against your naked core, sliding past your clit.

You let out a hushed moan, your body reacting for you. You actually missed having Jungkook on you - suckling onto your breast needily and treating your body with pleasure. It was insane to say aloud; but damn was it the truth.

“We can’t do this forever, Kookie.”

Jungkook’s right hand keeps you in place so he can easily rut his cock against your now wet clit. He groans against your nipples, popping it in and out of his mouth like a lollipop. His eyes glance up at you, appearing entirely too sinful underneath these same red lights.

“Why not, mommy?”

There were a thousand and one reasons why. Jungkook was just horny and so were you. Eventually his life would continue on after college and so would yours - you couldn’t continue this. But for now, it would do. You would allow Jungkook to fuck you so good that you’d lose all of your morals.

“I don’t want to fuck anyone else. I want you.”

Jungkook’s tongue licks up from your breast to your collarbones. He goes towards your neck next and sinks his teeth down onto your skin. He continues to rub against your clit, groaning and grunting against your neck while you let out a hushed gap.

“Your pussy is always so good, mommy. What do you expect me to do?”

Your pussy’s throbbing now. Jungkook’s hand grips your thigh just as you begin to buckle it to meet his thrusts.

“I think about you all the time. I think about you creaming on my cock like you do. About me cumming in you so deep that you’d end up pregnant.”

That was new, causing you to let out a low gasp - one that Jungkook notices immediately when he slides past your clit.

“You’d like that, right, mommy? Me cumming in you so much that I’d get you pregnant? I’d actually be a good father to our child.”

This was sick, you think. There was no way this was exciting you. You were a grown woman, for fucks sakes! 

But it’s the way that Jungkook says it - so low and sultry. His voice so husky and full of lust that it’s far too appealing for you not to moan and now your head, your thighs caging him closer to you. “You’d be so pretty pregnant, mommy. Your breast would grow bigger with milk. You’d look so hot.” Jungkook grumbles the last part, this time his hand reaching behind you to grip your ass entirely. His tip is right at your hole now. “I could fuck you right now, mommy. Get you full of my cum…”

Jungkook is speaking, but you notice he isn't talking to you anymore. It’s as if he’s speaking to himself - should he or should he not?

But Jungkook does. He enters you without a second thought - nor do you fight him off. Your pussy wraps around him so heavily like it usually does, and each time he’s as shocked as the last. 

Now Jungkook’s mind is fully engrossed with the thought of you being pregnant.  He would like to think he would be a good father - better than Dash’s. He knew enough to know that a father that only saw their kid maybe 4 times out the year wasn’t a father. He wouldn’t prioritize himself over you or his child; he wasn’t selfish.

Nor was Jungkook a broke college student like most. He was here because he had to be; it was mandatory if he wanted to remain in his grandfather’s will. It was mandatory if he wanted to leave here and join his family company. He didn’t need a degree that was going to get him nowhere; it was only a hobby for him - for the rest of his cousins attending and scattered in the dorms.

You didn’t need to know that; not yet.

“Fuck, mommy.” Jungkook pounds into you greedily. His hands grip your ass,  your squelching pussy music to his ears. Your legs are hiked onto his shoulders. “You’re so wet. You want a baby, don’t you?”

The sane part of you was already ashamed. You had allowed Jungkook far into your life (and body) that he was able to do or say whatever he wanted. He had you naked in under five minutes and fucking in under ten. His cock was so deep in you that you were seeing red covered stars.

“Yes, Kookie!” you squeal. “Your cock is so big!”

“And you love it.” Jungkook chuckles darkly, drilling your pussy with no remorse. 

“I do love it!”

You were being too loud, you think, but you cannot find it in you to care right now. Jungkook, in the little time you’ve allowed him to fuck you, has managed to make you cum. Countless times. Within multiple sex acts.  

This was a rarity and damn was it hard to find.

Jungkook pulls out suddenly and before you can whine, he replaces his cock with three of his fingers. He begins to pump with the same speed as his cock, connecting his tongue to your clit.

“Kook-kie!” you gasp. The sudden action has your mind swirling.

Jungkook has wanted to taste you since the same night you told him to go. He wanted to have his tongue on you again and again and again - but he didn't. So he had to take what he deserved. 

Your legs are shaking, feeling the overstimulating pleasure build through you. You cannot help with how fast you were going to cum - not when you had an overachiever like Jungkook. Your hand grips his hair to keep his tongue in place, your hips grinding against his tongue. 

Jungkook’s dark eyes glanced up at you, enjoying the way you were loving every minute of this. An action no one but him can do - only what he should be doing to you. He allows you to take a bit of control and keep him against your greedy cunt, wanting more and more until you physically couldn’t take anymore.

‘“I’m gonna cum, Kookie…!”

Jungkook only suckles hardly, allowing his fingers to pump faster and faster. He wanted you to cum all over his tongue; to use him as if he was your personal fuck toy. If only he could be day in and out; to feel and taste you at any given moment of the day.

Jungkook’s cock throbs to be inside you again.

“You’re always so good for mommy, Kookie.”

Your toes are curling as you’re cumming, your vision blurring a bit. Jungkook’s own eyes close as you begin to cum, arousal pooling out of you and coating his hand entirely, but he doesn’t want your pleasure to end - not even when you’re squealing and shaking.

Jungkook forces you onto your stomach next, hiking your hips up and he enters you. He’s fully in charge again - yet he never never stepped down. One hand is on your back, forcing you down while the other is on your hips. He pounds into you disrespectfully, his cock hitting your sweet spot with each thrust.

You’re continuing to squeal into his cotton sheets, hands gripping them for support. Your ass is amazing - it always is in this position. He’s so deep that he can cum in you right now; bury you with warm seed that there isn’t any way you cannot fall pregnant.

“Such a hungry pussy, mommy. You’re doing so good.”

It was all too much to handle. Your pussy continues to leak with arousal, coating your thighs and his bedsheets entirely. You’ve unable to form words at the moment and only continue to babble or moan, but it was okay with Jungkook. He knew that only he knew how to fuck you this good.

“I know you already have a son, mommy, so I hope  we have a daughter. She’ll be so cute just like you.” Jungkook laughs gleefully, his cock springing in and out of your wet core. “And if we have a son, I guess we’ll have to try again.”

Jungkook forces a hand between your legs, teasingly tapping your swollen clit. It was sickening how wet and overstimulated you were.

“Only I can fuck you, mommy. Say it.”

You can’t - not now. Not with how well you were being fucked - completely used like a ragdoll.

“Say. It.” Jungkook hisses, his wet hand grabbing your throat and forcing you up against him. “Say that you belong to me, mommy.” Jungkook pressed, his demeanor changed entirely. His thrusts are punishing.

“Only…to…you…” you force out, clenching pussy milking his cock for everything you wanted from him. 

“Only mine to fuck, right? You won’t be a whore and cheat on me, right, mommy?” Jungkook asks, squeezing your throat. “You’re so fucked out and drunk off of cock that you’d say anything.”

Both hands grip your breast, but still Jungkook plunges his cock inside of you. It isn’t as though you’re in his college dorm with how disrespectfully he fucks you. But neither of you care - you’re drowning in overstimulation.

“Look at you, mommy. So fucked out and squirting all over me.” Jungkook chuckles. “I’ll ruin your life if you ever think you’re going to leave me and give such a sweet pussy to someone else.”

“It’s too much, Kookie.” you let out another squeal as another high bubbles up.

“I bet it is.” Jungkook spats. You don’t even realize what he’s saying to you - you were so cute. “You aren’t going to leave me. Say it.”

“I-I’m not going to leave you, Kookie.” you groan, squeezing your eyes shut yet again as you cum all over his sloppy cock. He was going to cum right in your pussy like he always does.

“F-Fuck.” Jungkook stutters. His eyes dart to the corner of his room and he smirks, the camera well hidden and only for him to see. The amount of footage he has taken on this exact bed could not compare to the footage of you he has - only for his eyes only, of course. Or, to blackmail you if you ever did decide to leave him.

Warm cum shoots right into you and you sigh, letting out a soft cry.

You want to say you don’t know when the last time you bought yourself a morning after pill.

But you cannot - because you never had. Your son was going to be graduating college soon and here you were purchasing a morning after pill.

You should be ashamed of yourself and the amount of carelessness you’ve managed to put yourself through in the last few weeks.

You managed to not get pregnant after Dash, and now you just couldn’t stop fucking.

Jungkook has fucked you on every inch - of his side - of the dorm room. Against the wall, in the surprisingly clean bathroom while you and he bathed - an act that caught even you off guard. You were so dick drunk that you rode him until he was begging you to let him cum - it was insane.

You managed to sneak out before the sun rose and went to the nearest convenient store to be judged by a middle age woman.

You close your eyes after you swallow the pill. You rest your head against the cool window and let out a soft sigh.

Was this where your life came to? Fucking Jungkook and allowing him to treat you like a cumbucket whore?

Your phone sounds so loud that it startles you. The name on the phone causes your eyebrows to shoot.

“Dash’s Dad” is labeled and instantly you want to scream. It was not the right time.

“What?”

“Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

The voice irritates you instantly. 

“I’ll be landing soon.”

“And…you’re telling me for what?” you snicker. “Call an uber.”

He sighs. “Are you always this cold, Y/N?”

“Dash is in college.” you sigh. “You don’t need to call me anymore to get in contact with him.”

He does - only because he and you both know Dash won’t answer.  Maybe it was the thought that counts.

“I was thinking I can stay at yours.”

“Hell. No.” 

Your hand squeezes the phone. To think this man had the audacity-

“Why? Found yourself a man?”

“Why the fuck is that any of your business?!” you snap.

“That means no.” he snickers. "I'll be staying at the house that I've bought. But..." he trails off. “I was thinking we can go to dinner. Talk, you know?” he speaks.

“There’s nothing for us to talk about-”

“While I’m paying his tuition, yes there is.” 

That was low. Dash didn’t even know that, nor were you going to tell him. It was a part of the agreement you made with his parents. They assisted with funding Dash while he went to college and in return, he would do the same for the son he barely had any interest in raising.

Until now apparently.

“What do you want?” you snicker with a shake of your head. “You want to come around out of nowhere and pretend to be a family man?”

“I’ve been trying-”

“You tried when he was 15.” you interrupt. “You promised to see him but haven’t done anything but send a check. Do I have to remind you that you missed his high school graduation or…?”

This is why you avoided speaking with him for so long. It ended with you being pissed at the memories of your son being disappointed time and time again.

“I’m trying, Y/N. Can you give me a little grace?”

Inhale.

Exhale.

“I’ll be expecting for us to go to dinner-”

“I’ll cook instead.” you interrupt. You didn’t want to even be seen with that man.

“Fine.” he scoffs. “Then we can discuss some things.”

You don’t even want to know at this point. Was it bad to wish that whatever plane he was on would crash and only he would be the one to not survive it?

“Whatever.”

“Bring your little boyfriend, Y/N. I know someone as graceful as-”

You hang up the phone before he can continue to piss you off.

You’re unsure why your mind drifted to Jungkook at the thought of “boyfriend”.

trivia-yandere: okay so like, not so much yandere yet but as you can see we're planting seeds... :3

part five think this was only supposed to be four parts

@sweetempathprunetree @darkuni63 @investedreader @marylight098 @youcallmeana @allie-in-the-moon @boonbyu @chimmy-licious @llallaaa @hyeinwluv85s @busanbby-jjk @bts-ruu @marylight098

[frythebrains]

Primarch political marriage AU where the Emperor attempts to make the primarchs care more about humanity by forcing them to get married. Thankfully, they're allowed to pick their own consort and because Big E can't do anything without being extremely extra (and because it's an excellent way to generate a hell of a lot of good press), there's going to be an elaborate series of parties to display the best that the imperium can offer in the way of potential mates.

Feat.

- the entire Death Guard becoming the Mortarion Primping Squad (led by Typhon) in the hope that getting laid might cheer Mortarion up

-Fulgrim fully understanding the assignment and DOMINATING the entire first night. He really doesn't want to have to pick another wife, though.

-Dorn becoming absolutely fascinated with shapewear- he hadn't ever thought that clothing could be engineered like that before.

-Ferrus Manus trying to hide against the wall, since he has no idea how to talk to women

-Konrad Curze is strangely popular, and gets more popular after he starts predicting the deaths of anyone who dares approach him- the girlies love some fortune telling

-Bobby G calling his mom to ask for advice on how to woo women

-Magnus becoming dejected that women don't flock around him like Fulgrim and Sanguinius. He hasn't put it together that it's because he keeps being a giant nerd about magic and no one has any idea what he's talking about.

-Perturabo is determined to be married before Dorn, so he's brought in Caliphonie to help him pick what to wear. He proceeds to ignore her advice about how to actually win over women.

-Lion getting dancing lessons from Luthor

-the imperial press being flooded with augmented pictures and bios of the primarchs, all to make them seem like romantic heroes. The imperial press in general is just out of control the entire time...

-Malcador really wishing he told the Emperor that this is His worst idea yet

-the Alpha legion getting in a lot of cross-dressing practice.

-Leman Russ refusing to marry any woman who cannot wrestle him to the floor. He doesn't care that they're all baseline humans, any woman worthy of bearing his children should be strong!

-the Mournival taking bets on who's going to get married second (because obviously Horus is going to be the first)

-Sanguinius getting overwhelmed by the amount of attention he is receiving and cocoons himself in his wings at some point in the night. He refuses to come out, even for snacks.

-Lorgar doing well until he tries the whole 'God is telling me that you're my wife' line.

-Horus using the worst pickup lines imaginable and getting away with it.

-Vulkan being delighted by the chance to do something that's not war related for once. He has an absolute blast dancing, although he might be a little too enthusiastic.

- Corvus trying to escape and having to be dragged back into the party by the custodes (under the Emperor's explicit command)

-Jaghati showing up with a whole-ass herd of horses to prove his fitness as a mate

-Magnus is the sluttiest-dressed in the entire room, scandilizing Lion and Lorgar. He even pierced his nipples for the occasion.

[melzula]

hii i was wondering could you write a oneshot of how zuko's self cautious of his scar and reader just kisses his scar and reassures him and tells him that hes perfect and that she loves everything abt him. This is in a very like intimate and loving way ykyk

a/n: ah this plot is so sweet! had to rewrite this piece a few times before landing on something i liked so i hope you enjoy!

summary: zuko asks you to remove his bandages

“Are you sure you want me to do this? I can fetch Iroh instead.”

“No,” comes Zuko’s soft reply, his sullen features bathed in candle light. “I want it to be you.”

Sighing softly, you give him an understanding nod and press a careful kiss to his check. The Prince remains stoic in spite of your show of affection, simply signaling for you to proceed.

It’s been a week since the Agni Kai, and the healer has given Zuko the okay to remove his bandages. The wound should be healed by now, nothing but a painless scar with a painful memory attached to it. It’s not only your first time seeing Zuko’s new face but his as well, and neither of you are sure what to expect.

You were honestly surprised when the Prince had asked for you to be the one to remove his bandages. He’d been cold and standoffish with you since your departure from the Fire Nation, something you couldn’t blame him for considering all he’d been through, but you didn’t expect him to trust you with something so important so soon. It made you nervous, but it also made you relieved to know he still felt he could trust you with such things.

Your fingers work carefully as you unravel the white cloth around his head, doing your best not to cause too much discomfort for your Prince. He says nothing as you move and only watches you through the reflection of the mirror before him.

“Are you ready?” You ask him softly, hesitating as you reach the final layer of wrapping.

“Hesitation is a sign of weakness,” Zuko replies gruffly, and that’s all you need to hear before finally pulling away the last of the bandages.

The room is silent and tense as Zuko stares at his own reflection. The skin around his eye is angry and red, permanently damaged and forever serving as a reminder of his failure. He can hardly see out of his left eye, but he’s still able to make out your figure watching on silently as he assesses the damage.

“Go ahead and say it.”

“Say what, Zuko?” You murmur softly, carefully resting a hand upon his back.

“Say you’re disgusted by me. Say you’re repulsed,” he snarls bitterly. “Say that you’re too embarrassed to be seen with such a failure!”

“Is that really what you think?” You utter sadly, a pained smile on your lips as you carefully reach out to touch his face. His hand immediately flies up to catch your wrist in a firm grip before you can get any closer, and despite the discomfort it brings you make no attempt to move.

“It’s what I know.”

“Then you must not know me at all,” you counter with a small shake of your head.

Reality sets in and Zuko guiltily removes his ironclad grip on your wrist. He doesn’t mean to be so harsh with you, but there’s an amalgamation of emotions festering within him at the sight of his deformity. He was a Prince, he wasn’t meant to look like this, he wasn’t meant to be out at sea fruitlessly trying to find the Avatar so he could end his banishment. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“You’re perfect, Zuko,” you console with a careful brush of your fingertips against the freshly healed skin. His eyes flutter shut at the comforting sensation, and you take it as a sign to continue. “I love you the way you are, and this scar doesn’t change that.”

He can’t help but gasp when he feels the softness of your lips pressing against his temple. How could you not feel sickened by him? How could you still love him after everything?

“Your scar is nothing but a sign of your strength, I hope you know that,” you tell him before pressing another kiss to his cheek just below his eye.

He says nothing in response, but you know that he understands you. With you, he doesn’t have to feel shame or guilt. Your love for him knows no bounds, and there’s nothing he could do that would ever make you turn away from him.

He sits in silence as you begin to apply a soothing balm to his skin. His eyes close in contentment and for the first time since leaving home he finally feels at peace.

He knows then that he made the right choice in having you be the one to remove his bandages. No one sees him like you do, and it’s more than he could ever ask for.

| zuko tags: @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @taeeemin @lora21 @livelaughlovekuni @lovialy

| atla tags: @sirkekselord @niktwazny303

[yuwuta]

AFTERGLOW. — JJK BOYS + JEALOUSY

❝tell me that you’re still mine, tell me that we’ll be just fine, even when i've lost my mind  

featuring. gojo, inumaki, nanami, okkotsu

content. a character study in jealousy, no content warnings, no smut in this version, fem reader

word count. 2.8k

SATORU GOJO You’re attempting to finish getting ready for the evening and Satoru has taken his favorite activity: filing through every crevice of your room like he’d been hired as a private investigator. Even though he knows that you know that he’s nothing more than a nosy idiot, Satoru claims that it’s an important and intimate routine that he should know the ins and outs of your living space just as well as you know his—“You know exactly where I keep my boxers, and I don’t even think I’ve seen the inside of your closet—oh, hey, this is cute,” he grins, sticking out his impossibly long arm to shake a thin, lacy bodysuit on a hanger, “How come you’ve never shown me this, huh? Maybe you should wear this instead, it seems easier to take—ouch.”

He groans at the impact of your hairbrush against his shoulder, then swiftly proceeds to pout and whine about how mean you are to him when you return to ignoring him in favor of applying the final touches to your makeup. Your closet seems to be of little interest to him after that, as Satoru crosses the room to hover around you at your vanity instead. He leans in too closely, as if watching you apply bronzer was a novel sight to him. You flip your brush quickly, barely tapping at his nose and laughing at his scrunched reaction.

“Your reflexes aren’t so sharp today,” you tease. You’re prepared for a witty response, and when you glance, there’s a familiar mischief shimmering in your boyfriend’s eyes; but, then his gaze ventures slightly past you, and all signs of playfulness drain from his face. Instead of getting revenge, or annoying you further, Satoru reaches over your body and into a shallow jewelry dish to pick up the bracelet he’d spotted. It’s a dainty little thing, thin gold with a small heart in the middle glittering with shiny stones, that he threads along his fingers with scrutiny before standing up straight to dangle it in front his face for further inspection, “This is new to me.”

Perhaps you’d spoken too soon, because only Satoru would spot that one piece of jewelry amongst the others swimming the tray. His eyes flutter between the bracelet and you, and you can practically hear the gears turning in his head, and the accusation he won’t say outloud—did you buy yourself heart-shaped jewelry, or is there something else going on here?

You sigh and keep your expression and voice neutral, your attention seemingly still focused on the finishing touches of your makeup, ��It’s new to you because I haven’t worn it in years,” you tell him, “My ex gave it to me.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you occupy yourself with your mascara, before Satoru speaks, “That makes sense, it doesn’t look all that promising. What is it—barely gold plated?” he taunts, sweeping away his air of concern with one of mockery, standing up straight to twirl the bracelet around his index finger, “Figures your ex boy toy had no taste for the finer things in life. You’re worth more than this, my darling.”

You shake your head with light laughter, patting in the remnants of your setting spray before standing. Satoru continues on, rambling about the poor construction of your commercially produced bracelet—holds it between his index finger and thumb like it’ll poison him if he exposes it to too much of his skin, and you can’t help but smile as you reach for the lapel of his blazer to pull him down for a kiss. He has no words of objection to this, pulling you in by the waist for another and another and another, before you finally pull away, “Come, let’s go. I don’t feel like getting lectured by Utahime for your tardiness again.”

You’re too preoccupied for the rest of the evening to notice the item missing from your jewelry dish. What you do notice, two afternoons later, shortly after Satoru has left to pick up Nanami from the airport, is a blue velvet box with your name written in pretty, gold cursive along the top—and inside, a gold tennis bracelet, glittering with diamonds, with a necklace to match. You have no doubt they’re legitimate, if not for the way the sparkle, then by the text that rings through on your phone after you question Satoru:

from: satoruwu 🫧🩵 — only the best for my baby <33

TOGE INUMAKI

Toge knows that the price of coffee has gotten way out of hand, but what bothers him more is the decreasing pace of said coffee getting made and the increase of crazy, caffeine addicted people who feel the need to be loud around him while he’s waiting for his drinks. You, however, seem to take pleasure in his suffering, as you always thank him and coo, saying he looks cute despite his grumbly demeanor, “You always look like you fought a war for two cups of coffee, Toge.” 

He rolls his eyes as he steps into your apartment, not minding the sound of your giggling behind him. He sets the drinks on your island, and pulls out a stool to sit on. You round the marble, reaching him just as he’s pulled down his mask for a thank you kiss to his cheek. He wants to make you suffer for longer, but when you lean against him, he can’t help but to return the hug and kiss your forehead—you’re welcome, always.

Still, he pokes at your head, waits until you dig your head out of his shoulder with curious eyes, before he points to the Keurig sitting in the corner of one the wall-mounted counters, and moves his hands to sign, “Why keep that if you spend all my money on coffee?”

“Rude. I offer to pay all the time,” you chide, poking at his collar bone and standing straight. You make your way back to the opposite side of the counter, and reach to a drawer to fetch a straw, before shrugging, “My ex left it here when we broke up. I keep it for the aesthetic—I’m not even sure if it works.”

A myriad of thoughts runs through Toge’s mind—most importantly: had your ex left other things here, and how quickly could he get rid of them?

“Besides,” you break his murderous train of thought, “None of the pods make good espresso. Couldn’t even make my hot girl latte if it worked.”

“Your ‘hot girl latte’ is iced,” Toge signs.

Under normal circumstances, a comment like that would earn him a flick to the forehead, but you can tell that behind the sarcasm, Toge is actually upset. So, in lieu of teasing him, you walk back over to him; settling yourself behind his stool to give him a back hug. You lean your cheek against his shoulder and press a small kiss there, “You’re cute.” 

Toge huffs, shaking his shoulders for dramatic effect. You laugh, leaning up to give him another kiss on the cheek. “You’re cute and you have nothing to worry about. It’s an old coffee machine.” 

He hums, taking another sip of his coffee before turning, barely bumping the top of your forehead, so you can see his raised eyebrow. You lean up to press a kiss to his lips, “You’re cute, and you have nothing to worry about, and I love you.” 

He finally smiles again, content, and grants you another kiss to your forehead. With his mood back to normal, the two of you finish your coffee and carry on with your scheduled study session as normal (normal being Toge leaving you alone for all of twenty-seven minutes, before he starts taking videos of you with various outrages Snapchat filters on).

However, the following day when you return from your classes, there’s four new items on your kitchen counter: a silver espresso machine, a reusable Starbucks cup (already filled with your usual drink), a neatly folded apron decorated with cartoon Shiba Inus, and a small card with Toge’s bubbly handwriting on it: “Don’t worry, I’ll still pay for you $6 pink drinks, but if you wanted to thank me by making coffee in just the apron, then I wouldn’t complain ;)”

KENTO NANAMI Kento is a rational man; he favors using logic to carry out decisive actions, rather than letting his emotions get the best of him. So, the rational part of him knows that it’s not a big deal that the lunch bag and bento-style tupperware you bring to work was a gift from your ex-girlfriend; but there’s a small, ugly, green part of him overrun with jealousy and another bitter-tasting feeling he can’t quite name.

Because it’s not that important. It makes sense that you keep using them—the lunch bag is nice, leather, sleek, and insulated, and the tupperware is sturdy and functional. The whole system is sustainable, practical. It was a good present, one that objectively serves a good purpose whether or not it was given by an ex or not.

Maybe that’s what he hates so much. That this person still has room in your life, even though you haven’t spoken to them since you’ve met him. Kento doesn’t like that reminder—that there are people out there who might be a good fit for you, a better one than him. Those ugly feelings aside, there’s a sour taste in his mouth when he packs your lunch now; knowing that the food he cooked for the two of you—the meal you’re both going to indulge in—sits in a container gifted to you by an ex-lover.

Irrational to the point of being unfocused, he doesn’t realize how close the glass is to the edge of the counter, and when he turns to scoop more rice, he accidentally knocks it over with his elbow. It breaks into tiny pieces on the ground, the small portion of rice and chicken spilling onto the ground. The sound draws you out of your bedroom, mascara wand in hand and robe still on to call for him, “Kento? Everything okay?”

“I… it was an accident,” he explains, setting the spoon down in favor of reaching for a napkin, dropping to his knee with a light sigh, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break it.”

Your laughter surprises him, prompts him to look up at you with broken glass shards pooled in his palm, “You don’t have to worry so much! It happens, we have a million more.”

There’s something about the way you don’t seem to acknowledge it being special to you in any way—Kento’s not even sure if you recognize what broke—that reassures him. Because it really was an accident, but Kento doesn’t mind that he managed to break this particular plate. 

When he shoos you back to getting dressed, he finishes picking up the broken glass shards. There’s a certain lightness to his actions now, petty as it may be, he’s happy. Spends extra time writing a note for you to see when you unpack your food before he retires to the bathroom to start getting ready himself. 

Maybe he could do something about that lunchbox next. You don’t seem to mind.

YUUTA OKKOTSU Thursdays are Yuuta’s favorite day of the week because on Thursdays, you two meet up at your spot, which is really just a set of twin benches in the west quad, but it’s your place and Yuuta loves it. You will have reserved a study room in your favorite library, and Yuuta will buy snacks for your study session before you both head to the library in an attempt to finish up your work for the week in order to keep your Friday evenings free.

Yuuta usually gets to the bench before you, a combination of the engineering building being a little bit closer, and his legs being a lot longer. He doesn’t mind waiting for you, as it’s usually his first time seeing you in two days (your Tuesdays are too packed for anything other than a shared coffee break between lectures, and Wednesdays are his hell days), and spotting you through the crowd of dissipating students always brings a smile to his face.

You look cute today, an oversized sweater enveloping your frame that Yuuta can imagine you cozying into and nearly dozing off in your dreaded microbiology lecture. He laughs to himself at the mental image, just as you stop in front of him to ponder, “Something funny?”

Yuuta shakes his head, leaning down to kiss your forehead with a proper greeting. “Nothing,” he reassures you, reaching around to pull your backpack off of your shoulders, and slings it over one of his, “You look cute. Did you mean to buy a sweater big enough to double as a blanket?”

“The oversized look is in,” you scrunch your nose and roll your eyes, letting Yuuta take your hand in his despite his teasing, “I don’t even think I bought this, honestly. It might be Todo’s? Or Toge’s—it might even be Maki’s at this point.”

Yuuta freezes. He feels the world stop and a million different emotions surge through him at once, but the most prevalent of them all is something ugly and green. He could deal with Toge, though he doubts he’s the culprit. While you two shared a penchant for oversized clothing, Toge was more often than not the thief, rather than the lender, and he’s pretty good at keeping his collection of stolen goods under lock and key. Maki was out of the question, too, because you shared a class with Nobara earlier today, and there’s no way you’d have made it out of there wearing her girlfriend’s sweater.

So it probably was Todo’s. And Yuuta had said you looked cute. Though he wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole, his moment of self-pity is waning, and overcast by something steely, something too-hot bubbling in his chest. The question of why you have it goes over his head—he’s not concerned with that, nor will he fault you for it—the matter at hand is that you’re wearing it. And, sure, Yuuta thought you looked good in it before, but he could name sixteen other things you’d look better in at this very moment.

You’ve gone on to ramble about something that happened earlier, but Yuuta’s not listening. He drops your hand first, then both of your backpacks on the bench behind him, before tapping at your wrists. You don’t seem to understand him, cocking your head to the side with a pensive expression, but Yuuta only taps at your wrists again with a simple command, “Up.”

It doesn’t seem like you understand, but you follow anyway, and Yuuta is pulling the sweater up and off of your body before you can question him. He tosses it onto the bench with little care, then removes his white jacket and places it atop your backpacks. “What are—” you don’t have time to finish before he’s pulled his own hoodie off his body, and slid it over your head.

Yuuta smooths out the fabric under his palms with a satisfied grin on his face. Much better.

“Aw, Yuuta!” you bring a hand to tug at the strings of the hood, a wicked smile replacing your dazed blinking, “I didn’t know you were so possessive.”

You tease him until he’s red up to his ears, embarrassed and borderline bashful, a complete 180 from the looming jealousy that took over him moments before as he shimmies on his jacket again and picks up your back backs. He huffs, as you tease him, circling an arm around his as you begin to walk to the student center. He doesn’t know if he agrees with your declarations of him being a possessive boyfriend, but he does know that he’s your boyfriend, and your boyfriend only.

“So, you think I look cute, still?” you question, picking up a pack of gummy worms. Yuuta lets out a breath of laughter, pressing another kiss to your forehead, “Even cuter than before.”

(Two days later, Todo can be found screaming wildly to Itadori when he comes across a familiar hoodie strewn across a random bench on campus—who considers visiting the Student Health Clinic to make sure an eardrum wasn’t ruptured—because, “Bro, what the hell? I swear I fucking lost this thing!”)

[amazinglyashy]

Hi , I love your LADs works it fits the would be characters reactions according to their personality and I look forward to your work. Can I request a LADs men reaction to reader reading smut manga or BL smut , only if your comfortable with it. Thank you and All the best for your future endeavours 🥰

I have a tab I'm going through right now of a bunch of josei manga and then I open tumblr to this ask LMAO I feel personally attacked, so of course anon! Thank you for the sweet words, and for the request!

Love and Deepspace Li’s reactions to discovering you being an avid smut reader

Sylus -

He is such an evil person.

If he manages to find a physical copy that you own, he's going to read it and he's going to do it in his own time when he knows you'll be coming over soon. He times it just right where he'll be near the ending by the time you get there.

You walk in to him looking absolutely exquisite in reading glasses, a small smile on his lips as he leans back in his chair to ask you how your day has been- book in hand.

The embarrassment is real, even if you claim to not care about 'cringey' things and consuming them. Your love is sitting there with a smutty book in his hand and a knowing grin, and you can't help how hot your face is getting.

"You know, if you like something, you should just tell me, kitten."

Maybe he's referring to the contents of the book, maybe he's referring to your general enjoyment of the genre, you can't tell. He does mean both, though. He would buy you a library worth of smutty books if it made you happy, and he would get all the needed supplies to commit the same acts the characters do for you the next time the two of you have a session.

"Did you really think I'd be upset by something like this, sweetie? You're cute. I'm glad you found something you enjoy. In the future though, don't keep secrets from me. I want to know about you. Everything, about you."

Rafayel -

He will come up behind you to ask you something, and realize that you can't hear him due to being engrossed or having headphones in. He doesn't mean to snoop, but your screen is on display for him, and you don't know he's there.

Oh, he's so happy he decided to try and ask you something.

By the time you realize he's behind you, it's too late, and attempting to shut off your phone proves unsuccessful because he's already giggling.

"How much did you see?!"

"Not much."

"Liar!"

And you're right, because after a moment of silence, he will proceed to recite the last page you had been reading, ducking out of the way as you jump up, your face reddening, as you chase him around the room.

He doesn't care in the slightest. In fact, he will absolutely surprise you with shipping merch from whatever it is you've been reading, and remind you when new chapters are about to drop in case you forget due to stress at work.

Rafayel will also ask you how certain characters are doing, or how certain relationships are coming along. If you enjoyed watching soap operas, he's absolutely the one to watch over your shoulder and ask you questions to catch up.

He still makes rude quips here and there, but you know he doesn't mean anything by it, and the involvement is strangely comforting.

Zayne -

He's known for a long time. Benefits of knowing you when the two of you were younger, he has a pretty good read on the things you might or might not enjoy without needing an explicit answer.

That, and you left a doujinshi on his coffee table once after you used his spare key to break into his home to clean and surprise him with dinner after you had gotten off of work surprisingly early.

No, he won't let you live it down.

He will find a way to calmly bring it up in the most absurd and unnecessary situations. It's his own little running joke that makes you so adorably frustrated, he can't help but continue it.

He'll find other ways to tease you about it, much like how you occasionally tease him over his sweet tooth despite you loving snacks just as much as he does.

Sometimes though, he likes to throw you through a little bit of a loop.

"But also, if there is any content in what you've been reading that you believe you would enjoy, please don't hesitate to let me know."

"I enjoy all of it, that's why I read it, Zayne."

"I assume you misunderstood me, so allow me to restructure my sentence. If there's anything in what you've been reading that you would like done to you, I would like to know. I would love to do those things to you, whatever they might be."

Xavier -

He has purchased you some of these books and ebooks.

Probably the Li that would know the soonest out of all four of them aside from Zayne, just because he kind of just... assumed, much to your own mortification when he told you this fact months ago.

He doesn't give a crap though, it's something you like. He doesn't see any difference between it and the claw machines, even though there is an extremely stark contrast between the two. He used to see no point to the claw machine games you'd love to play, but quickly saw the appeal when he got to play with you.

Maybe he can't share your enjoyment for this, but he does love sitting in the same room as you, reading together even if the two books being consumed are vastly different in content.

He just enjoys your company, it really doesn't matter to him what you both do, or in this case, enjoy during that time.

He thinks its really cute and endearing, especially if you reach a point in whatever you're reading that gets you squealing out loud. Because not only is it absolutely adorable to hear, it's also nice because he knows it means you're comfortable enough to react out loud to your reading, even if it's a rare occurrence.

It's nice to know you're relaxed around him, in every capacity.

[inkmonster21]

I Don’t Play Anymore

Series Masterlist

Hwang In-Ho / The Frontman x Fem!Reader

Warnings: neglected parental relationship, attempted SA, Frontman being a hero and a gentleman)

.02 The Top Floor

Your father, standing up to leave, turned to the Frontman with a respectful nod and a polite tone. "Sir, it has been a pleasure already," he said. "I look forward to tomorrow."

The Frontman nodded back, acknowledging your father's words and expressing a mix of formality and respect. "Likewise," he replied curtly, he glanced briefly at you before looking back at your father.

With a slight nod of courtesy, the Frontman indicated the presence of his guards, who stood nearby, ready to lead you to your room. "The guards will lead you to your room," he said, his tone formal, yet not without a touch of friendliness. You could see the guards standing at attention, awaiting the command to escort you away.

As you stood and sauntered past the Frontman, you couldn't help but feel an undeniable sense of intrigue and curiosity about him. His presence, his demeanor, it all piqued your interest. Even amidst the chaos and violence, there was something about him that piqued your interest in a way that was quite rare.

Calm and stoic, the words described the Frontman perfectly. He exuded a sense of tranquility and composure despite the high-stakes environment he operated in. There was a quiet authority in his demeanor that demanded respect, yet also sparked your curiosity and admiration.

With a final nod and a subtle smile, you bid him a simple, "Goodnight." It was a small gesture, but it conveyed your appreciation for his company and the respite he had provided from the intensity of the games.

The Frontman responded with a nod of his own, acknowledging your words. "Goodnight," he replied, his tone neutral yet carrying a hint of politeness.

As the guard led you and your father to a luxurious suite, your father's reaction was evident. He looked around the spacious room, displeasure etched on his face as he muttered, "And where are you supposed to stay?"

Confusion washed over you. It seemed there had been a misunderstanding, and the accommodation didn't meet his expectations.

The guard, visibly uncomfortable amid the situation, stood still, unsure of how to proceed. Your suggestion caught his attention, and you pointed out the large couch in the room.

"Can't I sleep on the couch?" you asked, your voice carrying a hint of uncertainty.

The guard hesitated, glancing between you and your father, unsure of how to handle the situation.

Your father's response was firm and unwavering. He shook his head with a sense of finality, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Absolutely not," he said, his expression showing his displeasure.

Your father, seeing no alternative, turned to the guard and addressed him sternly. "Take her to your level," he instructed, his voice carrying a tone of authority. "Bunk up with someone," he added, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. The guard, caught off guard by the sudden instructions, hesitated for a moment before nodding, understanding his orders.

The guard, though unsure, acknowledged his orders and turned to you, his voice holding a mix of submission and caution.

"Come with me," he instructed, gesturing for you to follow him. There was a hint of hesitation in his words, though he couldn't disobey your father's command.

Your father's insistence was unwavering, and he swiftly pushed you out of the room, shutting the door without a second thought. The sudden dismissal caught you off guard, leaving you standing outside with your bags at your feet. It was a harsh reminder that your father's word was final, leaving no room for negotiation.

As you turned on your heels and addressed the guard, your words held a mix of irritation and acceptance. "Lead the way, mister square," you said, a subtle hint of sarcasm coloring your tone.

The journey to the guard's level was marked by numerous turns and staircases, and you could feel the curious gazes of the guards as you passed by them, the mask on your face attracting their attention. The jeweled features sparkled and glittered, adding an element of luxury to an otherwise tense atmosphere.

The room the guard led you to was small, barely larger than a closet. It was a simple space with minimal furniture, a stark contrast to the luxurious suite you had been in earlier. It was meant to be a place for the guards to rest, a far cry from the comfort you had initially expected.

Before you could utter a word, the door closed with a resounding thud, abruptly shutting you inside the confined space. The sudden closing of the door made you jump, the sound echoing through the tiny room. Not only did the door shut, but it also locked with an audible click, trapping you in the small, cramped space. The realization set in, and a sense of anxiety started to creep in.

In a fit of frustration, you hastily tore off the mask, no longer content with the confined space. You desperately jiggled the handle, trying to force the door open, but it refused to budge, remaining firmly locked.

Frustration boiled within you, and you vented your frustration with a loud exclamation, your voice filling the small room. "Stupid fucking games!" you huff, the words echoing off the walls as you continued to struggle with the stubborn door.

With a heavy sigh, you slumped down onto the small bed, the reality of the situation sinking in.

"This is so fucked," you muttered, frustration lacing your voice. The tension and confinement were starting to get to you, making the small room feel even more suffocating.

The announcement echoed through the small room, the countdown beginning.

"Attention workers," a voice boomed over the speakers. "The work day has ended. Lights will shut off in 30, 29, 28..."

Your heart beat faster as the countdown commenced, the realization setting in that the night was upon you, and you were left alone in a room barely larger than a closet.

The countdown finished, and the lights abruptly shut off, plunging the room into a shroud of darkness.

The room fell into an eerie silence, the only sound being the faint beating of your own heart. The room was completely dark, making it difficult to make out anything in the pitch-black surroundings.

In the darkness, you remained still, a sense of fear and uncertainty gripping you. Your hand reached down, feeling the reassuring presence of your pistol at your side. The weapon became your only source of comfort in uncertain circumstances.

As the silence of the small room carried on, you found yourself slowly slipping into sleep. The oppressive darkness and confined space gave way to dreams of a different world, one far away from this situation, where life seemed easier and more fulfilling.

As you slipped into sleep, the outside world remained in chaos and danger. The games would continue, and the players would fight and strategize, but for now, your consciousness slipped away, finding comfort in the realm of dreams.

In the quiet of the night, the soft sound of the door echoed through the room, a subtle sound that pierced the darkness and stirred you from your slumber. You didn't make any sudden movements, instead choosing to remain still as your senses heightened, alert to the possibility of an intruder entering the room.

The two guards stealthily entered the room, their footsteps barely louder than a whisper. They were undoubtedly up to no good, seeing you as an easy target. The sight of your seemingly meek mask only seemed to reinforce their belief in your vulnerability. They seemed to have overlooked the presence of your pistol tucked under your side.

The guards, emboldened by their perceived advantage, moved with swift precision. One guard restrained your arms, while the other swiftly sat on you, attempting to prevent you from escaping or reaching for your pistol. It became clear that their intentions were far from innocent, and the threat of their presence in the darkness weighed heavily on you.

Desperation fueled your movements as you thrashed and kicked, attempting to free yourself from the grip of the guards. Your heart pounded in your chest as you struggled, desperately trying to reach for your hidden pistol. However, the guards were stronger and more determined, their hold on you firm, preventing you from reaching the weapon.

In a momentary lapse of control, one of the guards loosened his grip on you slightly, momentarily giving you a chance to act. With renewed hope, you seized this opportunity to swiftly reach for your hidden pistol.

In a quick and decisive move, your fingers closed around the handle of your pistol, drawing it out with swift precision. Without hesitation, you aimed it at the guards in the dark, firing at them. The sharp sound echoed through the small room as the gunshot erupted, followed by the muffled sounds of grunts and pain from the guards, who were caught off guard by your sudden action.

“Motherfucker!” Rage filled your veins as you shone the light of your pistol on the wounded guard who was writhing on the ground with a gunshot wound to his chest. Without hesitation, you quickly aimed at his head and fired again, the sound of the gunshot echoing through the small room once more. The guard's pained groans halted, his movements becoming more still.

The sudden flick of the light switch startled you momentarily, but you quickly regained composure. The guard that remained in the room fled, hastily exiting through the door. Without a second thought, you followed him out, swiftly stepping out behind him, pistol in hand. Your weapon was pointed at the center of his back.

The sudden flick of the light switch startled you momentarily, but you quickly regained composure. The guard that remained in the room fled, hastily exiting through the door. Without a second thought, you followed him out, swiftly stepping out behind him, pistol in hand. Your weapon was pointed at the center of his back as he ran down the hall.

As you were about to pull the trigger, the Frontman suddenly appeared at the end of the hallway. "That's enough," he said with authority, stepping in front of the running guard who had been about to escape. His stance was both commanding and calm.

The tension in the air was palpable as you lowered your gun, your breath coming in quick, shallow pants. You could feel the sweat mingling with the strands of hair that hung disheveled around your face. The sudden appearance of the Frontman and the confrontation had left you shaken and in a state of high alert.

The Frontman's stern tone filled the air as he demanded an explanation. "What happened?" he asked. “Sir! She shot number-,“ The guard began to speak hastily, attempting to give his account of events. However, he was abruptly cut off by the Frontman's firm statement. "I am not asking you," the Frontman asserted, his voice cutting through the guard's words. It was clear he wanted to hear the explanation directly from you.

Despite the mask covering his face, you could sense the concern in his eyes. There was an intensity in his gaze, a subtle shift in his tone, that conveyed a genuine interest in your wellbeing. It was a strange blend of authority and concern, and you couldn't help but feel a slight connection at that moment. It was as if he cared, in his own mysterious, masked way.

“Two of these assholes broke into my room!” The words poured out of you in a fiery mix of anger and frustration, echoing through the hallway. Your voice carried a raw intensity as you revealed the attempted assault, the pain and fear evident in your tone.

“We did not you little-,” The guard, fueled by anger and defiance, began to argue with you, walking towards you with fire in his eyes. However, his steps were suddenly cut short as a gunshot rang out, the sound echoing through the hallway. The guard's words were cut off abruptly, his body falling to the ground as the shot found its mark.

The image of the Frontman, standing at the end of the hallway with his pistol raised, was a spectacle that left you in a state of disbelief. He had fired a shot, intentionally taking down his own guard. It was a confusing and shocking moment, leaving you to wonder if he had done so to defend you.

As the Frontman approached, he walked confidently towards you. He knocked on a door, causing it to open, revealing a guard wearing a square mask. The moment was tense, and you stood by, watching the unfolding scene with a mix of curiosity and anticipation, still trying to make sense of the Frontman's actions.

The Frontman issued a command to the guard who had opened the door, his voice authoritative and commanding.

"Grab her belongings and have them escorted to the top floor," he said, his tone firm and unwavering. The guard swiftly nodded in acknowledgment and promptly set about carrying out the instructions.

The Frontman's eyes lingered on your appearance, taking in your disheveled state. He could see the remnants of your struggle - the absence of your mask, the same clothes from earlier, the lack of footwear, and the disarray of your hair. It was clear that you had been through a difficult ordeal. However, despite the chaos and the events that had unfolded, there was a sense of triumph in your demeanor, a testament to your resilience.

The Frontman couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration as he observed your disheveled state and the evident struggle you had endured. There was a quiet sense of respect in his gaze, a silent acknowledgment of your strength and resilience. He could appreciate the tenacity and determination that you had shown, and it only served to deepen his interest in you.

After the guard had gathered your belongings, The Frontman placed his hand on your lower back and guided you gently back into the room. He leads you to sit on the small chair to sit down. The presence of the limp body nearby further emphasized the tense and unsettling atmosphere, adding to the surreal nature of the situation.

The Frontman held the mask out to you, a subtle command in his tone. "You need to wear it," he stated, his words conveying a sense of caution and concern. It wasn't just a part of a game or a role to play; it was a necessity for your own protection in this dangerous world.

As you slowly placed the mask on your face, your movements were deliberate and measured. The Frontman, with careful precision, lifted your shoes, placing one and then the other onto your feet, ensuring they fit securely. His touch and actions were surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the harsh reality of the world around them.

Your gratitude was expressed softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you," you murmured, the words carrying a hint of sincerity and appreciation. The Frontman simply nodded, acknowledging your gratitude without saying a word. The moment was quiet, the two of you standing there in silent understanding, aware of the shared experience and the events that had led to this point.

The Frontman's voice cut through the silence as he spoke, his words succinct and direct. "Come with me," he commanded, his tone firm and unwavering. With a subtle nod of agreement, you accepted the Frontman's invitation, opting to follow him rather than remain on the same level as the guards. You moved beside him, ready to follow wherever he led.

As you stepped into an elevator with the Frontman, an air of anticipation filled the enclosed space. He looked upward, and his mask underwent a subtle scanning process. The confirmation of his identity came swiftly, followed by the start of the elevator's ascent, the movement subtle yet noticeable as it began to travel upward.

The elevator doors opened smoothly, and the Frontman stepped out, his gaze fixated on you as you followed closely behind. There was an air of anticipation and tension in the air, and you felt a sense of curiosity as you followed him into the unfamiliar territory ahead.

The room exuded a sophisticated and comfortable aura, adorned with black walls and luxurious furniture. It was clear that this space held the Frontman's personal touch. Following closely behind him, you couldn't help but ask, "Is this your home?" your voice filled with a mix of curiosity and a hint of surprise.

The Frontman turned to you, the slight tilt of his head indicating a moment of contemplation. "It is my private suite," he replied calmly, his voice measured and measured. There was a sense of pride in his voice as he revealed that this space was his own private haven, offering a glimpse into his world beyond the games.

The Frontman took the opportunity to ask you a question that had been on his mind, his tone tinged with curiosity. "Why were you down in the manger quarters?" he inquired, his voice carrying an ounce of concern as he glanced at you. The question seemed loaded with a deeper meaning as if he sensed there was more to your presence there than met the eye.

Your voice held a tinge of frustration as you explained, "My father told the guard to take me there, and offer me a room." The words carried a hint of bitterness, revealing a sense of discontent with the situation and your father's decisions. The Frontman listened, his gaze seemingly fixated on you, his mask hiding any potential reaction or unspoken thoughts.

The Frontman's words were measured and deliberate, his suggestion a brief but significant offer. "You may stay here," he stated calmly, the offer carrying a mix of generosity and practicality. There was a subtle hint of concern in his tone, almost as if he wanted to provide you with a safe place to retreat, despite the chaotic world that surrounded him. You looked at him, “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. This is your personal space.”

The Frontman's gaze met yours, his expression inscrutable behind the mask. There was a momentary pause before he spoke, his voice level and controlled. "It is not an issue," he assured you, his words carrying a sense of unwavering certainty. Despite your concerns about encroaching on his personal space, he seemed genuinely unbothered by the idea of your presence in his private suite.

The Frontman couldn't help but acknowledge your comment, a note of respect evident in his voice. "You handled yourself well," he conceded, a hint of acceptance in his tone. There was a subtle nod, a silent acknowledgment of your resourcefulness and ability to handle yourself in that chaotic situation.

With a raised eyebrow, you posed a slightly sarcastic question, "Did you think I'd be completely defenseless?" Your tone carried a mix of confidence and curiosity, challenging him to consider the extent of your capabilities beyond his initial assumptions. It was a subtle way of making him aware that you were not one to be underestimated.

The Frontman's mask remained impassive, giving away nothing of his thoughts. However, you could sense a subtle shift in his body language as the words left your lips. The way he straightened himself and titled his head slightly indicated a moment of contemplation.

"No, not entirely," he responded calmly, his voice steady. The lack of surprise in his tone suggested that he had expected you to be capable of protecting yourself, yet there was a hint of curiosity in his words, indicating that your ability to take a life had surprised him. His gaze remained fixed on you, analyzing your every move.

The Frontman walked closer to a door on his right and motioned for you to enter, his voice carrying a subtle sense of authority.

"Take the master," he instructed calmly, his words indicating that this room was off-limits to others, a place for you to take shelter and find respite. The gesture was a mixture of authority and concern, and you could sense the unspoken message that this room was a safe haven.

As he opened the door, revealing the master bedroom, the room was spacious and well-appointed, exuding a sense of luxury and comfort. The bed was large and looked incredibly comfortable. The room was decorated with a subtle touch of opulence, though the furniture and decor were carefully selected to create a soothing atmosphere. There was a subtle scent of expensive perfume and clean linen in the air.

The Frontman watched as you entered the master bedroom, your movements carrying a sense of gratitude and relief. "Thank you," you said softly, a genuine expression of appreciation for the opportunity to find respite in the middle of chaos. Despite the tension of the situation, the master bedroom offered a temporary escape from the madness outside.

The Frontman's nod carried a sense of reassurance. "If you need anything, let me know," he said, his voice carrying a hint of gentleness behind the stoic tone. It was a genuine offer of assistance, showing his concern for your well-being and comfort. The words held a weight of sincerity as if he genuinely cared about your needs and feelings in that moment.

With the door shut behind you, a sense of safety and calm washed over you. The master bedroom provided a sanctuary, a place of respite and protection from the outside chaos. You found comfort in the luxurious space, knowing that for now, you were safe and secluded.

As In-Ho closed the door to the master bedroom and let out a sigh, his breath escaping him in a moment of quiet contemplation. He couldn't quite understand the reason behind his actions, why he felt compelled to protect you. It wasn't just a sense of duty or responsibility; it was something deeper.

There was a subtle hint of worry in his expression as he pondered the consequences. He couldn't let harm come to you; it would create an issue, a disturbance in the already chaotic situation.

In-Ho couldn't deny the fact that he felt a sense of satisfaction in saving you from the guards' advances and then offering the safety of his personal suite for your temporary refuge. It had been quite some time since he had the opportunity to intervene and protect someone, and the feeling of doing so was both unfamiliar and strangely rewarding.

In-Ho found himself captivated by the brief glimpse he'd gotten of your features without the mask. He was astonished by your beauty; it was almost surreal. Your face seemed like a vision from a dream, a goddess in human form. The fleeting moment had a strangely profound impact on him, stirring emotions he couldn't quite define.

He was unable to shake the image of you from his mind. The thought of you occupied his thoughts, distracting him from his usual focused demeanor. The memory of your features, even if it was just for a moment, lingered in his mind like a lingering fragrance, leaving him perplexed and slightly disoriented.

In-Ho's thoughts also lingered on your relationship with your father. The tense dynamic between the two of you, accompanied by the sense of danger, spoke volumes about your resilience and bravery in facing threatening situations. Your fierce spirit and unwavering determination were undeniable, and they impressed the Frontman in ways he couldn't fully comprehend.

His concern for you was a tangible feeling that gripped his chest, causing a subtle tightness that he couldn't ignore. The thought of you being in danger, facing potential harm, stirred a strong sense of protectiveness within him. It was a strange sensation, and he couldn't shake the growing need to keep you safe, to shield you from harm's way.

In-Ho laid on the couch and closed his eyes, trying to rest his mind. However, sleep eluded him, and even in his dreams, the image of you remained an undeniable presence. Your face, your courage, and the sense of protection he felt towards you lingered on his mind, preventing him from achieving true rest.

Curiosity got the better of you as you couldn't help but indulge in a bit of snooping around the luxurious master bedroom in which you were temporarily placed. Given the bizarre circumstances, it was understandable that you would allow your curiosity to guide you in your exploration of this unfamiliar space.

The master bedroom was spacious and opulent, exuding a sense of luxury with its elegant decor. The room was a visual feast of tasteful furniture, elegant fixtures, and a sense of refinement. The master bed was a grand centerpiece, with high-quality linens and comfortable bedding, inviting one to indulge in comfort and relaxation.

As you explored the dresser, you discovered that it was well-organized and tidy. There were neatly folded stacks of clothes in the drawers, all of them carefully arranged, indicating that In-Ho was a man of order and attention to detail. It was evident that he took pride in his personal space, making sure everything was in its place and free from clutter.

The walk-in closet was just as spacious and well-organized as the rest of the master bedroom. However, it lacked any personal items, and you couldn't help but wonder about the absence of any personal mementos or keepsakes. Despite the lack of personal belongings in the closet, the space exuded an aura of cleanliness and orderliness. The clothes were arranged with precision, the hangers uniform and neat, leaving no sign of disarray or disarray.

You desperately searched the closet for something personal that would shed light on the Frontman’s true nature, hoping to find a clue or evidence of his humanity and trustworthiness. However, the closet remained devoid of any personal items or mementos that could humanize him. The absence of any meaningful personal belongings made you even more intrigued and curious about the man behind the mask.

With a sigh of disappointment, you abandoned your quest for personal items in the closet and decided to proceed with showering. As you entered the master bathroom, the space was as immaculate and luxurious as the rest of the suite, featuring a spacious shower area. Turning on the water, you felt a sense of anticipation, hoping to wash away the tensions of the day and relax your weary body.

As you reached for a towel, your eyes landed on a black box casually tucked among the other toiletries. The sight of the black box caught your attention, and your curiosity was piqued. The other shelves held various items, but this black box seemed out of place, its presence standing out amidst the other toiletries.

The black box, now in your hands, held a revelation. As you opened the lid and peered inside, you discovered a collection of personal items that seemed out of place in this perfectly organized space. Your eyes lit up with a mix of curiosity and excitement as you muttered under your breath, "Bingo." Inside the box, you found items that appeared to be personal and held significance.

The discovery of the shiny police badge among the personal items stirred a mix of curiosity and intrigue within you. As you held it in your hands, you couldn't help but ponder about the Frontman's past. It seemed that at some point, he had been a police officer. The thought of how he transitioned from being a cop to the Frontman, the overseer of these twisted games, filled your mind with questions.

You felt a sense of relief and a renewed sense of trust in the Frontman. The hot water from the shower washed over you, soothing your tired muscles and washing away the day's tension.

As you slipped into comfortable pajamas and lay down on the soft bed, the plushness of the bed and the quality of the sheets lulled you into a state of tranquility. The exhaustion from the day's events caught up with you, and before long, your eyelids grew heavy. You allowed your body to sink into the mattress, and the cozy embrace of the bed ushered you into a peaceful slumber, offering a respite from the chaos that surrounded you.

~

Tagged:

@jspidey5

[starzify]

missing you — dean winchester

pairing dean winchester x fem!reader

warnings smut | phone sex

Dean can’t keep his mind off you. You’re like a magnet to him—no matter what you do, you pull him in. You can bet that if his gaze isn't on you, then something else is, whether it be his arm around your shoulders or a hand on your waist.

You’ve entranced him in a way that makes him need you like water—as if the very breath from his lungs would be ripped away from him if he's apart from you. His eyes are always searching for you- that is if you aren’t already by his side. yes, he's a teensy bit obsessed, but it’s all within reason.

With that being said, loving you makes his hunting trips so unbearably hard. He can barely handle leaving the house every morning, how is he supposed to handle multiple days away?

He’ll get back to his temporary home after a long day, all worked up and just needing you. lo and behold, you aren't there.

Despite the distance, he can't help but wonder what you might be doing. are you alone? Are you showering? Have you eaten? Is your mind plagued with thoughts of him like his is with you? His hands drag over his face in a poor attempt to derail his train of thought, but the heat crawling up his body grows too hard to ignore. Without even knowing, he's thought himself into a corner. He doesn't want to bother you this late, but he has to hear your voice.

Picking up his phone as he lays in bed, Dean dials your number. "Angel..." he muses as he hears the line pick up.

"Hi, baby," you groan out—it might be late, but you're still happy to hear from your boy. "Long day? i miss you."

Dear God. Just hearing your voice makes his pants grow impossibly tight. "Were you sleeping? I didn't mean to wake you," he hums, his brows knitting in a frown.

“Yeah," you yawn and stretch your limbs out over your far too empty bed, "But it's alright, i miss you too much to be mad." You giggle. “What’s my handsome Dean doing right now?"

He exhales at your words. "oh, you know..." a blush creeps up his cheeks as he looks around the empty room, "missing you," he pauses, thinks, and proceeds. "Missing the way you feel," he trails off, his free hand running over his growing tent. He continues through shallow breaths as he speaks mindlessly into the phone. "i miss your kisses," he undoes the zipper of his pants as he pulls the waistband down, "i miss your hands," he grabs his length as it hardens under his fingers, wishing they were your own, "i miss your mouth," his hips stutter as he spreads the leaking precum over his tip, "fuck—i miss your pussy..."

He continues his work as he babbles into your ear, a desperate effort to turn you on and have you somehow magically appear next to him so he could fuck himself dumb into you. His pupils dilate and a low groan erupts from his chest as he hears your soft mewls beginning to fall from the speaker. He’s fucking his fist, trying his best to hold back his moans as deeps groans slip out here and there.

He loves you so much. He’d quit his stupid job if it meant he could stay buried within your cunt forever. "Wanna touch you so bad... just wanna be inside you all the time," he whispers out, his thrusts becoming frantic and rushed as he chases his high. "So perfect, i never wanna be away from you," he pictures you underneath him, legs wrapped around his torso as he pounds relentlessly into your core. "Fuck—you miss me angel? You miss me fucking you full? Gonna let me come home and cum inside you?"

With whatever strength you have left from your own personal pleasure, you hum through the phone. That’s all it takes for his release to come rushing through him, roped of white cum staining his tensed abs. You hear him panting through the phone.

"I’ll be home soon, angel," he says sweetly, "You better keep your word." you whisper.

cassie chats: he’s so yummy

[wonderjanga]

batman keeps trying to put trackers on marvel's costume, but none of it actually comes off, and the parts he can put trackers on are all like, magical, so they break the trackers and he's so mad about it

Bruce has tried so many ways to track Marvel it’s honestly driven him mad.

First he tried looking for the man using CCTV cameras only to realize Fawcett doesn’t have any. Oh no, no no no, he got the grainy, haven’t been used since the 80s, security cameras. So he ends up combing through all of these cameras because of how old they are because he can’t use the software he normally uses to quickly find people. He also had to do this all on his own because Barbara was busy, and none of his other kids wanted to help him because they all like Cap. And then, when he finally finds the Captain…

Batman: *staring at the Batcomputer intently*

Marvel: *standing in an alleyway* “Shazam.”

Batman: *doesn’t understand what he said, because the audio is too crappy to decipher, but doesn’t have enough time to register that as the cameras immediately cut off*

Bruce nearly… What did Tim call it? Ah yes, crashed out. Bruce nearly ended up crashing out over this. But whatever, right? There’s always multiple solutions to a single problem.

So, he then tried a more simple solution: trackers. Small tiny little things no bigger than his pinky finger. He stuck one onto Marvel’s shoulders as the Captain was leaving for the day.

Batman: “Captain. I would like to say that you fought wonderfully today.” *puts hand on Marvel’s shoulder and places the tracker*

Marvel: “You think so? Thanks.” *sunny ahh smile*

Bruce in fact did not think so, but he needed an excuse to touch Marvel’s shoulder. Anyways, the tracker didn’t even last an hour before he got a notification that it was broken, or rather fried, by electricity. Honestly, that might as well have been Bruce’s fault. One of the man’s major powers is electricity for Christ’s sake. So after a bit, he went and upgraded the trackers to now be electrical resistant.

Marvel: *walking to the zetas*

Batman: “Captain, you own a tiger, yes?” *starts walking with him*

Marvel: “Ah, yes, why?”

Batman: “Robin’s been asking about getting a tiger.”

Marvel: “Oh really? You wanna know some tips or something?”

Batman: “If you’d be willing to share, I’d appreciate it.”

Marvel: “Oh, okay then!” *proceeds to yap about tigers the whole was to the zetas*

Batman: *sneakily tacks the electric resistant tracker on him*

Bruce learned a lot about tigers that day. He never seen the man so informative and passionate about a subject other than magic. If only he’d put that same passion into his reports. Seriously, who alternates between their left and right arm on a professional report? At least do it on a piece of scratch paper or something. (This is a reference to post I saw a while ago about Marvel and Billy writing reports together. Because of that, half of the report was in super duper fancy shmancy handwriting and the other was in chicken scratch)

But anyways, back to the second tracker. See, it actually did the opposite of what it was designed to do, which was track and be resistant to electricity. It actually ended up shorting out and therefore losing its ability to track. Bruce now realized he underestimated Marvel’s electricity.

Now onto Bruce’s third attempt. He had the tracker enchanted with magic.

Batman: “Marvel, I’d like to talk to you about Junior.”

Marvel: “Sure? Is he in trouble?” *sounds concerned*

Batman: “No. You see, Robin’s been wanting to have a play date with him.”

Marvel: “Oh uh… I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” *sounds hesitant* “I’ll have to ask him about it:”

Batman: “That’s fine.” *pats his shoulder and plants the tracker* “Get back to me when you’ve both come to a decision.”

Funnily enough, Bruce didn’t even get ten feet away before he got a notification that the tracker was destroyed. Billy felt the magic in the tracker and honest to the gods he thought it was a bug and swatted his shoulder.

Meanwhile, Billy’s confused but happy that Batman has been talking to him so much recently.

Eventually, after much trial and error (47 attempts) Bruce finally got a tracker that worked. He watched on the GPS as Marvel dipped into an alleyway and… dipped off of the face of the earth? He stared at it for a solid minute wondering if he should be concerned. It’s not like Marvel knows he’s been trying to track him. He has no idea how upset the man would be so he waited. Five minutes passed of Bruce waiting for the little dot representing Marvel to reappear. He then couldn’t take it anymore and started spamming Cap’s comm and was about to notify the other JL members until he finally picked up.

Batman: “Captain? Captain, are you there?”

Marvel: “Yeah? Yeah I am Mister Batman Sir? Is something wrong?”

Batman: “The GPS on your comm showed that you disappeared off the map for fifteen minutes.”

Marvel: “Oh really? Well I’m sorry for worrying you, Mister Batman Sir. I just went to the Rock of Eternity. That’s probably why I didn’t appear.

Batman: “What is the Rock of Eternity?”

Marvel: “Oh, it’s this rock that’s the cent- OH SHOOT.” *loud crash comes from his end*

Batman: “Is everything alright?”

Marvel: “Yeah- look I’m sorry but Black Adam’s here and he just threw a building at me. See ya, Mister Batman Sir.”

So yeah. After everything he went through only to come up with no results, Bruce is mad. Rolling in his grave even. The worst part is that he doesn’t even technically have the right to be mad, considering the fact that he was going behind one of his colleagues back’s and trying to track them without their consent. Though to be fair, Bruce did it because you can’t just have somebody that powerful running around and unchecked without a recorded weakness. But what makes him even more mad is that just when he was about to get the slightest semblance of information, a villain ruined it. At least he has a name now. The Rock of Eternity. It’s probably a magic thing that he’ll end up asking Zatanna about. He hates magic.

[neiptune]

is it over now?

cw: 3k wc, female reader, some guy won't leave you alone at the club and your ex a-little-more-than-a-situationship punches him in the face, most abused trope of all time but in my defense. he's hot. tw harassment, injuries & you kinda lick blood off his face (sorry)

This is honestly your fucking nightmare.

“You don’t understand, I’m telling you I know him!”, you shout again, loud enough to hopefully be heard over the banging music of the club. The bouncer doesn’t even meet your irritated gaze anymore, he’s simply pretending you’re not there screaming in his face that he needs to let you proceed past the velvet rope behind him. For what surely feels like the millionth time.

“Please”, you stomp your heel on the sticky floor, blinded by both frustration and fury, “this guy won’t leave me alone, I can’t get rid of him-”

“Tell the bouncers downstairs”, the colossus in front of you folds his arms, massive biceps covered in tattoos swelling threateningly. His patience is clearly running thin.

“I did, they don’t give a flying fuck!”, you raise your voice again, “can you just tell Oliver to come here for a goddamn second?”.

“Who?”.

Exasperated, you groan.

“Aiku! See? I know his name, you don’t, doesn’t that tell you everything?”.

He takes a step forward, which makes you take a step back.

“Aiku Oliver? Nice try. Half the country knows his name, now fuck off before I stop being nice”.

“Thanks for nothing, asshole”, you mumble under your breath, whipping around to make your way downstairs again. Your friend disappeared with a man long enough for you to find an idiot to dance with, one that apparently doesn’t quite grasp the meaning of consent and the ways in which it may be connected to a woman enjoying or not enjoying a stranger suddenly sticking his hands underneath the waistband of her skirt.

“The fuck did you just say to me?”, you hear the bouncer’s heavy steps behind you before you have the chance to turn around but, frankly, you’re beyond the point of giving a shit.

“I said thanks for nothing, assho-”

“What’s going on? We can’t hear each other with all the screaming here”, loud, sudden, unfairly deep, a second man speaks and you finally get to meet a gaze you haven’t seen in months. When he sees you, he fails to hide his surprise. You can’t hear what he utters next but by the way his lips move, you can only guess it’s a murmur of your name.

“I apologize for the disturbance”, the good for nothing idiot bows to him, “I was just telling this lady she can get all the help she needs downstairs”.

“That’s not entirely accurate, you told me to fuck off”, you give him the middle finger and despite the semi darkness, can discern the vein that throbs on his forehead.

“Help? Is something wrong?”, Oliver not so kindly shoves the glass of champagne he’s holding in the hands of the girl, well, one of the girls impatiently waiting right behind him, and makes a show of swinging one leg and then the other over the velvet rope to get to you. You’re already regretting this.

“You know what? Actually, I’m fine. Nevermind, have a great night!”, you flash him a big smile and pretend to not notice the bouncer’s outraged expression in your peripheral.

He doesn’t have the chance to say anything back as you turn around and attempt to quickly make your way downstairs again, silently cursing yourself because why would you run to him like an idiot? Him, of all people. Your pride pathetically drowned in all the shots of liquor you took ever since stepping foot in the club.

It takes a second for Oliver’s stunned brain to send the command to his legs but when it does, he has no problem catching up with you and gently grabbing you by the arm in the middle of the stairs. His lips are almost pressed to your ear when he attempts to shout above the deafening music everyone else is still dancing to.

“Please tell me”.

He’s not going to let it go, not as he impatiently turns his head to now offer his ear for you to scream into.

Oliver feels your breath, hot on his skin, before you reluctantly give in.

“I don’t know where my friend is. Some guy I danced with won’t leave me alone, I-”, your words are cut off by the way he suddenly straightens up, eyes attentively scanning the dark dancefloor below. 

“Who?”, he asks, and you don’t have to question whether he’s inquiring about your friend or the stranger. You know that gaze and you remember what it feels like, having his arm gently, perhaps reflexively being put out to protect you. It surprises you that he still does it but it’s who Oliver is, it’s what he does, it would be silly to believe you were the only one he’s ever done this for.

You scan the dancefloor too and relief makes its way into your chest. He’s nowhere to be found, maybe he finally gave up and left.

Right as you’re on the verge of apologizing and telling Oliver to go back to his girls, his friends, whoever the crowded group he entered the venue with consists of, you see him. Unfortunately, he sees you too.

Oliver feels it before he can notice the silhouette making its way up the stairs: you tense up and take half a step back and suddenly his protective instinct is the strongest it’s been in a while.

“Aw, already found a taller, better looking dude? Is that why you won’t let me buy you a drink?”, the guy gets close, too close, seemingly unbothered by his chest being basically pressed to Oliver’s forearm. He’s completely ignoring him.

“Hey, man”, Oliver’s deep voice is fairly easier to hear above the loud music, “she doesn’t want to talk to you. Let’s just drop it, yeah?”.

He blinks, seemingly skeptical.

“Why are you speaking for her?”.

You scoff, impatient.

“He’s not. I already asked you to leave me alone, I’m not interested!”.

“You seemed pretty interested while you were grinding on me”.

“Fuck you”, you snarl, “did I give you permission to slip your hands under my skirt?”.

“Again”, he laughs, evidently incredulous, “you were grinding on me”.

“What if she was?”, Oliver tilts his head to the side a little, “she changed her mind, just let it go”.

“This doesn’t concern you, man”.

“It concerns me, man”, Oliver places his hands on the guy’s shoulders and gently guides him to take a step back, “let’s just make sure everyone here has a good time, alright? No need to cause trouble”.

He doesn’t wait for the guy to reply: he just takes you by the hand and proceeds to drag you past him and down the stairs. You quietly sigh, relieved. All you have to do now is check on your friend and then take a cab home to call it a night. Except you’re snatched backwards, someone roughly grabbing you by the arm as your hand slips from Oliver’s. He whips around, eyes flaring as his fingers close around the guy’s hand to free you from the hold you’re trying to get away from.

“Can’t you take a fucking hint?”, Oliver pushes him the second he lets go of your arm and you just know from his tone that his patience has run up. Instinctively, you grab his hand once more, thumb skimming across his knuckles as you pull him back.

“Leave it”, you say. He slips his fingers in between yours by muscle memory, gaze raging with irritation still directed towards the idiot. His palm against yours feels so familiar it makes you sick. Finally, you feel him relax enough to turn around and follow you but then he stops in his tracks when the guy suddenly speaks again.

“Whatever. Thought your slut could spread her legs for more than one man”.

You don’t hear him as clearly and for a moment you have a hard time grasping the shitty words he just uttered. All you can feel is Oliver’s hand slipping from yours and when you turn to look at him, his face is already contorted in a derisory smirk.

“Aw, man”, he rolls his eyes with a smile. For a moment you mistake that grin for something lenient, amused. You think he’ll deem that guy a pathetic idiot and move on but then, as nimbly as a pro athlete can move, his fist suddenly collides with the stranger’s jaw.

You let out a surprised sound that turns into a squeal when he displays shocking, exceptional foolishness and headbutts Oliver right in the face. The commotion draws the attention of those who are nearby and, as you clumsily try to separate the two (or rather, try to keep Oliver back by pulling on his shirt), you hear someone call the security.

It ends exactly as one could predict. An ice pack is unceremoniously shoved into your hand and you’re all kicked out of the club, the guy dragged away from one of his friends who happens to be an Aiku enthusiast, which is probably the only thing that is going to save Oliver from a lawsuit.

“Careful with that, it hurts”, he grimaces. You press the ice harder against his cheek and he hisses.

“Why would you do that? Are you an idiot?”.

“He said-”

“I don’t care what he said. What if he broke your nose?”.

His eyes soften, which makes you groan.

“I’m fine. Are you fine?”.

“I’m fine”.

“I mean it”, he gently grabs your chin and tilts your head up, “are you fine?”.

You swallow the lump in your throat. This time he doesn’t falter when you press the ice harder, which makes you sigh.

“Yeah”, you say, “maybe I shouldn’t have danced-”

“No”, he sternly interrupts you, “he should’ve backed off”.

You gently move the ice pack down his cheek and press it to the corner of his busted lip.

“I’m sorry. I ruined your night”.

Oliver huffs out a chuckle. “I was bored anyway”.

“Yeah, I’m sure you were”, you roll your eyes. As bored as a man in a vip lounge, with champagne, his friends and several girls all over him can be.

He observes your worried gaze as you tend to his bruised face, back pressed against the brick wall of the alley right behind the club. He knows you’re still blaming yourself but something flutters against his ribs, after so long, at the thought that he was able to be there for you. At the chance that was given him to make things… not right, but perhaps less dreadful.

“Why did you look for me?”, the question is almost a whisper in the quiet of the empty alley. You know Oliver is not asking that to hold you responsible, you know what he wants to hear. Given how bad his face looks at the moment, you decide to give it to him.

“You’re the person I feel the safest with”.

He exhales through his nose and you feel him relax further under your touch. It’s true, you’d trust him to protect you from anything. The one thing he failed to protect you from was himself.

It’s unfair, the way one of his hands rises to cradle your cheek, thumb gently stroking your skin with the softest of touches. Something in his chest melts when you lean into him, yet another evidence of a trust he doesn’t deserve and is still selfish enough to crave.

He hums as his hand gently guides your face closer to his. You let him.

“Does it hurt?”, you ask, ice pack pressed gently against his lower lip.

“A little. Maybe you should kiss it better”.

You roll your eyes because of course he would take advantage of the situation. Oliver offers a playful, little smile and then theatrically hisses at the supposed pain it causes him.

It surprises him a little that you actually go for it, move the ice pack up to the apple of his cheek as you lean forward to softly press your lips to the corner of his mouth. He pulls back ever so slightly, enough to turn his head and make sure you’re kissing him square on the lips when he leans over once more.

“You’re an idiot”, you click your tongue and he’s already chuckling, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw.

“Now that I think of it, something else hurts too”.

“Want me to cut it off?”.

“Cold”, he fakes a pout and you scoff.

“Stop talking”.

“But I remember you liking my voice?”.

Oliver’s breath almost, almost catches in his throat when you lean forward again and he feels your tongue trace part of his bottom lip with intent.

“You’re bleeding”, you say, matter-of-factly. Then, as if nothing happened, you move the ice pack to his lips again. It takes everything in him to keep a cool facade when you lick your lips, the pink flash of your tongue with the slightest bit of crimson smeared over it damn nearly making him lose his mind.

Fuck, he missed you. You’re the only one who’s seen nearly every part of him and still wished there was a place for you to stay. The same place he denied you so sorely.

“Nemo misses you”, is the only thing he can bring himself to say, the knuckles of his non bruised hand softly brushing along the side of your neck. You hum.

“He’s a fish”.

“Yeah, well, you were the only one who’d talk to him”.

He manages to conjure a little smile. It’s true, you talked to Nemo a lot. Full on conversations would take place while Oliver was either cooking, taking a shower or simply not home yet. You’d always greet him upon entering the living room, take a second to gently tap on the glass of his aquarium and ask how he was, if he was hungry or felt like having a chat. Oliver would hear the steady murmur of your voice and your chuckles from the bathroom or the kitchen and he’d just smile to himself.

“Right. I liked doing that”, you say.

“He told me he thinks I’ve been an asshole”.

“You mean when I told you I liked you and you asked me to leave?”, you tilt your head to the side a little and Oliver heaves a quiet sigh. You’ve never been one to beat around the bush.

“Yes”, his fingertips ghost along your exposed collarbone now, “it was shitty. I’m sorry”. He’s slightly distracted by the way the orange light of the street lamp pools into the curve of your clavicle.

“Don’t be. I wish you could’ve just told me you were not interested”.

“You know that’s not true”.

“I don’t know anything you don’t tell me, Oliver. I can only take note of what you do”.

He hates how good you are at cornering him, words always so sharp and clever. You know him, actually know him, he’s laid bare too much of himself for you and now he can’t take those parts back. He wishes he could deceive you as well as he deceives himself but there’s also some weird relief that comes with having a person he can no longer fool. With a perception that is not under his control alone anymore.

Part of him still wants to try. He wants to tell you he’s a shitty person who does shitty things but your knowing, lenient gaze would be too much for him to bear.

“I like you”, Oliver breathes, “more than I should be allowed to”.

You sigh.

“Don’t just say-”

“I’m telling the truth”, he presses, “I like you and I fucked up”.

“Who gets to decide that?”.

He blinks.

“That I fucked up? I’m pretty sure-”

“No”, you chuckle softly, “how much you’re allowed to like someone. Stop making this horrible, shitty person out of you. That version only exists in your head”.

Oliver’s heart squeezes painfully in his chest. You’re the only person who’d say something like that and actually mean it, despite never having been in a real relationship with him. Despite only knowing him for a few months. Which says a lot, if not about you necessarily, at least about who he is and what he feels when he’s with you.

“Hey”, you playfully press the ice pack to his temple and gently tap on the skin two times, “get out of there”.

His eyes soften.

“Nemo really knows his shit”.

Your chuckle is a balm, soothing and familiar. His shoulders relax.

“Remember when you gave that interview about your ideal type being someone who wouldn’t be a pain in the ass to end things with?”.

Oliver groans. “Don’t even”.

You grin. “Aw, come on. Didn’t I leave right away?”.

He pinches your side and you muffle a squeal into his shirt, soon shaking with laughter as he fails to fight off a smile himself.

“Stop bringing that up. I was young and stupid”.

“You’re still fairly stupid”.

“Yeah, I am”, Oliver moves his hand up your back, to pull you further in, “I hope you’ll still let me take you home, though”.

He hears your quiet sigh and feels the way you tense up. His hold tightens, to keep you from taking a step back and still feel you almost pressed to his chest instead. When he meets your gaze, Oliver can barely contain the urge to kiss you again.

“We’ll take the same cab, I’ll walk you to your door, then thank the driver for waiting for me and hope you’ll pick up when I call tomorrow”.

He can sense it, the hesitation. He knows there is no actual reason for you to trust him, not with your heart, not with your feelings or vulnerability. He knows he lost that right long time ago and that’s why your silent acceptance, when you allow him to keep his arms around you, means more than you can imagine. You trust him when you have nothing to lose and you trust him when you have everything to lose, again.

“Was it really over then?”, you ask.

“Well, is it over now?”.

You huff out an exasperated sigh. He smiles.

Oliver remembers how he often found himself thinking you were made for him but was always too scared to find out if he could’ve been made for you as well.

Now, as he carefully brushes some of your hair away from your face, seems like a good time to be brave.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

texting Stan and Ford headcanons

smut version

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Stan Pines

✧ Stan is the kinda guy who thinks emojis are a scam, but somehow, he figured out how to use the "thumbs up" and "money bag" emoji. so, expect a lot of those in your chats.

✧ his text tone is rough, a little misspelled, typed like he's yelling even when he isn’t. Half of his texts are in all caps, and he absolutely does not care about grammar. but he gets the point across, always.

✧ you’re getting messages at 3 am about some ‘brilliant’ scheme to make a quick buck. he’ll send, “LISTEN, doll, what if we made... GIANT… glitter-filled eggs for easter? Tourists'll go NUTS." you reply, half-asleep, with “Stan, ily but go to bed." and all you get back is a “🤬 YOU GOTTA THINK BIGGER!”

✧ Stan sends those weird chain messages he swears are from some “hotshot businessman” that’ll make you rich in a week. and when you don’t respond immediately, you get a: “Fine, Miss Doubtful, see you when I’m rolling in gold.”

✧ there are whole days where he just floods your phone with random, blurry photos of some new Mystery Shack "artifact" he found. It’s usually junk he picked up at a garage sale, like a “haunted” ashtray or some knock-off painting that’s “probably ancient.”

✧ If he’s feeling sappy (and tipsy): you might get a rare “thinking bout you, sweet thing” at 2 am. but if you try to call him on it the next day, he’ll just be like “Didn’t say that. You’re makin’ stuff up.”

✧ when he’s really riled up about something, though? then his messages are just. . . a stream of caps-lock curses, mixed with misspelled attempts to describe whatever nonsense he just got himself into. you just sit back and let him rant; he’ll cool off eventually.

✧ and the voice messages are something else. they sound like he’s talking through a fan half the time. one minute, he’s rambling about how tourists are “the dumbest suckers on the planet” and the next, he’s ranting about how “bigfoot definitely broke into the shack last night!"

types of messages Stan texts: 

"So… whatcha wearin’? 😏"

“Hey doll, I just found a penny on the ground! Maybe today’s my lucky day… hint hint ;)"

"I’d say somethin’ romantic, but I think my brain just shorted out. You’re a little too cute for a guy like me."

"Just tried that new café downtown. Ordered coffee… tastes like they filtered it through someone’s laundry. You’d hate it. Wanna come mock it with me?"

"Not gonna lie, I miss that face of yours. So what’re we doin’ about it, huh?"

“Again missin’ that cute little smile of yours… maybe you could send me a pic to remind me?”

"Wanna help me scam the tourists today? I’ll split the loot with ya… maybe ;)”

"You wouldn’t believe what I caught Ford muttering in his sleep. Man’s like a walking encyclopedia, even when he’s unconscious."

“Got any plans later? Thought maybe we could… y’know… not have plans together."

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Ford Pines 

✧ hehehehe he’s like an old-school emailer who’s just now getting the hang of messaging apps. texts in complete sentences, full punctuation, like he’s drafting a dissertation.

✧ He sends you whole paragraphs at random hours, talking about some discovery he’s made, like he’s reporting directly to NASA. you’re like, “Ford, it's just a weird-looking squirrel." and he's already typing another essay about its "possible interdimensional origins."

✧ once in a while, he’ll send you a message that says, “Are you awake?” at, like 3 am followed by a string of thoughtful yet completely bonkers hypotheses. you find it cute, though, his mind never stops, not even for a second.

✧ If he’s feeling bold, you might even get a “hypothetical” confession out of him: “Hypothetically, if one were to develop... strong emotional attachment to a certain person... how would one proceed?" You tease him about it the next day, and he gets flustered, “It was purely scientific curiosity."

✧ Ford isn’t big on emojis, but he likes the brain and alien ones, using them poetically. he’ll sign off texts with a single brain emoji, like it’s his version of a little goodbye wave.

✧ on really rare occasions, he’ll send a voice message. they’re always way too long, and it’s usually him whispering so he doesn’t wake Stan up. he goes on about cosmic rays or “gravity anomalies,” his voice dropping lower when he gets excited. you live for those moments

✧ and if he ever texts you a “good night,” you just know he’s been up thinking about it for hours, trying to figure out if it’s “appropriate.”

types of messages Ford texts: 

“It’s been approximately 3 hours, 12 minutes, and 23 seconds since our last conversation… not that I’m counting or anything. Just… miss you."

sends a meme about science nerds “Us. But mostly me.”

“My hands ache from writing… though perhaps if it were writing about you, I wouldn’t mind.”

“Do you think about me too, or am I the only one utterly ruined by this… whatever this is?”

“I’ve been thinking about that book you lent me... 🤔 It’s honestly so much more interesting than I expected, thank you for recommending it."

"I don’t know how to work this... But I managed to send a meme! It’s not the worst thing I’ve done, I suppose? 

“I did it. I fixed the telescope. Finally. Now we can actually look at the stars like we’ve talked about. :)"

"I hope you’re feeling okay today. I noticed you seemed a little stressed the other day. Don’t forget to take care of yourself. :) It’s important."

"If I could rearrange the periodic table, I’d put U and I together. :( Sorry, nerdy joke... :’D)”

ps - I CANT THEYRE SO CUTE BOTH I WANT TO SMASH THEM AGAINST THE WALL

lmao if someone wants, i can write some spicy types of chatting with them :)))

[werewolfnarrative]

EXCLUSIVE TREATMENT

M!Sylus and F!Reader. "Goodcat Code" inspired;

GENRE: smut, a little bit of plot;

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT, kissing, teasing (Sylus has a sensible body), boob and nipple sucking, oral (M!receiving), unprotected sex, creampie.

ALL CHARACTERS IN THIS FANFIC ARE CONSENTING ADULTS. PROCEED CAREFULLY AND DO NOT ATTEMPT TO RECREATE THESE SITUATIONS IN REAL LIFE.

You were greeted with the eternal night of the N109 Zone. The plane had just landed and you were now in the airport waiting to be picked up. A new Protocore auction was about to happen, and Jenna was confident in your skills to navigate the area.

Luke and Kieran were meant to pick you up at the south entrance and take you to Onychinus' base. When you leave the big glass doors there is no soul or vehicle around. You double check the messages. Nothing.

Your cellphone rings. "Hey, hold on tight!" The voice of the twins echoed through the dark. "There has been a... problem but we are on our way." Just as the audio ends, a fancy black car shows up in your field of vision.

"What happened? Is it related to Sylus?" You ask as they help you put your luggage in the trunk. "Ah, good night." You quickly add. They look at each other, a very noticeable nervousness in the air. "Of course not, he's fine."

Sylus was not, in fact, fine. He had woken up this morning (night) feeling dizzy, even though he never got sick. There were important preparations to be made in regards to the Protocore auction, so he just send Luke and Kieran take care of them so he woudn't have to expose himself so much. And the worst part of it is that you would be arriving in a few hours.

He locked himself in his study and told the staff to not be bothered. The cook and cleaning were dispensed for the day. The only way he would even interact with the world outside is through the twins, and they were running left and right to make everything perfect.

"He's fine." Kieran confirmed.

The house was bathed in shadows and eerily silent when the three of you arrived. No one commented on it, nor the absence of the host. Your luggage was delivered to the guest room (the one closest to Sylus' own bedroom was always used by you when you visited. Some of your plushies from Linkon decorated the walls) and then you were alone.

"Hi, Sylus. Are you home?" You try to call him. No one picks up, so you leave a voicemail. "I arrived safely, and so did the twins. Thank you for picking me up." A few minutes go by until a hoarse voice reaches your ears. "I'm glad you're here."

What was that? He never used words like that, and there was something wrong with his voice. You begin to search around the house on your own, since Luke would always give avoidant answers and his twin was out for the preparations. There were no lights under the door to his bedroom.

The door opens silently and you come in. You think about turning on the lights, but that would reveal your position to the one downstairs. The search was going smoothly, even in darkness, until you see two glowing red dots at the top of his bed.

"Got lost, sweetie?" The tall figure got up and began approaching you. "Why are you in the dark, you crazy? It's bad for your eyes." He lets out an amused chuckle. "I couldn't find you anywhere so I began searching."

"Worried about me?" He whispers. Even then, you can still hear a different timbre to his voice. You paw at the walls, trying to find the light switch. A strong white light fills the room, and both of you groan at the sudden luminosity.

You let out an "ouch" when you open your eyes for the first time. The sight before you is surely a trick of the light. When you look at this angle, it almost looks like Sylus is sporting cat ears and a tail. His eyes are still closed and he is standing completely still, wich gives you enough time to absorb his features.

The (very real) ears twitch, and the tail moves languidly behind. There are slight eyebags under his eyes and his posture is a little... sad? "What the hell happened to you?" He winces. "Remember our little Kitty Cards game last night, kitten? There is a strange Evol affecting me and I think they are related."

"I guess you are the kitten now, Sylus." You spat back at him. "Is it temporary?" He nods and moves to turn of the light switch. You stand in front of it, stopping him in his tracks.

One look at his face is all it takes to see he is not happy. In fact, tired is the word that explains it better. "If you want to stay, stay. I'm going to bed." He unceremoniously turns around and plops onto the mattress, face down.

"Are you going to stay here all day?" "I can't exactly leave until I get back to normal. Feel free to do whatever you want in the meantime." You're pretty sure he was talking about the black credit card, or exploring the base, but you immediately lay down on the bed beside him. His ears twitch in interest and he puts his tail on top of you.

"Whatever I want?" He shifts on the bed to look at you. "Does my kitten have something in mind?" You giggle and reach for his white fur, meeting no resistance. He grumbles when you run your fingertips across his hair and then his ears.

You start going lower, cradling his face in both of your hands. He is sitting up now, also wrapping his arms around you to secure your body in place. He nibbles every patch of skin he can reach as you continue your journey, caressing his neck and then finding purchase on his shoulders. You bite him a little more strongly and he moans.

"If you're touching me like this, does this means I can touch you too?" You nod and your mouths meet halfway. Both of you alternate between kisses to squeezing and groping. There is a blush on his face as you feel run your hands through his pecks and stomach. His hand moves to your breasts and begins teasing your hard peaks.

"I tought you said you were going to bed?" You tease. He turns your body around quickly, standing up as you are pushed down to the matress. You are now under Sylus as he kisses you fervently and purrs against your skin. "My kitten is very bold today. I am going to bed, just not alone."

Sylus makes a show of taking of his thin shirt, the upper part of his body leaving nothing to imagination. You can see his bulge protruding from his pants and your stomach pools with desire. He guides your hand to his ears and tail again, and whimpers when you give the sensitive skin a soft pinch.

"Take them off." You begin undressing your many layers, still in your travel outfit. Sylus hums in satisfaction and begins licking your tits as soon as they are in view. You forget completely of your pants while he makes you shiver in his grasp, sucking the nubs until they are swollen.

"I-I want -" He begins, but stops midway. His feline ears droop down. "Tell me what you want." You reply, remembering all the times he said the same thing to you, in this same bedroom. Sylus guides your head to his strained pants, and you understand.

His tip is angry red when you pull his waistbands off. Precum is already gathering at the tip, and you prepare your mouth for what's to come. Sylus seems to be more desperate today, since he is moaning and telling you to hurry up. "Want to be inside your pretty mouth."

You begin sucking and playing with the tip. That is already enough to have his hips bucking into the air as you continue your descend. "Calm down love, I'll get there." During all of your relationship, you had never seen Sylus like this. Was the cat Evol affecting him so badly?

"Please let me come inside your mouth. Let me -" He stops again, clearly embarassed. His flush now spread to his shoulders and his chest. "Let me what, darling?" The pet name, along with you sucking his shame out through his dick makes him a little less bashfull.

"Want to breed." He declares like it's his most precious secret. "Want to make you full of my litter." During these times, you were sure Sylus had a breeding kink, even if he refused to talk about it if not in moments like this.

Even then, he continues guiding your head to deepthroat his dick, gasping loudly when you suck. "I won't last long, kitten I -" You produce a loud slurping sound and run your tongue all across his lenght.

He explodes in your mouth with a loud groan.

You wait a few seconds for him to open his eyes, his release still in your mouth. You swallow and see something flash behind his eyes. Just like earlier, you are wrestled to be under him, cock still hard and teasing your folds.

"Do you have any idea of what you do to me?" Sylus teases your entrance while playing with your clit. "How hard it was not to pounce on you the moment you came through that door? I tought about you all day." He mumbles, more to himself than to anyone else, and continues his job to make his cock fit inside.

You feel the telltale strech as he makes his way through your walls. Both your and Sylus' moans fill the room, eyes shut to absorb the pleasure. "Look at me. Want to see you." He demands. After a few more tries, he finally bottoms out.

"Why didn't you respond to my texts? My calls?" His ears droop, but his tail wraps as strongly as possible onto your leg while he nuzzles your chest. "I tought being away from you would be easier. It wasn't."

He begins to move and all your anger dissipates.

Sylus' slender fingers resume his ministrations to your bundle of nerves while his shaft touches all your sensitive spots inside. "So good don't stop!" You scream against his mouth before he kisses you urgently. The bed is shaking with the impact of your bodies. "Ne-next time something like this happens, call me earlier."

He laughs. "My kitten is enjoying the treatment, huh?" There are no toughts in your head while Sylus slams into you. You grind against him, meeting his cock halfway. He whimpers, stopping abruptly to stave off his orgasm. Your release is also approaching quicker than expected.

"If you keep doind this, I won't last long." There is sweat on his forehead and a few wild strands of hair fall atop his eyes. You gently brush them back with your fingers. "I tought you said you wanted to fill me with your litter? Is the fearsome Onychinus leader going back on his word?"

Big mistake.

The rhytm he sets after that is punishing, both to your pussy and your clit. You scream at the sudden pace. Sylus' face is scrunched as he mutters "fuck, fuck, fuck" under his breath. He won't last long indeed. There is one last thing you need to do, tough.

"Sy-Sylus?" You ask. He quirks his eyebrows as if they said "yes?" and you approach his human ear. "I love you."

The reaction is instantaneous. You feel his release fill up your insides, and the last movements Sylus did on your clit were enough to send you over the edge. There was so much of it... cum was starting to run down your tighs as he hugged you flush against his body.

"Are you okay?" Even after your breathing went back to normal, Sylus still looked somewhat feverish. He pushed you down on the now stained covers. "Stay with me."

"Of course. I won't leave until you get better." Sylus did not seem satisfied, based on the flicker of his tail. "I want you to stay forever, even after I go back to normal." It was not the first time he made that request, but it never had such raw vulnerability before.

You would never abandon your life in Linkon. Both you and Sylus knew that. Even so, at that moment, the rest of the world seemed so far away. It woudn't hurt to stay for a while, would it?

"I am never going to be able to look at boss again." Kieran had come back from his chores a few minutes ago, and the sounds coming from the master bedroom were unmistakeable. Luke, already knowing of the activities, was blasting loud music through his headphones.

"At least you won't have to run around doing things anymore." The twin responded. "Until he goes back to normal, anyway."

Looking through the multiple drawers, Kieran grabs another set of headphones. He finds a very long trash metal playlist. Good enough. "I won a break at work, but will surely need a terapy session after this."

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