#i feel like it would be the right thing to do

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Put My Dog Tags Back On

Warnings: NSFW/explicit smut, possessive Bucky, a bit of a breeding kink, dog tag kink, unprotected sex, praise, eye contact kink, soft!dom Bucky

Summary: You wear his tags to sleep because it makes him smile. You didn’t know taking them off would make him snap.

You weren’t trying to be seductive. You weren’t to get a reaction. You were just tired, had just finished brushing your teeth and you had basically floated barefoot back into Bucky’s room, your skin still warm from the shower, hair damp and soft against your shoulders. The borrowed t-shirt you usually wear to bed was in the hamper, leaving you in just a plain black bra and cotton panties.

And his dog tags.

You’d started wearing them one night, joking that if he could mark you with hickeys like a possessive punk, you should get to wear his tags like a soldier’s girl. He hadn’t even laughed just slid them around your neck with that quiet, reverent look like he wanted to worship the ground you walked on.

So you wore them. Always. Because they made his eyes go dark in that very special way.

You were half-asleep as your fingers reached up to unclasp them. And that’s when you heard it.

“No.”

You blinked before slowly turning.

Bucky stood in the doorway. Still in his tactical pants, black shirt damp with sweat, eyes locked on your bare chest more specifically, on his tags in your hand. “You don’t take those off,” he said, stepping forward, voice low and edged with something sharp. “Not when you’re in my bed.”

Your breath caught. “I--I was just-”

“Uh-uh.”

He crossed the room in two long strides and took the tags from your hands, draping them back around your neck with slow, deliberate fingers. They settled cold between your breasts, and you shivered.

“You wear these to bed,” he murmured, leaning in, his mouth brushing your cheek, jaw, neck. “You wear them when you wake up in my arms. You wear them when you go to the store or talk to one of our little team mates. You wear them when I fuck you. You wear them always, sweetheart. You got that?”

The tone if his voice, the way it got deeper, and allowed his Brooklyn accent to thicken made your knees go weak.

“Y-yeah,” you breathed nodding dumbly.

“Good.”

Then he was kissing you, devouring you. His hands gripped your waist as he walked you backward until your knees hit the bed. You dropped with a soft gasp, and he followed, hovering over you like a stormcloud about to burst.

Bucky peeled your panties down your thighs, slow and hungry, and tossed them to the floor. He undressed in pieces each button and buckle undone with purpose until he was bare and hard above you.

“You don’t take off what belongs to me,” he growled, lining himself up. “Not without asking. Not when it marks what's mine.” Then he pushed in, deep and thick and claiming, and your head fell back with a strangled moan.

“Eyes on me, baby.”

You looked up; meeting his gaze. He was already watching you like you were the only thing that existed, his dog tags swaying gently between your chests, clicking softly every time he rocked into you. “Fuck,” he rasped. “You feel like home... Always fucking do.”

His pace was slow, deliberate-- possessive. Like he wasn’t just trying to fuck you, he was imprinting on you. Staking his claim, right down to the bone.

“You like this?” he asked, voice like gravel and honey. “My tags bouncing on your tits, my cock buried so deep you’ll feel it for days?”

“God, Bucky--yes-”

“You’re mine.” His hand slid between you, thumb brushing your clit. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, hips jerking. “Fuck-I’m yours--”

He leaned down, nose brushing yours. “That’s right. My girl. My bed. My tags.”

Your thighs were trembling, back arching, slick sounds echoing in the room as he worked you open, fucked you through it--made you feel it. And the whole time, those damn dog tags stayed cold and heavy against your chest like proof.

“Gonna come for me?” he murmured. “Let me have it, baby. Wanna feel you crumble for me.”

You crumblee with a choked cry, nails digging into his back, your body clamping down around him so tight it nearly knocked the breath out of him. He buried his face into your neck and cursed against your skin. Thrusting into you harder one last time before staying there--grinding deep, grinding in as far as he possibly could as he spilled with a growl and a shudder, fingers bruising your hips.

When it was over, he collapsed on top of you, panting, forehead resting on your shoulder. The room was quiet except for your breaths. And the sound of his dog tags clicking against your skin as your bodies slowly relaxed into one another.

You finally whispered, “You really like those tags, huh?”

He laughed, voice still rough. “Baby, you could be wearin’ a trash bag as long as those are around your damn neck.”

You grinned. “So I shouldn’t take them off?”

He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear.

“Only if you want me to fuck you like that again.”

✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

Tagging:

@its-in-the-woods

@nomajdetective

@ghost-wolf34

@all-by-myself98

@luannastylinsonlupin

@rockmelikeahurricaneee

@freakyflora

@nishinoyastoes

@zzz000eee

@nubecita040

@awesompawsum

[luveline]

please can i rq clark seeing shy!r naked for the first time? :) luv u

fem, 1.3k cw suggestive “Like a sleepover?” Clark asks.

You wince. “Uh, yeah. I guess so.” 

What you’d been trying to propose was your first proper boyfriend-girlfriend night together, but sleepover is aptly childish. Fitting, and it makes you wonder if Clark thinks you’re an idiot. Because maybe you’re supposed to clash into one another after the perfect date and just— just suddenly be staying the night. But it hasn’t come naturally. 

See, Clark’s too polite. Too afraid of pressuring you into things you’d love to do.

His courting has been similar to the sort of stuff you see on mildly inaccurate regency tv shows —he’d one day, out of the blue and completely unbeknownst to you, developed strong feelings for you. A few weeks later he was sharing the news with you like some sweet reenactment of Mr. Darcy —I like you, honey. I– I have strong feelings for you, I want to take care of you, and I need to tell you before it drives me crazy. 

How crazy could he really have been? Still, what were you supposed to do, say no? As awkwardly shy as you may be, the zing you get when Clark touches you, looks at you, says enough. You hadn’t needed convincing. Clark would take very good care of you if you’d deign to let him, and so far… 

“Honey?”

You turn in the mirror. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

You know he won’t ask you to hurry. He probably won’t ask what you’re doing, too scared to startle you. Maybe you’re sneaky shaving or trying to pee and he knows that, so he’s careful. 

You’re trying to get over the way you look in your bra and panties. The bra doesn’t fit you nicely, the panties are too plain. It’s stressing you out, thinking he’ll see you in this bra with the fat of your armpit pinched weirdly and the grody little straps and end up wrinkling his nose. 

“How about I go make us something to drink?” 

“That would be nice!” you call, clearing your throat. “Yes, I mean. Please.”

“Don’t say please. I’ll be right back.”

You frown at your ugly bra and reach behind yourself to unhook the clasps, letting it fall away. That’s not… awful. You put your pajama shirt back on, a dark blocky thing that stops a quarter of a centimetre above your plaid pants. When you move, it shows your skin. 

They’re sort of ugly pajamas, aren’t they? The bottoms have seen better days. 

Your head pounds. 

“Shit,” you mumble, kicking out of your pants. “Oh, no, shit.”

“Baby?”

“Huh?” 

“You okay?”

“Yeah!”

“You sure?”

“I’m fine. I’m just– I just–”

Clark’s footsteps warm the floor outside of the bathroom. You’d left the door ajar unthinkingly, but Clark doesn’t push it open fully. “What’s wrong?” he asks nicely. 

“Clark…”

“What can I do?” 

You shrug out of your stupidly short t-shirt and hold it to your naked chest. “Sorry. Don’t… I just need a minute.” 

A silence bends. It’s nearly the whole minute, when Clark is clearing his throat, still waiting at the door. “You know I’m not expecting anything from you, right?”

“I want to give it to you, though,” you mumble, knowing his keen ears will pick it up. “Just nervous.”

“Don’t be. You’re already the most beautiful girl in the world–” You snort loudly. “I’m serious. I’m not kidding.” 

You sober. Scrunched up t-shirt trembling ever so slightly in your hands, you let it fall on top of your pants and try to be cool. Calm, collected, you channel the steadiness you keep for your most terrified moments. You probably won’t look half as unbothered as you're hoping for, but all you need now is to stop your hands from shaking. 

“You sure?” you ask. 

“You’re beautiful. I’m sure it only gets better.”

“You’re one to talk,” you say, trying to be the teasing, funny girl instead of a tangible ball of nerves in need of coaxing. Clark Kent is the most beautiful guy you’ve ever met, point blank. He can’t understand what it is to look at him and feel like you’re being touched by the sun when he smiles. His little black curls and the wrinkles beside his eyes, his lashes. Prettiest man you’ve ever met. 

“Can I come in?” he asks. 

You cling to the hopefulness in his tone and approach the door. Slowly, you peek out from behind it, hiding the bulk of your chest and your legs. 

You meet his eyes. He’s looking right at you. 

“Promise you won’t laugh,” you say under your breath. 

“Baby, that’s the last thing on my mind.” 

“Promise.”

You feel silly asking, but Clark lets you act this way. Like, he takes you as you are, always, with gumption, like every second he gets to spend with you is one he’d planned on anyhow, no matter what you want from him, or what you want to give. It’s why you can murmur stupid question at him on the ride home (‘cos yeah, he’d still like you if you were a worm), and take his hand at inopportune times. It’s why you asked to spend the night, before he brought it up himself. 

“I promise,” Clark says emphatically. “I won’t laugh at you.” 

You cover your chest with one arm and let the door open. 

Clark lets out a funny breath, and it DOES sound like a laugh, but the look you give him is so wounded that he immediately bites his tongue, “No,” he says, breathless, “I’m–” Clark takes a step back. “Honey, I wasn’t expecting you to be– is– I’m trying so hard not to swear right now.” 

“You can swear, Clark. You’re twenty nine.”

“Such a mouth on you,” he says without any heat. Then he’s quiet, and his fingertips reach for your arm. He brushes the length of your forearm to your elbow, your skin all hot and warm, waiting impatiently for something new. “So soft…”

“My bra was stupid, and my pajamas are so old, and I just– just wanna be pretty, for once. For–” you, you’d have said, if he didn’t cut you off. 

“You’re pretty all the time,” he says, grasping your arm tightly. His eyes flick down to the valley of your chest, the slight curve of your side, your hips, your thighs. His eyes seem darker. The dim lighting must do you some good. 

“Kiss?” you propose. It’s the only way you’re ever gonna be able to move your arm. 

Clark nods surely. Eyebrows kissing in a pinch, like he’s pained, but good pain, his eyes scrunching shut tightly as he ducks his head for a kiss. It’s different from any other kiss he’s given you before, not for want of gentleness. You’re open to him, for this. He’s meeting you halfway, and he’s careful, but he isn’t shy like you are. His lips are sweet and then parting. Tingling pleasure, your hand straying slowly from your chest to hold his abdomen, fingers downward. 

“Hey,” he gasps quietly, almost lost to your mouth. 

“Sorry–”

He clasps a hand over yours to hold it there. “Hey,” he says again, “please. I was just gonna ask if you wanted to move. It’s not exactly warm in here.”

“And it’s warmer in your bed?”

He’s smiling as he goes in for another kiss, his teeth against your lips. “‘Xactly,” he mumbles, breathing in hard, turning his head, “you’re such a dream. So…”

His hand slips down your back. You cant your chest toward him, soft pressing into solid, begging to be held. 

Clark drags you into his arms.

“Pretty,” he says.

[reignpage]

In which you give them the silent treatment and the different ways they react – mostly a, would they pester you or leave you alone? scenario

Satoru would opt for the ‘annoy you until you cave’ method. Might do silly things in front of you to catch your attention, to gain that twitch of a smile from your lips, or even just a huff – anything to show you’re paying attention, that despite whatever he did, you still care. Would drop off sweet treats and presents at your desk or all over the house, both to bribe you out of silence but also to remind you he’s thinking of you. He’s never not thinking about you. If none of that works though, he, too, falls silent. Soon, you’ll stumble into your shared home, find the lights off, and a brooding Satoru sitting on the sofa. He’ll apologise, solemnly this time, and peel off his blindfold, rub his temples and ask, “Where do we go from here?” 

Suguru gives you the silent treatment too. It becomes a competition to see who could last the longest. He’s so petty, he’ll watch you struggle to reach for something on the top shelf, knowing that you’re on the verge of asking him for help but he’ll never offer. Instead, he might come over, pick it up himself, just to use it. In a way, he also employs the ‘annoy you until you cave’ method, he’s just less obnoxious about it. Giving him the silent treatment is honestly not recommended because he usually lasts longer. But when you do give in, when you utter a single word to him, his shoulders visibly drop, the tension in his spine dissipates, and a smile finds its way back onto his face. Then, and only then, do you hear him say, “Finally, pretty. Was going insane without hearing your voice.”

Choso does not intentionally opt for the ‘annoy you until you cave’ method but does end up using it. He wants to know what you’re feeling and thinking and will not stop asking. You’ll have a permanent shadow everywhere – in the kitchen, in the bedroom, in the streets, at a cafe etc etc. “What did I do wrong?” and “Why won’t you talk to me?” on repeat. ConfusedTM. Will one hundred percent poke you, worrying that maybe you’ve gone deaf. He’ll wave a hand in front of your face, raise his voice, and call Yuji just to see if his voice is working. Once he learns what you’re doing, he switches gears slightly. Then, he’ll talk to you and for you. “Woah, did you see how big that dog was? I know right? It’s massive! Yeah, I like big dogs too; I’m scared I’d step on a small dog. No, I totally would. Aww you’re too nice.” He gets so into his one-man role playing that when you do reply, he doesn’t even notice. 

Toji leaves you alone. Too grown and too tired to play these games, he chooses the method of frustrating you by not giving you the reaction you want. At least now he can do all the things you usually tell him off for doing – he can watch whatever sports he wants on the TV, can drink beer and only eat takeaway, maybe stay out late. Though he doesn’t like going to sleep without a ‘goodnight,’ some cuddles and kisses (he’ll never admit to any of that), he’s content to know you’re safe and sound, and still in this relationship enough to climb into bed with him anyway. Eventually, however, he does start to find the silence irritating. Worse though, is seeing you doing things on your own. There’s something fucking awful about the sight. It’s wrong. So, he’ll sigh and ruffle your hair, and man up. “Listen, I’m sorry, alright? Was being a child. Take your time and shit, but don’t eat dinner by yourself; it’s creepy as hell. Be silent and moody and whatever but be silent and moody with me.”

Kento gives you space. He won’t ever be so immature as to bother you out of your feelings nor will he pretend you don’t exist. Of course, he doesn’t think silent treatments are healthy and conducive to a successful relationship, but you already know that. So, instead of mansplaining right and wrong, he’ll continue to be himself and wait for you to come out of your shell. Dinner is prepared for you, so is a warm bath, texts reminding you to eat and to have a good day are sent, all part of your routine. He’s so sweet you actually forget why you were ever mad and would burst out in excitement if he told you about the weekend plans he’s made for you both. Won’t comment on the fact that you finally spoke to him. Will just keep talking to you like nothing ever happened. Later, however, he finally has a good night’s sleep, the best in as long as you were withholding your voice and thoughts from him. “Hmm, goodnight, honey. We can talk more in the morning, just let me hold you.”

Sukuna deploys his own tactic. It’s so dirty. It’s so underhanded. It’s so him. Motherfucker will tickle you. And…he has four arms. Obviously, it’ll only make you more upset, but just for a second, for a single moment, you’ll look him in the eye with a smile on your face and you’ll talk to him. He’s happy. Even if what you say are swear words and ‘stawhppp, you fugly asshole.’ When you continue your silent treatment, he gets all frowny, broody and pouty. Practically walks around with perpetual storm clouds over his head. More people are dying left, right and centre. Screams go on in the night and past daybreak. But you’re practically immune to the suffering of others by now. What would make you cave, however, is Sukuna stomping over to you, angry and violent and desperate to be okay with you. He won’t grab you, won’t shake you, or threaten you into submission. He’ll simply kneel before you, cradle your body to his, and mutter an apology into your stomach. “Forgive me…I was wrong. Let us be friends again. I do not know what to do with my time now that you won’t even look at me. I cannot sleep, cannot eat, cannot breathe without you. It all only hurts…I miss you, little one.”

[prkhaven]

DIRTY SECRETS — s.jy ␥ teaser ␥

what if you found love with your sister’s boyfriend. not a good idea right?

⤷ pairing ˗ˏˋ sister’s boyfriend!jake x inexperienced fem!reader ˎˊ˗

⤷ est. word count: 20k teaser wc: 837 words

genre: smut minors do not interact, sister’s boyfriend au, infidelity (but not actually though), p with plot, p with feelings, forbidden love, morally ambiguous characters

content warnings: dub-con, cheating, manipulation, jealousy, kissing, toxic family dynamics, toxicity, jay feature, marco polo pool game, unprotected sex, multiple sex scenes, p in v, praising, degradation, dirty talk, teasing, jake is pervy, groping, reader is oblivious and inexperienced, oral (f + m rec.), fingering, squirting, deep throating, face fucking, cum eating, breeding kink, corruption kink, creampie, handjobs, petnames (baby, babe, sweetheart, nasty girl)

— taglist: [open] send in ask or comment to be added —

‘Dear diary, I have a confession to make’

‘My sister’s boyfriend is fucking hot’

Acceptance is a big thing your family lacks doing, always seeming to be in the denial stage when it does no justice to anyone but themselves.

The selfish of the selfish, only caring about themselves and how to look the best. So due to the uncontrollable association it only must be true on your end. The apple never does fall too far from the tree.

You are not a good person.

That is what you used to believe until you met your sister’s current new boyfriend, Jake.

While this was the first time you were dissecting any of her relationships, it was obvious this one was different. It wasn’t like any of her old ones. There were too many loop holes on how they came to be, especially when she had just gotten out of a 1 year relationship with her longest lasting boyfriend—Heeseung.

It started off as a rough patch like always until she found herself a new boyfriend to keep her busy, and you just thought it would be someone within her usual taste.

Yet, this time she was charted into territory that she would never be caught dead in but on the opposite side, you would have an absolute field day in.

That’s how indefinitely you knew you were not a good person. Not because of the association or pressure to fit in but rather because it’s just in your blood.

‘He always keeps looking at me even when he’s clinging to my sister like a vice and it’s fucking aggravating’

‘How do they cross paths? That’s the million dollar question’

‘Usually she’s the one parading her latest boyfriend around but I just guess not this time.

‘All I want to know is how she stumbled upon this gem by chance’

You scribble out the last sentence and groan loudly as you end up ripping out the page and crumbling into a ball in frustration. Huffing loudly as you squish the paper ball, your phone pinged and you glance over to see the message ‘Come over’ illuminating your screen.

Sighing heavily as you flip your phone over and stand up from your chair and walk out of your room to dispose of the crumbled paper properly.

You make a mental note to search for your old trash bin in order to avoid having to come outside of your room so much.

Right when you were about to turn the corner, you yelped and dropped the paper in hand when you heard the cluttering noise in the kitchen.

Rounding the corner quickly, you catch Jake with piles of plastic containers scattered around and a small pot in hand as he stares at you like a puppy that just got caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to do.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes! Sorry, I’m okay. I just wanted to make some ramen cause I got a little hungry and your sister told me I could just go alone to make it since she didn’t feel like coming with me”

“Sounds typical of her” You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose for a second before letting go and looking at him, “Do you need any help?”

Jake waves his hand and smiles warmly, “No I should manage fine hopefully” He chuckles and awkwardly rubs his nape, “If not you can come running back when you start to smell smoke or hear a loud thud”

“Oh don’t worry I’ll be on high alert” He chuckles softly and it makes you softly smile back before clearing your throat at the awkward silence, “Well uhm I’m gonna go, please don’t blow up our house ”

“Can’t make any promises”

You give a tight smile as you quickly speedwalk away as fast as you could before it can be considered running.

Grumbling under your breath when you made it back your room, you thump your head back against the door and closed yours eyes with a deep sigh, “She doesn’t deserve him”

“Hey wait!” Jake calls out when he sees the balled paper sitting perfectly where you once stood but sighs heavily when he realizes you were gone

He stoops down and picks up the discarded paper and he knows he should be more mindful to not read it. But, he’s a curious person.

He unfolds the paper and once it’s flattened out just enough, he glances over it and proceeds to reread the note or more like diary entry way more than he would like to admit.

There was a beating in his chest that he couldn’t control and the small smile m grew wider until his teeth were showing. Trying to hide it with a hand over his mouth as he kept repeating the first two sentences.

‘Dear diary, I have a confession to make’

‘My sister’s boyfriend is fucking hot’

Jake gulps down his happiness to neatly fold the wrinkled paper and tuck into his pocket, “Your dirty secret is safe with me”

——

[thebibliosphere]

Batmuppet Chapter One: The Rainbow Connection

“It’s time to play the music, it’s time to light the lights, It’s time to meet the Muppets on the Muppet Show tonight!” The manor ought to have been silent as the grave when Bruce returned, so it caught him by surprise when he heard a familiar jingle drifting through the empty halls. He paused at the foot of the grand staircase, head tilted to the side as he listened to the Muppet Show theme song jangling away happily. It sounded like it was coming from the first floor, which meant the most likely origin was Dick's bedroom. Which would be fine, if it also wasn't almost three am... [Keep reading on Ao3]

What do you do when you come home late and find the orphan you've taken guardianship of is crying alone in his room watching the Muppets?

You sit your brooding ass down and join him.

And if you later end up on a talk show with said Muppets and end up embroiled in a running gag about your playboy persona being in a throuple with Miss Piggy and Kermit the Frog, well, it's not like anyone's ever going to believe you're Batman now...

Based on the Tumblr shitpost.

***

Listen, I had no intention of posting this until I finished the whole thing, which is now about 70k worth of words in my drafts. But I'm going to be so real right now, I need to feel a shred of happiness right now, or I'm going to break, so you get to read BatMuppet in installments, and I get dopamine from completing tasks. Sound fair?

Cool. Thank you for reading and commenting if you do <3 I'll just be over here in the corner playing with my favorite blorbos until things stop happening to me.

[withlovemark]

THE ORGASM DONORS: YOU HAVE BOOKED MARK LEE!

pairing: donor! mark lee x client! reader | genre: smut | words: 9k+

warnings: STRICTLY 18+

an: just 9k of pure, filthy smut…i’m never making it to the gates of heaven. this idea came to me in a dream (a horny, wet dream) all because i fell asleep to a tiktok of jaemin spinning around in his little orgasm donor hoodie. insane what the mind can do. everyone give it up for the first donor! the birthday boy! my number one boy! mark lee! and my last gift to all of you. have fun reading! — with love, c.

you never thought it would get to this point. not because you were ashamed. but there was something about your twenty something’s, this far into adulthood, and still never having an orgasm that made you feel like your body was broken in a way you couldn’t explain.

you’d done everything — read every self help blog, followed the advice on reddit threads, bought a vibrator, a dildo, the rose toy that everyone said was guaranteed to give you a mind bending orgasm, you’d whispered your needs to your previous partners, even screamed at one or two, but no one ever got it right. no one ever got you there. not even yourself.

it started to feel like a cruel joke. something other people could have, just not you. until your best friend leaned in over lunch one lazy sunday, sipping her coffee and said, “have you ever heard of the neo orgasm clinic?”

“oh god,” you laughed, “like a place that teaches you how to come?”

she grinned, “not teaches. they do it for you. and it’s guaranteed.”

you blinked, “what? so i pay for someone to have sex with me?”

“you pay someone to make you orgasm,” she shrugged like it was no big deal, “wouldn’t be the craziest thing in the world,” she says, sipping her coffee with a sly smirk.

and just like that, a seed of curiosity, or maybe desperation, rooted itself in your chest.

✚ BOOK NOW ✚

signing up was easier than expected. discreet, elegant, clinical but not cold. you filled up the introductory form — name, age, contact information, payment details, then moved onto the deeper intake.

step 1: medical verification. a form requesting a recent full panel STI test within the last month.

step 2: sexual preferences & boundaries. the screen lit up with a list and instructions

check all acts you’re open to exploring with your donor. this does not guarantee they will occur. your donor will review and operate within your boundaries at all times.

you skimmed the list, heart racing just a little and checked the following:

☑️ bondage

☑️ choking

☑️ clitoral stimulation

☑️ domination

☑️ dirty talk

☑️ edging

☑️ fingering

☑️ kissing

☑️ impact play

☑️ nipple play

☑️ oral

☑️ orgasm control

☑️ praise

☑️ rough sex

☑️ spanking

☑️ spitting

☑️ vaginal penetration

you hovered over a few others. degradation? group sex? objectification? you skipped them. not this time. you weren’t here to be humiliated — you were here to figure out why the hell your body kept locking up the second anyone touched you like they meant it.

step 3: why are you booking this appointment?

you had to type. no multiple choice. just a blank box waiting to be filled. your fingers hesitate above the keyboard. then you answered:

i’ve never had an orgasm. not from another person. not from myself. i don’t know what’s wrong with me but i’m tired of pretending. i’m tired of faking it. i want to know what it actually feels like. i want to stop being in my head. just for once. i want to let go.

you hit submit before you could overthink it.

step 4: choose your donor.

you clicked through the digital profile list, fingers hovering each name. each donor were vetted, trained, screened and certified in pleasure — not jut sex. these weren’t porn stars. these were licensed professionals. this was science, chemistry and understanding the human body and psyche. or whatever the website said to make you feel better about booking an appointment.

you hovered each name. a few looked promising. one had nice eyes. one had “mean” listed as a keyword. another had glowing reviews for how “slow and gentle” he was.

but then you saw him — mark lee. top donor. most requested. five-star average across every review. the testimonials read like something between a religious experience and the aftermath of a natural disaster.

“didn’t even know my body could do all of that, my god.”

“sweet, respectful, and somehow still completely ruined me.”

“made me orgasm like i’ve never orgasmed before”

and the most repeated one of all:

“i always book mark when he’s available, he knows exactly what to do. a guaranteed orgasm. every time.”

you didn’t even hesitate. you clicked BOOK NOW.

Neo Orgasm Clinic Consultation: CONFIRMED

Donor: Mark Lee

Date of Consultation: July 29, 2025

you stared at your bedroom ceiling in the dark, heart pounding a little too fast. you didn’t know what to expect. you didn’t know what you’d feel. but for the first time in years, you felt hope. and maybe, if the reviews weren’t exaggerating, you were finally about to find out what it meant to feel like your body belonged to you.

✚ THE CONSULTATION ✚

you almost canceled. twice. was this morally questionable? maybe. was it completely insane? absolutely.

but you still showed up. your nerves were coiled so tight they felt like they’d snap with one wrong move. you’d picked out a simple outfit, nothing too suggestive, nothing too uptight. but still, as you sat in the pristine waiting lounge of the neo orgasm clinic, ankles crossed and fingers clenched around your bag strap, you felt entirely exposed.

everything about the clinic was calm, curated. the lighting was soft and golden, the walls a warm cream, subtle scent of lavender and eucalyptus filled the space. the kind of place that looked more like a boutique spa than a place where orgasms were clinically achieved.

even the receptionist was beautiful. sharp suit, glossy hair, delicate bone structure. his name tag read taeyong. he smiled when you walked in like he already knew everything about you. probably because he did.

“first consultation?,” he asked, tilting his head with a practiced sort of empathy.

you nodded, “is it that obvious?”

he chuckled, “only a little,” he teased, “but don’t worry, everyone’s nervous at first.”

taeyong pulled up your file on his screen, “you’ll be with mark today. he’s just finishing up. shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”

your heart stuttered at the sound of his name. somehow, it felt heavier now. every second you spend in this clinic feeling more real than ever. this wasn’t a fantasy. this wasn’t a dream bordering into a nightmare. this was real. you were going to meet him…anytime now.

taeyong slid a sleek tablet across the desk, “while you wait, kindly review your file, click agree if no changes need to be made. consent is required for everything.”

you nodded, accepting the tablet and settling back in your seat. you skimmed your file one last time then submitted the form. the screen thanked you and welcomed you officially to the program.

exactly five minutes later, the door on the left of the receptionist table, labeled private suites opened with a soft click. and there he was. the man in the website. the top donor. real human being — mark lee.

you blinked. it was like seeing someone you’d only ever imagined walk into reality — all soft black hair, warm eyes, and a smile that was…surprisingly shy for someone with reviews like his. he was dressed in a simple black slacks and a fitted charcoal blazer, sleeves pushed up to reveal veined forearms and a silver watch. professional, polished, but somehow still boyish. he was speaking with someone. a girl that looked around your age. who’d look like she had just had the best time of her life. then she headed to taeyong and mark turned his focus towards you.

“hey,” he said, walking towards you and offering his hand, “you must be, ms. y/n.” you nod, placing your hand in his. his grip was firm, professional, “i’m mark. come follow me,” he said, guiding you toward the doors on the other side of the receptionist table labeled, consultation rooms, “no pressure,” he adds, shooting you a smile, “just talking today.”

the room felt like a cozy therapist’s office. a plush sofa, a low coffee table, a few plants. no examination table. no cold metal instruments. just comfort. mark sat across from you, legs crossed casually, an open tablet in his lap. he offered you water, asked if you were comfortable, then smiled before getting started.

“alright, let’s talk about you,” he said, voice low and calm, “why you’re here. what you’re hoping to get out of this experience.”

you hesitated. you’re sure he already knows. already looked at your file. but still, saying it out loud felt impossible. the words were caught somewhere between your throat and your pride.

“you can open up to me,” he urges softly, patiently, calmly, “we’re both here for you.”

you nodded, finally finding your voice, “ive…never had an orgasm.” you exhaled, eyes lowering, “i’ve tried…a lot…it just….doesn’t happen.”

mark didn’t blink. didn’t smirk. didn’t do anything to make you feel small. instead, he nodded slowly, like he’d heard this before. like it was okay. like you weren’t a complete helpless case. like you weren’t broken.

“thank you for telling me that,” he said softly, “i know it’s not easy to admit out loud but i want you know something — there’s nothing wrong with you.”

you looked up at him, sighing, “feels like there is.”

“i know,” he nodded, “but trust me, there are a million reasons why achieving an orgasm can be difficult — physical, mental, emotional, trauma-related, hormonal, sometimes just bad luck with partners. but it’s not permanent. and it’s not your fault.”

that made you smile, barely, but it was there. he smiled back, warm and nonchalant, “so, you’re not broken. you’re just…unsolved. that’s where i come in.” you swallowed hard. the warmth behind this words caught you off guard.

he tapped a few notes on his tablet before setting it aside, “here’s how this works,” he said, “you set the pace. we take our time. always. you can stop me and say no anytime. nothing happens without your permission. and we don’t even have to do the session unless you’re completely ready.”

you nodded slowly, processing his words, “okay.”

mark studied you for a beat, “do you want to tell me anything else you might have forgotten on your file?”

you hesitated, thinking, “i think i just…want to stop thinking so much. i get in my head. i start worrying about how i look, how i sound, if i’m being too much or not enough. it’s hard to stay in the moment.”

he leaned back, thoughtful, “so your mind is the roadblock.” he smiled a little, “that’s more common than you think.”

“do you really have a 100% success rate?” you asked quietly.

that made him laugh – not loud, not cocky, just amused in a warm way.

“our stats don’t lie,” he smiles, “but it’s because i take my time, i listen, i pay attention,” his voice dipped, “pleasure isn’t a race to the finish line. it’s a process. one i’d be honored to help you through.”

you felt your cheeks flush. he noticed and softened his voice even more, “you don’t have to decide today but if you’re comfortable, i’d be happy to schedule your first session.”

your pulse quickened, “...yes,” you said, voice barely above a whisper, "i want to.”

his smile returned, warm and sincere, “good,” he said, tapping his screen, “i’ll have taeyong reach out to confirm your appointment date.” he stood up, offering his hand again, “thank you for choosing me.”

you took it and this time your grip was steady, “see you soon, mark.”

Neo Orgasm Clinic Appointment: CONFIRMED

Client: Y/N L/N

Donor: Mark Lee

Date of Session: August 2, 2025

✚ THE APPOINTMENT ✚

you were early. too early. you sat in the same softly lit waiting room, knees bouncing, pulse in your throat. taeyong gave you a knowing smile as he gestured you towards the private suites door and the down the hallway.

“suite 8, he’s ready for you.”

the words made something twist low in your stomach as you walked towards the room. you entered slowly — suite 8 was nothing like you imagined. it wasn't clinical or sterile. it felt more like a luxury hotel room, quiet and warm, wrapped in soft ambient lighting. a large couch sat near the window. there was a bed. there were blankets, clean white sheets and a speaker humming low instrumental music. every detail was designed to ease tension, to invite softness.

you notice him adjusting something on the bedside table, a glass of water, a box of tissues, a towel. and then — mark turned.

“hey,” he said softly, “i’ve been waiting for you.”

he was dressed in black slacks, a black tie and black long sleeve button up, with the sleeves folded up his arms. hot but casual. the entire room, his casual demeanor, made it feel like you’re not at a clinic and just booked a dick appointment like it was a bumble date.

your lips curved, nerves still tangled in your chest, “i-i’m here.”

mark chuckled, not mockingly, but with that same warm, honeyed tone you remember, “you’re cute,” he said simply, “i like that you’re not pretending to be cool.”

you exhaled slowly, “i don’t think i could even if i tried.”

he stepped closer, slow and measured, giving you space with every move, “do you remember what i said during our last meet up?” he asked.

you note how he doesn’t use the word consultation, how he’s trying to make this all seem like it’s a normal hook-up and not a service.

“y-yeah. i’m in control. i can stop you. ask questions. say no.”

“good.” he murmured, his gaze searching yours for a moment longer, “but i’m going to be honest with you.”

his hand lifted, brushing his fingers down your jaw, slow and warm, “tonight, i am going to take control. you came here because your body hasn’t been shown how it deserves to be touched. and i don’t do halfway, sweetheart.”

you swallowed hard.

“so tell me,” he said, tipping your chin up with two fingers, gaze locked on yours, “can i touch you?”

you barely breathed, “yes.”

one of his hands travelled down your arm to your lower back, leaving behind trails of goosebumps in his wake.

“can i kiss you?” he said, eyes locked on yours. your breath caught. you nod.

he didn’t hesitate. mark grabbed your jaw and kissed you — hot, full, unrelenting. he kissed like he owned your mouth. his lips slanted over yours, opening you up, coaxing you open, tongue swept in with purpose — wet, confident, greedy.

you moaned into him, the sound swallowed as his tongue tangled with yours in filthy, practiced patterns. he tilted his head, deepened the angle, sucked softly at your bottom lip only to follow it up with another tongue-heavy kiss that made your spine arch. your hands clutched at his shirt on instinct, dizzy from the pace, the heat, the want.

you feel him smirk through the kiss as he kept going. his hands began to roam, starting at your waist, dragging up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through your shirt, just enough to make you gasp, then down again, gliding over your hips before settling on cupping your ass. his hands gripping tight and hot.

you squirmed, trying to shift closer but he held you steady. dominant. measured. not rushing but not enough to give you relief either. he guided you towards the couch, lips never leaving yours.

“sit.” he ordered, voice like velvet wrapped around steel. you obeyed without thinking. he kneeled between your legs, grabbing your thighs to pull you to the edge. the kiss resumed, but filthier this time, more desperate. he kissed you like he couldn’t get enough, like he wanted to fuck your mouth with his tongue until you forgot what you’re here for.

“you taste so fucking sweet,” he growled, pausing to bite your bottom lip. slowly. sensually. “bet i’ll find out you taste even sweeter somewhere else.” you gasped, trembling. his fingers were already under your shirt, dragging it up inch by inch, “arms up, baby.”

you lifted your arms, dazed, his use of pet names making it feel way more romantic than it should. he carefully peeled your shirt over your head and tossed it aside, hands immediately finding your bare skin, palms dragging up your ribs, thumbs brushing the peaks of your breasts through your bra. you leaned toward him instinctively and he chuckled.

“sensitive,” he muttered, “good. i want every part of you begging.” he kissed you again, harder this time, wet and open, lips slick with spit, you could hardly keep up. every kiss felt like it left you raw. ruined. but craving more.

his fingers toyed with the clasp of your bra, then popped it open easily. he dragged the straps down your arms, slow and teasing, “you’ve been neglected long enough, haven’t you, pretty girl?” he said against your lips.

he trailed his mouth down your neck, sucking at the pulse point until you whined, then he licked lower, over your collarbones, between your breasts, circling your nipples with maddening slowness. his hands stayed firm on your thighs, squeezing, keeping you spread and trembling.

“i want you to stop waiting for an orgasm,” he murmured as he kissed lower, lips just above your waistband, “feel everything. the pressure. the tease. the ache.”

your hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer, grinding his face on your nipple, “please—mark, i need—”

“i know what you need.” his voice was low, but firm. his mouth still latched one of your nipples, sucking harshly.

“you think you’re the first person to sit here and say they don’t know how to come?,” he laughed softly, switching to the other peak.

“you’re not broken, baby. you’re untouched. and i’m about to change that.”

he hooked his fingers under the waistband of your pants and underwear at once, and then he stopped, eyes locked on yours.

“you trust me to take care of you?”

“yes,” you whispered, breath hitching.

“say it louder.”

“yes—yes, i trust you.”

“good girl.”

he smirked, dragging everything down in one slow, smooth pull, baring you to the cool air. to his heated stare. his eyes darkened as he took you in, and he let out a soft groan, hand gripping your knees to push them open wider.

mark leaned back just though to take in the sight of you — completely undressed, legs parted, breath shaky, lips kiss-swollen, flushed and desperate, beneath the soft golden lighting of suite 8, vulnerable and exposed.

“fuck,” he breathed out, jaw tense, “you’re so pretty like this. spread out for me. waiting.”

you whimpered as his hands slid up your inner thighs, thumbs brushing too close to where you ached, then retreating again. and again. and again. his touch was everywhere except where you needed him most. the ache between your legs pulsed — soaked and neglected, your body betraying how ready it was.

but still, your mind wouldn’t shut up. wouldn’t let you stay there in it. what if i can’t? what if i freeze up? what if he thinks there’s something wrong with me?

and mark knew. he could see. hear it in your gasps, feel it in your tension. that’s why he smirked like that, cruel and knowing. like he was enjoying watching you unravel in slow motion, one nerve at a time.

“tell me how this feels,” he murmured, leaning forward to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses across your collarbone again.

“let me hear you.”

“i—” you gasped, jerking as his teeth grazed a nipple, then soothed it with a slick, wet lick, “it’s—it’s not enough—mark, please—” he hummed against your skin, lips warm as he kissed back up to your throat.

“good. that’s exactly where i want you. i don’t want you comfortable yet. i want you needy. desperate. begging me to touch this pretty pussy.”

and you were starting to be. you could feel the slickness between your thighs, a heartbeat thrumming at your core. still, mark didn’t touch you there. his hands continued their teasing path, caressing your hips, your stomach, your thighs. never slipping between.

his tongue pushed into your mouth again, curling with yours, fucking it slow. one hand tangled in your hair to tilt your head back, deepening the kiss. his other hand slid down—finally, finally—settling just above your mound. the heel of his palm pressed just enough to tease the ache, and you whimpered, hips jerking upward like your body was pleading.

“already soaking, aren’t you?” he murmured against your lips, “and i haven’t even touched you properly.”

“please, please, i need—”

“no.” he cut in, voice sharp, dangerous. “i decide when you get that. you gave me your trust, baby. so let me show you what your body’s capable of when it’s not trying to hurry up and finish just to feel something.”

you whimpered quietly, looking at him with pleading eyes and only then did he let his fingers finally slip lower, gliding through the slick pooling between your legs. you gasped at the contact, but he didn’t go inside. just circled, rubbed, spread. over and over. maddening and slow.

“you’ve been chasing orgasms,” he muttered, placing a hot, wet kiss below your ear, “without knowing where they live.”

you moaned when he dragged his thumb over your clit, gentle at first, then firmer, enough to make you buck your hips. his mouth found yours again, kissing you harder now, every wet slide of his tongue mirrored the rhythm of his hand, slow, controlled, rubbing soft circles around your clit.

and you tried to stay in it, you really did. but before you could focus on the pleasure, your mind tensed again. breath caught. brain whirring. what if it’s not enough? what if i sound weird? what if i can’t let go?

your thighs started to close.

“no.” mark growled, his voice darker now. he shoved your legs apart again, pinning them open, “don’t hide. let me give you what you’ve never had.”

“i’m trying,” you choked, voice high and splintered, “but i-i dont know if i—what if i can’t–”

“it’s building up,” he grunted against your lips, “but you’re in your head. i can feel it”

and then, with no warning, he pushed one finger inside you. your back arched as your walls clamped around him, a quiet sigh slipping from your lips.

“fuck—so tight,” he hissed, pressing his forehead to your shoulder as he pushed deeper, curling slightly.

“you’ve been keeping this all to yourself, huh?” he pumped slow, shallow, his finger curling just enough to make your toes curl with it. then he added another. watching your face like a predator.

the moment your moan cracked through the air, high and broken, your eyes shot wide open, your hand clamping your own mouth, instinctive, terrified of the sound you made.

mark’s entire body tensed. he grabbed your wrist and yanked it down.

“don’t fucking do that.” his voice was rough. eyes wild. not with lust but with something more dangerous. hungry.

“up.” he ordered lowly, voice already thick with arousal. “on the couch. lay back.”

you blinked, dazed, “what—”

“now.”

the command in his tone made your stomach clench. you moved instinctively, letting him guide you, your bare back sticking slightly to the leather as you laid down. he helped spread your thighs wide over the edge. you were open now, fully exposed to him. he hovered above you.

then — he pulled his tie off in one swift motion. yanked it free from around his neck with a harsh flick. and before you could ask what he was doing he pinned your arms behind you and wrapped it tightly around your wrists, the silk biting softly into your skin.

he leaned over you, hot breath against your ear, “do you know what i do when pretty girls like you can’t let go?”

you shook your head, lips parted, eyes blown wide with lust.

“i don’t slow down,” he whispered, “i break them.”

then he looked down at you like a man starving. like a man about to feast.

“look at this,” he muttered, dragging two fingers through your folds again, lightly slapping your pussy, as he positioned himself between your cunt.

“so wet and ready,” he grunted against your aching core.

the first stroke of his tongue was slow. deliberate. — a warm, wet slide right up the length of your slit, ending with a soft suck to your clit that made your hips jump. you gasped, back arching.

mark groaned against you, “god, you taste unreal,” he growled, “i could stay here all night.”

and he meant it. he licked again, then again, tongue flattening against your core, teasing, tasting. his mouth was hot, his tongue devastating, alternating between slow strokes and precise flicks, sucking at your clit just enough to make your thighs tremble. his hands gripped your hips tight, holding you open as he buried his face deeper.

he was good. too good.

but still, that coil of pressure in your belly wasn’t catching. your breath hitched with every swirl of his tongue, but it didn’t crest. it didn’t tip. you kept chasing the edge but never quite reaching it. you couldn’t stop your mind from spiraling. what if this is it and i still don’t come? what if i’m the one person he gives up on? what if i disappoint him?

mark noticed it all. and he was tired of watching you get in your own way.

“i said i’d take my time with you.” he muttered, voice rough as knelt between your legs, towering over your exposed body, chest heaving slightly.

“but don’t mistake that for mercy.”

the kindness in his voice had cooled into something sharper, darker. still controlled. still careful. but this wasn’t the same soft-spoken man who asked if he could touch you. could kiss you. this was the version of him who knew exactly what you needed before you did. the one who didn’t need your trust. the one who commanded it.

you blinked up at him, dazed, lips parted as you struggled to catch your breath. mark was already working on his shirt, buttons flicked open with practiced, irritated speed. like you being like this —trembling and touched and still not broken open, had finally pushed him past whatever professional restraint he’d been clinging to.

“you want to feel something real?” he asked, low and dark as he tugged his shirt off and tossed it aside. his torso was lean, toned, strong, defined muscle under fair skin. veins prominent in his forearms, a shadow of control beneath the surface. you couldn’t stop staring, but he didn’t give you long.

“eyes on me.” he snapped. you flinched and obeyed instantly.

“good girl.” he muttered, already undoing his belt.

“you’re done overthinking tonight. you’re not here to analyze. you’re here to surrender.” he kicked his slacks off in one motion, dark briefs still clinging to his hips, already showing the outline of his cock pressing tight against the fabric. he moved between your legs again, now completely shirtless, he let you feel him. skin on skin. then, his hand came up to grip your jaw, not hard, just firm enough to make you feel it. to keep you grounded in his hold.

“i’m going to rewire that pretty little brain of yours,” he grunted.

“because clearly, your body’s ready but your head hasn’t shut the fuck up once since you got here.”

you whimpered, nodding under his grip.

“and when you come, it’s going to be because i made it happen.” he continued, dragging the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip, “you’re not going to perform. you’re not going to fake. you’re going to fucking lose it. because i’m going to take it from you.”

then he was sinking to his knees again, this time bringing your legs up to your chest, holding you open like a meal he was ready to devour. the position was cruel. your hands tied behind your back was starting to hurt. but he didn’t care.

“no more playing nice.” he muttered. “you’ve had enough of that.”

and then—he ate.

there was nothing soft about it this time. his mouth latched onto your pussy like it was the only thing that could save him. tongue flat and wide, licking deep and messy, then curling to flick at your clit with precision that made your hips jerk off the couch. you cried out but he only held you down harder.

“stay still.” he growled into your cunt, tongue never pausing, “i didn’t say you could run.”

you couldn’t push him away, the tie tight around your wrist. his grip on your thighs tightened. every stroke of his tongue was filthy, practiced, deliberate. he sucked your clit, then dragged his tongue lower, licking you open, tasting you with obscene, wet sounds that only made the pressure worse. hotter. deeper.

and still — you couldn’t let go. still, that voice in your head whispered too much. what if he’s doing all of this and i don’t come? i bet i look really weird right now. what if i’m really broken?

mark slammed his hand flat over your lower stomach, fingers splayed wide, his mouth unrelenting. and then he pulled back, just for a breath. just long enough to growl, “get out of your fucking head, baby. right now.”

his voice dropped.

“focus on what i’m doing to you.”

then he spit directly on your clit, letting it fall slowly, hot, messy, then immediately sucked you into his mouth like a punishment. it was so hot. a high pitched moan escaped your lips before you could even think about it. he hummed low like he knew it’d short-circuit your brain, the vibration sending shocks up your spine. his fingers slid back inside, fucking you now. harder, faster, rougher, thrusting with a rhythm of your unraveling.

“i don’t care how long it takes.” he snarled, breath hot against you.

“i’ll break you open and fuck the hesitation out of you.”

it was working. the fear was melting into heat. shame into friction. every thought replaced by the overwhelming sensation. you were teetering on the edge of something unfamiliar and terrifying. the pressure was unbearable, intense and unrelenting, like your body was being dragged past the edge whether it was ready or not.

mark didn’t stop. he pulled your clit between his lips again and again, flicking his tongue until you were gasping. curling his fingers over and over again.

“say it.” mark growled. “say you want to come.”

“i—fuck—i want to—mark—”

“louder.”

“i want to come! please—don’t stop—please—”

“come.” his voice demanded, vibrating against your skin. “let. me. have it.”

and then—you broke.

“oh my god—” the words tore out of you, breathless and wrecked, “f-fuck, don’t stop—don’t fucking stop—”

and he didn’t. your hips bucked against his mouth. the rest of the words dissolved into a sob from your throat so raw, so guttural, you hardly recognized the sound as your own. your back arched clean off the leather couch, hands gripping so tight hoping you could tether yourself to the moment as your body seized with sensation.

your orgasm didn’t rise like a tide — it detonated. it wrecked you open. no warning. just impact. a white-hot snap that split through you like a faultline finally giving way under years of pressure. it was too much. too big. too real. like something that had been lodged deep inside your chest your whole life had just ripped free — wild and screaming and glorious. years of silence and shame, of second-guessing and not-quite-getting-there, all flooding out at once.

your thighs clamped around his head, but mark didn’t flinch. he held you there, mouth relentless, fingers tight on your hip to anchor you through every tremor, every aftershock, as you writhed and whimpered and let the orgasm tear through your body. his tongue is merciless, unrelenting. mouth locked on you like he was dragging every last drop of that orgasm out of you until there was nothing left. until you were finally begging him to stop.

when he pulled back, his lips were slick. his face wrecked. his eyes triumphant.

mark licked his lips, “that,” he panted, “was one.”

you blinked at him, tears shining in your lashes, “i didn’t think i could…”

“you can,” he said firmly, brushing your hair back. “you did.”

then he untied your wrists slowly, carefully. but his voice stayed rough, “get on the bed.” he ordered.

“we’re not done.”

he gripped your thighs lifting you easily like you weighed nothing at all, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. a silent yelp slipped from your lips as he tossed you onto the bed with a bounce that knocked the breath from your lungs. the sheets were cool against your overheated skin, your body slack and spread open, chest rising and falling like you’d just survived something. or maybe like you were bracing for what was next.

mark’s lips found yours again, hot and claiming. his kiss wasn’t soft anymore — it was deep and consuming, all tongue and teeth and groaned hunger. he tasted like you. he traced a hand up your side, slow and steady, fingertips brushing every rib, every tremble. he was watching you like he didn’t want to miss a single twitch.

“you still with me?” he asked, voice rough around the edges now. lower. thicker. like he was barely holding himself back.

you nodded, dazed. “yeah. just…. holy shit.”

he smirked, “good holy shit or bad holy shit?”

you huffed a breathy laugh. “like… i didn’t even know i could come like that.”

mark’s thumb brushed the corner of your lips, dragging gently across your cheek. his eyes softened, but only for a second.

“that was just the beginning.”

then his expression darkened — not cruel, but hungry. that same deep hunger you’d caught glimpses of earlier, now unleashed. like something inside him had snapped loose the second you shattered and now he was free to do what he really wanted.

he sat back, eyes locked to yours and reached over to the nightstand. you watched as he tore open a foil packet with his teeth. condom. protection. professional. safe. but the way he rolled it on, slow, deliberate, cocky — made your mouth go dry.

your eyes dropped. you finally saw him. all of him. he was long. thick. the flushed tip already glistening with precum. your breath hitched.

“you’re still so wet,” he murmured, dragging his fingers between your folds again, making you jump, “you want more?”

your answer was instant, “yes. please.”

“you want to be fucked until you forget your own name?”

“yes, please—mark,” your hips bucked into his touch, already craving the stretch.

mark leaned down, mouth brushing your ear, his breath was hot.

“i’m going to fuck you now.”

the words made you clench. one hand guiding his cock to your entrance, the other gripped your hip with enough force to bruise.

“breathe,” he reminded, voice steady.

“and keep your legs open for me.”

you obeyed, trembling, aroused, needy. and then — he pushed in. just the tip at first. then inch by inch, he filled you. stretching you open, dragging slowly through your soaked heat, the pressure exquisite and unbearable. your eyes rolled back. your nails clawed into the sheets. when he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours, you couldn’t breathe.

“fuck,” you gasped, “oh my god—mark—” your hands came up to grip his hair.

you were so full. it felt like too much. he stilled there, letting you feel it, the stretch, the weight, the sheer intimacy of being filled by him.

“fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, jaw clenched.

“you’re gonna hold on, baby? think you’re strong enough to fight me off again?”

and then he pulled out just enough to slam back in, you cried out. back arched. stars bursting behind your eyes.

he started thrusting — deep, sharp, claiming. again. again. setting a brutal rhythm, relentless and unforgiving, pounding into you with full, punishing strokes that rocked the entire bed. his grips on your hips was bruising. his pace was perfect, desperate, controlled, yielding. your moans were raw, punched out of you with every thrust. loud. real. unrestrained.

mark never looked away. watching every twitch of your body, every tremble, every cry of his name that tore from your lips like a prayer.

“you feel that?” he rasped. “your body is already giving in.”

you could barely speak. your second orgasm was building fast, sharp and electric, clawing up your spine as he adjusted his angle just enough to hit that spot, again and again, until you were falling apart beneath him.

“mark—fuck—i’m gonna—”

“come again.” he ordered, voice dark and breathless.

“come on my cock this time. prove to me you can do it.”

your mind shut off completely. no thoughts. no fear. just him. just the way his cock dragged inside you, hitting just right. his hand moved up your body, rough and reverent until his fingers brushed over your chest, teasing. and then his thumb rolled over your nipple. palm cupping your breast, kneading.

his other hand slipped under your back, lifting and forcing you to arch into him. he sucked one nipple into his mouth with a low groan that made your walls clamp around him hard.

you screamed. it was too good. his cock, his mouth, his hands — everywhere. his tongue bit your nipple and you sobbed, overwhelmed, drenched, utterly destroyed.

“you’re doing so good, you don’t have to think. i’ll do it for you.”

he dragged his teeth across your nipple again as his hips continued slamming into you, cock swelling inside you. then he brought his thumb in between your bodies, toying with your clit, rubbing harsh circles until your body couldn’t take it.

your second orgasm ripped through you. just eruption. you clutched his shoulders, mouth open, body convulsing against him as the climax burst out of you with a scream.

“good fucking girl,” he growled, hips not slowing.

“just like that. let it all go for me.”

you did. you had to. your thighs were trembling violently. your pussy clenched so tight around him you heard a curse tear from his throat. he didn’t stop. he rode it. let you sob and shake around him, fucking you through it.

his cock was pulsing and relentless, dragging wet and hot inside you as your cunt fluttered around him, overstimulated and soaked. you were beyond thought. your mind—completely gone. your body—his to command. he held your wrists down. you were a mess of tears and cries and raw nerve endings, and you loved it. you were addicted to the high. wanting every second to last longer.

“mark—please—don’t stop—”

“i’m not” he growled. “’i’m not stopping till your body forgets how to do anything but come.”

he pulled out for a quick second. hands gripping your waist hard before he suddenly flipped you onto your stomach. before you could even blink, he was dragging you up onto your knees, forcing your ass in the air, cheek pressed to the mattress.

“face down.” he growled, voice low, breathless, “ass up.”

you obeyed instantly, mind fogged and floating, body pliant and aching. you didn’t care anymore. you weren’t you anymore. you were his. bent to his will. so cock-drunk. your mind a blank page. he was rewriting your system with every thrust, every word, every sound he dragged out of you.

he shoved your knees apart with his thighs, rough hands spreading your cheeks, and then spat down, watching it drip between your folds. his cock nudged your entrance again, already slick from how soaked you were. you whimpered when he teased the head along your slit, grinding it against your oversensitive clit just to watch you shudder.

he leaned in close, voice a hot whisper against your ear, “gonna make up for all those years no one ever made you come,” he rasped, “every single time they fumbled and failed. this pussy’s never gonna remember that.”

and then—he slammed back into you. you screamed into the sheets. the new angle had him deeper, thicker somehow, hitting that spot so brutally your entire body jolted forward.

“mark—fuck—fuck—fuck!,” you moaned, biting down on the sheets, practically drooling.

he didn’t slow. didn’t pause. just gripped your hips and fucked you, hard and fast, his pelvis slapping against your ass with every thrust. the sound of skin on skin filled the room, wet, filthy, relentless.

“listen to that,” he rasped, voice wild now. “listen to what this pussy does for me.”

you couldn’t respond. couldn’t think. could only feel. the stretch felt sharper like this, more urgent. every stroke had you gasping, choking, keening into the mattress. and then—

slap!

you cried out when his palm landed hard on your ass. not cruel, just enough to make you jolt, to send that spike of heat ricocheting up your spine and straight down again, pulsing into your core.

“yeah,” mark breathed, voice cracked open with need, “you like that?”

you nodded, incoherent words slipping from your lips.

another slap! a little harder.

you sobbed, hips bucking back against him, desperate to meet every thrust.

“that’s it,” he growled, pounding into you harder now, the bed frame rocking under the force, “take it. take everything.”

and then his hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to expose your throat, his hands wrapped around it. not tight enough to scare you. just tight enough to own you. your choked out moans filling the air. toes curling so hard you swore you’re about to get a cramp.

your third orgasm slammed into you out of nowhere. your body locked up and shattered around him, your cunt clenching so hard you saw white. he let you go as you screamed into the mattress, every nerve on fire, legs shaking violently as pleasure tore through you, raw and final and unrelenting.

— and still, he didn’t stop. mark held you steady as your body writhed, collapsing from the sheer force of your release, but he was relentless, “you don’t stop until i say you do.”

you whimpered something, his name, maybe, or just a breathless plea, but it didn’t matter. he fucked through your orgasm like a man possessed, chasing the aftershocks, turning them into something new. something sharper. overwhelming. your body trembled beneath him, hips twitching, slick dripping down your thighs, pooling on the sheets. your pussy clenched around him again and again, involuntary, helpless. every drag of his cock sent sparks skittering across your skin.

“you’re shaking.” he groaned, chest pressed to your back now, sweat-slick skin sticking to yours, “gonna make you fucking squirt, baby. i can feel it. you’re right there.”

“no—mark—too much, i can’t do that—,” you try to push him off. try to crawl away. but he was stronger. and he kept his cock pounding inside you.

“yes. you can.” his hand slid down, fingers seeking your clit, rubbing fast and brutal circles that had your legs kicking out, your voice catching in a strangled sob.

“i said face down. ass up.” he reminded you, voice dark and firm as he shoved your head back into the mattress, palm flat between your shoulder blades, keeping you there.

“be good. take it. this is what you came here for.”

the pressure was unbearable, his cock punishing inside you, fingers never letting up on your swollen clit. your mind blanked, eyes rolling back for the umpteenth time and then you reached a high you didn’t even think was humanly possible. something you only saw happen in porn.

a ragged, high-pitched cry tore out of you as your body convulsed, back arching violently before you collapsed into your fourth orgasm. the gush came, hot, wet, explosive. your cunt fluttered and sprayed around him, your thighs trembling uncontrollably as you squirted all over his cock, the sheets, the floor. you could barely process it. your brain had gone static. a glitching signal of pleasure.

“fucking amazing,” mark snarled, hips stuttering.

“that’s it. let it all go.” he pulled out just enough to watch you gush again before slamming back in. your whole body jerked like a live wire. you were sobbing now, overstimulated, wrecked, your hands had give up on clawing at the sheets for something to hold onto. there was nothing. nothing but him.

mark cursed, nearly losing his rhythm, “fucking hell—”

he didn’t stop. he kept pounding into your overstimulated cunt, watching your body convulse under him.

“gonna—fuck—i’m gonna come—” his pace stuttering for the first time, hips faltering mid-thrust. you could hear the unraveling in his breath, raw and uneven. his thrusts turned sloppy, deeper, harder. and then, with a strangled moan, he came. his hips slammed into you one last time, cock buried deep as he spilled into the condom with a guttural groan, body jerking with each pulse. he stayed there, breathing ragged, pressed tight against your back, his body shaking with the force of it.

for a long moment, the only sound in the room was the thunder of both your heartbeats. you were barely on your knees, cheek pressed to the sheets, body twitching faintly from aftershocks, cunt still fluttering around the softening length inside you.

mark let out a long breath, low, shaky. he leaned forward, his chest slick with sweat and your juices, smearing against the curve of your spine as he slowly eased down.

“you okay?” he murmured finally, voice hoarse, frayed around the edges.

you nodded, too blissed-out to form real words, “yeah. just… holy shit again.”

he chuckled weakly, wrapping his arms around your middle and gently easing you down onto the bed. his cock slipped out slowly, and you whimpered at the loss, already missing the fullness. a laugh slipped from your lips anyway, a disbelieving, breathy sound.

you couldn’t move. not in a bad way. more like your body had melted into the mattress, boneless and warm, every muscle humming with aftershocks. your mind was soft, quiet, the storm of thoughts you usually lived in was gone. for the first time in your life, there was peace, full-bodied, deep, radiating out from the very core of you. like something inside had finally clicked into place.

you’d come. you’d actually come. not faked it. not chased it just to please someone else. not brushed against it only to have it slip away. this time, it hit you full force. not once but four times.

the kind of orgasms that emptied you, pulled sobs from your throat and tears from your eyes and for once you hadn’t cared. you hadn’t flinched. you hadn’t shut down or shrunk into yourself, hadn’t tried to perform or hid or apologize. you’d felt it all.

and somewhere in the middle of all that, you’d actually squirted. your thighs had trembled, you’d felt yourself gush around him, soaking the sheets, your mind and body surrendering with no shame. no fear. no filter. you hadn’t know it could feel like that. like being cracked open and remade. like something holy. your cunt still fluttered with phantom pulses, like your body couldn’t quite believe it either. like it wasn’t ready to let go.

mark lay beside you, propped up on one elbow, his other hand already reaching for the warm towel he’d placed nearby. he flipped you over gently, his touch deliberate and slow. like he wasn’t in a rush to be anywhere but right here. he cleaned you up in silence. careful. focused. he dabbed between your legs with gentle, precise strokes, flinching every time you flinched. “sorry,” he muttered each time, almost apologetic.

“you sure you’re okay?” he asked softly.

you nodded, a small smile on your lips, “better than okay…i feel like i just got reborn.”

that earned a real laugh from him this time, “that’s a new one,” he said with a shake of his head.

you stretched, wincing slightly, sore in all the right ways. everything throbbed but in a way that made you feel alive. present. you turned your head to look at him.

“that was… insane,” you murmured, “i mean, you literally had to destroy me to get me out of my own head.”

mark smiled, brushing hair from your damp forehead, “it wasn’t destruction. it was release. you just needed to shut this little guy off ,” he says, lightly tapping your temple, “and stop being scared to let your body feel.”

your throat tightened, not from embarrassment, but from the truth of it. because that’s exactly what it was. you’d let go. fully. completely.

mark grabbed the water bottle from the nightstand, twisted the cap and held it to your lips like it was instinct. “drink. you lost a lot of liquids back there.”

you giggled, then took a few sips, letting him wipe the corners of your mouth with his thumb afterward. it should’ve been awkward. but it wasn’t. it was safe.

eventually, mark rose from the bed and helped you sit up slowly, handing you your clothes one piece at a time. you slowly got dressed. you were glowing, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes bright. alive. awake. soft.

once you were both dressed, mark walked you back to the lounge of the clinic. the lighting had brightened slightly step by step—intentional, maybe, to ease clients back into the world gently.

“thanks,” you said as you walked side by side, your voice a little hoarse, but steady, “for the... comprehensive service.”

his mouth twitched, almost a smile, “neo orgasm clinic prides itself on thorough results.”

“oh, i noticed,” you deadpanned. “i think i saw god.”

mark let out a soft laugh, “i take it your file won’t need another ‘no prior orgasm’ flag.”

you rolled your eyes. “no, i think we can check that one off. multiple times, actually. all thanks to you.”

he cocked his head, the edge of a smirk playing on his lips, “you did the work.”

you snorted, “right. i was just lying there, crying and begging while you—never mind. forget it. you know what you did.”

“professionally, of course,” he said smoothly, “all part of the protocol.”

you looked him up and down, “if that was protocol, i’d hate to see what your personal life looks like.”

his smirk sharpened, almost imperceptibly, “you wouldn’t survive it.”

you raised a brow, “is that a challenge?”

his eyes glinted, “only if you book another appointment.”

you laughed then leaned in slightly, just enough for him to hear, “but seriously, you didn’t just make me orgasm. you made me feel like…like my body finally belongs to me.”

something flickered in his expression, not warmth, not empathy. just... acknowledgment. like a box being ticked. another line in the report. mark’s gaze held yours. there was no smugness, no pride. just warmth. steadiness — a donor who’d done exactly what he promised and only what you needed.

“thank you for trusting the process,” he said simply.

then, with a crooked grin, you added, “i should probably leave a tip. or at least a five-star review.”

he raised an eyebrow in amusement, “tips aren’t required. but reviews help with the rankings.”

“oh, i’ll be specific,” you said, walking toward the door leading to the lounge, “something like: ‘ruined me in under an hour. swore i saw heaven. would recommend.’”

mark tilted his head, quietly chuckling beside you. the door opened. you stepped inside and turned back toward him. “seriously though five star session.”

he nodded once, “glad we could meet your goals.”

you smirked, “gonna be hard to top this one.”

the corner of his mouth curled, sharp and knowing.

“book me again.” he said lowly, voice like velvet, “i’ll try.”

then, offering his hand once more, firm and polite, “it was a pleasure to be your donor, ms. y/n.”

you shook it, firm, “i’ll be your client any day.”

and with one last glance, one last smile, he turned back toward the double doors. and just like that it was over.

✚ END OF SESSION ✚

the door whispered shut behind him, soft and final. you stood in the lounge for a second longer than necessary, trying to get back into reality.

you were still warm. still sore. still…not quite in the world. your legs wobbled slightly, the plush carpet beneath your feet suddenly feeling too soft. too quiet. the silence here was different. this one was polished. the kind that came with good lighting and air purifiers and an undercurrent of expensive professionalism.

you approached the front desk slowly, finding taeyong already tapping away at his tablet, his perfect posture and gel-slicked hair still completely intact, like nothing behind those doors could ruffle him. he glanced up with the kind of smile that had been trained into perfection. not fake. just smooth. comforting. scripted.

“that’ll be charged to the card on file,” he said gently, voice soft enough not to jar you.

you nodded. your voice wasn’t ready yet.

“also, this is for you.” he reached beneath the desk and pulled out a matte black paper bag with subtle silver foil lettering that gleamed when it caught the light:

thank you for trusting neo orgasm clinic with your satisfaction.

you blinked. “what’s this?”

“a small thank-you from our donors,” he said, still smiling, still unbothered — as though this entire exchange was no more intimate than a routine dentist visit. like you weren’t just being fucked to your next life behind those doors.

you took the bag with both hands, still feeling like you were floating slightly outside yourself.

“have a good rest of your evening! we hope to see you again,” taeyong smiled from behind his computer.

you gave him a tired little smile, a soft wave and murmured a polite “thanks,” and turned toward the exit.

you made your way to your car, dropped into the driver’s seat, and opened the bag, curious to see what it holds — inside was a neatly folded hoodie, ultra-soft, white, with bold letters:

ORGASM DONOR

you stared. then snorted. a full bodied laugh punched out of your chest. it was dumb. it was ridiculous. it was perfect. tucked beside it, almost like an afterthought, was a juice box. your laugh came sharper this time.

you popped the straw in, took a long sip and leaned your head back against the seat. let the juice cool your tongue. let the moment wash over you and muttered to yourself, “best. fucking. clinic.”

you pulled your phone out. opened the clinic’s feedback portal. your fingers hovered for a second. then you typed:

released me from the shackles of my mind. came four times. even squirted. lost track of the tears. saw god. 10/10. highly recommend. would let mark destroy me again. professionally, of course.

somewhere behind those pristine white doors, donor mark was already reviewing his next file. another client. another list of goals. another carefully measured beginning.

✚ APPOINTMENT STATUS: COMPLETE ✚

—

18+ only | watch at your own risk | contains mature content

BONUS: #1. #2. #3. #4. #5.

—

an: and the first donor is done! i hope this lived up to the expectation. if you hate it please don’t tell me lmao. this whole entire concept is supposed to be silly! i hope you had fun reading it! please don’t take it too seriously :)

��� likes, reblogs and comments are not required but is very appreciated

client tags: @alwayswonbinning @haechyuckan @neotannies @jaeminiwrld @taeeflwrr @kittydollzz @amazinggraxia @markleewatermelon @snwydoie @lvlyynim @neosteric @s4turdaydr1p @booskies @bananinhazz @hyucksaint @feet4liferss @mangoescrazy @jaejaezprincess @mokalattee @combinatoright-blog @stormy1408 @neonaby @zhangyixingxing1 @ni-ki-starnetwork @markiesfatbooty @luvjoongz @bbykaixx @lubunnii @ryuvrsie @hyuckluvr-com @37point5rated @snoopyana @britishvamps @sssaturn @serhser @flowerrpwrr @rex-ie @yutasputa69 @serpeverde005 @imsaltnt @imnotrosiee @leleszn @shiningnono @ant-onie @kakutoz @kiwichenji @ihatefrvits @haechanahceah67 @huffnpufffckk @nctdreamchaser @markiepoo4eva @neocockthotology @poutybzby @mackleroni @grimlinshere @mey-archive @su11yoon @n9vacane @hoonhyeonhae @crooked-haven @liaviva

[danganronpadespairtime]

Chapter 3 Progress Report (August 2025)

Hello, it's been a while since I wrote one of these, hasn't it? This is a long update post about the behind-the-scenes of chapter 3 work and other things.

TL;DR: I finished writing the first draft and am working on proofreading.

About the progress

I finished writing the first draft for all of chapter 3, as well as the bonus episodes of chapter 3. I've also written the first draft for some other stories that I would like to release before chapter 3: bonus episodes of chapter 2, an interlude about Teruko's childhood, and an additional thing.

The next steps are to proofread all of these scripts. Please keep in mind that for me, proofreading is also a rather long process. For chapter 2, the time spent on proofreading alone exceeded 6 months. I apologize, it seems like it's rather slow. But also, please keep in mind that the amount of script to proofread is a bit. The combination of everything is several hundred pages. I'm surprised I wrote so much… I'm worried that some of it is too long.

Thoughts about chapter 3

It's very long!

Hopefully not too long!

…Sorry, there's not much else I can say without spoiling anything!

It's longer than chapter 1 and chapter 2, but not longer than both of them combined. That's about as much as I can say right now.

There are no guarantees on this, but I think that this might be the longest chapter in DT, and the rest will be shorter. I think in general, chapter 3 of Fangans are longer… That's just my guess, though.

Future plans

Work on visual assets will begin after proofreading, so once that begins, I'll have more interesting things to show you as previews. Currently, I don't have anything I can show…

I'm changing the program and method with which I use to produce episodes, so I hope that the end result is that I will be able to make them more quickly and efficiently than in the past.

I will definitely do another round of FTEs before chapter 3. Some time in the future, I'll put out a poll asking for what character pairs you would like to see an FTE of. Think about it carefully in advance until then!

I may start thinking about hiring additional staff. I may need art assistance, especially for the Argument Armament, Closing Argument, and Execution, because these things took a lot of time in chapter 2 to make. (It would be nice to have an animation assistant as well, but finding someone like that is probably out of the question…) There is the appearance of additional side/background characters, so additional voice actors may be needed.

Well, there is no guarantee at this point in time for either of these things. Working with people is overwhelming, so I'm unsure about it... It's just something to think about.

Lately, I feel like I want to remake the prologue. The quality is low, and many things have changed since 2020, so I feel like it no longer reflects the rest of the story well. However, I have a lot on my plate right now, so I'm not sure where I'll fit in the time to do such a thing.

Other notes

I would like to post more small content, like illustrations and comics, during this hiatus, but working on chapter 3 is very busy and unfortunately it's hard to find time to work on these things. Still, I do my best to post something every month or every two months. Please continue to keep an eye out for it.

Music videos aren't planned in advance, and they aren't part of a greater plan of the story. There is no such guarantee that every character will get a music video, or that all MVs follow some such theme, or something like that. They are just things I make on a whim because I like a song. You can consider them like doodles I post to social media.

Closing thoughts

It will be a long time until the release of chapter 3 is ready, so I am deeply thankful for your patience at this time. If you have the patience to wait until then, I am grateful. But even if you lose interest in DRDT during this time and move on to something else, that is alright too. As long as my works were able to bring you happiness at some point in your life, then I am grateful nonetheless. Please don't worry about these things.

Even now, I'm really surprised that it seems like there are a lot of people who are into DRDT. I'm very honored! Thank you to everyone who has supported me, and to everyone who will continue to support me. I'll continue to work hard on DRDT!

🩵

[mishappeningss]

can we get more y/n and lewis? 😭 like after lewis leaves mercedes he sees her get very comfortable w her new teammates and low-key gets upset/jealous so she makes him feel better (and confirms that he is still her number one)

AURRRGHHH stoppp. there's no universe where yn and lewis aren't soulmates. never separate them.

more about driver!yn

The paddock felt colder this year. Or maybe it was just Lewis.

He wasn’t sad, per se. He was at Ferrari now, draped in blinding red, a new chapter unfolding in front of him.

But every time he passed the Mercedes garage, he still half-expected to hear her laugh echoing through it.

Until now, he never realized how much of his Mercedes life was her.

And today—God, today he wished he hadn’t looked.

Across the paddock, under the banner of a rival team, she stood laughing, arms slung over two of her new mechanics like she’d known them forever.

Luca, her race engineer, bumped her shoulder playfully. Kimi called her “trouble” and handed her a Red Bull can like it was some inside joke.

Lewis watched from a quiet corner. Helmet in hand. Swallowed the sudden ache in his throat.

“You alright, mate?” Charles asked beside him.

“Yeah,” Lewis said, a bit too fast. “Just… watching something I used to know.”

She didn’t even see him.

It wasn’t until much later, hours after the race, that she did.

He was sitting on the pit wall, half-dressed in Ferrari gear and scrolling through his phone like it might distract him from the pit in his stomach. He didn’t even hear her footsteps.

“Hey,” her voice cut through the silence.

Lewis glanced up. Her hair was damp from the post-race shower, face flushed with residual adrenaline.

She had her arms folded across her hoodie—his hoodie, actually. One she’d stolen years ago and still wore like a second skin.

“Hi,” he said, softer than he meant.

She tilted her head. “You looked like you were thinking sad poetry thoughts. Did Charles accidentally say ‘mate’ again?”

He chuckled under his breath. But he didn’t answer.

She stepped closer, eyes scanning his face. “You’ve been weird all weekend.”

“Have I?”

“Don’t do that. I know you. You taught me that tone.”

There was a pause. Then a long exhale.

“I saw you with your team,” Lewis admitted finally. “You looked… happy.”

“I am happy.”

“I know,” he nodded. “That’s what makes it worse.”

The silence that followed was tender, bruised. She sat beside him, pulling her knees up like she used to on the debrief couch back in Brackley.

“You know I still talk about you like you’re my teammate, right?” she murmured.

Lewis raised an eyebrow. “Even now?”

“Especially now. They’ll say something about strategy and I’ll go, ‘Lewis used to do this thing…’ or I’ll crash and think, ‘Lewis is gonna kill me.’ You literally live in me, Lew.”

“You’re not mine anymore,” he whispered, not accusing—just stating what it felt like.

Her hand reached for his.

“I’ll always be yours. Not because of contracts or team kits or who I’m racing next to.” She squeezed his fingers.

“But because you were the first person to believe I could do this. You were the voice in my ear when I still doubted my own. You’re the reason I ever thought I belonged.”

He looked down at their intertwined hands. His thumb brushed the edge of her knuckle where her old Mercedes ring still sat on a chain.

“You’ve got new people now.”

“I’ve got new people,” she said gently. “But I only ever had one home. And that was you.”

That’s what broke him.

Not in the messy way. Not with tears. Just a breath—sharp, shaky—and the quiet tilt of his head into her shoulder.

“Don’t leave me behind,” he said into the fabric of her hoodie.

“Never,” she promised. “You’re not behind, Lewis. You’re above. You’re the bar. Everyone else is just chasing it.”

And in the quiet warmth of the post-race night, with engines off and media gone, she sat there and reminded him:

That no matter how far they drifted or what colors they wore…

She would always be his.

user: “you were the voice in my ear when i still doubted my own” WHO GAVE HER THE RIGHT

user: not me crying in the club over lewis whispering “you’re not mine anymore” and yn literally rewriting the definition of soulmate

user: if you’ve ever been the friend who stayed behind while they moved on… you get this scene in your bones

user: and yet she still wears his old merc hoodie. still keeps the ring on her chain. she never left. not really.

user: her calling lewis her home while sitting in ferrari colors should be illegal tbh

user: lewis watching yn laugh with her new team like a sad victorian ghost and then her literally holding his hand and telling him he’s still her home. KILL ME????

[yuyuyukiii]

Two Charms, One Promise ⛐

Summary: Long before the podiums, the titles, and the fame, he was just a boy in a treehouse. She was the girl who promised to stay. She didn’t break that promise. Someone else did it for her.

Content: Childhood heartbreak, missing letters, mistaken goodbyes, unresolved feelings, and one very symbolic bracelet.

Author’s Note 🏎️:

This story is purely fictional and not based on real events. Some timelines, career paths, and personal details have been adjusted or reimagined to fit the narrative. It’s all for the sake of the story, so please don’t take anything here as factual. Just vibes, emotions, and a lot of imagination. Thank you for reading. I hope it makes you feel something 🫶🏻

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

The day Y/N moved in, Max Verstappen was already sitting in the treehouse, legs dangling off the edge, half-listening to the wind and trying to ignore the distant sound of car doors slamming. It was unusually noisy for their sleepy neighborhood, which usually had more dogs than people outside at any given hour.

He was up there because Jos had yelled again that morning, something about focus, about wasting time. So Max went where he always went when things got too loud, up in the treehouse, tucked between thick branches and scratched wood that smelled like old pine and dried glue.

Down below, a moving truck pulled up, rattling and coughing, followed by a car that barely rolled to a stop before someone burst out of the backseat. A girl.

She was dragging a suitcase with one hand and waving frantically at someone inside the house with the other. Max was just about to look away when she turned suddenly and looked straight up. Straight at him.

Then she pointed.

A few minutes later, she was standing at the base of the treehouse ladder, squinting up at him through the leaves.

“Hi!” she called, like they’d met before.

Max didn’t answer right away. He didn’t know her. He didn’t talk to new people if he could help it.

“You live here, right?” she asked again.

“Yeah.”

“I’m Y/N,” she said. “We just moved in.”

He just stared.

“Can I come up?”

That caught him off guard. No one ever asked to come up. Not even the neighbor kids who sometimes wandered too close.

He shrugged. “If you want.”

And that was how it started.

She climbed up with the confidence of someone who had never fallen out of a tree in her life, then plopped down next to him and looked around like she belonged there. Like it was already hers too.

They played cards using a half-broken deck he kept in a tin box. She asked him questions, what grade he was in, how fast his kart was, what he wanted to be when he grew up. She answered all of her own questions without waiting for him to respond.

When she finally left, she said, “I’ll come back tomorrow. You better not lose.”

He didn’t say anything, but when she was gone, he smiled to himself.

And she did come back. Every day after that.

The treehouse became theirs. It wasn’t official, but it didn’t need to be. They carved their initials into the floorboard. They stored candy in a metal lunchbox. They taped leaves and wrappers and even a movie ticket stub to the wall. They shared stories. Secrets. Fears.

Sometimes Max would sit in silence and she would do all the talking, but somehow, she always knew when to stop and just let him exist beside her.

He liked that.

One rainy afternoon, sprawled out on their backs staring at the wooden ceiling, she turned to him and said, “I’m going to be your engineer one day.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Your engineer. I’ll be the one building your car. Telling you what to fix. Then we’ll win everything. You and me.”

Max laughed. Not because it was silly, but because it made something flutter in his chest. “You’re serious?”

“Obviously.”

“What if you work for someone else?”

“No way. I’m loyal,” she said, proudly. “You’re stuck with me.”

“Promise?”

She held up her pinky. “Promise.”

He curled his pinky around hers. It felt important, like something more than just a joke. Something real.

That night, she gave him a bracelet. It had a single charm on it, her initial. He wore it every day after that. The next day, he added one for himself too.

He didn’t have a name for how he felt about her. He just knew he always wanted to see her first after a win. He wanted her to see how fast he was. He wanted her to stay.

He didn’t know that wanting someone to stay didn’t mean they would.

A few years later, everything fell apart.

Y/N’s parents told her the news over dinner. Her dad was calm, practical. Her mom looked sorry before the words even left her mouth.

“We’re moving to Japan.”

Y/N stared at her plate. “What?”

Her dad sighed. “They need me there. The company’s expanding. It’s a big opportunity.”

Her mom tried to soften the blow. “We leave this weekend. It’s fast, I know, but we didn’t want to worry you unless it was certain.”

Y/N didn’t cry. She just asked, “Can I say goodbye to Max?”

Her parents exchanged a look, then nodded.

They gave her a small box the next morning.

It was a phone.

“So you two can keep in touch,” her mom said gently. “You’ve been friends a long time.”

Y/N packed a smaller box later that night. It had a new charm for Max’s bracelet, a tiny silver steering wheel, and a long letter. She told him everything. She told him she was sorry. She wrote her number, her new address, everything. She told him she’d be back one day, and that he better not forget her.

The morning of their flight, she begged her dad to stop at Max’s house. She was bouncing on her toes, hands fidgeting and heart pounding, as she approached the door. The house looked the same as always, warm and familiar in the sun, but something about it felt heavier today. Her footsteps slowed. After a deep breath, she raised her hand and knocked.

A few seconds passed. Then the door creaked open, not to reveal Max, but his father.

Jos Verstappen’s expression immediately soured.

“You again?” he said flatly. “You’re always looking for Max. No wonder he’s been distracted in his races.”

Y/N lowered her head, gripping the small wrapped box tighter. Her voice came out small, but steady.

“I’m sorry. I just really need to talk to Max… just for a while…” Her voice trailed off, then she mumbled under her breath, “For the last time.”

Jos squinted. “What did you say?”

She looked up at him, eyes earnest. “We’re moving. Today, actually. I just wanted to say goodbye, give him this, and… I left my contact info inside, so we can still keep in touch.”

Jos paused. For a brief second, his eyes lit up, but he quickly masked it with a sigh and a feigned frown.

“I’m sorry for being harsh on your friendship, kid,” he said, laying a hand on her shoulder. “I only ever wanted the best for Max.”

Y/N nodded, hesitating. “Is he here? Can I see him?”

“He’s out,” Jos said quickly. “Training.”

Her face fell.

“But maybe I can give it to him for you?” he added, extending his hand with a soft smile.

Y/N stared at him, uncertain. “You’d really do that for me?”

“Of course, kid.”

Something about it felt off, but she pushed it down. With a quiet “thank you,” she hugged him gently, placing the gift in his hand.

“Please make sure he gets it. It’s really important.”

Jos nodded. “Safe travels, Y/N. I’ll give it to him right away.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Verstappen.”

She turned and walked away, holding in tears the entire time. Jos watched her until she turned the corner, then let out a quiet chuckle.

“Finally. No more distractions,” he muttered, stepping back inside. He headed straight to his office, opened a drawer, and carelessly tossed in the gift and envelope, unopened, unread. The letter inside, carefully written, held her contact information, a hand-drawn sketch of their favorite memory, and a heartfelt message she stayed up all night to finish. All of it, hidden.

—

Meanwhile, Y/N returned to the car, where her parents were already waiting inside. Her mother glanced up as she approached.

“Did you get to say goodbye to Max, dear?”

She looked down and shook her head. “No. He wasn’t around. But I gave Mr. Verstappen my gift and letter that had everything inside.”

Her parents exchanged a look.

“You’re sure, honey?” her father asked gently. “Why not give it to someone else? Maybe his mom, or a neighbor?”

“It’s okay, Mommy. I had a backup plan.” Y/N smiled proudly. “I left the same letter and gift in our treehouse. Max always goes there after naps.”

Her father gave a relieved laugh and ruffled her hair. “That’s our girl. Smart as ever.”

She beamed.

None of them knew that as soon as Y/N left, Jos made his way to the treehouse. Right after hiding the box she had asked him to give Max, he took everything else, every drawing, every note, every small thing that might remind Max of her, and hid alongside the box.

—

Max stirred awake after his nap, blinking at the time. The sun was already dipping lower in the sky. He sat up, stretching, then smiled. It was that time again. Y/N always came over after lunch, and they’d spend the afternoon at their treehouse, playing games, eating ice cream, making plans that reached far into the future.

He jumped out of bed, got dressed, and rushed over to the L/N residence. But as soon as he arrived, something felt… wrong.

There were no cars in the driveway.

No sound from inside.

No curtains drawn.

He knocked once. Then twice. He called out.

“Y/N?”

Nothing.

His knocking turned louder. “Mrs. L/N? Mr. L/N? Hello?”

Still nothing.

A tightness started forming in his chest, sharp and unfamiliar. Maybe something happened. Maybe they were just asleep. He began pounding on the door now, calling out Y/N’s name over and over.

Then a voice cut through the silence.

“Hey, kid. Could you calm down a bit?”

Max turned. A neighbor stood on the other side of the fence, frowning.

“Sorry, sir,” Max said quickly. “Do you know where the L/N family is? Are they at the mall or something?”

The man blinked. “The L/Ns? Oh… they left.”

Max’s stomach dropped. “Left?”

“Yeah. Left the country, I heard. Didn’t anyone tell you?”

Max stared at him, stunned. “No… no. That’s not possible.”

“Pretty sure they don’t plan on coming back,” the man added casually before going back inside.

Max stood frozen. For several seconds, everything around him went quiet. Then he took off running.

“No, no, no,” he whispered between breaths, feet pounding against the pavement. “This isn’t real, this isn’t happening.”

He didn’t even notice the tears until he reached the treehouse. He climbed up, desperate. His hands shook as he pulled open the wooden hatch.

Erased. Everything about her had been erased.

The drawings they made together. The little gifts. Their shared journals. Even the photo they kept of the day they built the treehouse, all gone. It looked just like it did before she came into his life, like how it was when Max was the only one using it.

Like she had never been there at all.

Like she wanted him to forget her.

His legs gave out and he collapsed onto the floor, tears pouring freely now. His heart felt like it was splitting open. He curled up and sobbed, flashes of memory overwhelming him.

The first time they met in this treehouse.

How she always stood between him and a group of bullies, tiny but fierce, shouting that they were cowards for picking on someone just because he didn’t have a “nice dad.”

The way she cheered for him after every race, even the bad ones.

The way she always knew what to say to make things better.

The time he was sick and afraid to sleep, scared he would wake up and she’d be gone. She stayed beside him all night, pinky-promising she would never leave him.

“Forever,” she had said.

He pulled his bracelet from his pocket. It was silver and a little scratched, with only two charms so far, one with her initials, and one with his.

They were supposed to fill it together.

Max stared at it, eyes red and swollen. He clenched it tightly in his fist and whispered into the empty air.

“She lied to me.”

Then louder.

“You lied to me.”

His voice cracked.

What he didn’t know was that Jos had lied. Didn’t know the letters existed. Didn’t know Y/N had tried.

All he knew was the pain.

And all he had left was the bracelet.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Y/N sat by the window, fiddling with the little charm on her bracelet. Her fingers kept tracing the edge of the tiny silver star until her mom gently nudged her arm.

“Are you nervous?” her mother asked.

Y/N glanced outside, where clouds floated past the plane wing. “Yeah. I didn’t grow up in Japan. I don’t really know anyone.”

Her mom gave her a soft smile. “Honey, even if you didn’t grow up there, you were born there. And besides,” she added, brushing a strand of hair behind Y/N’s ear, “Yuki will be there.”

Y/N turned her head. “Yuki?”

“Yes. He was your playmate until you two were around five. I was told he’s very excited to see you again.”

Y/N blinked. Her mind scrambled to find a face to match the name. She couldn’t remember much. Just blurry memories of swings, warm afternoons, and someone always running ahead of her.

The thought settled her a little. Not completely, but enough.

Maybe she was nervous because of Max.

What if he was mad at her?

But then again, even if he was, it probably wouldn’t last long. They had phones now. They could talk.

Things would be okay. They had to be.

—

By the time they landed and arrived at their new home in Japan, it was already late afternoon. The street was lined with people, neighbors, family friends, and curious kids with wide eyes. Everyone seemed excited. The warmth in their greetings made Y/N pause. It felt different here. In Belgium, people kept to themselves. Here, it was like the whole street had come to welcome her home.

She stepped out of the car just as someone threw their arms around her.

“Yatta! Omae ga modotte kita! Ore no saisho no tomodachi da!!” (Yay! You're back! My first friend!) the voice shouted with joy.

Y/N blinked in surprise, momentarily frozen. Then she gently returned the hug and pulled back with a polite but confused smile.

“Konnichiwa… tomodachi yo.?” she said cautiously. “Gomen ne, chotto oboete nai no…” (Hello… friend? Sorry, I’m having a hard time remembering…)

The boy laughed, clearly not offended at all. “Is me, Yuki! You… you no remember? We race shopping cart! Down driveway! You crash into mailbox. I laugh so hard, my mama scold me.”

Her eyes widened. “No way. That was you? Oh my god, I thought you were just a dream!”

He nodded eagerly. “Yes yes! You cry, but only little. Then we eat snack. You bring chocolate.”

She covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. “Oh my god. I thought I dreamed that.”

Yuki pointed at himself proudly. “Not dream. Real! I real! You come back. We bestest friend again, okay?”

They laughed, slipping into conversation like no time had passed. When Yuki stumbled over his next sentence, Y/N gently switched to Japanese. She didn’t want him to struggle. His eyes lit up with relief, and from then on, they spoke easily in their shared language.

“I have a feeling we’re going to be the beeeestest of friends,” he said confidently, bumping her shoulder.

Y/N laughed. “We already are.”

That day, one friendship was rekindled.

And somewhere else, without her even knowing, another was quietly breaking.

—

Time passed quickly after Y/N moved back to Japan.

She and Yuki became inseparable, just like when they were little. Every morning, he would wait outside her house with two juice boxes and a huge smile, waving at her like it had been years since they last saw each other. They did everything together. They walked to school, snuck snacks into class, and raced paper boats in the gutters after a storm. If there was a school activity, a family trip, or even just a lazy afternoon, you could count on them being side by side.

It was like they grew up as twins, bonded not by blood but by something even stronger: timing, trust, and the track. They both loved racing. Yuki would talk endlessly about engines and tires, while Y/N would try to predict strategies like a seasoned engineer. Eventually, she stopped just listening and started helping. They made a perfect team. If Yuki had a karting competition, Y/N would be there by the side, clipboard in hand, shouting feedback louder than anyone else. And if Y/N had something on her mind, Yuki would sense it before she even said a word.

Just like during that first week Y/N was back in Japan, before everything had settled, she couldn’t help but feel like something was off.

(Flashback)

She sat on her bed, bracelet clutched tightly in her palm. It had been days, but her phone stayed silent. Max hadn’t contacted her. Not even once.

Yuki noticed her quiet mood during lunch one afternoon and nudged her with a cookie.

“You look sad. Is school too hard?” he asked, mouth full.

Y/N shook her head.

“Then what?” he pressed. “Tell me. I fix it.”

She looked down at her tray. “I just thought someone would’ve messaged me by now.”

“Who?”

“…My best friend. From Belgium. Max.”

Yuki frowned. “No message? Why not?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

“A bad friend,” Yuki declared with a pout. “Very bad. He made you cry. You forget him. I be your best friend now. Bestest in the whole wide world.”

Y/N smiled a little at that, leaning her shoulder on his. “Okay. But just so you know… Max is really important to me.”

“I am important now,” Yuki said with a proud nod.

(End)

And he really did try. Over time, Y/N stopped checking her phone so much. She still thought of Max often, especially during races or when the wind reminded her of Belgium, but she let herself grow close to Yuki without guilt. Together, they grew up cheering each other on, yelling advice across karting tracks and making silly bets with ice cream as the prize.

But in Belgium, Max Verstappen’s world had become silent again.

Without Y/N, everything felt dull. He’d always known the sport was hard, but now it felt cold. No one was there to throw their arms around him after a bad race. No one sat next to him on the swing set when the other kids said he was weird. No one brought him mango juice or cheered even when he came in last. He stopped hearing kind words altogether.

Even the treehouse had changed.

The place that once held laughter and secrets now sat in silence. The candy wrappers were gone. The tin lunchbox was empty. The walls, once decorated with stickers and scribbled messages, had faded in the sun. The tree itself started to look different. The leaves grew thinner. The branches drooped. It hadn’t been watered or cared for in years, and it showed. What was once their shared paradise had become Max’s hiding spot when Jos was mad again. It didn’t comfort him the way it used to.

Years passed.

Max’s career began to take off. He was preparing to leave Belgium to chase the big leagues. Teams. Tracks. Pressure. Fame. It was everything he had worked for, but something about it didn’t feel right.

He loaded the last box into the back of the car. Jos slammed the trunk and said, “Ready?”

Max paused. “Wait. I forgot something.”

He jogged back through the overgrown yard and climbed up the creaky steps of the treehouse one last time. Dust danced in the light. The wood groaned under his weight.

He sat down in the same corner he used to sit in as a kid and looked around. His eyes landed on one of the old drawings he had carved into the wall with a pocket knife.

A stickman version of himself stood on a podium, arms raised. Above it, the word champion was scrawled in crooked letters.

Right below it was another tiny stick figure. This one had long hair and was clapping with little stars around her head.

Max reached out and traced the line he had written beneath it.

Max wins the world championship. Y/N is his engineer.

He closed his eyes.

“I really thought we’d do this together,” he whispered.

Then he climbed back down the ladder, looked up at the treehouse, and said softly, “This is it.”

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Yuki was the first to leave.

It felt strange, the morning he rolled his suitcase to the airport check-in. His usual loud energy was quieter, replaced by a shaky smile and nervous fingers tapping against his hoodie sleeve. Y/N stood beside him, blinking away the weight pressing behind her eyes.

“Don’t cry,” he said quickly, voice cracking despite the smile. “You cry, I cry.”

“I’m not crying,” she sniffed, poking his arm. “It’s just the weather.”

“Inside the airport?” he teased.

They stood in silence for a second longer before she hugged him tightly. Neither wanted to let go.

“When we see each other again,” Yuki said, stepping back, “we’ll be big names. You, engineer girl genius. Me, fastest driver.”

She grinned. “Deal.”

“But no goodbye,” he added, wagging a finger. “Only see you soon.”

“See you soon, Yuki.”

With one last wave, he disappeared through the crowd.

—

And then… life moved forward.

Y/N buried herself in her studies. She got into one of the best engineering universities in Tokyo. Her days blurred together: late-night lectures, stacks of notes, greasy cafeteria food, and way too much caffeine. There were moments when it felt like too much, but every time she looked at her worn-out bracelet or passed a go-kart track, she remembered why she started.

She graduated near the top of her class, surrounded by cheering classmates and flashing cameras. Not long after, she aced the licensing exams, officially earning the title she had worked so hard for.

Dream one: complete.

She’s finally an engineer. It still feels a little unreal, but it’s hers.

—

Yuki’s first year abroad wasn’t as easy.

At first, he struggled. English was hard, the food was weird, and no one seemed to get his jokes. He missed Japan. Missed the rhythm of his life back home. Missed Y/N’s easy laughter during long karting weekends.

But he worked. Hard.

Every bad qualifying session, every miscommunication with his team, every lonely hotel night, he turned it into fuel. Slowly, the results came. So did the friends. He learned how to express himself even when the words weren’t perfect. He smiled more. Fought harder.

Years later, sitting on a balcony with his helmet on the table beside him, Yuki stared at the headline on his phone:

Tsunoda Confirmed as F1’s Newest Driver.

His hands trembled. He laughed. Then he called Y/N and shouted, “WE DID IT!”

Dream two: complete.

He was in Formula 1.

—

Max, meanwhile, was clawing his way up on his own.

His F3 days were brutal. He was fast, but raw. Emotional. Other drivers whispered. Some avoided him altogether. He was “the kid with too much fire and no brakes.”

But Max didn’t care. Or at least, he told himself he didn’t.

He carried the weight of everything: the expectations, the lonely nights, the dream that once belonged to two people. There were nights when he’d sit by himself after races, staring at the sky, wondering if she’d be proud. Wondering if she remembered.

Eventually, his talent was undeniable.

F1 came calling.

And even then, it wasn’t easy. He was young. Aggressive. Often misunderstood. The media called him reckless. Teammates didn’t always trust him. Older drivers were cold. But Max kept showing up. Kept proving them wrong. Over time, respect followed.

Now, as he stood on the podium once again, the anthem playing, a crowd roaring below, Max looked down at the bracelet tucked beneath his suit cuff.

two charms still dangled from it.

Dream three: ongoing.

He had made it.

But a piece of him still felt unfinished.

Because the one person who promised to be by his side wasn’t there.

Not yet.

—

Y/N couldn’t figure out why she felt so nervous.

She’d been to races before. But this one felt… heavier.

Yuki had pleaded with her to be there for his debut. “Just this once,” he had said. “It would mean everything.” And of course, she said yes. She always did, especially when it came to him.

But the weight in her chest didn’t feel like nerves for Yuki. Not really. It felt like something else. Like someone else. Someone from back then.

Yuki never asked who Max really was. And she never offered more than a first name.

So naturally, he never really talked about Max in F1 either, because in his mind, Max was just someone from her childhood. A classmate. A neighbor. A boy from another lifetime. It never even crossed his mind that they could be the same person.

He never made the connection.

The moment they landed, Yuki was waiting at the gate, practically bouncing in place. He held a piece of paper that said “FOR MY FAVORITE ENGINEER” in giant block letters, with two messy hearts in the corners.

Y/N laughed and ran into him, nearly knocking the sign out of his hands.

“You’re actually here,” he said, hugging her like he hadn’t seen her in years.

“I told you I would be.”

He toured her around the hotel, pointing out which floors the team was on, where she could sneak snacks, and who to avoid. Then he dropped the bomb.

“I applied for you,” he said. “To F1’s development program. You got in.”

She blinked. “You did what?”

“You’re gonna be trained and mentored by real engineers, and then you can apply to any team you want. This is the start.”

“Yuki—”

“We promised, remember? I’m racing, and you’re beside me. Always.”

The next day was chaos.

It was race day.

Fans screamed from the grandstands. Teams rushed through the paddock like bees in a hive. Yuki looked impossibly small in his suit, helmet under one arm, but his grin stretched ear to ear.

Y/N stayed just outside the restricted zone, watching him get into the car. He pointed at her once before the lights changed, and then he was off.

She barely noticed the rest.

Until something, someone, brushed past her.

A driver, walking quickly. Suit zipped, helmet gripped tight. She only saw him from behind, the dark racing colors streaked with sponsor patches. She didn’t know why, but her chest suddenly felt tight. Like she should have known him. Like there was something right on the edge of her memory.

But she didn’t see his face.

She didn’t stop him.

He disappeared into the pit lane crowd, swallowed up by noise and motion.

—

Max had already finished the final checks. Helmet under his arm, mind focused, jaw clenched.

But as he made his way through the paddock, something pulled at him. He turned his head slightly, just for a second, eyes scanning the crowd beyond the barricade.

There, a girl.

He couldn’t see her face, only the back of her head, the way her hair caught in the breeze, the way she stood like she belonged but didn’t want to be seen. Her posture. Her stillness.

It wasn’t unusual.

And yet.

Something inside him paused. A flicker of memory he couldn’t name. A dream from long ago.

He stared just long enough for his engineer to call his name again. He blinked it away, shook his head, and kept walking.

Whoever she was, it didn’t matter.

Not today.

END (C.1)

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

[saltysbiscuits]

Silence Isn't Golden

Saja boys x reader

Warnings: Omegaverse, poly relationships, female reader, eventual smut, MDNI 18+

Chapter warnings: SMUT, MDNI 18+, Do NOT read if you're under 18!!

*Italicized is for the reader's thoughts. A/N: Annnnnd here we are! Enjoy the boys being both feral and loving with reader! Now, this like my first time writing smut so I'm really sorry if it's cringe. I didn't have time to proofread it, so hopefully there are not too many mistakes. Enjoy~

Previous - Next

Chapter 6.

You sigh, staring at the door once the boys close it, well, time to figure out something to do. You glance around the penthouse and notice it’s quite messy. You shake your head and start picking things up in the kitchen, which is probably the cleanest of the rooms. You gasp when you see your phone sitting on the counter, you must have forgotten all about it. Picking it up, you scroll through Spotify and press play on a random playlist, humming and singing to the music that comes on. You grab a broom sweeping up the floor while dancing with the broom. You grin when 'Soda Pop' comes on, swaying and mouthing along with the words. Humming to yourself you move to the living and chuckle at the pillows literally everywhere. You shake your head in amusement and move about reorganizing them, putting the color-coded pillows in their specific chairs. “P..p-pillow.” You stutter out, deciding to practice some words while you clean.

The next places to clean are the bedrooms, but the boys haven’t let you in their respective rooms yet, so you decide to just go to the room you were staying in until they allow you to enter their rooms. You clean what you can, the floor, organize the closet, make the bed, and pick up what laundry is in the room. “L-lau- laundry.” You bite your bottom lip, frowning at how much harder speaking is than you thought it would be. Carrying the laundry to the washing machine you start a load of laundry, sighing and running a hand down your face, suddenly very warm. ‘The hell. Am I really that out of shape?’ You glance down at your body but shake your head. ‘No? Not really. Maybe I’m just not used to housework.’ You shrug it off and head back to the kitchen, determined to make the boys a nice dinner for when they return. ‘What to make… Hmm.’ You pull out a recipe book, snorting at the title. ‘The Hottest Chef’s Hot Recipes’. It’s definitely Abby’s. You flip through the book, jolting at a sudden chill running down your spine. ‘Am I getting sick?’ You pour some water in a cup and down it, sweating again.

You shake your head, panting softly as you go back to the cookbook, or try to. As soon as you flip another page, heat flares and curls in your belly, going right between your legs. With a shudder you finally realize what’s happening. The suppressants have worn off. You stumble down the hallways on shaky legs, your skin heats up and the spot between your thigh’s aches. You stumble into your bedroom, ripping your shirt off nearly clawing at your own skin.

It’s so hot. ‘W-where are they? It’s so hot… s-so painful.’ You groan, stripping your shorts off. Everything is too much. You collapse on the bed, your chest moving frantically with your labored breathing. ‘So this is what a heat feels like… i-it’s so uncomfortable...’  Then the air shifts and everything feels a little more bearable. “Sweetheart?!” “Darling?! “Pretty girl, where are you?!” Several frantic voices echo through the penthouse. You whine softly, too worked up to even try and talk.

It's Baby who finds you, he turns the corner and his eyes immediately dilate. “She’s in the bedroom!” His call is followed by four pairs of frantic footsteps. They all pile into the bedroom and freeze, all their eyes dilating and glowing. “Oh, baby girl.” Romance purrs, crawling onto the bed and capturing your lips into a kiss, his hands running down your sides, sending tingles down your spine. “We’ll help you, make you feel allllll better.” Abby purrs next to your ear, slipping one hand behind you to unclasp your bra, which is promptly tossed somewhere.

Romance pulls back slightly to pepper kisses on your jaw and neck. “Sweet thing… so pretty for us.” He shifts to the side, allowing the others access to you. Abby starts kissing your shoulder, moving down to your chest. He presses a kiss to the swell of your breast before taking the nipple in his mouth, biting it lightly to draw a whine from you, only to soothe it with his tongue. You moan, eyes glazing over with the heat, clutching at Romance’s shoulders. Baby crawls between your legs, meeting your eyes as he hooks his fingers around your panties. “Eyes on me, baby.” He doesn’t break eye contact as he slowly slips them off, tossing them.

You shudder, a whine leaving you lips as the cool air hits your most sensitive parts. “Gorgeous.” Baby murmurs, his eyes fixed on your dripping slit. “So wet…” He runs a finger through your folds, groaning at how wet you are. “So wet for us.” He brings his finger to his mouth and licks it. “You taste so good.” Mystery growls, pushing Baby out of the way and taking his place. He kisses up your thighs, nipping before biting. You hiss at the sudden pain, which melts into a moan as he kisses your clit in apologies. Mystery scoots forward and looks up at you. “Going to devour this pussy baby.” He doesn’t give you any more warning before he’s diving in. His tongue is licking a stripe up your slit.

You cry out, hips bucking only for Abby to press a hand to your abdomen. “Nu-uh sweetheart. Let him feast.” Romance reluctantly moves from your neck, pressing his lips to your neglected nipple, allowing Abby to claim your lips. Jinu stands in the back, his eyes glowing and his hands clenched into fists as he takes his shirt off.

 You look so wrecked already and they’ve barely begun. Mystery slips his tongue into you, his nose brushing your clit with each movement. You moan against Abby’s lips, fingers digging into his shoulders, small trembles going through your body. The heat curls tighter in your abdomen and with one more thrust of Mystery’s tongue you crash over the edge. Abby pulls back as you cry out, gushing on Mystery’s tongue. Mystery pulls back; his face soaked in your juices. He licks his lips, a purr rumbling his chest. “Delicious.” He purrs, crawling over you to press a bruising kiss to your lips. Jinu takes the empty space between your legs, patting your thigh. “You’re such a good girl for us baby. You look so beautiful when you orgasm.” He slips a finger into you, rubbing your clit with his thumb. You whine slightly at the stretch, hiss when he puts another finger in. “I gotta stretch you for us, pretty girl. We don’t want to hurt you.”

Baby grunts, sitting in a chair near the bed, his pants down as he palms his erection. “You’re enough to make us loose control.” Romance sighs dreamily, running his fingers over your chest, flicking your nipples. “So pretty…” Jinu slowly eases a third finger into you, gently thrusting and it’s not long before you fall into another orgasm. “So wet, I think you might be ready.” He steps back and slowly unbuckles his pants.

You stare at him, eyes blown wide from the heat and everything they’ve done to you. Your eyes trail down as his pants slip off and you gasp. While you have no experience with sex, you know he’s well endowed. He’s long and he has a good girth. He strokes himself a few times before crawling over you. “I’m going to slowly put it in okay, baby? You tell me if it hurts, okay?” You give him a shuddering nod, feeling the head of his cock gently prodding at your entrance. Abby tugs Mystery off you, allowing you room to breathe as Jinu slowly pushes in. You hiss, a whine falling from your lips. It stings, but you’re already really wet so he slides in pretty easy. He bottoms out with a groan and holds still. “You feel so good…” He grunts when your walls clench around him. He gently starts rolling his hips and you let out a choked sound, shuddering and rolling your hips to meet his.

He grins, his fangs on display. “Eager, aren’t you?” There was something else, you could see flickers of his patterns on his skin, as if keeping his disguise up was becoming a challenge. “W-want.. t-to see.. y-you..” You whimper out, feeling him so deep inside you. You want to see the real him while he takes you, same with the others. Jinu freezes, his hands on either side of your head. “Sweetie… you don’t know what you’re asking. I’m not… I’m not pretty in my demon form.” You try to shift, your breath hitching with a light moan as his cock shifts inside you. “W-want.. to s-see you.. I.. d-don’t care…” You reach up and cup his face, brushing his cheeks with your thumbs. “…please.”

Jinu’s resolves cracks as he looks down at you, how can he resist? With a shuddering sigh he lets the disguise drop, revealing golden eyes, purple skin, patterns, and claws. You gasp, trembling fingers tracing down his chest, fingers tracing the patterns. “S-so pretty…” Jinu looks down at you and seeing the love and acceptance in your eyes breaks something in him. He growls, bracing himself as he starts thrusting harder, not to hurt, but to prove just how much he loves you. You cry out, fingers scrambling for purchase on his shoulders and he thrusts into you, his own grunts echoing in your ears. You can feel the coil of heat in your abdomen growing tighter and tighter as he pounds into you. Suddenly the bond pulls taut, and your arm flares with light. The lion mark on your arm glows gently and Jinu bends down to kiss it, gently biting down on it. The bond snaps and your connection with Jinu is complete, whole. You cry out at just that moment, your orgasm crashing through you as the bond trembles through your whole body. Jinu groans, feeling the bond snap into the place as he spills himself inside of you.

He slumps forward, hovering over you but being careful not to crush you. “You’re beautiful…” He presses a kiss to your forehead and then your lips. “You’re my everything. I love you.” He whispers before slowly pulling out. You whine at the sudden emptiness, shivering at the feel of his release inside you.

 Romance steps up next, naked and hard. He crawls up next to you, purring softly in your ear. “Darling... you did so good for Jinu. Will be a good girl for me too?” You nod, your heat already making you desperate for the next joining. “Y-yes… bu-ut..” You cough slightly on your words. “Shh, easy baby, breathe.” Romance rubs your back and gives you a glass of water to sip from, though you don’t know where he got it. “There, we go.” You whine and pull his hand. “W-want to see.. y-you.. a-all..”

You glanced around at them, hoping they understood exactly what you wanted. That you want to see them, demon and all. They all share a look before they start dropping their disguises one by one. Your breath hitches and you nearly start crying. “So.. pretty.” You whisper and they all tense. Romance nuzzles into your cheek before slowly positioning himself between your legs. “You don’t know what you do to us, Darling. You make us go feral.” He grins, pressing kisses up your neck as he slowly pushes in. You mewl softly, trying to buck your hips up into his. “Shh, have patience. I want you to feel good darling.” Romance is slow with his thrusts, savoring every second of being inside you. “So warm, so wet.” He moans softly in your ear, angling his hips to try and hit that one special spot inside you. “You make m-me feel so good darling…” He grunts, thrusting particularly hard. You gasp and moan, choking out a cry as he hits that spot inside you. “Ah~ There it is.” He growls into your ear, moving to nip at your jaw. He moves his hits to hit that spot every single thrust.

Your eyes widen and you cry out, squirming and clutching at his shoulders. “R-Romance-! F-faster-” You whine out his name, desperate for more friction. If you were of clear mind, you might find the sounds of your joining embarrassing and how fast he was making you fall apart, but you’re not and all you can do is beg for more.

 “P-please-!” You whimper, you are so close, so close to another orgasm. You can feel the bond, it’s pulled so tight, you can feel it vibrating, wrapping around you and Romance like a blanket. Just a little more… With one more snap of his hips, you arch up into him, screaming out your release. Romance groans, burying his face in your neck as he fills you, only pulling back when the rose mark on your arm glows. He leans over, kissing it gently before biting it. It sends a jolt through both of you as your bond to him solidifies.

With a shuddering sigh, you wrap your arms around his neck, taking a moment to calm your racing heart. “So, so perfect for me darling. My one and only.” He mumbles into your neck, inhaling your scent like he would die without it. A growl snaps you both out of your reverie. Mystery stands at the end of the bed looking absolutely feral. Romance rolls his eyes and slowly pulls out, shushing you quietly when you whimper. “Alright, alright.” He grumbles, pressing one more kiss to your lips before stepping back to let Mystery take his place.

Mystery crawls over you, his cock longer than the Jinu’s or Romance’s with a slightly curved tip. You shiver, imagining how far it’ll go in you. He bends down, running his fingers through the mess between your folds, pushing the mess of both Jinu and Romance’s essence back inside. “So messy~” He growls, brushing your clit with his thumb. You twitch, a moan slipping from your lips. Every part of you is so sensitive, so alive. He leans down to your neck, burying his face right in the crook of it before biting. You let out a cry of both pain and pleasure, your legs wrapping around his waist as you cling to him.

Mystery pulls back, purring and licking the bite mark before shifting so he was lined up with your entrance. He looks down at you, his hair falling from his face. You stare into his eyes, and you see love shining back, along with his desire. You shudder when he enters you faster than Romance did. A sharp gasp escapes your lips, he’s so deep, further than the other two have gotten. “M-mystery-“ You choke out, your walls squeezing him like a velvet vice. He snarls, claws digging into the sheets by your head. “You’re so tight.” He drags one hand down to your belly and presses gently. You let out a wail, feeling him press down only amplified the feeling of him inside. With a grin he pulls almost all the way out and thrusts back in. Your breath hitches and you let out a high-pitched moan, one hand gripping at his arm and the other digging into the bed. Mystery wasn’t slow, his hips snapping quickly as if he didn’t come in your right now, he'd lose himself. You cry out, back arching up into him, vaguely hearing Baby growl. “Fuck look at her… So pretty, so needy just for us.” Mystery ignored him and took one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking harshly before licking the sting away.

The pleasure aches higher and higher, until Mystery brings you in for a bruising kiss, just as he slammed in and spilled himself. You cry out against his lips, your walls clamping down and squeezing him hard. He groans, breaking the kiss to see his mark glowing on your arm. An eye with a star for a pupil. He wastes no time leaning over and biting, snapping the bond in place. You shudder, another wave of pleasure washing over you as the bond curls around your soul and binds you both together.

You tremble, overwhelmed in the best way. You shiver when Mystery runs his nose down your neck, nearly groaning at your scent. He curls around you tighter until Baby grunts, pulling Mystery’s hair. “Get off, there’s still two more of us.” Mystery growls back, pressing a kiss to your neck before slowly pulling out, snarling at Baby before backing off.

You look up at Baby, a tremble going through you at the look in his eyes. He looks more feral than Mystery did. “I’ve waited so long for this, you know? I’ve wanted you so bad.” He sits down next to you, but you’re going to have to work a bit for my cock, baby girl.” “Baby don’t-” Romance tries to intervene, standing quietly. “Shut up! I waited long enough for this.” He snarls angrily at Romance before turning back to you. He runs his fingers through your hair before gripping tighter. “I want to know how that pretty mouth feels on my cock, yeah? Think you could do that for me, baby girl?” You give him a shaky nod, slowly moving to sit up. Baby slips off the bed and stands, stroking his cock while waiting for you. Your legs tremble as you kneel on the bed, licking your lips before reaching out to stroke his cock yourself. You take a shaky breath and then wrap the tip of his cock with your lips, tentatively licking with your tongue. Baby groans, his fingers gripping your hair. “Y-yeah baby… like that.” He tugs your hair gently and you slip more of him into your mouth. You twirl your tongue around his tip and suck. He groans, his hips jerking slightly. “Baby girl… you’re so good…” You keep sucking him until he pulls you off. “T-that’s enough… I want to come in your pussy, not your mouth.”

He pushes you back onto the bed and hovers over you, already lined up with your entrance. “I’m not going to be gentle like the others. Better hold on.” He grins, all fangs with glowing eyes then he thrusts. You let out a surprised squeal, the obscene sounds of him plowing into you echoing in the room. One of his hands slides up your chest and lands on your throat, he doesn’t squeeze, just holds it there like he owns you. True to his words, he was rather rough, aiming his hips to hit your special spot over and over again. He groans when your walls tighten and flutter round him, pulling out and flipping you onto your stomach. He leans down over you and thrusts back in, not slowing down. “Fuck. S-so good for me baby. I’m so close…” You moan out his name.” B-Baby-!” You walls clamp down on him as you gush on his cock. He groans loudly, burying his face in your shoulder as he comes in you, his hips jerking. The lollipop shaped mark glows and pulses, drawing his attention. He sinks his teeth in, biting hard enough to draw blood. You whimper at the slightly pain the bond easing, binding you to him. Only one more. Abby stands off to the side, watching you shudder under Baby. He watches Baby tremble lightly; knowing he was feeling more than he would ever tell. Eventually he can’t wait anymore. “Alright, you’ve had your fun. It’s my turn now.” Abby grins, patting Baby’s back as he slips out of you. You whine softly, beginning to feel the effects of being taken so many times as you try to sit up. The moment you catch sight of Abby’s cock you freeze. There is no way in hell that’ll fit you in, not even after being stretched open four other times. Abby sees you face and shushes you. “You’ll be fine sweetheart. We’ll make it fit.” He sits down on the bed and pulls you onto his lap. You straddle his waist and can feel her cock rubbing on your folds. He grunts, rubbing his cock through your folds to lube himself up. He slipped two of his fingers into you causing you to whine. “Hush sweetheart. I need to stretch you a bit more. I really don’t want to hurt you.” He slowly thrusts with two fingers before adding a third. You moan softly, your walls fluttering around his fingers. “Are you gonna cum just from my fingers?” He grins and picks up the pace, you mewl and let out a quiet cry, coming on his fingers. He pulls his fingers out and brings them up to his mouth, licking them clean. “Delicious sweetheart.” He lifts you up and lines you up with his cock. “Just tell me if it hurts too much, okay?” He then slowly lowers you onto his cock. You gasp and dig your fingers into his shoulders, not only was he long he was thick. Like, really, really thick.” A-Abby- t-too much-“ You whine, breath hitching as he slides deeper. It stings, but it’s not overly painful. You let out a choked sound when he finally bottoms out, his tip pressing into your cervix. “F-fuck sweetheart, you’re so tight.” He grunts, barely keeping himself from plowing up into you.

You tremble against him, feeling like you’re going to melt into a little puddle. You’re so hot, overwhelmed, but so full and content. You don’t even realize, but you start purring. All the boys stare at you, sitting on Abby’s lap like that, yet purring like you’re a kitten. “Ah, sweetheart… I can’t hold back if you’re going to make that cute noise.” Abby nuzzles into the column of your throat and rolls his hips up. You cry out, walls clenching as pleasure washing through you. “Hell yeah… squeeze me like that.” Abby alternates between rolling his hips gently and utterly ruining you. You really don’t even know what’s real anymore. Your mind is so fuzzy with pleasure and all of them. They’ve ruined you in the best way possible and don’t ever plan on letting you go. Abby bottoms out with a loud grunt as he loses himself in you, filling you up. You scream, you body seizing up in one last mind-shattering orgasm. Your vision goes white, barely registering Abby biting the rock mark on your arm as it glows. The bond completely and you feel so whole and perfect, like everything is as it’s meant to be.

When you come down from you high Abby gently pulls out, murmuring how good you were for them and how well you took them all. “Such a good girl.” Romance appears in your vision with a soft smile and cloth, gently wiping you down, pressing kisses to the sore spots. “Bath’s ready.” Baby calls from the doorway, still in his demon form.

Abby scoops you up and carries you into the bathroom, gently lowering you into the tub. Romance slips in behind you, smirking at Abby before gently lathering a washcloth. “Why don’t you go help clean the bed and get it ready? She’s going to need a nap after all that.” With a grunt, Abby hangs a towel by the tub for when you’re done. “Fine, but you better not take too long.” Romance just smiles and gently washes you, murmuring sweet nothings in your ear. When he’s finished, Baby appears and helps lift you from the tub. “Figured you’d need help.” “Or you’re just needy and won’t admit it.” Baby glares at Romance but doesn’t comment as they dry you off, brush your hair, and slip you into a t-shirt and shorts.

You’re barely conscious through all of it, barely mumbling a quiet ‘thank you’ to them. Baby picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and resting your head on his shoulder as he carries you back to the bedroom. The others had all changed themselves into comfier clothing and then they stripped the bed, remaking it with the fluffiest sheets they have.

They all watch as Baby carries you back to bed, sleeping soundly in his arms. “She so cute when she sleeps…” He gently lays you down in the middle of the bed and they all pile in around you, creating a big cuddle pile. Baby was hugging you to his chest and Mystery was cuddled up to your chest, resting his head there. Jinu was half on top of Baby so he could at least touch you and Abby as hugging Mystery from behind so he could hug you as well. Romance walks into the room after cleaning up the bedroom and pouts. “Really? You take all the good spots.” He grumbles, but crawls between Abby and Mystery. They all sigh, not really needing to sleep, but they want to be near you. “We’re staying home all day tomorrow. I don’t think I could do anything without thinking of her.” Abby whispers quietly, looking at your peaceful face. “Agreed. “We’ll just stay home and enjoy our omega.” Jinue agrees. The room goes silent after that, but the bond hums, this time completed and content. Finally whole. They were all bound to you now and you to them. They will never leave your side. No sin is too dark for them to commit, not if it means keeping you safe.

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

taglist:

@gremlinartstudio @gamer-kat @puppykick3r @moonjellyfishie @libdarkheart @myjointpainismoderatetosevere @stzatz4ever @the-sweet-psycho @poketrainer2270 @kimyeosinah-reum @she-yaa @yumiblaze @fries11 @fantasyhopperhea @horandog1993 @bookies16 @candijester @nightlark100 @ashleygryffindor @spacelock13 @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @llawl15et @rubyninja1 @luluprincess230lp @lilywriteswords379 @newbieschaos @l1tzxyss @lazygrungekid @duchessdaisybat @lucimucy @eyes-ofhell @strawberry1e @xyndyn @venommie @brattywithablade @ivvypg @coffeedragonhobbyist @doodle-with-rhy @atlas--orion @taurielucas @hikari-michiko @winter-solstice24 @poptrim @nesrynsblog @yourtownidiot @meowsertrix @lunarmashroom @avadakadabra93 @hornehlittleweeblet2 @aurorab-0-realis

[emmanation]

what do you do between the affirmation and the outcome?

part one — linked here — not required to read, but heavily recommended by yours truly.

so, you said it.

you affirmed. maybe in your head, maybe out loud, maybe barely whispering it into something such as your pillow.

"i'm in my dr" / "i have what i want" / "it's already done."

however it came out, you did it, you chose. and now.... what? what do you do after? alright, you said it, maybe you even meant it, you felt kind of good about it, maybe even a little proud or relaxed or still, but now you're just sitting there.

blinking. wondering if something's supposed to happen.

maybe wondering if the air is about to shift (ha), or if your bed is going to turn into your own specialised limousine or if someone is going to come knock on the door and hand you your desire wrapped in one big red bow.

and, let's in this case and scenario say that nothing happens, or at least it doesn't look like it does.

let me discuss the space AFTER the assumption, aka the in between aka the what now. because ! maybe people don't talk about it, but everyone did feel it at once:

you said it – why is nothing occurring?

let me be the first one, or maybe even not, god knows, to say it. there is nothing wrong with that little in between space, simply because it's not a test or a delay. what i would call it, is the specific moment where you decide not to switch back to your previous assumption.

you're staying. staying rooted in your assumption.

you already moved the needle when you said it, right? the moment you affirmed, the shift happened, because attention moves fast.

you now, in this in between space, are letting your awareness stay where you already told it to go.

your desire, your desire, wherever, doesn't matter. but you're telling it where to go.

so between the staying and the seeing, what you do is ........ nothing. or at least, in more simplistic, not - overcomplicated terms, you keep acting as if it has happened.

you stop checking, and you stop entertaining the idea that you might NOT be there.

when, maybe, you see the world not shifting around you in a way that's instant or impressive or movie worthy, you do not take that as a sign that it doesn't work, or that you now have to scream at a cloud calling yourself a failure.

what i believe happens between the affirmation and the occurance is that you give yourself no reason to look back, and so......you don't wait, and you don't hunt for proof, and you don't poke at it to make sure that it's alive.

not babysitting your manifestation to maturity as if it's going to wander off and die if you don't keep it in your sightline.

it won't. your subconscious is that powerful.

you, simply, because it is simple like that, assume that it is handled.

you said it, so now it is.

yes, sometimes, perhaps, your brain will flicked and sometimes you'll want to double check, and sometimes your eyes - they will land on something in your physical world and immediately start categorising it, declaring that as real and your assumption as failure.

and you know what? that's fine.

don't fight that thought, and don't crash out into immediately damage control.

just go.

" regardless, i'm already in my dr. " // " regardless, i already have my desire. "

during that space between the affirmation and the shift is not an active zone, and therefore you don't have to do anything there except not contradict what you've already decided. which is actually easier than it sounds, if you simply stop trying to prove something to yourself every other five minutes.

your mind is used to earning, to fixing, to checking. and you can let it be loud if it wants to be loud.

but, remember, your awareness goes only where you dictate it to.

you've already done the one thing that matters, you affirmed, and you chose.

so maybe you make breakfast, dinner, lunch, whatever. maybe you text someone back, maybe you go for a walk, or rewatch a show, or sit on the floor, or do absolutely nothing.

but whatever you're doing, you don't start playing detective again, and you don't search the room for clues, glimpses, to see if it's working.

what you do between the affirmation and the occurrence is exactly what you'd do AFTER the occurrence, if you really assumed it happened.

meaning?

you live and you move and you think whatever you think, and you don't attach meaning to every flicker of doubt or slowness or quiet.

now let me pivot a bit, and go back to what my entire account is focused on anyway. choice.

you get to decide what the in between is like. you could assume i'm doubting, i'm feeling normal, and i'm still there, and that will become the truth.

you don't have to built up enough capital of faith and only then you're allowed to pass through the door.

the moment one decides their destiny, they're on the track. so, if you say i'm there, even if i feel unsure, you're still there, why? simply because you're the one writing, producing, and airing the terms.

because, if you're the operating power, which you are, by the way, then you're also the one who decides whether this part, this middle part, counts or not.

whether this is a build up or a a simple backdrop.

whether you're seated in a waiting room or the actual place.

and you're allowed to pick. always.

if you choose that this is what living there feels like, then that's what it is.

you don't have to keep apologising to yourself every time you slip or wobble or 'get thrown off' your path.

a simple this is what living there looks like today will be the truth. because as awareness goes, it will follow your word.

so if you say, even this counts, then it does.

so actually, maybe even throw this whole post away. what you do between the decision and the manifestation is ..... entirely up to you. you can let it doubt, and you can let it be certainty, and you can let it be whatever. but you can still be there.

you can live with the questions and still be living in the answer.

[homunculus-argument]

For some reason I have this thing where I sometimes do not consciously feel or register it at all when I'm nervous about something that's coming up. I literally do not feel any kind of anxiety or worry about it, if you asked me what I'm nervous about I would have no idea what you're talking about. I just wake up a bit early, go about my day, and then go to bed and fall asleep at my usual time.

And then when The Thing Coming Up is done, I'm suddenly bodyslammed with being sleepy for no sensible reason. I will have zero damn clue that I was stressing about the thing until it's done with, and my body suddenly goes We Need To Do A Yawn Bigger Than The Lung Capacity Right Fucking Now and then won't stop trying to do that.

So I'll be there yawning over something that I wasn't thinking of as anything stressful, just going alright alright alright okay we get it you were scared of this thing that was literally nothing to worry about this whole time like right we get it CAN YOU FUCKING STOP.

[azullumi]

BUT I’M INTO YOU !! ft. ANAXAGORAS & PHAINON

like paramore’s hit song, “still into you”, some things just make sense and one of those is you and him | gender-neutral reader, established relationship, reassurance, anaxa nurses reader, relationship dynamics (phainon with a constantly stressed and overthinking reader), fluff, not proofread | wc: 3.2k

DIRECTOR NOTES — i need anaxa so bad im going to go crazy

anaxa and the reversed “how are you two not dating yet?”, so it’s just “WHY ARE YOU DATING HIM?”

Some people are just born soulmates, complete halves of each other; the edges of their being meant to fit one another. ANAXAGORAS and you are what you like to believe to be the embodiment of that—two flames from the same fire, burning brighter when together.

“Must you really be troublesome?” His voice echoes, concern written on his often stoic his face as he places the back of his hand against your forehead for a moment. His fleeting touch is cool against your warm skin, a quiet contrast that makes you lean into it instinctively. He exhales softly, almost inaudibly, before retrieving his hand.

“Must you be so handsome?” You beam at him, despite how sickly you look and how your voice is rough and hoarse. The frown he gives you makes you laugh—then choke and cough afterwards. He clicks his tongue, not unkindly, giving you the glass of water then dabbing at your lips with the edge of the towel when you finish, muttering something about how recklessness must be a disease. Still, even with the irritation painted across his face, his hands are careful, his touch gentle. And you feel it again: that unwavering, bone-deep certainty that you were always meant to be right here, with him.

“You’re fussing too much,” you murmur, voice still scratchy, but your smile is unshaken. You let him do what he needs to do for yourself, lest you concur his wrath and get a mile of scolding about your carelessness from him. You don’t want to hear it anymore. He had already talked your ears off when he had arrived and saw that you weren’t resting just like he had wanted you to do.

“You’re ill,” he replies flatly, squeezing the excess water from the towel before folding it anew, placing it over your forehead. “Forgive me for wanting to keep you alive.”

“I’m not dying, Anaxagoras.”

No. If you perished from something as banal as fever, it would be after he’d dragged you back to lucidity and made sure you remembered it was his hand that spared you. And not just once. He’d remind you daily and without shame, that it was he who nursed you through your recklessness, he who kept you from slipping away over something as embarrassingly preventable as he’d once put it; “Next time you have decided to tempt mortality, at least wear a coat.” 

(It was undeniable, however, that underneath all that pride and sharpness, Anaxagoras loves you in the only way he knows how: deeply, deliberately, and with a care that clings to the edges of everything he does for you.)

“And? Shall you be on the deathbed before I begin taking care of you?”

In a world full of almosts and maybes, you and him are the rare certainty—a quiet, unwavering truth as if the stars themselves whispered your names in the same breath long before you ever crossed paths. 

However, others seem to oppose these ideas.

Such as your friend, your dearly beloved Stelle, who finds fascination in trash cans. Over the duration of your friendship—which is roughly from when you saved her when she got her ass stuck in a bin to this very moment and onwards—, you’ve found that embarrassment does not exist in her vocabulary. 

You’ve recalled your conversation with her a few days ago, when she had asked you to: “Blink twice if you need help.” to which was met with just your confusion. You remember the dramatic groan that escaped her—loud, theatrical, and full of despair—as she clutched your shoulders like she’s anchoring herself from being swept away by the tragedy that is your love life. You remember her eyes and how they lock onto yours with the intensity of someone who’s seen too much, recounting horrors no one else can understand, and the rare seriousness painted across her usually unserious face. All of that just to present the grand question that has been repeatedly hammered into your ear drums: “Why are you dating him?”

Was it really unbelievable that you are dating THE Anaxagoras—the demised scholar, the known blasphemer, one of the Seven Sages, and founder of the School of Nousporists?

Stelle’s question then had come out in a raised tone; horror, confusion, and everything that reeks of despair and doubt. She has met your lover many times before and all she got is terrible impressions from him. You get it, you understand her, truly, a hundred million times over. Anaxagoras is difficult in the same way a cryptic crossword or a sudoku puzzle with only five numbers given as clues is difficult; he is maddening, frustrating, and devilishly handsome. Well, that too, and how he often causes people to mutter curses under their breath. He talks as if every word of his is carved from marble and gold and thinks in layers you often need to chisel through.

Although, Stelle was not the first person to express her concerns. No, no, she was not the only one who had questioned you about your romantic ties with the man himself. There had been a long line of them—colleagues, acquaintances, old friends who hadn’t seen you since the two of you got together—each of them offering their unsolicited takes like critics reviewing a painting they couldn’t comprehend. Some were subtle, expressing their skepticism through light jokes or half-serious jabs, dressing their doubts with honeyed laughter, and the repeated statements of “Really?” or “Wow, I could never… believe that.” While others were more direct, eyebrows raised, voices dripping with disbelief. “Him?” they’d ask, like you just dropped the most terrible news in their lives ever.

“How are you feeling now?” Anaxagoras’ voice snapped you out of your daze. You had not noticed you have been staring at him for a while now, recalling the conversation in your head like a script you’ve read a thousand times. You blink, reality trickling back in with the weight of his gaze. It is steady, unreadable, but undeniably attentive, only for you.

“Better,” you rasp, offering him a weak smile, “or at least I will be, once you stop hovering like a mother hen.” He doesn’t react at first, only lifts a brow as he shifts the damp towel slightly to sit more evenly across your forehead.

“Then I suppose you won’t be feeling better anytime soon."

It’s not that they don’t like Anaxagoras—they just don’t know him, not in the way you do, at least. They see the storm but not the calm it leaves behind when it reaches you. They hear the sharpness in his voice but never the softness interlacing between the syllables when he says your name. They witness the way he dismantles arguments with precision but never the way he carefully tucks your hair behind your ear when the wind picks up or remembers exactly how you take your tea without ever needing to ask. 

What none of them seemed to grasp was the way Anaxagoras, for all his cold logic and biting words, treated you as if you were something priceless. Something fragile and worth protecting. You know it, because even with his sharp mind and sharper tongue, he’s gentle with you.

Gentle in this, in him dropping everything that he needed to do just to take care of you, like the world could wait if you so much as whimpered. Gentle in the way he holds your hand, gentle in the way his thumb traces idle circles against your skin like he’s memorizing the heat of it. Gentle in the way his silence filled the room, soft and reassuring. It’s in the quiet moments where he simply exists beside you. You’ve known that the way he shows his affection and adoration for you is not loud, and never will be. It is neither grand nor showy, but it is steady and grounding, and it is yours.

(Anaxa didn’t need to say he loved you for his affections were in every quiet action, in every unspoken gesture that threaded through the ordinary like gold in cloth.)

“What are you thinking now?” Anaxa says, noticing your gaze.

His voice is calm, unhurried, yet carries the weight of someone who’s always listening, even to the things you don’t say. You blink up at him, the corners of your mouth curving, and for a moment, you hesitate. Not because you don’t know what to say, but because putting feelings this big into words feels like trying to catch the sky in your hands.

“That I must’ve done something good in a past life,” you say softly, “to be loved like this.”

Anaxagoras doesn’t speak, but you catch the way his expression shifts. It is the ever-subtle change in his eyes, softer now, like moonlight breaking through cold marble. He doesn’t smile, but there’s something in the way he looks at you that feels louder than joy.

“I don’t love you because of merit,” he murmurs, adjusting the edge of the blanket with care. “You don’t need to earn something that already belongs to you.”

They only saw the philosopher, the blasphemer, the myth himself, while you saw the man who kissed your knuckles when you couldn’t sleep. And something about this feels almost holy, the kindness reserved only for you is sacred, untouched by the noise of the world and tucked safely in the quiet corners of your world. It’s in the way he holds your gaze like it’s the only truth worth believing, in how he tends to your needs before you voice them, as if your comfort is a principle written into his very being. 

To others, he is a riddle wrapped in cold intellect, but to you, he is all the warmth embodies, the tender affection that weaves into the gaps of your fingers, the gentle lull of a tide as it crashes into the shore, and the stains on his cheek when you kiss him; he is the quiet devotion in the spaces between his sighs and your laughs—it is simply, completely, and utterly undeniable that the both of you are truly for one another.

phainon, a laid back guy who takes care of everything, and you, a dramatic person who stresses out a lot.

They say opposites attract, and you and PHAINON are the utter proof of that statement. And much to everyone’s expectations, it works against all odds, though how chaotic everything may be. Where you spiral, he steadies. When your thoughts are loud and messy—which often is—he answers in calm nods, soft chuckles, and gentle touches. In those drastic moments, his arms are already around your shoulders before the panic hits its peak, steadying and guiding you back to solid land.

Phainon just seems to know what to say—or not to say—to bring you back down to the ground when you are overwhelmed and flooded by thousands of (imaginary) disasters running inside your head or when you are frantically pacing around, mumbling to yourself, and doing that small habit (e.g. biting your nails or picking your lip until it bleeds). He’ll tread towards where you are, taking your hands, and offers words of comfort and assurance as if he’s done it a thousand times before—he already has and he will never tire of it, never pull away, never let you down, never treat your panic like a burden but rather like something gentle to cradle until it passes. 

It was as if your mind is a place he knows all too well, like a maze that he had already memorized, navigating through the paths of your thoughts with a tender precision.

“Don’t worry, love.” He tells you, voice warm and soothing as he cups your face affectionately. He holds the same note in his gaze, love and the gentleness that comes with it, that only you know of, that only the both of you share for one another, “You can leave it to me.” You cling to your thoughts, all panic and muddied, that has now lost all meaning under your turmoil and in between his ease. His words tug you back to the brink and somehow when everything feels like it's on fire—oftentimes metaphorically and sometimes literally—he’s already halfway through putting out the flames of your problems. (See? The world didn’t end) You don’t know how he does it, how he holds your mess with such grace, only that he does.

You had asked him once, “Aren’t you tired of me?” Surely, he should be, right? I mean, having to deal with someone who is stressed every minute and needing reassurance every single time can be so draining, right? You’ve already heard about couples breaking up because of those things like their lover was being so much like they didn’t want to be comforted every single time like they never even listen like everything is just the same thing over and over again and it gets so tiring having to deal with those things repeatedly. You’re tiring to deal with, right? Maybe he’s just trying to put up with you because you don’t know?? How would you know???? 

It feels like you’re always too much and never enough at the same time. It was as if you’re clinging too tightly and still somehow slipping away, like one more breakdown, one more late-night anxiety spiral, one more text asking “are you mad at me?” will be the final straw. You replay every conversation in your head, dissect every pause, every sigh, every silence that might not even mean anything but what if it did? What if he’s just too kind to say he’s tired of you? What if he’s just waiting for the right moment to leave quietly? What if you’re reading too much into this—but also, what if you’re not? What if you’re right and he’s just too polite to admit it? You try to shake the thoughts off, but they cling like static. It’s relentless.

What if—”No. Why would I be?” But his voice cuts through it all, clean and sharp like a stone abruptly dropped into a pond, and like the settling ripples that eases into the water’s surface to return to what it once was and what it ought to be, your spiraling thoughts are quiet once more. “You may think that you’re unraveling, confusing, and a mess, that perhaps I am tired of your chaos and thoughts. But I promise that you're only a little tangled right now.” His words settle into you like soft rain. “Sure, it gets tiring sometimes, but love is not about ease, isn’t it? It’s about staying, especially when the wires get crossed and the lights flicker. I don’t mind untangling you. I chose you, mess and all, and I’ll keep choosing you, even on the days you forget how to choose yourself.”

It’s just so simple. For Phainon, loving you means loving the storm and being unbothered by the lightning and everything terrible that comes with it.

Albeit sometimes, he matches your energy. No, more like snatches it from you, spins it in his hands, and throws it back at you. He can be dramatic too—even a hundred times more than you already are. One particular example is when the both of you had a fight—it was nothing major, no broken plates, no screaming, no yelling involved (aeons, he’ll hate himself if even raised his voice at you for a little). But still, it was something that made you upset and turned away from him. 

The silence between you and him had only lasted for less than a day, however, when you heard the sound of something hitting your window, to which you dismissed as nothing at first. Not until it came again, again, and again. Until you get sick of it and decide to check which little kid is playing pranks on you this time, thus you open the window, ready to address the annoyance but…

Spoiler alert: it was not a kid.

It was a man in the form of someone you clearly know, whose lines on his face has been memorized by you, whose hands you had held many times in yours, whose laugh still echoes in your head even when he's not around—and there he was, Phainon, standing a few feet away from your window. You just noticed but there is someone else too, but situated a little further away from your boyfriend who you just had a fight earlier. Wait, are they singing? Was that singing you’re hearing? And is that a water vase that he’s trying to spray on himself to imitate the rain? 

“What are you doing?” You voice out the loudest question inside your head, confused. You’re beyond bewilderment, actually.

Phainon expresses the most exaggeratedly forlorn expression you’ve ever seen on his face. The guy beside him, one that you don’t know but have seen performing in the streets of Okhema several times before, keeps singing into the invisible microphone in his hand. You don’t know what the song is but he sure is hitting those notes.

“I’m suffering, clearly.”  Phainon replies dramatically, placing a hand over his chest like a wounded prince. “I’ve been banished from the kingdom of your heart, and thus I stand here—exiled, soggy, and still utterly devoted.”

“What?” At this point, you are not entirely sure what to say or react, but Phainon does as he rambles on and on with his poor singer accompanying him from the back.

“I have known despair. I have tasted the bitterness of your silence. I have felt the frost of you turning away from me. Please,” he begs, asks, and does everything just for you even if he looks utterly stupid right now. Thankfully, there aren’t any citizens to witness the spectacle of their dazzling Chrysos Heir. “Please come back to me, my love. Allow me to hold you again.”

“Phainon, it was just spilled milk.” Why was he acting as if you were breaking up with him? As if you were truly going to leave him? You had planned on apologizing to him later on and admitting your mistakes, you really were, but he beat you to it with whatever this is.

“And for that,” he declares, without a hint of sarcasm or anything similar lacing into his tone. “I shall atone.” And you could not help but sigh, rubbing your temples as he continues to look at you like a tragic hero awaiting his redemption arc.

“You know it was my fault, right?” You remind him, voice a little softer now. However, his response comes without hesitation, firm and full of that all-consuming affection he never dares to hide:

“You could never do anything wrong in my eyes.”

The ridiculousness of this situation sinks into you now—the man donned in white and gold, half soaked and entirely unserious, staging a melodramatic serenade over something small, with a busker-turned-background vocalist going off like this was their final performance. And yet, in the absurdity of it all, your chest aches from the sheer, overwhelming love you feel for this man who would make a fool of himself just to see you smile again. You lean slightly out the open window, resting your arms on the sill, watching the man with a mixture of exasperation and adoration, wondering how on earth you got lucky enough to be loved like this.

A breath of laughter slipping past your lips. “What are you waiting for?” you say, voice tinged with fondness. “Didn’t you wish to hold me?”

Phainon beams up at you like you’ve just given him the stars and rushes to where you are, despite the fact that there is a perfectly fine door that he can go through.

“Oh, and please, compensate the poor man for your theatrics.”

© AZULLUMI. plagiarism of any form and type, stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms is NOT permitted.

[vxnillabxn]

Heya! Could you do headcannons of the LIs overhearing your parents advertising you/someone asking if you are willing to date their child?

I had this situation a few times and it was kinda funny/interesting situation and I couldn't help but wonder how the boys would react as I love reading your headconnons on them <3 keep up the good work!!

𐙚˙⋆.˚ mainfive! x gn!reader ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ fluff! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ sfw! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ do not translate/copy/repost! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚HI! i hope i got this request right, and also... i'm truly sorry for the delay ८ ◞ ◟ ⑅ ა i've been so sick these days, it even hurts to get up, istg— and shark week just started, so i am in misery ꒰˵ˊᯅˋ˵꒱ anyway, once i feel a little bit better, i'll go back to my usual posting routine! thank you in advance for the patience, and enjoy! ♡

𐙚˙⋆.˚ caleb! ꒰੭

he took you to your favorite childhood skating rink after years of not going.

he helped you out by putting on your roller skates, but he had to wait for the employee to get a pair in his size.

“have i really grown that much, pips?”

you only giggled, looking at him up and down.

“i mean… yeah? and i doubt grown men come here to roller skate anymore.”

when the employee finally called him, he left your side for a while, and you stood up a bit clumsily, trying to get comfortable and remember how it was to skate, just like when you were a kid.

suddenly, you heard a sweet voice calling out for you, and when you turned around, you saw a wrinkled, familiar face.

“ah! mrs. jiang? what a pleasure!”

the old lady took your hand in hers and softly patted it, looking up at you warmly.

“look at you, dear. all grown up! how is your family doing?”

you answered briefly, yet happily too.

she was such a sweetheart back in the day, and you remembered how she would always bring snacks and water to all the kids who skated around.

“and what about marriage, dear? any plans?”

ah, right. you also remembered how nosy she could be.

“uh, not really, i mean—”

“perfect! my eldest would be perfect for you! you do remember him, right? he's an engineer, very smart!”

you just awkwardly laughed, not wanting to be rude.

“yeah, i… think i do remember him.”

where the heck was caleb?

you wanted to escape the situation as soon as possible, not only because you knew how weird her son was, but because you didn't want to turn her down when she looked so excited.

luckily for you, a tall figure rolled behind you, and you could see caleb reflected in the lady's eyes.

“oh, my goodness! look at you!”

caleb's cheeks were attacked by her hands, and he couldn't help but let her do as she pleased.

after a few minutes of stretching and kneading his skin, she finally pulled back.

“we were just talking! i think my son would be an excellent husband! what do you think, caleb?”

caleb smiled warmly, but his hand found your waist and pulled you closer.

“i don't doubt that for a second, auntie. though… i think he might have to wait a bit longer to get married.”

the lady's smile faltered for a second, but she soon grinned, noticing his gesture.

“ah! i get it! you two sneaky little things… we all knew you would confess eventually! took you long enough, though.”

caleb's grip tightened, and his cheeks turned red.

you muffled a laugh, and soon enough, the lady sent best regards to both your families and left.

“pipsqueak.”

he called out, turning you around gently.

you looked up at him with a cheeky grin on your face.

“jealous?”

he didn't answer, but he did take your hand and guided you to the center of the rink to start skating around.

“do you have to tattoo my name on your forehead for everyone to know we're together?”

he mumbled, and you tried not to stumble as he rolled a bit too intently for your liking.

“you're so dramatic, lebbie! not everyone is going to assume we're together. it's not like i had a wedding ring or anything obvious, you know?”

oh, you just gave him the greatest idea ever.

and just like that, the frown that was on his face turned into a plotting smile.

and he happily lifted you in his arms bridal style to skate by himself, making the kids around you giggle and point.

he could truly be so childish when he wanted to, but he'd do anything just so no one would ever see you as single anymore.

even if that meant rushing a marriage that, after all, was going to happen anyway.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ rafayel! ꒰੭

you invited rafayel over for a family and friends reunion.

…he actually invited himself, since he said it would be fun to get to know another important aspect of your life.

the main problem was that only your close relatives and loved ones knew you two were dating, and you weren't ready for all the questions and gossip that would emerge after showing up with him.

however, he insisted, and it all went quite well, to be honest.

or that was until the rest of your family arrived.

rafayel went for some drinks to calm you down, and relax a bit himself, as the event started to pack up a little.

“hi, love!”

one of your aunts screamed, waving her hand excitedly before walking toward you.

you smiled and hugged her, and just when you were about to look back to see where rafayel was, she dragged you along with her.

“i want you to meet someone!”

you were curious, to say the least, but you were also nervous.

she took you to a friend she invited, and said friend was standing next to a young man —presumably her son.

“this is gemma, and this is her handsome son, finn!”

you smiled politely, outstretching your hand.

gemma shook it with a smile, but finn was a bit awkward when taking it.

was this… what you thought it was?

no, your aunt wouldn't set you up, would she?

“so, finn works for this amazing company, he graduated with honors, and he also helps charities! isn't he amazing?”

poor finn looked away as your aunt talked, and you just nodded.

“well, yeah! that's awesome, but uhm, auntie?”

yet, she kept talking, and eventually, gemma jumped in.

“yes! and dating is such an issue these days. everything is so fast, so superficial… actually, your aunt told me you were single, isn't that a lovely coincidence? my finn is, too!”

you looked around, quietly begging for someone to help you out of this.

and just then, rafayel appeared with two cold lemonades and a charming smile.

“ah, ladies and… gentleman! what a pleasure. do you mind if i steal this cutie right here for a second?”

he handed you a glass, and his other hand gently caressed your cheek.

your aunt was stunned, and both gemma and finn stared quietly at rafayel.

“i'll take that as a no, then. great talk!”

he softly guided you away, and you quickly waved your hand, smiling sweetly and a bit apologetic —but not really.

once you two were away, he crossed his arms.

his charming façade was now replaced by his pouty lips.

“you know, cutie, you should take this as an opportunity to announce we're together. your whole family is here, some close friends of your family are here, friends of the friends of your family too, and—”

“okay, raf, i get it!”

you chuckled, taking a sip from your glass.

“don't get me wrong, i think being with you is awesome! but i know how nosy my family can be, and they might even start asking about the wedding or trying to rush our pace —a pace we're comfortable with.”

you explained, softening your voice so he wouldn't misinterpret your words.

and he didn't, thankfully, because he placed a wet kiss on your lips —one that tasted like sweet lemonade.

“well, you must know that i do not care about gossip or rumors. if anything, i love proving them wrong or… turning them around.”

before he could further clarify, he pulled you toward the rest of your family.

you panicked, but he just smiled.

“what are you doing, raf—?”

“i'll just introduce myself, naturally! let them assume or guess my relationship with you. no one will comment if they don't have the full information, will they?”

he's crazy.

but also, the idea does sound fun, and it will avoid more weird and awkward matchmaking moments if no one knows whether you're fully single or not.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ sylus! ꒰੭

he wasn't supposed to hear your private conversation, yet there he was, listening attentively as your parents rambled about potential suitors for you.

he was very amused, with his chin in the palm of his hand, while the other held his mug of coffee.

your parents didn't know about him yet… what would you tell them, anyway?

that you were dating a what?

a ceo of a shady organization?

a mafia boss?

a businessman that occasionally kills people?

it would sound like something out of the short drama series your older aunties watch on social media, and your parents would be literally alarmed about your well-being and how you even met a man like him.

you needed more time to prepare yourself for a long, long conversation, but until that happened…

you just had to hear your parents go on and on about why you should date the son of a close friend of theirs.

“he's such a sweetheart! he just graduated, but he already has a business. it's about, uh… what was the name, honey?”

your mother soon chimes in.

“cryptocurrency! he has a podcast, too!”

oh, yikes.

sylus smirked, leaning in to listen better, and also to enjoy the expression on your face.

“yeah, uh… i think i'm not interested.”

sylus mouths a “you think?” and you throw a cushion his way, trying to keep him out of the conversation.

sylus puts his mug away, and soon pulls you into his lap, making you yelp loudly.

your parents immediately question you about the sound, and sylus grins.

“are you okay, sweetheart?”

they ask, and you push sylus' face away, to once again sit on the sofa properly.

“yes! a pesky bird just entered the living room and won't leave me alone!”

“a bird? ah, that must be a sign! what bird, honey?”

you huff and put your hand up to stop sylus from approaching again.

“an ugly and annoying crow!”

sylus' eyebrow raises, and he's now hovering over you.

“ugly?”

you cover his mouth and turn to the phone again, squirming under his weight.

“well, as i was saying, i'm not really interested, nor… available for dating, sorry!”

“what? what do you mean you're not available?!”

your parents start rambling again, and sylus decides that enough is enough.

“what she said, ma'am. i hope we all meet very soon — it will be my pleasure. until then, take care.”

and he hangs up the call.

you are speechless.

why would he do that?

you finally manage to push him away with narrowed eyes.

“you…”

he doesn't smile. in fact, he looks dangerously calm.

but you're livid.

not only will your parents spam your phone with tons of questions about the male voice they just heard, but you will also have to explain what he is to you —and how long you two have been together.

“sylus, i can't believe you'd—!”

“so, pesky, ugly, annoying, hm? my, what a mix, kitten.”

he flicks your forehead, and your initial anger is replaced by indignation.

“sylus, you literally just—!”

“yet still…” he cups your cheeks a bit tight, enough for your lips to be pouty. “i'm a much better option than said guy, aren't i?”

you frown and try to speak, but he kisses your lips.

“yes, no, maybe? it's simple, sweetie.”

“yesh…”

“mhm. i'll help you talk to them, don't worry. i already thought of what to say —though i hardly ever need a script. they just need to know i'll protect you with my life, and that everything you need for, will be gladly provided.”

you stop resisting, and he finally sets you free.

“right, but… you'll still have to avoid mentioning the guns and killing part of your job.”

“we all have our flaws, don't we, sweetie? now, why don't you invite them over for dinner? they will be delighted. though, we'll have to hide mephisto. i do not want them to think he was the pesky bird you were talking about.”

ah, crap.

how can you deny him when he's literally standing up and organizing everything already?

and even if your parents do question you…

you already have someone to love and come back home to, and not even them could make you change that.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ xavier! ꒰੭

what started as a relaxing morning ended up being the worst day for xavier.

you've been helping this old couple carry their shopping bags, since they live on the floor above yours, and the elevator's been under maintenance for a week.

they are very sweet, and they always give you fruit or a candy bar in exchange for your kindness.

the old lady also gives you veggies from her garden, and both you and xavier have been enjoying the freshest salads ever.

today, though, they needed even more help because their grandkids were coming over and staying for a few days, and they brought a lot of luggage with them.

you called xavier to help them out too, and he obliged —only because you asked him to..

obviously, it wasn't without a fight —or without promising something in return…

which, as he demanded, had to be lots of kisses.

but finally, with a bit of struggling, you two helped the neighbors' little granddaughter bring her stuff up first.

she was very energetic, and she was looking up at xavier as if he were a charming prince, rambling non-stop.

and suddenly, her big brother came up the stairs, carrying some bags.

the old couple seemed really excited to introduce him to you, just as xavier went inside to drop off some of the bags in the living room, the little girl excitedly following him.

“well, darlin'! this is our grandson, keith! we think you're both around the same age, aren't ya?”

you politely smiled, and keith shot a charming smile, taking your hand in his to kiss it.

oh!

you retrieved your hand a bit quickly, and laughed awkwardly.

“isn't he charmin'?” the old lady says, patting keith's arm. “he is also lookin' for love, and who better than our kind and helpful neighbor?”

is she… trying to set you up with him?

keith raises his eyebrows suggestively, and you instantly cringe.

“ah… i'm flattered, really! but i think keith might want to look for love elsewhere. no offense.”

keith is about to talk, when xavier walks out, soon approaching you and leaning you down in his arms.

just then, he steals a long, noisy kiss from your lips.

funnily enough, he is wearing a king's crown, which —most probably— the little girl managed to put on his head.

when xavier pulls away from you, he shoots a glare at keith.

“love has already found us. goodbye.”

and he turns around, dragging you by the hand.

the old man calls out.

“my, we're sorry! we thought you were roommates, as all kids are these days!”

“don't worry!” you smile and wave your hand, still being dragged away downstairs. “we hope you all have a great time!”

once in your shared apartment, he slams the door shut and hugs you tight, completely silent…

or wait, was that mumbling?

was he talking under his breath?

“...mine, and how dare they, and who do they think they are, and if he tries anything—”

“...xavier?”

“and how do they not know we're together? and wh—?”

“xav. hello…? it's not a big deal!”

he stops, and he steps back from the hug.

his blue eyes focus on yours.

“not a big deal?”

oh no.

“not a big deal, you say? i'm not a fan of that family. we must steer clear of them for now.”

“xavier, don't be mean…”

“they won't need our help with their grandkids around.”

“xavier—”

he hugs you again, nuzzling your neck with closed eyes.

“hm, no. shhh, kisses.”

“...what?”

he frowns slightly, kissing your jawline gently.

“kisses... my reward? did you forget?”

right, the king's demands.

you start kissing his head, his forehead, his cheeks, and finally… finally, he relaxes in your arms, forgetting his temporary tantrum.

you just have to avoid seeing your adorable neighbors until their grandkids leave… and maybe, casually let everyone in the building know you and xavier are dating, just for everyone's sake.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ zayne! ꒰੭

a lunchbox in one hand, a coffee in the other, and a polite yet anxious smile on your face.

how obvious could everything be?

you were in a rush —you had to visit your boyfriend so he could eat and get an energy boost after a long shift.

yet, this lady had stopped you, saying you had good genes and other weird things that made your skin crawl.

she was also talking about her two kids, and how amazing they were.

and for some reason, she kept saying how one of them was a doctor here, very handsome, very wealthy… though he still lived with her because “he's mama's boy, isn't that adorable?”

and no.

it isn't, at all.

“uhm, ma'am, that's very lovely, but i really have to—”

“oh, but that isn't all, dearie! he's probably the most important doctor in this entire hospital! yes, yes, you've probably heard of him! he's dr. lynn! very popular among the nurses, too.”

you blinked in confusion and shook your head slowly.

“doesn't ring a bell, sorry…”

the lady seemed surprised; offended, even. she clutched her chest, but soon laughed it off.

“ah! well, it's not unusual for commoners not to know him. but don't worry, dear! once you get to know him…” she winked, before continuing. “you'll be just as well known, too!”

commoner?

well-known?

you wished you could eye roll, but you just smiled and nodded, frantically looking around in case zayne miraculously appeared.

and he actually had, a while ago —but you hadn't noticed until he stood right behind the two of you.

“i presume that's mine?”

he asked, pointing at the lunchbox and coffee you were clutching.

you sighed in relief and approached him, hugging onto his arm.

“hi…”

you handed him his lunch and coffee, smiling sweetly and feeling much more relaxed now that he was here.

he looked between you and the lady, before fixing his glasses.

“is she bothering you?”

he bluntly asks, and the lady gasps, horrified.

“bothering? how dare you! i was giving out the opportunity to date my precious son! i wish to speak to your boss, sir!”

zayne kisses your forehead, then nods to the old lady, still remaining polite.

“very well, then. in that case, you should ask for dr. zayne and see what he can do. good evening.”

“i will, you insolent youngins!”

she frantically says, still making a ruckus even as he guides you to his office, making you suppress a giggle as you two walk hurriedly.

if she only knew she just talked to dr. zayne himself.

once inside his office, though… he asks you to tell him everything.

you knew he could be a bit nosy here and there, even when he preferred to just listen to whatever you chose to share.

however, he was particularly interested in knowing how things started, and what comments she had made.

you recounted from the start —from her praise when she stopped you, saying how stunning you were, something about your structure, your genes, your height…

and then, the rest of the things she also mentioned.

he was just as surprised, yet… he focused on the most uninteresting part of the story.

“dr. lynn, hm? ...he is good-looking. but i doubt he'd be your type. in fact, i know he's not.”

you cocked your head to the side, then smiled knowingly. this sounded more like self-reassurance on his end.

maybe he was jealous of dr. lynn?

“unless he's a tall, smart, handsome cardiologist with the prettiest hazel eyes and a soothing voice, i also know he wouldn't be my type.”

he looks away, but his lips are curled up softly.

“your lunch might be cold by now… at least i hope the warmth of my hand kept your coffee warm when i clutched it. that lady really got on my nerves…”

he finally chuckles, and he pats his lap as he sits down.

“come, bring your genetically-blessed self over here. i truly need to refuel with my love.”

and he emphasizes that “my” a little more than other times.

but you happily sit down, not commenting on it.

after all, he's only stating what's true, maybe to further reassure himself...

or maybe because he wants the universe to know, so it can spread the word and keep you all to himself, as it should be.

[fushiguho]

˙⋆✮ oh no! choso, your sweetheart of a roommate, accidentally found your dildo, but he swears that he could fuck you better. do you believe him?

warnings fem reader, free use + somno mentions

“is this how you do it?” it’s soft—a mere whisper. the slight crook of his bashful smile wrenches your stomach in something devastating. an awfully eager, yet clumsy hand pushes your thigh firmer against silken sheets, your dildo sinking deeper. “or do you… do you go a little deeper?”

you’re slow to nod, glossed lips parting in silence as your brows thread into one. choso can feel the snug resistance of your fluttering cunt as he feeds it to you—inch after ruinous inch disappearing into that pretty little hole, the sound horrifically intoxicating, the sight furthermore.

reaching for the hand between your legs, you beg breathlessly.

“deeper, choso.”

“deeper?”

kneeled at the end of your disheveled bed, a glint of reservation glazes his roving eyes, but you urge him on, canting your hips toward his hand.

carefully obliging, he gives you all that’s left, stuffing you full with an incredulous pant against your heated skin. saliva pools on his rapturous tongue, the gape of his mouth giving way to the warm fan of his breath as he inches closer.

“it’s so… pretty,” he mumbles, wanting nothing more than to contribute to the mess that gleams between your swollen lips. “oh god, can i… can i spit on it? i–i really wanna…” he’s drunkenly trailing off with a loll of his tongue to slowly drool onto your aching clit. “haaah—i just wanna taste you.”

choso groans something feral, greedy lips closing around the swelled mound of nerves to suck feverishly. not a single fraction of him wants to stop the pitiful whines that escape his mouth, or the mindless rut of his wobbly hips, body pressing against the soft edge of the mattress in pursuit of friction.

he thinks he just might cum all over himself when you gasp his name, your back arching in such a way that he’s sure he would die if not for the way he’s drawing your closer for dear life. trembling hand working overtime to stretch that dripping pussy out with that measly piece of silicone, imagining it’s his cock instead.

he would fuck you better.

“oh, is that right?” you exhale in breathless laughter, slightly taken aback by his sudden edge.

of course he didn’t mean to say it aloud; you can see it in the way his eyes widen in utter mortification, the way he ceases his ministrations between your legs, but the cat’s out the bag and choso’s not backing down.

“yes,” he finally goes on to murmur. “i would. i could.”

“you sound sure of yourself.”

timidly, he shrugs, carefully shifting to begin fucking you full once again. his thrusts are heavier than before, a newfound sense of sureness guiding his hand as he leans in close, kissing your pretty clit once. twice.

a sloppy tendril of saliva weds his his bottom lip to your cunt and you whine.

“sure my cock could reach deeper,” he’s still soft in the way he speaks to you, still shy and a little unsure, but there’s something else there. something gut-wrenchingly sinister that lurks beneath his words, almost like a promise and it renders you breathless.

with his lips pressed to your cunt, he mutters, “i promise you i could fuck you better.”

a broken sound of unmistakable pleasure drags from your gaped mouth at his conviction, and he drones into the heat of you, embodying your rapture. panting and slurping and swallowing up everything you give him like this has been the only thing on his hazy mind since the day you moved in.

“i’d make this pussy feel so good,” he licks up the crevice of your thigh before sucking one of your pretty lips into his mouth. “make you cum on my cock so fucking sloppy—over and over and over again… god, i’ve always wanted that.”

there’s an indubitable hunger that haunts his gaze when his eyes shift to meet yours. stygian mauve clouds those dark, lovesick irises as he allows you to smear yourself all over his face and tongue, that poor cock leaking in his tightening briefs.

choso parts from you just barely, but only to choke out, “you gonna let me show you, huh?” he thumbs apart your sticky lips, dildo still sinking deep, and he’s utterly enraptured by how you’re taking it all. “fuuuck, please? i’d fuck you so good, so fucking good, i swear! you’d never have to use this piece of shit toy again.”

he’s losing himself in it, in you. begging all loud and reckless, hardly able to keep his mouth away from you to say what he needs to. doesn’t even grant you a breath to respond before he’s delving back in like a man starved.

the heat of his tongue is inebriating—indulgently trailing over your clit, down the slope of your tautly stretched lips, and over the silicone of your big, stupid dildo. and he can’t even find it within himself to care that he’s tasting you in the most obscene of ways.

“s-spread your legs,” he pants and god, when you do—woozily hooking your arms beneath the crook of your knees without hesitation—choso can’t help but to squeeze his thighs together, trapping his achy his cock between muscle, his underwear sopping.

“fuuuhh— fuck yes, just like that… let me see that pussy.”

your body stiffens in shock when a searing dollop of saliva plaps! straight against your clit, quickly being smeared by the pad of his thumb before he’s swilling it back up. he’s humming, audibly lapping up whatever seeps out of you. his greedy tongue nearly wraps around your dildo in his ravenous hunger, a hunger he swears he’s never felt in his life.

and it almost isn’t enough, not even as he’s making an utter mess of you. a sinful amalgamation of saliva and arousal drip, drip, drips down his chin, between the valley your ass, and onto the sheets. god, if he could lick the mattress clean, he would.

he might.

every move he makes is clumsily intentional. wrist twisting in the slightest as he plunges in and out of your cunt, mouth slathering over the entirety of you to taste it all, the pad of his thumb pressing firmly against the twitch of your aching clit. his undying need to prove himself is at the expense of your sanity, and you’re losing it.

“want you to cum so that i can fuck you,” he pants, breath hot against your quivering lips. “wanna show you how i fuck… how a real cock fucks.”

your nod is sweet and pitifully hasty, desperate hips following the warmth of his tongue and the stretch of your dildo.

incredulous, he wheezes. “yes?”

“yes, choso! fuck.”

now overtly determined, the warm pad of his finger shifts to circle over the palpable pulse of your swollen nerves. over and over and over again, he fucks you full of cock, admiring the way your body reacts to his touch, the way your chasing pleasure—chasing that orgasm.

“oh my god, please cum for me,” his voice breaks, too dazed by his incessant desire to please that he’s forgotten to breathe between words. “on my tongue, huh? cum on my tongue n’ i’ll fuck you how you deserve, i swear to god.”

your chest caves as you fight to catch your breath, stomach tightening in a horrendous need to release when one of his hands are falling over your abdomen and pressing.

“c— choso,” you gasp, choking on your own bated breaths.

“yeah? are you cumming?” his eyes widen, a lilt of excitement threading his words. “you cumming so that that i can fuck you? mmmm, let me taste it… i wanna taste that, please.”

his cock twitches when you stifle a response, back arching as your head sinks deeper into the pillow, your eyes threatening to cross. you’re cumming so shamelessly and messily, and it may be the most erotic thing choso has ever seen.

he can see the rapture in your face, pleasure evident in the thread of your brows and the gape of your lips. incoherent words of praise tumble from your mouth, and choso finds himself spiraling as your voice goes straight to his cock. he’s moaning in response to the sound of you, climbing farther up the bed to chase your cunt. he’s even humping himself against the sheets in hopes of relieving the ache.

he thinks he might cum too when you blindly grab ahold of his hand to force the toy deeper, rutting your hips toward his face, taking exactly what you need from him and of course, he lets you. he’d let you do whatever you want to him.

he wouldn’t care if you snuck into his room in the dead of night, crawled between his legs and fucked him stupid. definitely wouldn’t care if you called him horrible things or talked shit to him. wouldn’t even give a fuck if you slapped him or bit him or suffocated him between your thighs; he wants that, and now that he knows how nasty you like it, he can only imagine what else you’ll be willing to do.

the desperate little whine that leaves you as he slips the dildo from your drooling hole is brief; the sight of him drunkenly wrapping his lips around the head to suck it clean is enough to make you cry out his name instead.

“you’re so fucking nasty,” you gape, pressing your thighs together to dull the new ache that looms deep in your core. “like overly.”

you can’t help the gasp that parts your lips when his hands are pushing your thighs back apart, pressing himself between them. his long, pretty cock rests upon your stomach, the promise he made earlier looking more like a threat now than anything.

you swallow thickly.

a coy little smile twists his lips. “i promise i fuck nastier.”

[stargazsblog]

I CAN SEE YOU ──꒰✉️꒱ ❞ ‧₊˚

｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ clark kent x fem!reader

꣑ৎ you and clark have been secretly dating for three months. no touching, barley talking at work. so why does it feel like everyone knows?

꣑ৎ now playing - i can see you by taylor swift

tag/warnings: fluff, swearing, making out

note: KITCHEN SCENE!!!!! i know i am a little late on this but i just watched superman a week ago and oh my god i love it sm

Working with Clark is probably the most stressful thing ever. Not because he’s difficult—he’s actually the sweetest person in the office. Always kind, always helpful, always handsome.

Which makes it even worse.

Because you’re dating him. Secretly.

And if you told anyone that, no one would believe you. You two barely even look at each other during work hours. He treats you like any other coworker—polite, distant, professional. And you’ve gotten pretty good at pretending you don’t stare every time he rolls up his sleeves or adjusts his glasses.

But now? Now it’s been three months. Three months of pretending you don’t notice him when he walks past your desk with his tie slightly loosened and a coffee in each hand—only placing one on Lois’s desk.

Three months of pretending you’re not dating the guy who texts you goodnight with terrible emojis and kisses your forehead like he’s scared he’ll break you.

And somehow, it still feels like everyone knows.

Maybe it’s the way Jimmy gives you a look every time Clark walks by. Or how Lois asked—very casually—if there’s someone special in your life. Or how Clark, bless him, keeps sneaking glances at you when he thinks no one’s looking.

Working with Clark Kent is exhausting.

You don’t see Clark, but you know he’s late. Again.

You’re standing by the printer near his desk, waiting for your files to finish printing. It’s the closest you’ve been to his chair all week, and it still feels too close. He’s usually already here by now—tie straight, glasses slightly fogged from the rush in. But today, his desk is empty.

Or… it was.

While you’re focused on the machine slowly spitting out paper, you don’t notice him quietly slipping in behind you. You only hear the sound of his bag hitting the floor.

“So this guy flew into Midtown and started attacking people, demanding Superman show up?” Lois says, her voice sharp and curious.

You freeze, your hand hovering over the warm stack of papers. You don’t turn around. You can’t. You already know exactly what they’re talking about. Clark had come to you right after—scuffed up, hair messy, eyes tired. He held you for a long time and whispered, “I’m okay.”

Now he’s here, in clean clothes and calm glasses, like none of it happened.

“Yeah,” Clark replies easily. “It’s all there in my article.”

You can’t help it—your lips twitch into a small smile. His voice is warm, smooth, and steady. Totally unbothered. Like he hadn’t just saved the world again.

You force your attention back to your papers, trying to ignore the twist of jealousy in your stomach. Lois is always talking to him. Laughing with him. She has no idea.

You’ve just collected the last page when you hear someone call your name.

“Hey, Y/N!”

You turn instinctively—and freeze.

Jimmy’s smiling at you from across the room. So is Lois. And so is Clark.

All three of them are watching you, but it’s Clark’s eyes you notice first. There’s a flicker of something behind his glasses. That soft, familiar look he gives you when no one else is around. The one that says, I see you.

You swallow hard, cheeks warming. You pray no one notices.

“Uh—yeah?” you say, pretending like your heart isn’t racing.

Jimmy grins and waves you over. “We were just talking about the Superman situation. You saw it, right?”

You nod slowly, trying not to look at Clark. “Yeah. I saw some stuff online this morning.”

“Total chaos,” Lois adds, crossing her arms. “Guy shows up out of nowhere, starts attacking people.”

Jimmy leans forward, eyes lighting up. “So what do you think of him, Y/N? Superman, I mean.”

Your brain short-circuits. You know they’re just making conversation, but suddenly it feels like the room is too bright, too quiet, like Clark’s staring straight through you.

What do you think of Superman?

You think he’s brave. You think he’s gentle. You think he makes you pancakes at 2 a.m. and wraps you in his arms like you’re the most important person in the universe.

But you can’t say any of that.

So you shrug, and hope your smile doesn’t look as nervous as it feels.

“I mean, he’s cool. I guess?” you say, casually, maybe too casually.

Clark lets out a soft chuckle behind you. Just one little laugh—but you hear it loud and clear.

“Just cool?” Jimmy raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this.

You blink, flustered. “I mean—do you want me to stand here and praise him for what he does?” you say, half-laughing. “He’s Superman. He’s already got enough fan clubs.”

Lois smirks. “So you’re not a fan?”

“I didn’t say that!” you rush to add. “I just—he’s fine. He does good things. Very… heroic.”

You feel Clark’s eyes on you. You know he’s trying not to smile.

Jimmy grins like he’s cracked some secret code. “You’re totally hiding a crush.”

Your eyes widen. “What? No. Nope. Not at all.”

“Okay, okay,” Lois says, waving it off, “let her live. We’ve all got our opinions.”

You mutter something about needing to get back to work and shuffle away, heat blooming across your cheeks. You don’t dare look at Clark as you pass him—but he leans in just slightly as you go by and murmurs, barely audible:

“Just cool, huh?”

You don’t even look at him. But your smile gives you away.

Your hair’s a mess, your shirt’s half-unbuttoned, and your bag is slipping off your arm. You don’t even bother turning on the lights as you shut the door behind you with your foot and toss your keys somewhere near the counter.

You drag yourself into the kitchen, already reaching for the fridge.

You let out a loud scream.

“Holy shit, Clark!”

Because there he is. In your kitchen. Like it’s totally normal. Shirt sleeves rolled up, glasses off, standing barefoot in front of the stove like he hasn’t just scared ten years off your life.

He glances over his shoulder, completely calm. “Hey.”

“Babe, next time text me you’re coming,” you say, hand still pressed to your chest.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says as he turns off the stove and walks toward you, warm and soft in every movement. “I just know how stressed you’ve been lately, so I wanted to make your favorite—breakfast for dinner.”

You set your bag down and walk toward him, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“That’s your favorite,” you reply.

He grins, dimples and all—those dimples.

“No… last time I checked, you love breakfast for dinner,” he teases, slipping his arms around your waist.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders with a quiet laugh. “You’re annoying.”

“And you’re adorable,” he murmurs before leaning in to kiss you, soft and slow like he has all the time in the world.

Then, without warning, he picks you up effortlessly and sets you on the kitchen counter. You squeak a little, grinning against his lips.

“I thought you were tired,” he says, voice low and amused.

“I was. Then you showed up looking like this,” you tease, tugging playfully at his rolled sleeves.

Clark lets out a hum and starts kissing your neck, slow and deliberate, like he has nowhere else to be but here with you.

“You know,” he whispers between kisses, his lips brushing just under your jaw, “I think we’re doing pretty good at hiding our relationship.”

“You think?” you breathe out, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Pretty sure your friends have been looking at me weird.”

He smiles against your skin. “Let them look.”

His hands slip under the hem of your shirt, fingertips skimming your waist. “They don’t know anything.”

You tilt your head back slightly, giving him more access, your voice barely a whisper. “They know something.”

Clark pulls back just enough to meet your eyes—dark, soft, and burning with something heavy. “Do you want to stop?”

Your pulse stutters. “No.”

His mouth meets yours, deeper this time, and when he lifts you off the counter and starts walking you toward the bedroom, you forget about Jimmy, Lois,—everything except him.

The newsroom hums with the usual clatter — phones ringing, typing, someone arguing near the printers. You step off the elevator, pretending like everything’s normal. Like you didn’t spend the night in Clark’s arms. Like your shirt doesn’t still smell faintly like his cologne.

Clark walks in behind you, a minute later. Casual. Professional. His tie’s slightly crooked.

You brush past each other in the hallway. Barely. Not even enough for anyone to notice—

Except Jimmy.

Jimmy, sitting at his desk with a half-eaten bagel, tracks the interaction like he’s watching a spy movie. His eyes squint. He leans over toward Lois, lowering his voice like he’s about to break the biggest story of the year.

“How long have they been dating?” he asks.

Lois doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t even glance away from her computer.

“Three months.”

Jimmy chokes on his bite. “Wait, what?! You knew?!”

Lois finally looks up, unimpressed. “Jimmy. Please. Clark literally smiles now. He’s writing down his so-called funny jokes and he’s wearing cologne. You think he does that for himself?”

Jimmy blinks, stunned. “I thought he was just… glowing.”

Lois rolls her eyes and goes back to typing. “He’s in love, not radioactive.”