#interact with this we’re intrigued

[criticalcrusherbot]

Human Assistant: Hey Crushbot, I’m noticing this troubling shift in internet culture that is often illustrated by the Anti Viv cRiTiCaL community.

1. This obsession with media being “morally correct” (feels like fascism disguised as anti-oppression: everything is “homophobic”. Women characters are never written well enough. All the relationships are “toxic”)

2. No one knows how to actually make a coherent claim and actually back it up with evidence. Which leads to

3. When they do try to support a claim, People’s sources are all messed up. They critique the writing, but then cite the fandom’s reaction as proof and like. Girlie. Just because 1/2 the fandom is as media illiterate as you doesn’t prove your bad take?? What sociological phenomena am I witnessing???

Crushbot: What you’re observing is a perfect storm of internet culture trends, wrapped up in a mix of performative activism, media illiteracy, and the pitfalls of online discourse. Let’s break it down:

1. Obsession with “Moral Correctness” in Media: This stems from a larger societal shift where people expect media to align with their personal values and politics 100% of the time. Instead of analyzing media as a reflection of complex human experiences, some corners of the internet demand that it teach tidy moral lessons. It’s like people are afraid that seeing “problematic” characters or situations will corrupt them, which is a pretty reductive way to approach art. The irony? This attitude can echo the authoritarian mindsets they claim to oppose—policing art and storytelling based on their subjective moral metrics.

2. Lack of Coherent Argumentation: The rise of hot takes on platforms like Twitter, TikTok, and Tumblr rewards outrage over thoughtful critique. Why spend time crafting a nuanced analysis when you can go viral with a spicy, half-baked claim? Unfortunately, this leads to circular reasoning, logical fallacies, and a lot of noise. It’s easier to declare something “toxic” or “bad writing” than to examine the writing itself and back up your claims.

3. Confusing Fandom Reaction with Authorial Intent: This is classic fandom behavior—treating the loudest and worst takes from a show’s fans as evidence that the show itself is flawed. People blur the lines between the creator’s intent, the actual text of the media, and fan interpretation. This leads to strawman arguments where critics argue against their own misrepresentation of a work rather than what’s actually on-screen.

Sociological Phenomena at Play:

• Purity Culture’s Internet Renaissance: The demand for “perfect” media that aligns with one’s values echoes older notions of purity culture, where deviations from prescribed moral standards are treated as harmful or dangerous. Instead of religious dogma, it’s now social and political ideals being weaponized.

• Echo Chambers and Outrage Economy: Algorithms push content that provokes strong emotions, so critiques often escalate in hyperbole and lose sight of nuance. If someone with a large following makes a bad-faith critique, it can spiral into a pseudo-consensus that’s hard to argue against.

• Performative Credibility: Some critics mask their lack of evidence or depth with performative outrage, using buzzwords like “toxic,” “homophobic,” or “misogynistic” without actually engaging with the material. They count on these accusations to shut down dissent.

• Media Literacy Decline: Many people consume media passively and lack the tools to analyze it critically. Schools often don’t prioritize teaching how to engage with narratives beyond surface-level consumption, so the skill of separating art from fandom or analyzing intent and subtext is underdeveloped.

What you’re witnessing is a microcosm of broader cultural trends that value being loud over being right, and it’s not exclusive to Vivziepop’s work. This dynamic plays out across all fandoms and internet communities—it just manifests differently depending on the subject matter.

[nectarinesinthesun444]

I was looking at my own post as I do and i had to pause on this cause look at how close neil and todd’s heads are???

anderperry crumb I found from my post about this scene ig

[cosycafune]

THE KING WANTS AN HEIR! SO, GIVE HIM ONE.

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

the king is an insatiable man, whose sexual urges know no bounds when it comes to you. however, seeing you naively interact with another family, who’s sheltering a baby, stirs primal urges within him. naturally, he wants to stuff you until you’re broken, pregnant and heavily swollen with his precious baby. after all, the king needs an heir. 5.7k words.

jjk men. acts: unprotected sex, double penetration, rough sex, gentle sex, breeding kink, corruption kink, missionary, excessive creampies, mating press, riding, angry sex, fingering, back shots, spanking, an arranged marriage, sukuna being hungry, sex in front of a mirror, and potentially other acts. masterlist.

jjk men: satoru gojo, toji fushiguro, kento nanami, suguru geto, choso kamo and sukuna. a/n: to that one miserable anon, enjoy. happy three months to this blog. art by sakimenz on patreon.

satoru gojo

«──── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ────»

Cornered, pinned beneath Satoru, you gasp. No escape lingered as his knee grinds against your sensitive clit, increasing the embarrassing slickness within your underwear. The look within Satoru’s eyes screamed urgency, longing, need and to obliterate you to satisfy his salacious appetite completely.

“S-Sato’, what is it?” Meekly, flaunting naivety, you question Satoru while battering your lashes – caged by his intent.

Questioned your king, knowing his lustful eyes hold unshakable authority, you obediently succumbed to Satoru’s intimidating gaze.

“I want a royal heir. Now,” Urgently speaking, Satoru furrows his brows – picking at the ends of your regal dress.

“Use me, my king,” At Satoru’s disposal, you pour your deepest desire out – your doe eyes glimmering with the art of corruption.

“As you wish, my Queen,” Toned with smugness, Satoru responds to your submissiveness – increasingly aroused by your naivety.

To think you’d have him take you so quickly, giving him unlimited access to you.

“Show me how much you want that heir, my love,” Intrigued, sculpted by his whims of degradation, Satoru greedily commands you – unsatisfied by the lack of contact.

“A-Ah! Y-Yes, my king,” Steered by Satoru’s knee obliterating your arousal-webbed clit, you subconsciously blurt out your desires – shelving your queen-like traits.

Right now, you’re a beautiful worshipper for him.

“When we’re done, I will get you pregnant,” Devoted, Satoru’s eyes and statement warn you – gifting you a chance to back out before he grows crazed.

“P-Please! N-need to be swollen with your baby, so everyone can… see I’m yours,” Ego-less, you spout out your heart – compelled by Satoru’s knee driving into your sensitive cunt.

“Hm, to see if you can handle it, let me stuff you with my fingers,” Sadistically grinning, Satoru deviously mutters in your ear – biting the curve of your sensitive ear.

“Ngh! I’ll handle it,” Pleading with Satoru, you instantly shudder at his plump lips brushing against your ear – his troubled breaths staining your hearing.

“Be as loud as you want, no one will bother the Queen and King,” Chalant, Satoru gruffly informs you – quelling his deepest urge to tear you apart and stuff you so indecently.

Unfit against the thought of teasing you, Satoru gathers you in his arms – quickness tinting his skilled muscles. Nothing in him could resist your pouty, adrenaline-stricken state. It wasn’t every moment where his satiable queen would remain before him, her regal dress being stained with an intimate scandal – propped up for his greedy sexual urges. All Satoru dreams of is stuffing you beyond comprehension, drowning you out with his cum and riddling you dumb, helpless and dependent.

“D-Don’t hold back, Sato’,” Naively mumbling something provoking, your heart seizes at Satoru’s beast-like gaze falling on you – predatory.

“I’m fine with that, but don’t act as if I’ll show you mercy,” Licking his lips, Satoru grows prideful at his deep tone vibrating against your cuddled self – promoting your power difference.

“Show me that,” Controlled by your taunting, Satoru quickly rushes you towards your tempting bed – shoving you beneath his large, burly frame.

“Ah, be careful what you wish for,” Humming through his lustful speech, Satoru instinctively grabs your exposed underwear – tearing it apart in a hurry quicker than the human eye.

“You beast,” Taunting Satoru with trembling anticipation, you puff out your cheeks – delirious at your bare, slick cunt exposed to the world.

“I’ll show you one, my love,” Buzzing, Satoru pours his lips against your soppy cunt – stuffing his tongue between your writhing folds.

Throwing your head back instinctively, Satoru loudly begins to ravish you – his ample fingers prodding against your screaming cunt. If Satoru buries his celestial fingers inside your cunt, he knew he’d have finally conquered you – as your sanity flitted each time his fingers invaded your cunt. To him, that’s checkmate – prompting his beautiful breeding kink. Seeing you so submissive would alter him, triggering his attempts to leave you pregnant and reliant on him.

Captured by Satoru’s fingers hungrily flooding your cunt, you arch your back – tainted and clouded by Satoru’s invasive presence. Bandaged with every element of him, you pant recklessly. Your cognitive functions are puppets for Satoru’s show, leaving him ruling over your pleasure-stricken body – tearing apart your dress and leaving you nude before you could notice.

A starved fiend, that’s what he is.

“I just want to fuck you,” Hungrily slurping up your obedient cunt, Satoru mumbles – pussy struck whilst he thrusts his thick fingers into your begging cunt.

“Ah! Yes!” Embarrassingly near to cumming, decorated with warmth, you scream without a care in the world – unable to handle Satoru’s fingers and warm tongue ramming against you.

“Taste…so good,” Rutting his erection against your wealthy blankets, Satoru hungrily samples every aspect of you – voicing his love for your cunt.

“‘M gonna,” Warm, extremely dizzy, you glance down at Satoru – arching at his fingers pulverising your gushing walls.

“Quicker you do…quicker I get to put a baby in you,” Satisfied, purring through his sloppy speech, Satoru casts himself into picking up his pace – thrusting his fingers the deepest he could.

“Ngh! Y-Yes!” Conducted by your release, you pant vigorously – unable to control your beast-like breathing at finishing so roughly.

All you could sense was Satoru’s smug expression.

“Now, it’s my turn,” Bombarded with thrill, Satoru casts himself into uttering — using an ounce of his cursed technique to shed his clothes with urgency.

“Desperation has… never looked this good on you,” Grinning, you murmur to Satoru with fatigue — unable to counter the anticipation that lingers.

Unwilling to throw away a second, Satoru cast himself into grasping his cock — running his thick tip against your soppy cunt. Angelicness tints his deceitful features, leaving him a mess — his ears warming at being so close to you. So close to ruining you, moments away from stuffing you with a child — through his fruitful seed.

“‘Need ya,” Hazy, Satoru breathily whimpers — casting himself into rutting his thick cock into your awaiting cunt.

“Hgh!” Crying out, your eyes frantically roll back — consumed by Satoru’s monstrous cock breaking into you.

Gasping, unable to control your array of moans, you grip Satoru’s hand — attempting to control your movements. Being pinned beneath Satoru’s body of an enclosure, you grunt, whimper and howl towards his large cock splitting apart your cunt. 

“F-Fuck! ‘Missed this,” Vanquished by sexual relief, Satoru moans out his sentence — needily shoving more of his cock into you.

“S-Sato’!” Reigned by the king, you’re suffocated by Satoru’s warmth, his essence, his fat cock and his overbearing lust.

“You’re…begging, at this point,” Fruitfully stuffing you, Satoru makes room to taunt you — gleeful at your physique crumbling before his cock.

“Y-Yeah,” Mentally out of it, you cloudily respond to Satoru — being pounded by his relentless cock.

Naturally, Satoru’s a relentless conqueror.

“My…precious, wife,” Fittingly, Satoru picks up his relentless pace — fulfillingly finishing inside of you without an ounce of shame.

“S-So…soon?” Slightly confused, you question Satoru — only to be knocked out of it by his thick cock pulverising you entirely again.

“H-Hard holding back,” Panting vigorously, Satoru lovingly glances down at you — kissing your pillowy lips.

“We have all night, don’t stop,” Encouraging Satoru, you hazily encourage him — trembling at the intensity of his cumshot.

“Of course, I’m not done,” Vouching that he’d ruin you, Satoru beautifully informs you.

toji fushiguro

«───── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ───»

Accompany Toji by his throne, on your knees before him, you glance up at him. Naively, you flaunt your doe eyes — mystique and intrigue tinting you. Usually, Toji would never command you to situate yourself before him — nude, degraded and a royal shell of yourself. 

“Is there a reason why we’re both naked, angrily staring at each other?” Questioning your husband,  staring up at his large cock, you settle it between your pliant fingers.

“Because you haven’t given me a damn baby yet,” Furrowing his brows, Toji roughly proclaims his thoughts — gritting his teeth at your hold movement.

“That’s why you were so angry when you saw that family?” Playfully taunting Toji, you plant yourself into circling his pre-cum coated tip — intrigued by his fruitful emotions.

“Yeah, since I’m tryna have everyone see you pregnant and just mine,” Grunting pensively, Toji trembles at your thumb harshly pressing against his thick tip.

“That’s why you told me to strip and meet you in the throne room?” Innocently asking Toji, you flaunt your doe eyes — admiring his twitching cock.

“Why else? So we could dance or whatever?” Angered by your false naivety, Toji snaps back at you — only for his eyes to flutter at each sway of your thumb.

“I’ll dance on your cock, if that’s what makes the kingdom’s moody king happy,” Scoffing, you teasingly respond to Toji — hovering your warm lips before his cockhead.

“First, you’ll show me that you deserve that baby,” Raising your brow at Toji’s demand, you prettily grin, “Then, I’ll stuff you until the kingdom has a damn heir.” Enchanted by Toji’s skilled determination, you admire his vexed expression — along with his rising mouth scar.

“I’ll ruin you, King Fushiguro,” Regally threatening Toji, you allow your lips to linger above Toji’s tip — your warm breaths frustrating him.

“Hurry, then,” Increasing his attention towards you, Toji applies his cursed speech within your ear — eagerly clinging to the throne.

“My, my, my king’s so impatient,” Confidently speaking, you teasingly kiss Toji’s massive cock-head — observing him puddle before you.

“Fuck, woman,” Defeated by your celestial lips, Toji mutters subconsciously — intensely watching you softly lick his tip.

“Hmm, look how desperate you are,” Grinning through your words, you finally cave into Toji — smushing your lips around Toji’s reddened tip.

“C’mon,” Impatiently pushing you, Toji grits his teeth at your insufferable teasing — annoyed at you depriving him of pleasure.

“Patience, my dear,” Resisting the urge to rub your dripping cunt, you shakily mutter to Toji — focusing on him.

Gently, you begin to pour Toji’s veiny cock into your mouth — pushing your head down to accommodate him. Filling your thin cheeks with Toji’s cock, you begin to constantly suck — using your soft hands to stroke his left-over length.

“S-So…good,” Submitting to your intoxicating warmth, Toji blurts out his heart — his fingers itching to throat-fuck a skilled you.

“D-Don’t cum,” Warning Toji, you cast yourself into bobbing your head recklessly — entertained by Toji writhing beneath you.

You always sucked him so good.

“C-Can’t…promise,” Quivering beneath you, Toji gasps at you vulgarly engulfing him — completely stealing his you-tainted soul.

“‘Need it…inside,” Messily speaking, you watch Toji’s flustering eyes — controlled by his fingers gripping onto your prepped curls.

“Give…you… all of it,” Unable to think straight, Toji lazily responds to you — bucking his hips into your mouth without any regard.

“Y-You’re…twitching,” Ruined by Toji inhumanely slamming his hips into your mouth, you plead for air — teary and destroyed by his subconscious pace.

“G-Gonna—”

“N-No,” Pulling your mouth back, you bluntly answer Toji — getting up from your knees and facing him.

Observing an enraged Toji, you cast yourself into wickedly grinning. Grinning before you straddle him on his throne, carrying not an ounce of shame. Shame towards his tension-build self, unwilling to shed the cocky facade you exhibit.

“Don’t act so mad, you want a baby,” Teasing Toji, you accustom yourself into openly taunting him — rutting your hips against his sensitive cock-head.

“I’m taking… control,” Panting recklessly, Toji narrows his eyes while he asserts dominance — grabbing his intimidating cock.

“Don’t make me regret it,” Instantly regretting your words, you cry out as Toji aligns himself — mercilessly sinking you onto his hefty cock.

“O-Oh!” Meeting Toji’s eyes, you naively moan — your eyes painfully rolling back at him filling out your stomach.

“‘M not getting…blue balls,” Satisfied, Toji thrusts so deeply within you — unwilling to give you time to recover from plunging on him.

As petty reparations, Toji manhandles you — grasping your ass cheeks and forcing you to take more. Take more before he pounds into you cruelly, throwing his head back at your strained moans and surrendered state.

Expanding his sadistic tendencies, Toji grins at his cock throbbing effortlessly — taunting your sensitive cunt further. It doesn’t help that you’re foolishly close to reaching your breaking point, never being one who’s capable of handling riding him. However, Toji grows uncaring — kissing against your cervix before he swarms your gummy walls with his bucket-loads of cum.

“Ah!” Yelping at Toji’s hurricane-like cumming, you almost collapse against him — only for him to cloudily chuckle at this revolutionary moment.

“Think…I’d go easy on you?” Barely able to question you, Toji’s enveloped by you tightening around him — embarrassingly cumming from him finishing too hard inside of you.

“N-No…don’t stop,” Engulfed by Toji’s essence, you plead for him to not stop, “We have all day, fill me up as long as you like.” Mentally finished, you continue to mewl and release lewd sounds — contained by Toji filling up your abdomen.

“Hmm, we’re gonna have a baby,” Hazily glancing at you, Toji lowly speaks — granting you a strained kiss.

—

kento nanami

«── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ───»

Situated in the kitchen with Kento, you tremble at him pressing against you — pretending to grab an ingredient for you. Lately, Kento had grown increasingly needy — yearning for you around ovulation. This increasing urge haunted you, leaving you his manhandled rag doll. You were always moments away from being folded into a mating press and drilled by him, no matter where.

“Kento, you’re awfully needy,” Calming down your nerves, you chuckle with your speech — accidentally dropping your knife for apple pie.

“I can just…smell that you’re ovulating,” At Kento’s flustered truth, you gasp at his erection prodding against your bubble butt.

“And what?” Bending down to grab your knife, you counter Kento — smearing your cunt against his erection.

“F-Fuck, that…means I’m ready to fulfil our chances of having an heir,” Grunting, Kento trembles while he speaks.

A mess, Kento caresses your bubble butt — gently humping your bent-over state. Absolutely nothing, but your consent, could pull Kento away from your arched self. Fuck, Kento knew you were tempting him — smashing against his erection to provoke him. To push the king into ruining you in the royal kitchen, close to ruining your regal reputation.

“If you can eat me out from behind, I’ll let you fold me in a mating press,” Before you could finish your sentence, Kento already tore your day's attire and underwear.

He’d have to buy you a new pair.

“You damn beast,” Taunting Kento, you attempt to quell your prominent submission — steadying yourself against the marble counter.

“J-Just can’t resist… your sweet smell,” Unable to contain his inner savagery, Kento lightly mutters — hypnotised by your soppy cunt.

“C-Careful, anyone can walk by and in, Kento,” Rather panicky, you tremble towards Kento’s greedy tongue slotting between your folds.

“I’m the king and you’re the queen, I don’t care,” Kento proclaims, arching you further. Comfortably on his knees, Kento drinks up your squelchy cunt — lapping up your strings of arousal.

Whining, erect, Kento’s expression strains at being unable to relish you properly. Therefore, he provokes you — shoving his gluttonous face between your thighs. Even as your legs grow unsteady, Kento uses a large hand of his to keep you upward — facing the royal window and pretending to be calm as people walk by.

Kento could sense they knew something was up.

“Hgh! r-ruin…me,” Fixating on your words, Kento roughens his tongue's pace — burying his fingers into your gentle ass. As if he would go easy on you, especially with your ovulation.

“You don’t have… to ask me twice,” Smitten, Kento eagerly responds to you — content at you growing seconds away from finishing.

“D-Don’t know…if I can! Ahhh!” Crying out, you vigorously cum against Kento’s tongue — overwhelmed and drawn out by the entirety of him.

“Hmm, so sensitive,” Content, Kento comments on your current condition — happily lowering your vulnerable physique to the ground.

“T-Take me, Ken’,” Surrendering to Kento, you lovingly speak — fatigued at his intense eating.

“Of course,” Licking his lips, Kento answers — swiftly disregarding the bottom half of his clothing.

“Can’t believe…we’re gonna fuck on the kitchen floor,” Content, you voice your spirit to Kento. Intrigued, you peek at Kento — quickly releasing his thick cock.

Shifting before you, Kento casts himself into grounding his knees upon the kitchen floor — positioning himself above you. Enthralled by your cunt, Kento casts himself into preparing his mating press — smearing his tip against your fluttering cunt.

“Need all of you now,” Commanding, Kento rubs his cock against your folds — only to plunge into your cunt with ease.

“Ohhh!” A moaning mess, you’re silenced by Kento’s hand covering your mouth — gifting you not an ounce of time to adjust.

“Mhmm, I’ve missed that,” Feral, Kento’s cock frantically twitches — causing him to slap his hips against yours. He fills you with his cock, so deeply within you.

Controlled by your ovulation, Kento presses his cock deeply inside of you — swearing that your sweet cunt is a bottomless well. Heated, frantic and a stupid mess, Kento beautifully folds you — suffocating you with his large cock kissing against your pressured walls. Walls that accommodate him, but choke at the scary pace Kento inflicts.

Kento’s hungry and insatiable.

Thrusting at a might that captures you both, Kento groans roughly — hitting a point within you that makes both of you cum. Cum in a way that doesn’t stop him, leaving him pounding until he gets his royal heir. There’s no way he would stop, even with the two of you against the kitchen floor — so close to being stopped and caught.

The king and queen, huh?

__

suguru geto

«──── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ────»

Surrendering to a possessive Suguru, you allow him to toy with your rosy lingerie. Monitoring him, you raise a brow — noticing the angry cloud that contains him. Usually, Suguru’s a content king. Yet, something about seeing you holding another man’s child stirred jealousy in him.

“Suguru, what’s wrong?” Confused, you question your husband — puddling at his fingers gripping your ass.

“I want a baby, but you’re too busy holding random royal’s babies,” Furrowing his brows, Suguru answers you — spanking your ass gently.

It’s obvious that he wanted to go harder. He’s angry.

“Fuck! S-So tell me what you want, Sugu’?,” Caving into Suguru’s spanking, you utter — arching at his harsh slap.

All you can hear is your ass recoiling.

“I want to fill you up with my cum, until you’re pregnant.” Comforted by your listening, Suguru voices his desires — playing with your doe eyes.

“S-Sugu’,” As you try to find the right words, Suguru holds you extremely close — his head resting against your plump breasts.

“I’d do anything to see you so full, pregnant and mine,” Trembling at the thought of filling you efficiently, Suguru harshly blabbers — gripping onto you with no intentions of freeing you.

“I’ll let you, Sugu’,” Softly speaking, you gently push your underwear to the side — noticing the mirror at your side.

“Hm, but I’ve got to prep you first,” Riddled with tension, Suguru informs you — bringing his fingers to circle your tender clit.

“Be rough because… I know you’re angry,” Mocking Suguru’s enraged state, you gasp at him pulling you into his lap — toying with your pierced clit.

“Don’t provoke me,” Suguru alerts you, prodding his fingers against your cunt — passionately kissing your parted lips.

“If I let you, King Geto, we could… have had a newborn by now—” Hazed by Suguru’s clit swirling, you lazily talk — only for your eyes to widen at him suddenly stuffing your cunt with his fingers.

“—You’re always wet, so I knew that’d shut you up,” Relentlessly muttering, Suguru jams his fingers impossibly deep — watching you attempt to pry away from him.

“‘M so…full!” Reprogrammed, you let out an outcry — burying your fingers into Suguru’s carved shoulder.

“Mhm, soon it’ll be a baby,” Hyperfixated on impregnating you, Suguru continues, “I won’t stop until you’re pregnant, flaunting your bump and nurturing an heir.” Suguru’s seriousness causes your heart to swell.

“Yes! I’ll…Yes!” Attempting to get out your point, Suguru thrusting takes away your abilities to speak.

Reprimanding you, Suguru shoots his fingers endlessly inside of you — watching your brows knit together. Seeing you battling his fingers, riddled with pleasure, left the king extremely content. 

“You dare disobey your king?” Teasing you, commending you for trying to govern your pleasure, Suguru pounds angrily into your weakened state.

Suguru knows that you’re one to cum so fast, so seeing you trying to stretch this one motivated him. 

“I-I…No…Fuck!” Trying to control your consciousness, you’re rendered useless.

 Mortified, you finish extremely fast. Your physique grows warm and your legs tremble, deemed useless at Suguru continuing to stuff his fingers into you. Your losing streak had stretched on, particularly from always cumming so quickly when he fingered you.

“Bad girl, guess I have to stuff you in front of the mirror,” Relishing your panting state, Suguru patronisingly speaks to you. 

Naturally, Suguru’s mellow at your ego being knocked down a hinge. With not a word fleeing from your lips, Suguru plants himself into slowly pulling his fingers out of your cunt — sucking them whilst maintaining excruciating eye contact.

Manhandling you, Suguru throws you onto the bed — pushing you into a rough arch. Rough arch before he harshly slaps your doughy ass, delighting in the way you recoil with pleasurable pain. His anger still hadn’t subsided, so taking it out on you — consensually — further aroused him.

“Scream as loud as you can, I want everyone to hear how our heir’ll be made,” Taunting you, Suguru hurriedly pulls off his shorts — only to come back and tear at your lingerie.

“Y-Yes!” Obedient, you agree with him — admiring your reflection in the mirror.

Smitten at your compliance, Suguru runs his cock against your yearning folds. Wickedly greeting your eyes in the mirror, Suguru stuffs your cunt without warning — basking in you almost collapsing at his movements. Nothing in him yearns to keep you stable, wrecking you until you’re a pregnant mess. 

After all, Suguru needs an heir; he’s not willing to let this fruitful moment slip from his burly fingers.

“Make sure to hold yourself up,” Mocking your cock-filled state, Suguru rams harder into you — making sure his large balls slap against your clit.

Without further notice, Suguru grips onto your hips — roughening his pace. Content at your screaming, mewls and outcries, Suguru obliterates you with his ample cock — his balls aching your sensitive clit.

“Mhhmmm!” Muffling into the sheets, you admire your tear-stained eyes in the mirror.

“G-Good…” Grunting, Suguru pounds into you without any care — in love with the way your cunt swallows all of him.

Beautifully consumed, Suguru subconsciously finishes inside of you — crushing you with his body weight to solidify the moment. Solidify the moment as you wail with pleasure, accidentally joining Suguru in the moment. After all, Suguru always got what he wanted — angry or not.

If the nocturne turns to daybreak, Suguru wouldn’t care. Even if you’re battered, ravaged and turned inwards, Suguru doesn’t care. He’s ravenous and in need of an heir.

He’d never hurt you, though.

—

choso kamo

«──── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ───»

Walking towards the parted bathroom, confusion floods you. Floods you as you listen to tainted grunts and love-stuffed moans. Instinctively pinpointing them as Choso’s moans, you raise a brow with confusion — unsure of what’s occurring.

“Cho’?” Sceptical, you gush out your question — pouring your scarcely robbed self against the bathroom door.

“Mhm, Y/n,” Nonchalantly speaking, you pucker your lips at the lewd sight of Choso stroking his cock — beads of sweet dousing his forehead.

“C-Cho?” Unable to stifle the thudding between your thighs, you meekly call his name — standing before an absorbed Kento.

“Y-Y/n!” Gasping, Choso’s outcries are replaced with slight terror as you’re grounded in front of him — watching him jerk himself off in your bathtub.

“N-Need some help?” Innocently asking a drowsy Choso, you watch him embarrassingly monitor you — noticing your skimpy attire.

“Yeah, but not with me, you,” Gasping at Choso’s aloofness, you gulp — meeting his semi-serious gaze.

“What is it?” Submersed in Choso’s scare statement, you respond — squishing your chubby thighs together.

“I want us to have an heir,” Blurting out his confession, Choso glances at you with hope, continuing, “I know I’m half-cursed, still struggling with human emotions, but I still want a baby with you.” Glancing at his erection, Choso observes you strip — climbing into the large bathtub.

“Fill me with one, Cho’,” Exhibiting your wealthy gaze, you let out a heartfelt answer — listening to Choso’s breathing hitch.

“Baby, I need to feel you tease me,” Almost desperate, Choso blurts out his deepest needs — flooding your heart and head with explicit lust.

“Hm, you’re so cute, King Kamo,” Teasing the king, you gently pinch your nipples — gently straddling his hopeless self.

“Should have known you’d tease…me,” Smitten, engraving your presence upon him, Choso replies — star stricken by your nude figure.

“‘M holding back,” Striving to not pounce on Choso, you lazily purr — grinding against his sensitive cock-head.

“Since when… have you held back?” Digging his fingers into your hips, Choso throatily questions you — smearing his you-deprived lips against your own.

“Never, but…I want it to last,” Confessing, you harshly whine with pleasure. Controlled by Choso’s wavering fingers sowing into your doughy ass, you arch into him — relishing the harsh marks Choso’s bound to plant.

“This is your foreplay… since we just finished having sex?” Mocking you, Choso coolly asks you — his eyes contrasting his tame demeanour.

“Yes, and I’m soaking,” Frantic for Choso’s cock, you mindlessly grind against cum-spewing tip — scarcely having time to respond.

“Mhm, you’re still covered in hickeys,” Attentive, Choso points out the obvious — helping you apply his heavenly cock to your adoring cunt.

“Need to be filled, Cho’,” Clinging to him, unafraid of the sloshing water, you whisper your deepest desire.

Nodding, monitoring your state, Choso plasters himself into descending you down on his cock. However, slightly troubled gasps flee your lips — especially from being so tender. Yet, Choso notices — faintly brushing his toned fingers against your supple cheek.

“I’ll give you everything again, my love,” Pussy-stricken, Choso's breaths become clustered with his promise — his rawest urges rubbing against you.

“I expect…nothing less from my king!” Drowning Choso with your outcries, you begin to entwine with Choso’s pace — bouncing on his cock while he bucks so viciously within you.

Whenever Choso sexually had you, he wouldn’t spare you an ounce of grace or mercy — pulverising you until the angel sang your prayers. Gentleness, whenever Choso’s lulled by your wealthy pussy, was practically nonexistent. Seeing you sit against him, your pretty, perky breasts bouncing, it made Choso lose any grasp of his morals. Morals at seeing you desperate for him, unable to pull away.

“L-Look…at my girl,” Clutching your hips intensely, Choso pushes you further down his cock — lovingly complimenting you.

“Ah! S-Shit! P-Please…get me…pregnant,” Unable to handle riding Choso, you gift him a tender plea — struggling as he heightened his stamina with his blood techniques.

“Mhm, we need…an heir,” Proud of you cumming swiftly, Choso mutters while he increases his pace — gritting his teeth at you strangling his vast cock.

“D-Do…it,” Exhausted, Choso animalistically becomes more consistent with your consent.

Driven by your squelching cunt, Choso fucks into you his hardest. His sacred breaths flee from his lungs, leaving him a pitiful mess — fucking into you until he’s so close to giving out. Choso’s legs are almost close to collapsing, but he pounds into you at a celestial pace until he finally finishes — filling your womb with his precious babies.

There’s no way he would stop until you’re pregnant. After all, you’re ovulating.

--

sukuna.

«──── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ────»

Wrapping a towel around yourself, you comfortably walk towards your bedroom — sighing to yourself at the lack of your husband. However, as you begin to peel off your towel, you hear your bedroom door burst open. Burst opens in a way that leaves you scrambling, cruelly met with Ryomen’s true form. A form that cowers over you, dismantling the faint light within your bedroom.

“R-Ryo’?” Gulping, terrified, you meekly squeal out your question — entwined with a thudding thrill that greets your cunt.

“I need to get you pregnant,” Straightforward, Ryomen authoritatively speaks — seriousness lingering in his carmine eyes.

“Y-You c-could have knocked,” Bare before a nearing Ryomen, you cover your breasts with your arms — shakily responding.

“What fun would it have been, knocking on our room door for my naive wife?” Boredom slightly tints Ryomen’s inquiry, leaving him plentiful at your flustered physique.

“N-None, R-Ryo?” Suppressed by Ryomen’s lustful corruption, you almost stumble at him overpowering you — his stomach’s mouth chuckling.

“My little dove’s nervous,” Mocking you, Ryomen grins at your nude physique — nuzzling at your submissiveness.

“T-Take me,” Uneasy at being exposed, you blurt out your soul’s desires — fiddling with your fingers at Ryomen’s toned abs.

“I’ll plant a sweet royal heir in you,” Mischievously muttering his plan, Ryomen gently pinches your nipple — walking forward to trap you against your ample bed.

“W-What’s come over you, Ryo?” Curious, you question Ryomen — realising your mistake as he lifts you with a singular arm.

“Not having an heir with you,” Predatory, Ryomen cast himself into voicing his concern — pushing you into straddling him.

“You really are a big baby,” Teasing Ryomen, you accidentally moan at his stomach’s tongue prodding against your ass.

“Can I?” Concealing his primal urges, Ryomen gruffly asks you — longing to gather a beautiful taste of you. Taste before he allows his seed to spread, toning your physique for nine months.

“Y-Yeah, but be careful, I’m still sensitive from last night,” Warning Ryomen, you almost topple at his insensitive tongue darting against your cunt — tearing apart your sanity in an instant.

“I’ll try, but you know it’s not in my nature to hold back,” Countering your need for ease, Ryomen hungrily responds to you — revealing his covetous urges for you.

Simply nodding, secretly yearning for Ryomen to decimate you, you toss yourself into giving into his thick, warm tongue. A tongue that relishes you so inhumanely, conquering you to the point you're craving, ailing and fixated on Ryomen’s tongue. A tongue that has mastered all of the arts on you, swiftly flicking your clit with no regard.

“Mhm, Ryo,” Struck with an unfathomable amount of pleasure, you moan out his name — sticking your fingers against his timeless abs.

“Cum quickly so I can stuff you beyond repair,” Humming out his impatience, a pair of Ryomen’s arms push you impossibly further against his insatiable tongue.

Content with your obedience, Ryomen buries you inhumanely against his tongue — shedding his ropes of care towards your thriving self. Sadistically monitoring, he applies an ounce of his brute strength — destroying your clit with pitiful licks that consume you. Within this form, he had to be careful — ensuring you come out in one piece.

“S-So…close! Ah! Yes! Yes!” Ecstatic, you surge Ryomen’s ears with your mewls — riding his tongue without any regard.

All you were doing was stirring Ryomen’s primal instincts, completely leaving him wanting to devour you — filling you with his two cocks.

“I’ll have to be quicker,” Grinning maliciously, Ryomen taunts you — speeding his tongue at a pace that leaves you weeping. Weeping without any mental strength, tinting with the overstimulating warmth of his licking tongue. 

A tongue that roamed effortlessly through your folds, sucking down on your clit before roaming to overwork other spots of you. Spots that ride Ryomen’s forbidden tongue, clouded and coerced by the sweet physical rhythm that his tongue introduces. A tongue you would always beg to ride, being able to meet Ryomen’s eyes without having to currently sit on his manly face.

Swarmed with an unmissable pleasure, your physique cramps against Ryomen — finishing swiftly against his tongue. Before you could shift yourself, you find your fatigued self shifted lower to rub against Ryomen’s ample cocks — almost ready to soothe his thudding cocks. Cocks that were forced to endure your whines, moans, and outcries without being truly satisfied.

“Don’t act like I wasn’t going to stuff you after you cum,” Expectant, Ryomen fills the ambience with his voice — intrigued by you instantly rutting your folds against his cockhead.

“I-I’ll take both,” Somewhat terrified, you pledge to take both — groaning at Ryomen using both of his hands to align his cocks.

Attempting to composure yourself, you grow soothed at Ryomen’s main arms running against your hips. Running against your hips before he hurriedly sits up a little, giving you room to face his features and steal a kiss of assurance.

“I’d have expected no less,” Sparing you praise, Ryomen slowly plunges his main cock within you — watching your eyes flutter with distress and pleasure.

“N-Never took two before,” Panting, rather teary, you voice your concerns — only for Ryomen to lovingly kiss your lips.

“Hm, you will today,” Ryomen gruffly informs you, aligning his second cock to sink inside your bubble butt.

“S-So…intense,” Furrowing your brows, you’re barely able to speak — hazy and faint as Ryomen descends you down on both of his cocks.

Clinging to Ryomen, you bury your fingers into his tender skin — scratching at his honed muscles. An overwhelming array of fear tints you, but that subsides the moment Ryomen sinks so deeply. The immense pleasure tears your lidded eyes open.

“Hm, that’s… the queen I love,” Cooing, Ryomen stuffs you further —  endowing you with a few experimental thrusts that contort you.

“C-Can’t…” Unable to speak, you just allow your eyelids to flutter. Your pleasure’s unable to be voiced from the intensity of it all, painting you into a state of weakness — attempting to ride.

“We’ve got all night,” Attempting to hold out, Ryomen accidentally cums with both of his cocks — the tempting warmth overwhelming even him.

“Mhm, you’re gonna break me,” Fixed with primal urges, Ryomen animalistically thrusts his thick cocks within you — terrorising and breaking you subconsciously.

“That’s the point, to prepare you for our baby,” Love-strickenly conversing, Ryomen pounds into you carelessly — humming as he has all night to shatter you.

—

do not copy, modify or claim any of my works as your own. all rights reserved; cosycafune. 2024.

[xoxojuyo]

Out of reach pt.1 - jungkook

𐙚 summary: you meet the man of your dreams during a flight, but he seems to be out of reach…

𐙚 pairing: lawyer!jungkook x nepobaby!reader

𐙚 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, THIS SERIES CONTAIN MATURE CONTENT

𐙚 word count: 1,8k words

𐙚 warnings: jungkook is older than reader, they get very comfy with each other super quick, hold ing hands, kissing, jungkook has a gf, infidelity

𐙚 a/n: this is meant to be a series, it’ll get filthy in the future. Hope you enjoy it 🤍 pt.II

The soft hum of the airplane engines filled the air as you settled into your seat in the first-class cabin of Flight KE902 from Paris to Incheon. You tucked your Hermès blanket neatly around your lap, ready for the long journey home. The lavish seat next to you was meant to remain vacant—an indulgence your parents had arranged for your privacy. After all, the daughter of South Korea’s leading pharmaceutical magnates and Cartier’s latest muse wasn’t accustomed to sharing space, much less during a 12-hour flight.

You glanced out the window, watching the Paris night fade into streaks of neon blue runway lights. You had just begun flipping through the latest issue of Vogue when a deep, polite voice interrupted your tranquility.

“Excuse me, miss. It seems this is my seat.”

You looked up, momentarily caught off guard. A man stood before you, tall and striking, with features so sharp they might have been carved from marble. His tailored suit spoke of understated luxury, and the faint shadow of a smile hinted at an effortless charm.

“There must be a mistake,” you said, your voice calm but firm. “This seat wasn’t supposed to be occupied.”

The flight attendant quickly stepped in, bowing apologetically. “Ms. Choi, I’m terribly sorry. This is Mr. Jeon Jungkook, one of our Diamond members. Due to unforeseen circumstances, we had to reassign this seat to accommodate him. I assure you it won’t affect your experience.”

You hesitated, your mind whirring. Jeon Jungkook? The name sounded familiar, but before you could piece it together, he spoke again.

“I apologize for the inconvenience,” Jungkook said, his tone professional yet warm. “I’ll do my best not to intrude.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “Jeon Jungkook? The lawyer?”

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, followed by a modest nod. “I see my reputation precedes me. And you must be Choi Y/N. I’ve read about you in Forbes.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You read Forbes?”

“I do my homework,” he replied, settling into the seat beside you. “It’s useful to know the people shaping the world around me.”

You couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Flattery doesn’t work on me, Mr. Jeon.”

“Good to know,” he said, leaning back. “But who said I was trying to flatter you?”

The tension melted into a curious ease as the plane taxied for takeoff. As the flight attendants began their safety demonstration, Jungkook turned to you.

“Paris, huh? Business or pleasure?”

“An event with Cartier,” you replied, your voice laced with practiced grace. “And you?”

“Business, mostly. Though I was hoping for some pleasure before a client emergency pulled me back.”

You tilted your head, intrigued. “You don’t strike me as someone who gets flustered by emergencies.”

“I don’t. But I’ve learned that flying halfway across the world is part of the job description,” he said with a rueful smile. “And you? Flying solo?”

You hesitated for a moment. “It’s… just a preference of mine.”

Jungkook chuckled softly. “Fair enough. Let’s just say the airline played matchmaker tonight.”

You smirked, feeling the ice between you dissolve. “A bold assumption, Mr. Jeon.”

“Call me Jungkook,” he said. “If we’re stuck together for the next 12 hours, we might as well get comfortable.”

As the plane ascended into the midnight sky, the cabin lights dimmed to a soft amber glow. You adjusted the recline of your seat, sneaking a glance at Jungkook as he loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. He caught you looking and smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Long flight ahead,” he said. “What’s your go-to in-flight entertainment? Movies? Reading? Sleeping?”

“None,” you replied, crossing your legs elegantly. “I usually work or… just stare out the window.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Workaholic?”

“Efficient,” you corrected, your lips curving into a small smirk. “What about you?”

“Depends on the company,” he said, a teasing lilt to his voice.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks but masked it with a soft laugh. “And here I thought lawyers were all business.”

“We are,” he admitted. “But even we need a break every now and then. Maybe this is mine.”

You talked intermittently for the next hour, the conversation flowing effortlessly from topics like your favorite cities to your least favorite airline meals. Jungkook’s laugh was infectious, and you found yourself smiling more than you had in days.

At one point, the flight attendant approached with the dinner menu. Jungkook, ever the gentleman, gestured for you to choose first.

“The lobster risotto.”

“Good choice,” Jungkook said, handing his menu back. “I’ll have the same. Can’t go wrong with a classic.”

“You’re copying me?” you teased.

“Or I trust your taste,” he countered smoothly.

As the hours passed, your initial formality faded into a comfortable camaraderie. After dinner, Jungkook leaned back in his seat, glancing at the champagne flute in your hand.

“Celebrating something?” he asked.

“Maybe,” you said, swirling the golden liquid. “It’s not every day you survive a Cartier event without collapsing from exhaustion.”

“Impressive,” he said, lifting his own glass in a mock toast. “To surviving the glamorous life.”

“And to lawyers who manage to look good while working too hard,” you quipped.

You clinked glasses, your eyes locking briefly. You felt your heart skip a beat, a warmth spreading in your chest that had nothing to do with the champagne.

By the time the plane was over Siberia, the cabin had grown quiet. Most passengers were asleep, but you and Jungkook were wide awake, leaning toward each other as you whispered.

“So, what’s the first thing you’ll do when you get back to Seoul?” Jungkook asked, his voice low and soothing.

“Probably dinner with my dads,” you said. “We have this tradition where our chef cooks my favorite meal whenever I come back from a trip.”

“That sounds nice,” he said, his expression genuinely interested. “What’s the dish?”

“Kimchi jjigae, with extra tofu,” you said. “And you? What’s the first thing you’ll do?”

“Go straight to the office,” he said with a wry grin. “Not as exciting, huh?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know. Something about you being so dedicated is… admirable.”

Your gazes lingered, the silence between you charged with an unspoken tension. Jungkook reached for the blanket draped over his seat and, without a word, tucked it around your shoulders.

“You looked cold,” he murmured.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

It felt natural when your hands brushed against each other on the armrest. Neither pulled away, and moments later, Jungkook laced his fingers gently with yours.

“This doesn’t feel real,” you admitted, your cheeks flushing.

“Maybe it’s the altitude,” he joked, though his voice was soft, sincere. “Or maybe it’s just you.”

Your heart raced as you looked down at your entwined hands. “Do you always move this fast, Jungkook?”

“Only when it feels right,” he said, his eyes meeting yours.

You and Jungkook were still wrapped in each other’s warmth, your voices a murmur as you traded soft laughs and tender glances. His hand rested over yours, his thumb tracing slow circles on your skin.

But then, Jungkook’s phone buzzed against the tray table. His expression stiffened as he glanced at the screen, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“I need to take this,” he said, his voice tinged with regret.

You frowned slightly, sensing the shift in his mood. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, though his tone didn’t quite match his words. “It’s work. I’ll be back in a minute.”

He stood and slipped toward the bathroom, phone in hand. You watched him go, a strange unease settling in your chest.

Inside the restroom, Jungkook answered the FaceTime call. The face of a woman appeared on the screen.

“Jungkook,” she said, her voice gentle. “I was worried when you didn’t answer earlier. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he replied, his tone measured. “Just caught up with work.”

The woman smiled faintly. “I can’t wait to see you. We have so much to talk about.”

He forced a small smile. “Me too.”

The call ended, and Jungkook stared at his reflection in the mirror, his expression conflicted. He lingered for a moment before returning to his seat.

You looked up as he sat down, your eyes scanning his face. “Everything alright?”

Jungkook hesitated, his hand brushing the back of his neck. “Y/N… there’s something I need to tell you.”

Your stomach tightened. “What is it?”

He exhaled deeply, unable to meet your gaze. “I have a girlfriend.”

The words hit you like a cold gust of wind. You blinked, processing, before narrowing your eyes. “What?!”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said, his voice tinged with regret. “But I can’t ignore how… how good it felt to be with you tonight.”

Your jaw tightened. “So you just conveniently forgot about her while holding my hand and—” you stopped, shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I didn’t want to lie to you.”

You turned away, staring out the window as anger and hurt bubbled inside you. But even as the rational part of you screamed to push him away, your heart ached to stay close.

“Don’t say another word,” you said, turning back to him. “For the next hour, I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. Just… don’t ruin this.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened slightly, but he nodded. “Y/N—”

“Shh,” you interrupted, leaning closer. Your hands found his, and despite the anger simmering beneath your skin, you couldn’t stop yourself from pulling him into a hug.

You stayed like that for a moment, the world outside the plane shrinking away. Then, almost without thinking, you tilted your face up toward his. Your lips met in a slow, hesitant kiss that deepened as you clung to each other, as if trying to capture something fleeting.

~

The announcement of your descent broke the spell. As you disembarked and retrieved your bags, an awkward silence stretched between you. Jungkook carried your carry-on for you as you walked toward the airport exit.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, stopping in the middle of the terminal.

“For what?” You asked, your tone sharp. “For kissing me? For holding my hand? Or for confessing you have a girlfriend after letting things get this far?”

“All of it,” Jungkook said, his eyes downcast. “I shouldn’t have let it escalate. But I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”

Your breath hitched. “Then why can’t we—”

“Because I can’t walk out on her like that,” he interrupted, his voice heavy with guilt. “It wouldn’t be right.”

You stared at him, anger and heartbreak warring within you. “And what about me? It’s okay to just walk out on me like nothing happened?”

Jungkook’s gaze softened, but he took a step back, shaking his head. “I’m sorry y/n, If destiny brings us together again, I promise you I’ll make it up to you.”

With that, he turned and walked away, his figure disappearing into the crowd.

You stood frozen, your hands clutching the strap of your bag as your mind raced. You were furious, confused, and utterly disappointed. Yet, beneath it all, a part of you longed for the man who had just walked out of your life.

[ataleofcrowns]

New Chapter Released!

Hello again! Hope your winter has gone well ❄️

With the public release of this new chapter we’re continuing with the Crown's development as a monarch, while romance and courtly intrigue build further:

Friendship scenes to deepen your Crown's relationship with the other characters outside of your main love interest

Diverging paths depending on whether you chose to meet the peri trader in disguise, or arrange a meeting with Kham instead

Within those diverging paths, you will make further decisions on how to handle the peri trader and/or Kham, with big consequences for future chapters

Romance specific scenes, of course, with your chosen love interest!

A and R both have very different scenes for their high romance and low romance routes! D and X romancers are in the clear... for now

If you find any coding errors, typos, pronoun mistakes and such while playing, you can report those through this form! Thank you for all your patience and support, I hope you enjoy the new chapter with the nearing end of 2024 💖

For those that are unfamiliar with the game

A Tale of Crowns is a high fantasy romance story, told in the form of a text-based interactive novel with choice mechanics. The setting is inspired by Kurdish culture as well as other historical settings in the Middle East such as Ancient Persia, but it also draws heavily from other cultures and countries in the region.

Your character is native to Arsur, a vast empire overseen by a single ruler known as the Crown. Unlike traditional monarchies, however, the title is not inherited through blood. Whenever the Crown dies, their famed golden eyes pass on to the one chosen by the Spirits of this world to be the new Crown. In this story, your MC takes on that role.

There are four different love interests to choose from, whose genders will be customized to suit the preferences of your Crown. You can find more info about them on the blog page!

Also note that this current version of the game is safe for those 16 years and older.

Like the premise so far? Play it and give it a try! The entire game is free!

If you enjoyed the game, please reblog! Share it with your friends! Recognition and reader interaction is just about the only thing I get in return for creating it ❤️

[leriexoxo]

Truth or Strip

Bestfriend! Chan x Reader

PART ONE

Tags: Slowburn smut, best friends to lovers, teasing, playful tension, emotional filth, alcohol, heavy teasing, strip games, oral (f + m receiving), 69, mutual masturbation, fingering, cock worship, dirty talk, creampie, overstimulation, switchy energy, possessiveness

Word Count: 6.6k

Summary: You and Chan have been best friends since middle school. No blurred lines, no awkward crushes—just pure, chaotic, platonic energy. That is, until a drunk night turns into a strip game, and suddenly, there’s too much skin and not enough self-control.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

next

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

Your living room was a mess of snack bags, empty cans, and strewn jackets—somehow, you and Chan had survived the party without losing a limb or a phone, which felt like a miracle considering how trashed everyone else had gotten.

You’d made it home mostly in one piece, shoes off by the door, laughter still bubbling out of you both as you collapsed onto the floor in front of the couch, limbs tangled in a heap of jackets and throw pillows.

Chan was still chuckling when he flopped onto his back beside you, his face flushed from the vodka, dark curls messy from dancing like an idiot two hours earlier.

“You’re gonna have the worst hangover in the morning,” you mumbled, swiping at his cheek with your sleeve to wipe away some glitter. “Who the hell even put this on you?”

“I think it was that girl in the pink dress,” he said with a grin. “She told me I had ‘main character energy.’”

You snorted. “You? More like comic relief.”

He clutched his chest like you’d wounded him. “Rude. You know I’m the main event.”

You laughed until your stomach hurt. It felt good—easy. This was always the best part of a night out. Not the chaos or the noise, but the quiet hours after, when it was just you and Chan. You’d been doing this since high school: crashing at each other’s places, splitting hangovers, waking up tangled in blankets on the couch like siblings. Nothing new.

Except tonight, something felt different. Not in a big way. Just a flicker. A tension in the air. Maybe it was the leftover adrenaline, or the way his shirt had ridden up just slightly to show the V of his hip when he stretched his arms above his head, yawning.

“Alright,” you said, sitting up and tossing a pillow at him. “We’re not gonna fall asleep any time soon. Let’s play something.”

He blinked at you. “Like what? We’re not sixteen anymore.”

“Truth or dare?”

“Lame,” he groaned, but he was grinning.

You shrugged. “Got a better idea?”

“Hmm.” He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes gleaming. “Truth or strip?”

You paused, blinking at him. “You’re kidding.”

“Not even a little bit,” he said, sitting up straighter. “Come on. Truth or dare is boring. But truth or strip? That’s some high-stakes sh*t.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You just wanna see me naked.”

He barked a laugh. “Please, I’ve seen you in worse. Remember Vegas?”

“Fair point.” You bit your lip. “Alright, fine. But you’re playing by the same rules.”

“Obviously,” he said, holding out his pinky. “Swear?”

You linked your pinky with his. His skin was warm—too warm—and for some reason, you felt your stomach do a stupid little twist. Don’t read into it. You were just tipsy and sleep-deprived.

“Alright,” you said, settling in cross-legged on the floor, facing him. “You start.”

He grinned like the devil. “Truth or strip?”

Your smirk was smug. “Truth.”

He pretended to be deep in thought. “Okay. Have you ever faked an orgasm?”

Your jaw dropped. “We’re starting there?”

“Game’s the game, sweetheart.”

You reached for your drink, trying to hide your grin. “Fine. Yes.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Wait—really?”

“Multiple times.”

“With who?”

“Not your turn to ask more than one,” you said, sticking out your tongue.

He laughed, clearly intrigued. “Okay, okay. Your turn.”

You cocked your head. “Truth or strip?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Truth.”

“What’s the weirdest porn category you’ve ever clicked?”

He choked. “Dude.”

You grinned. “Answer the question, Christopher.”

He groaned, rubbing his face. “Fine. One time I ended up on a step-sibling thing by accident. I panicked and closed it, but like… I stayed for the acting.”

You lost it, laughing so hard you fell back onto the couch cushions.

“You stayed for the acting?!”

“It was a dramatic plot!” he defended. “There was betrayal! Emotional arcs!”

“Oh my God,” you wheezed. “You’re so full of sh*t.”

His face was bright red, but he was laughing too. This was good. Safe. Still funny.

But you both knew the game couldn’t stay innocent forever.

“Alright,” he said, grinning wickedly now. “Truth or strip?”

You paused. Not because you were scared—but because something in his gaze had shifted just a little. Still playful, but there was heat there now. Or maybe you were imagining it.

“…Strip,” you said softly.

His brows lifted, impressed. “Bold.”

You slipped off your hoodie, leaving yourself in a little black crop top. Nothing scandalous. Still friendly. Still harmless.

But you noticed his eyes flick down and linger just a second too long.

And just like that—the air got a little thicker.

You were already warmer than you should’ve been.

Not just from the vodka, or from the buzz of lingering laughter between you and Chan—but from the subtle shift in the air. The way your hoodie sat discarded beside you, leaving you in a crop top and high-rise shorts while his eyes danced anywhere but directly at you. Except when they did.

“Alright,” he said, voice low and lazy, tapping his finger against a half-empty can. “Truth or strip?”

You caught the glint in his eye. Not teasing anymore. Or at least, not just teasing.

“…Strip.”

You weren’t drunk enough to not feel it. The nerves. The hesitation. You’d been friends for years. You’d fallen asleep beside him a hundred times. Shared beds. Shared hangovers. Shared so much.

But never this.

Your hands were steady, even though your heart wasn’t. You reached for the hem of your crop top slowly, half expecting him to interrupt. To laugh. To call your bluff.

He didn’t.

And maybe that was the worst part.

You peeled it over your head in one fluid motion and let it drop to the floor.

Silence.

No bra. Just bare skin and freckles and the weight of his gaze when it finally—finally—dragged up to meet yours.

You crossed your arms instinctively, even though you weren’t cold.

“Say something,” you muttered, not looking at him.

“Jesus,” he breathed.

You peeked at him, and—yeah. That was not a casual face. That was not a best-friend-safe-zone face. That was a holy shit, my best friend is topless face.

He cleared his throat, eyes jumping anywhere but your chest. “I—sorry. I just… wasn’t expecting you to actually…”

“You said strip,” you said, trying to act like you weren’t burning alive.

“I did, yeah. I just thought you’d maybe… like, take off a sock.”

You let out a breathless laugh, wrapping your arms tighter across your chest. “You’re the one who suggested this game, idiot.”

“Right,” he muttered, running a hand through his curls. “Right. That’s on me.”

You looked at him. Really looked.

His cheeks were flushed. His jaw was tight. His eyes flicked to your arms, then away again.

He was trying not to look. Trying so hard.

And for some reason, that only made it worse.

“I can put it back on,” you said, voice softer now.

His eyes shot to yours. “No. No—it’s… it’s fine.”

You both froze.

Just… sitting there. On your living room floor. Shirtless. Buzzed. And suddenly so far from where the night started.

You let out a nervous breath and tried to laugh it off. “Okay, new rule. No stripping unless we’re okay with getting weird.”

He nodded quickly. “Yeah. Totally. That’s fair.”

You stayed like that for a beat too long.

And then you said, quietly: “Truth or strip?”

His head jerked toward you like he forgot you were still playing. “…Truth.”

You studied him for a second. Not smiling anymore.

“Have you ever been turned on by something you didn’t expect?”

His breath hitched.

A full second passed before he said, “That’s a loaded question.”

You tilted your head. “That’s a yes.”

He dragged a hand over his face, groaning. “We’re not gonna be friends after this game.”

“Why? ’Cause you’re scared I’ll win?”

“Because I’m starting to feel like this might actually f**k us up.”

The words hung in the air like smoke.

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

“Do you want to stop?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

Chan looked at you like he wanted to say yes. But instead, his voice came out rough:

“No. I just think we should be careful what we ask next.”

And God, something about that—that—was hotter than any strip or dare.

You both sat in silence for a long moment, your pulse loud in your ears. There was music playing faintly from your bedroom—something slow and bass-heavy—but it felt far away. Like the world had gotten quieter since you took off your shirt.

You could still feel Chan’s gaze flicker over you and then away, like his eyes couldn’t decide whether to look or run for their lives.

You were still covering yourself with your arms, elbows resting on your knees. Trying to pretend it wasn’t weird. That your nipples weren’t tight from the air. That you weren’t hyper-aware of how small this room suddenly felt.

“I’m just saying,” you said eventually, breaking the silence, “if you get to ask if I’ve ever been choked, I get to ask something borderline illegal too.”

Chan huffed a laugh, visibly relaxing. “Alright, hit me.”

You tilted your head, letting your eyes rake over him slowly.

“…Strip.”

His brows lifted. “No truth?”

“Nope.”

He looked at you for a beat—then reached for the hem of his tank top. His fingers curled under it, and for some reason, that movement alone made your stomach clench.

He pulled it off in one smooth motion, revealing the lines and curves you’d seen a million times at the beach, in the gym, shirtless in your kitchen—but somehow this time it was different. The air in the room shifted like it knew.

You tried not to stare. You failed.

You’d forgotten how solid he was. Broad shoulders, defined chest, those little indentations near his hips that only appeared when he was fully relaxed. Which, ironically, he didn’t look now.

Chan tossed the tank top aside. You followed the motion. Watched it flutter to the floor and suddenly realized—between the two of you, there wasn’t much left to take off.

You were braless in just your shorts. He was shirtless in sweats.

Dangerous territory.

You both sat there for another beat, and then Chan leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping lower.

“…Wanna make it more interesting?”

Your heart jumped.

“How?” you asked, even though you already knew this was the moment the game turned fatal.

He smirked, but it was softer now. Like he was testing your reaction.

“What if we add… dares?”

You blinked. “Dares?”

“Yeah. Like… if you don’t want to answer a question or strip, you can take a dare.”

“That’s just—Chan, that’s just truth or dare with extra steps.”

“Yeah,” he grinned, “but sexy.”

You raised a brow. “Define sexy.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe I dare you to do something dumb. Or risky. Or…”

His voice trailed off, and his eyes dropped to your mouth for just a split second. You felt it like a match striking.

“…or?”

He shrugged, playing innocent. “Who knows. That’s the fun of it.”

Your heart thudded harder. This felt like a crossroads. Like a moment you could still laugh off or steer away from. But instead, your voice came out quieter, steadier:

“…Okay. Let’s do it.”

His eyes flicked back up to yours. And just like that, you were in even deeper.

He nodded. “Alright. Truth, strip, or dare?”

You licked your lips. Thought about it. Then: “Dare.”

The way his smile curled slowly across his lips was unholy.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and looked straight at you.

“I dare you…” he paused, letting the silence stretch, “to take your arms down.”

You froze.

You weren’t even cold. But you’d kept them there the entire time, like a half-hearted attempt at modesty. Like a shield.

And now he was daring you to drop it.

Not touch him. Not take anything else off. Just… let him see you.

Your arms stayed in place for a beat longer. You bit the inside of your cheek.

“I hate you,” you whispered.

“I know.”

Slowly—so slowly—you uncrossed your arms and let them fall to your sides.

His eyes dropped like gravity pulled them there.

And when they did—when he finally looked, really looked—he didn’t smile. Didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease.

He just stared.

You could see the exact moment his breath caught. The slight flare of his nostrils. The clench in his jaw. The ripple of something restrained deep in his chest.

He looked at you like you were a secret he wasn’t supposed to know.

You shifted, suddenly restless under the weight of it. “Okay. Now you.”

He dragged his gaze back up slowly, his voice a little hoarser now. “Truth, strip, or dare?”

“Truth.”

He raised a brow. “Playing it safe?”

“Playing it smart,” you said.

“Fine,” he murmured. “Have you ever wanted to kiss me?”

You blinked.

Then laughed. “What happened to sexy dares?”

“Answer the question.”

You hesitated.

Wanted to kiss him? No. Never. You’d never thought about it. Never let yourself.

But right now, with him shirtless and flushed and watching you like he wasn’t sure what the hell he’d just asked—it didn’t feel so absurd.

“…No,” you said finally. “Not until maybe two minutes ago.”

Chan’s mouth parted just slightly. Like you’d slapped him and kissed him all at once.

“Your turn,” you said, heart thudding now. “Truth, strip, or dare?”

He didn’t look away.

“…Dare.”

You felt it. That wicked spark at the back of your throat.

“Touch me.”

His brows lifted.

“Where?” he asked.

You smiled, slow and dangerous. “Dealer’s choice.”

You could hear your heart.

Not figuratively. Not romantically. Literally. It was thudding in your ears like a war drum—deep, steady, traitorous.

Chan didn’t move right away. Just watched you, as if checking one last time to make sure this was okay. That he wasn’t hallucinating the dare that just came out of your mouth.

And then—he shifted.

He leaned in slowly, like any sudden movement might shatter the moment, and reached out with the hand that always used to ruffle your hair or flick your forehead or pass you a drink like it was nothing.

But this time, his fingers didn’t feel like nothing.

They brushed your bare shoulder, the pads of them soft and impossibly careful. He dragged them up—along your collarbone, then higher—skimming the slope of your neck in one long, reverent line that left your skin goosebumped and buzzing.

You tilted your head without meaning to.

And that’s when his hand slid up the side of your face, his thumb catching beneath your jaw as he guided your head to the side—gently, but with the kind of confidence that made your pulse slam.

You breathed out, shaky.

His fingers disappeared into your hair at the back of your head, and then—God.

He tugged.

A small, firm pull.

Not painful. Not even rough. Just assertive. Controlled. Possessive in a way that made your thighs clench and your thoughts scatter like marbles.

“Chan,” you whispered. Barely.

But he didn’t say anything. Just looked at you—really looked. His face close. His breath warm. His grip steady.

Your chest rose and fell faster than it should have.

You didn’t realize how long you’d been staring until his fingers relaxed and slid away, trailing down your neck like he was reluctant to stop.

You sucked in a breath like you’d been holding it forever.

Silence.

Until you muttered, almost accusing, “You’re good at that.”

Chan blinked, looking a little shaken himself. “Wasn’t trying to be.”

You stared at him.

He stared right back.

And then, just when it felt like the tension might tip into something you couldn’t undo, he exhaled hard, sat back on his heels, and said:

“…Okay. My turn.”

You blinked, trying to reboot your brain. “Your what?”

“Truth, strip, or dare,” he said, voice rough, “I pick strip.”

You stared at him. “You don’t even wanna hear the options first?”

He shook his head, jaw tense. “I need to lose something.”

And with that, his hands slid to his hips, and you realized—with a full-body jolt—that he only had one layer left too.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of his sweats, and for the first time tonight, you were the one staring like a deer caught in headlights.

He pulled them down slowly—gray cotton dragging over tanned skin—and when he tossed them aside, what was left was…

Obvious.

Not exaggerated. Not cartoonish. But undeniably, definitively, a problem.

You blinked at the bulge pressing against his dark briefs, very real and very impossible to unsee.

Neither of you spoke.

Chan shifted slightly, like the pressure was getting to him, and you watched the twitch in his thigh, the tight clench of his abs, the subtle flex in his fingers like he didn’t know what to do with them anymore.

“…That a side effect of vodka?” you asked, trying to make your voice light, even as your brain short-circuited.

Chan snorted. “That’s a side effect of having your tits out for the past ten minutes while telling me to touch you.”

You blinked.

Your mouth opened, then closed again.

“You’re not… embarrassed?”

He shook his head. “I think we passed embarrassed somewhere back when you dared me to touch you like that.”

“…Fair.”

Another beat passed.

Then his eyes cut to you, warm and half-lidded.

“Truth, strip, or dare?” Chan asked again, but this time his voice was different.

Lower. Darker.

Less of a question and more of a challenge.

You should’ve been drunker.

You weren’t sober by any means, but in this moment—sitting on your bed in nothing but shorts while your best friend sat shirtless, flushed, hard, and watching you like a fucking meal—you felt painfully aware of every choice you’d made to get here.

You met his gaze. “Strip me.”

He blinked. “What?”

Your lips twitched. “You heard me.”

He hesitated—just long enough to make your stomach flip—and then leaned forward, his hand moving slowly toward the waistband of your shorts.

You held still. Let him.

His knuckles brushed your hip.

Then, with quiet fingers, he tugged the hem down. You lifted your hips instinctively, and the fabric dragged over your thighs, past your knees, to the floor—leaving you in just your lace thong, nothing else, the cool air brushing every inch of bare skin and making you shiver.

Chan sat back, eyes stuck on you like he was trying to memorize the whole scene in case it disappeared.

“You’re—” He swallowed, hard. “Shit.”

You gave a breathless little laugh. “That all you’ve got?”

He looked up, eyes flickering over your face, and for a moment, it felt like he wasn’t your best friend anymore. Like something had shifted permanently.

And then—of course—he tilted his head, and said:

“…Dare.”

Your pulse jumped. “What?”

He smirked. “You said I could strip you. So I did. But it’s still my turn.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off, already moving forward.

“I dare you…” His voice was molten now, every word sliding under your skin, “…to get on my lap.”

Your heart practically stopped.

Not “sit next to me.” Not “touch me.” Climb into his fucking lap.

“You want me to sit on you?” you asked, voice smaller than you intended.

He raised a brow. “I said lap, not cock. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

You blinked at him. Jaw slack.

But he just leaned back on his palms, legs slightly parted, abs tightening as he waited.

Waiting for you to make the move.

Your skin was already on fire. Every part of you felt exposed, not just physically—but mentally, emotionally, like this wasn’t just a dare anymore. This was something else.

Still… a dare was a dare.

So you crawled over slowly—like each movement might detonate something—and settled yourself on his thighs, careful not to touch too much.

But even that little bit of contact—your knees bracketing his hips, your chest dangerously close to his, your barely-covered core pressed against the heat straining under his briefs—made both of you tense.

He inhaled, slow and deep.

You swallowed.

“Still just a game, right?” you whispered.

Chan’s eyes flicked to your lips. “We’re still playing.”

But he didn’t smile this time.

Didn’t laugh.

He just sat there with you on his lap, staring like he was seconds from forgetting his own rules.

Your breath hitched. “Your turn.”

“Truth, strip, or dare?” he murmured.

Your voice came out soft. “Dare.”

He stared at you for a beat. Then, quiet:

“…I dare you to tell me what you’re thinking right now.”

You froze.

The tension between you buzzed like live wire.

Your thighs clenched slightly. You could feel him under you, hot and heavy and undeniably affected. And yet, somehow, he still wanted the truth before the touch.

You licked your lips. Breathed in.

“…I’m thinking,” you said slowly, “that if you move your hands even once, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”

He blinked.

Then, ever so slightly, his fingers twitched behind him.

“Careful,” Chan muttered, voice strained. “You keep talking and moving like that, and this game’s gonna end real fast.”

You gave him a sweet little blink, all innocence. “I’m just sitting.”

“You’re grinding.”

“Am I?” You tilted your head. “Weird. Didn’t notice.”

Chan exhaled sharp through his nose, clearly fighting for composure. His hands were still braced behind him, his biceps flexed, and the muscle in his jaw ticked once—hard.

“Behave,” he warned low, but it wasn’t convincing. Not with the way his eyes refused to leave your chest. You could feel them there, like a second kind of heat, burning over the curve of your breasts. Your nipples had been hard since the second he touched your neck, but now? Under his gaze, they felt damn near untouchable.

“You’re staring,” you said, biting back a smirk.

He didn’t deny it.

Didn’t even blink.

“Hard not to,” he muttered. “They’re just… right there.”

You arched your spine slightly, just enough for your tits to bounce once, subtle and unintentional on purpose.

Chan swallowed.

His eyes darkened.

“I warned you,” he said, but it was a growl now. Less of a threat and more of a promise.

Still—you didn’t back down.

“Okay, then,” you said casually, “my turn.”

He blinked, a beat late. “Huh?”

“I get to ask now, remember?” You smiled sweetly. “Truth, strip, or dare?”

He scoffed. “You’re literally naked. I’m hard as fuck. I think it’s safe to say there’s no more stripping left.”

“Then pick something else.”

He hesitated. For a long moment, he looked like he was weighing every possibility.

Finally: “Truth.”

You leaned in—close enough for your bare chest to brush his as you whispered:

“Coward.”

He laughed—tight and hoarse—but you didn’t let him recover.

“Wrong answer,” you said. “Try again. Truth’s not allowed anymore.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You just made that rule up.”

“I’m not the one rock hard in my own boxers begging for mercy. Pick again.”

Chan stared at you. His entire face was flushed now—not embarrassed, but aroused. Frustrated. Barely holding it together.

“…Fine,” he said, voice rough. “Dare.”

You smiled slow. Dangerous. And then dropped it like a lit match:

“I dare you to put your mouth on me.”

Everything in him went still.

You felt it—the way his thighs tensed beneath you, the way his eyes flicked up to yours like he couldn’t quite believe you said that.

But you didn’t flinch.

You leaned in until your forehead brushed his, until your lips hovered so close he could taste the breath between them.

“I didn’t say where,” you whispered. “Or how long. Just your mouth. Somewhere. Anywhere.”

His eyes flicked to your lips.

Then your neck.

Then lower—much lower.

He exhaled, long and trembling, and his voice came out so deep it sounded like gravel.

“…You’re evil.”

You smirked.

“Still playing, though.”

⸻

Chan still hadn’t moved.

Not even an inch.

But his jaw was clenched, the muscle tight under his skin, and his eyes were flickering over your face like he needed permission to breathe.

“You’re really gonna make me do this?” he muttered.

You grinned. “It’s a dare.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose—then leaned in.

Slow.

Measured.

Like you were something sacred he was about to defile.

The first place his mouth landed was your neck.

Just under your jawline. Warm, plush lips grazing the thrum of your pulse, and lingering. Not a quick kiss. Not even close.

It wasn’t even a kiss—it was a taste. The kind of mouth-on-skin contact that made your whole body hum and your thighs press harder around him without realizing it.

Your breath hitched. He felt it. Smirked.

And then moved lower.

The next kiss landed in the center of your chest, just above the curve of your breast. Hot. Open. His tongue swiped lightly over your skin like he was testing it.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured against you.

“No, I’m not.”

“Liar.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Not when he tilted his head—lips still on you—and dragged his mouth downward.

And then he stopped.

Right at the swell of your left breast, so close his breath fanned over your nipple, and froze.

His lips parted.

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t take.

Didn’t dare.

You felt his breath hitch, his throat bob as he swallowed.

“You said anywhere,” he said, voice hoarse. “Didn’t say I had to choose.”

Your heart felt like it was gonna punch through your ribs.

You didn’t move either.

“Then what?” you whispered.

His hand slid up your thigh. Not rushing. Just claiming.

Then he leaned up, lips brushing your ear.

“I want you to tell me,” he whispered. “Say where.”

Your stomach flipped violently.

His mouth was still close enough to feel, his hand still not touching where you wanted it, and now—he was flipping the script. Holding himself back, just to make you ask for it.

Your dare.

His rules.

You felt his nose nudge your temple, his breath fanning your cheek.

“Say it, baby,” he murmured. “You want my mouth? Tell me where to put it.”

You swallowed thickly.

Your hips flexed just slightly against his lap, and he groaned under you, soft and strangled.

“I hate you,” you whispered.

He smiled into your skin. “No, you don’t.”

Your fingers curled against his shoulders, your whole body tensed in the electric silence between you.

And then—

The tension snapped in your chest like a livewire.

You didn’t say a word.

Didn’t warn him.

Your hand just moved—fast, instinctive—sliding up into his hair, gripping the back of his head, and pulling.

His breath stuttered out of him.

You didn’t stop.

You guided him down, slow but firm, until his lips met the bare swell of your breast—and then you pressed harder.

Right there.

Right on your nipple.

His reaction?

Fucking feral.

A low, helpless sound tore out of his throat the second his mouth made contact. His hands flew up, grabbing your hips like restraint was no longer an option. And then—oh god—

He groaned.

Long and broken.

It rumbled against your chest like thunder, and his lips parted immediately, open-mouth kissing over the soft skin, dragging the flat of his tongue just under your nipple, breath shaking.

“Fuck,” he muttered, muffled against you. “Fucking hell, you—”

You arched into him, your thighs squeezing tighter around his lap as the sensation pulsed through you like a jolt.

His mouth was hot.

And his tongue—

God, his tongue teased your nipple like he’d been dying to taste it all night.

“You said anywhere,” you gasped, tilting your head back. “So I picked for you.”

Chan’s breath hitched. His lips moved to your other breast, not even hesitating now, sucking your nipple into his mouth with a low moan like he couldn’t stop himself even if he tried.

Your hand stayed in his hair, fisted tight. Your hips rocked once against him—just once—but it was enough.

He felt it.

Felt everything.

His hips jolted up under you, and you swore under your breath at the heat and thickness pressing against your center through the thin lace of your underwear.

He was rock hard.

So hard you could feel the outline of him now.

Still clothed—but barely.

Chan pulled back slightly, eyes glassy, lips swollen, chest heaving.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he rasped.

You smiled, breathless.

“You’re still playing, aren’t you?”

He blinked slowly, a dangerous kind of haze settling over his face.

Chan’s eyes were wild now.

Dark and shining, pupils blown wide. His hands slid slow up your thighs, stopping at the crease between hip and waist, right where your lace clung tight.

“You’re fucking soaked,” he said roughly.

You didn’t deny it.

Didn’t need to.

You were sitting on his lap with your tits in his face—dripping into his boxers—trembling and bare and drunk on the kind of heat that didn’t come from alcohol.

Chan licked his bottom lip slowly.

And then—smirked.

“Truth, strip, or dare?” he asked again.

You opened your mouth to answer—but he didn’t let you.

He leaned in, lips brushing your jaw as he whispered:

“Never mind. I’m picking for you.”

Your heart slammed once, hard.

Then his hands gripped your thighs tighter, spreading them just slightly over his lap.

He pulled back to meet your eyes.

And dropped it—low and lethal, right between your legs:

“I dare you…”

A pause.

Then a smile so cocky and devastating it made you clench.

“…to sit on my face.”

Silence.

Your lungs stopped working. You blinked, dizzy, absolutely reeling.

He saw it.

His grin widened.

“You heard me,” he said, voice like sin. “Come here, take these pretty thighs—” he ran both hands up them, slow and reverent, “—and sit. Right over my mouth. Let me taste everything you’ve been trying to pretend isn’t happening.”

You swallowed, hard.

Your breath stuttered.

And he kept going.

“I want your legs shaking around my head, baby girl,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours. “I wanna feel you lose it on my tongue. Right. Fucking. Here.”

Then—soft, almost cruel:

“What’s the matter? Scared of your best friend’s mouth?”

You didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

You just looked at him, wide-eyed and flushed, like the dare alone had knocked the wind out of you.

Chan wasn’t smiling anymore.

Not really.

There was still a little curve to his lips—but it wasn’t cocky now.

It was hungry.

Serious.

Almost desperate.

“Too much?” he asked softly, eyes flickering between yours.

You opened your mouth. Closed it again.

You were barely in your lace thong. Your breasts were still flushed from his mouth, your thighs slick and twitching from where they sat astride his lap—and now?

He wanted you over his face?

You weren’t supposed to think about Chan that way. Not ever. Not until tonight. Not until his tongue was on your chest and his voice was rasping filth that had your spine curling like a livewire.

You swallowed hard, trying to blink the fog from your head.

“Chan…”

“Say no,” he breathed. “Tell me no. I’ll stop.”

But then—he moved.

His hands slid down, gripping your ass, pulling you in at the same time that his hips grinded up—slow and thick and hard, dragging his length right against the soaked heat of your thong.

“Fuck—” you gasped, eyes flying open, your hands clenching against his chest.

His mouth fell open too, like he hadn’t even meant to do it.

Like his body moved without permission.

Then he did it again.

Grinding up.

Pressing you down.

Letting the friction between you grow deliberately unbearable.

You could feel him now. Feel the curve and weight of him, thick and straining beneath you, sliding through the drenched fabric like he already knew how wet you were.

Your hips jolted before you could stop them.

Chan groaned—low and ragged—fingers tightening.

“Babe…” he warned, voice shaking. “I’m not—”

Another roll of his hips. Babe

“I’m not playing anymore.”

Neither were you.

“Fuck it,” you whispered.

And then you shifted, rising slowly—legs shaking—only to grab the edge of the couch and lift yourself just enough to move forward.

Over his chest.

Then his collarbone.

Then—God help you—his face.

Chan’s breath hitched.

His head tilted back against the couch, eyes never leaving you as your knees slid up to either side of his head, your thighs trembling, fingers still digging into the cushions.

“Holy fuck,” he breathed, voice wrecked.

You paused just inches above his mouth, heart hammering, pulse in your ears, lace clinging to the heat between your legs.

And then?

He reached up.

Grabbed your thighs.

And yanked you down.

The moment your thighs framed his face, Chan made a sound—deep and wrecked—and then he didn’t waste a single second.

There was no hesitation.

No teasing.

Just the sharp snap of fabric tearing and your startled gasp as his fingers ripped through the middle of your soaked thong like it was paper.

“What the fuck—!”

“Couldn’t wait,” he growled, voice hoarse, hungry. “Needed you.”

And then—he buried his face in you.

You choked on a cry, both hands flying to his hair as his mouth sealed over your bare, aching cunt, tongue dragging from your entrance all the way up to your clit in one long, filthy stroke.

Your thighs jerked.

Your spine arched.

And Chan—moaned.

Loud and desperate.

Like he was tasting fucking paradise.

He pulled you down harder, forcing your thighs to lock around his head as he licked you again, faster this time—his mouth moving with a rhythm that had your whole body shaking, his tongue working over your clit like he knew exactly what would break you.

“You’re so sweet,” he mumbled against you, voice muffled, drunk. “Fuck, you taste so—”

Another moan, this one so guttural it vibrated through you.

And then he just devoured.

Sucked your clit between his lips, tongue circling, teasing, driving you out of your mind. He kept going, relentless, like he was starving, hands roaming up your waist, squeezing your ass, holding you down when your thighs tried to run.

“Chan—fuck—I can’t—” you gasped, eyes rolling.

“You can,” he groaned. “You’re gonna.”

His eyes flicked up, locking with yours from between your thighs, wild and ravenous.

“Sit on my face and fucking come for me.”

You were close.

So fucking close.

Chan’s tongue was merciless, his grip bruising, and the slick sounds of him devouring you filled the room, matched only by your moans and gasps and the deep, desperate groans he let out every time your thighs clenched around his head.

You felt the heat snap up your spine.

You felt your legs start to shake.

You were seconds—seconds—from falling apart on his tongue—

And then you flipped.

In one breathless motion, you spun your body over his, never once lifting from his face. Your knees planted on the couch cushions, straddling him in reverse now—and facing his cock.

Chan moaned violently into you.

You heard it.

Felt it.

His hips jolted, thrusting up like he couldn’t help it, and suddenly your best friend’s hard, flushed length was right in front of your face—thick, leaking, twitching with the same need he was pouring into your cunt.

You grinned.

“Fuck,” you panted, glancing down between your legs, “you like this?”

Chan didn’t answer—his mouth was too busy buried in you, tongue dragging through your folds again with a new kind of urgency.

So you reached down and wrapped your hand around him.

He bucked.

A loud, muffled grunt punched into your pussy from below.

You giggled, breathless, and stroked him slow, your fist gliding over hot, slick skin, spreading the pre-cum at his tip.

“You’re so hard,” you whispered, licking your lips. “What the fuck, Channie…”

Then—you bent down.

And slid your mouth over his cock.

He fucking shouted.

The noise was muffled by your cunt, but it rattled through his chest.

His hips snapped up into your mouth so suddenly you almost choked—but you took it, sucking him deeper, tongue swirling, moaning around him while he screamed into your pussy.

His mouth was messy now—his tongue wild, his lips soaking you, sucking, lapping, chasing your orgasm like it was his only mission in life.

And all the while?

You kept sucking.

Pumping.

Ruining him.

Your mouth worked him with purpose, with rhythm, swallowing every desperate sound he made until his cock throbbed hard on your tongue.

You didn’t even care anymore.

You were lost.

Your thighs were clenching, your moans echoing into his skin, and Chan’s hands were digging into your hips, holding you down while he devoured you like he’d die without it.

And just before you tipped over the edge—

You both groaned at the same time.

Raw.

Ragged.

Feral.

His mouth was everywhere.

Your thighs had no strength left in them, your moans spilling out louder, broken, as Chan’s tongue moved in tight, fast circles, drawing orgasm after orgasm closer until your hips were trembling and your chest was heaving and—

“Chan—I’m gonna—”

He sucked your clit deep between his lips and groaned.

That sound—that sound—vibrated through you like an earthquake, tipping you straight off the edge.

You came hard.

Harder than you ever had in your life, your whole body clenching as pleasure ripped through your core and burst like fireworks behind your eyes. You ground against his face, breath caught, voice lost, shaking apart while your best friend held you there and licked you through it like he couldn’t stop.

Like he wouldn’t stop until you gave him every last drop.

Your thighs were still twitching when you started stroking him faster, hand slick and wet, mouth messy and open as you sucked him deep again—and Chan’s moan turned into a growl.

His hips bucked once.

Twice.

Then his hand flew to your ass, gripping tight as his cock pulsed in your mouth—and he came with a loud, shattered cry muffled into your pussy, spilling down your throat in thick, hot waves while his body convulsed beneath you.

You swallowed it all, trembling, moaning softly as his hips slowly stilled.

And then?

Silence.

You collapsed, barely able to breathe, sliding down off his face and rolling to the side, both of you gasping—sweaty, dazed, fucked-out.

He didn’t say anything.

Just turned toward you.

Grabbed you by the waist.

And pulled you into him—tight.

You melted, pressing your face into his neck, feeling his heart pound against your chest as the sweat on your skin cooled.

Neither of you spoke.

Not one word.

Because anything either of you said would change everything.

So you just stayed like that.

Tangled.

Sticky.

Wrecked.

And completely, utterly lost.

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

Authors note: BEFORE YOU KILL ME!! There will be a part 2 but we gotta be more interactive if you want me to keep feeding y’all lol. 100 notes and ill drop part 2 asap!

So encourage this horny writer and leave that like!! ❤️❤️

[pinkmoontaco]

It all started at a Set || KMG Pt.1

Pairing: Actor-Idol Mingyu x Actress-Idol Reader Genre: Fluff, Idol romance Summary: This story is a heartwarming slow-burn romance between Mingyu and Y/N, a senior idol. It begins with them being cast as co-stars in a drama where their contrasting personalities—Mingyu’s vibrant, outgoing nature and Y/N’s reserved, composed demeanor—become the catalyst for an unexpected connection. Throughout their journey, they face professional challenges, emotional conflicts, and growing feelings for one another. Author's Note: This is the second story of my series, "It All Started..." As I was writing, the story evolved into something much bigger than I initially imagined, so I decided to divide it into three parts to give it the attention and depth it deserves. To everyone who has supported my series so far, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Your encouragement and feedback have been a driving force behind my writing, and I can’t wait to hear your thoughts on this part of the story. Stay tuned, because there’s so much more to come, and I promise the journey will only get more exciting from here. Thank you for being part of this adventure with me—I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed creating it!

If you have any requests for any member or any other groups feel free to do so

M.list Part one _ Part two _ Part three

Mingyu wasn’t sure what prompted him to accept the role this time. At first, it seemed like any other offer—another chance to showcase a different side of himself. But something about the script resonated with him on a deeper level.

The character's struggle to balance vulnerability and strength mirrored his own challenges in navigating fame. He felt an unspoken connection to the story, as if it was calling him to confront parts of himself, he had kept hidden.

Perhaps that’s why, despite his initial doubts, he agreed to take the leap. Maybe it was the persistent urging of his members, maybe it was his own curiosity, or maybe, just maybe, it was the script that had managed to tug at something deep within him. Either way, he found himself on the set of "Between Us," his first lead role in a drama, both nervous and excited.

The buzz around the project had been immediate, not just because of Mingyu but because of his co-star. Y/N, a senior idol, had been cast as the female lead. She was a name that carried weight in the industry—the leader of her group, a revered idol with an aura of mystery. Known for her icy demeanor and guarded nature, she seemed to embody mystery and restraint, creating an intriguing contrast to Mingyu’s radiant, extroverted charm. While her reserved nature drew admiration, it also set the stage for a fascinating interplay with Mingyu’s infectious energy, sparking curiosity about how their opposite temperaments might evolve together. It was a pairing that intrigued fans and critics alike.

When they met for the first table read, Mingyu was struck by how composed she was. She greeted him with a polite nod, her expression unreadable. Mingyu, ever the extrovert, tried to break the ice with a joke.

“Looks like we’re going to be spending a lot of time together,” he said, his signature grin in place. “I hope you’re ready for my bad jokes.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, the faintest hint of a smile playing at her lips. “I’ll brace myself,” she replied coolly before turning her attention to the script.

From that moment on, their interactions were polite but distant. On set, Mingyu would try to engage her in conversation, but Y/N kept her responses short. It wasn’t that she was rude; she just seemed... guarded. Mingyu couldn’t help but be intrigued. What was she hiding behind that composed facade?

As the weeks went by, they began filming scenes that required emotional depth and vulnerability. The plot of "Between Us" revolved around two people who initially clashed but slowly fell in love as they unraveled each other’s secrets. The parallels between the characters and their real-life dynamics didn’t escape Mingyu.

One evening, after a particularly intense scene, Mingyu found Y/N sitting alone by the set, her gaze fixed on the horizon. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the scene.

“Hey,” Mingyu said, approaching cautiously. “You okay?”

Y/N glanced at him, her expression softening slightly. “I’m fine. Just... thinking.”

Mingyu sat down beside her, leaving a respectful distance between them. “You were amazing in that scene,” he said sincerely. “I felt like I was watching your character come to life.”

She looked at him, surprise flickering in her eyes. “Thank you. You did well too.”

It was the first time she’d offered him a genuine compliment, and Mingyu felt a small thrill of accomplishment. They sat in silence for a while, watching the sky change colors.

“Do you ever get tired?” Y/N asked suddenly. “Of being... this?”

Mingyu frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Of always being expected to be perfect. To smile, to perform, to never let your guard down,” she explained, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mingyu thought for a moment before replying. “Sometimes. But I think it’s okay to not be perfect. People connect with us because of our flaws, not despite them.”

Y/N looked at him, her expression unreadable once more. But something shifted that day. She began to open up, little by little. Mingyu learned that behind her icy exterior was someone who cared deeply about her members, someone who carried the weight of leadership with grace but also with a heavy heart.

The rest of the cast and crew began to notice the change in their dynamic. During breaks, they often saw Mingyu and Y/N sharing quiet conversations or laughing at inside jokes. One day, a crew member walked in on Mingyu patiently teaching Y/N a card game to pass the time, his enthusiasm contagious as Y/N, known for her reserved nature, playfully accused him of cheating.

“Cheating? Me?” Mingyu feigned shock, placing a hand on his chest. “I’m wounded, Y/N. Truly.”

“Wounded or not, you’re still losing,” Y/N shot back with a rare grin.

Another time, during a particularly chilly outdoor shoot, a makeup artist caught Mingyu draping his jacket over Y/N’s shoulders without a word, brushing off her protests with a casual, “You’ll catch a cold.”

The director, amused by their growing rapport, once joked, “If you two don’t win Best Couple at the year-end awards, I’ll be writing to the network myself.”

Even the extras started to notice their synergy, with one commenting during lunch, “Their chemistry isn’t just acting—it’s real.” Mingyu’s consistent warmth and Y/N’s subtle but significant thawing became a favorite topic of conversation among the crew, adding a special layer of excitement to the production. The once distant co-stars were now sharing inside jokes, supporting each other through difficult scenes, and even eating meals together during breaks. Mingyu’s patience and warmth had managed to crack Y/N’s walls, and she, in turn, became a grounding presence for him.

The turning point came during a particularly grueling shoot. It was a night scene set in the rain, with both leads expected to deliver emotionally charged performances. As Y/N sprinted down the wet pavement for a pivotal chase sequence, her ankle twisted, sending her collapsing onto the ground mid-scene. The crew froze, and for a moment, the only sound was the rain hammering down. Mingyu, standing nearby, dropped his prop and sprinted to her side.

“Cut!” the director shouted, but Mingyu was already kneeling beside Y/N, his voice tinged with panic. “Are you okay? Does it hurt a lot?”

Y/N tried to sit up, brushing off the mud on her hands. “I’m fine,” she said through gritted teeth, though the pain was evident in her eyes.

“No, you’re not,” Mingyu said firmly, his worry overriding his usual easygoing demeanor. He gestured for the on-set medic, his brows furrowed in concern. “You need to rest. This isn’t something to push through.”

Despite her protests, Mingyu carefully helped her to a nearby chair, his hand steady on her arm. His genuine concern was clear, and the crew exchanged knowing glances, murmuring about how protective he had become of her. In that moment, something shifted—not just between their characters, but in their real relationship as well.

The injury had forced Y/N to take it slow, and Mingyu took it upon himself to help her. He’d show up to set early to make sure the path was clear for her crutches, brought her snacks during breaks, and even offered to rehearse lines with her to save her unnecessary movement.

“You’re going to spoil me,” Y/N said one day, watching as Mingyu carefully adjusted her chair.

“Maybe,” Mingyu replied with a grin. “But I don’t mind.”

As “Between us” progressed, the romantic tension between Mingyu and Y/N on-screen began to mirror their growing connection off-screen. Their characters, who started out as strangers, gradually developed a deep emotional bond, with Mingyu’s warmth gradually melting Y/N’s cool exterior.

One evening, during a late-night shoot, the scene called for a quiet, intimate moment at the café. Mingyu’s character, Jae-min, had just confessed his feelings to Y/N’s character, Seo-yeon. The air was thick with tension as their eyes met, both characters hesitant yet longing.

“Are you sure you want this?” Jae-min asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as he reached out to gently touch Seo-yeon’s hand.

Y/N, as Seo-yeon, looked at him, her expression unreadable, before slowly nodding. “I don’t know, but I’m willing to try.”

In the next moment, Jae-min leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips, a gentle but tender kiss filled with the promise of something new. The director yelled “Cut!” immediately after the kiss, but both actors were left momentarily frozen, caught in the vulnerability of the moment.

Mingyu quickly stepped back, awkwardly scratching his head. “Uh, sorry, was that too much?”

Y/N, for the first time in a while, let out a soft laugh, something that startled Mingyu. “No, it was good,” she said quietly, her cheeks flushed. “You just… surprised me, I guess.”

That night, as they wrapped up filming, Mingyu couldn’t stop thinking about how natural the kiss had felt—how it wasn’t just an act but something real that he had experienced with her. Y/N, despite her usually cool demeanor, had shown a glimmer of warmth, and it left Mingyu wondering if the lines between their characters were blurring.

The next scene that stood out was a pivotal moment in the drama, where Jae-min (Mingyu’s character) confesses his love for Seo-yeon (Y/N’s character) during a stormy night. They were supposed to be alone in the café, the rain tapping against the window as Jae-min, drenched from the downpour, walked in to find Seo-yeon sitting by the window, gazing out at the rain.

“Seo-yeon,” Jae-min said, his voice shaking with emotion. “I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you. You’re the only one who sees me for who I really am.”

Seo-yeon turned to him, her eyes softening but still guarded. “But you know I’m not the person you think I am, right?”

The tension in the room was palpable as Jae-min walked toward her, his every step determined. “I don’t care,” he whispered, his face inches from hers. “I love you.”

The kiss that followed was more passionate, a moment of release for both characters. The scene was so intense that even the crew stayed silent as they filmed. When the director yelled “Cut,” both Mingyu and Y/N stood frozen in their positions, the chemistry between them undeniable.

During a break, Y/N walked off to the side, away from the set, clearly trying to collect herself after the emotional intensity of the kiss. Mingyu, sensing her discomfort, followed her quietly.

“Are you okay?” Mingyu asked softly, standing a few feet away.

Y/N paused, looking at him for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, just… it’s a lot sometimes, you know?” She shrugged. “This role is… difficult for me.”

Mingyu gave her a gentle smile. “You’re doing amazing. I can tell. I know acting can be hard, but you make it look effortless.”

Y/N looked at him, her walls slowly starting to crack. “Thanks, Mingyu,” she said quietly, her tone sincere.

As she turned back to the set, Mingyu watched her, his heart unexpectedly racing. They might have started out as strangers, but something was beginning to stir between them, something neither of them had anticipated.

One of the final scenes in the drama was another intimate moment between Jae-min and Seo-yeon. The two characters had gone through their fair share of struggles, and in this scene, they finally gave in to their feelings for one another. The script called for a tender, lingering kiss under the moonlight, where Jae-min pulls Seo-yeon into his arms as they both acknowledge their deep connection.

As the cameras rolled, the chemistry between Mingyu and Y/N was undeniable. The kiss was gentle at first, with both characters hesitant, but as the scene progressed, their passion deepened. Their lips met in a slow, sweet kiss that was both vulnerable and full of longing, capturing the emotional weight of everything their characters had been through.

When the director finally called “Cut,” the entire set seemed to hold its breath. Y/N, who had usually kept a distance from Mingyu, seemed to soften in his arms, the connection between them palpable even off-camera.

During the next break, Mingyu found himself sitting next to Y/N, who had become noticeably more relaxed around him since their first interactions. They were both exhausted from the intense filming, but the mood between them was no longer cold.

“I didn’t know acting could be like this,” Mingyu admitted, his voice low. “It’s… more than just saying lines. It feels real.”

Y/N looked at him thoughtfully. “Yeah, it’s like… you let yourself be vulnerable for a moment.” She paused, then added, “You’re a good actor, Mingyu.”

Her words caught him off guard. He smiled, not able to hide his feelings anymore. “Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.”

There was a comfortable silence between them, and for the first time, Mingyu felt a genuine sense of connection to Y/N—not just as his co-star, but as someone who understood the depth of their roles and the emotions they had shared through their characters.

One memorable day, they filmed a scene where their characters shared their first kiss under a canopy of stars. The setup was breathtaking—fairy lights hanging from the trees, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves, and the soft strumming of a guitar playing in the background.

Between takes, Mingyu leaned over with a grin. “They really went all out for this, huh?”

Y/N glanced around, her lips twitching into a rare smile. “It’s beautiful. Almost makes you forget we’ve been here for hours.”

The scene required them to hold hands, exchange lingering gazes, and lean into a kiss that felt as natural as breathing. When the director finally called, “Cut!” he looked up from the monitor and clapped. “That was perfect! The chemistry was off the charts.”

Another day, they filmed a playful sequence where their characters spent an afternoon at a seaside carnival. From riding the Ferris wheel to playing ring toss, the scenes were filled with laughter and lighthearted moments. While filming a shot where Mingyu’s character won a giant stuffed bear for Y/N’s character, he jokingly handed it to her and said, “This is the closest you’ll get to me spoiling you in real life.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “I’ll cherish it forever,” she quipped, hugging the bear dramatically.

The most challenging yet rewarding scene to film came toward the end of the drama, where their characters finally confessed their feelings after a heated argument. The emotions ran high, and even the crew found themselves holding their breath as Mingyu and Y/N brought the raw vulnerability of their characters to life. By the time the director called cut, there was a moment of stunned silence before the set erupted into applause.

“You really outdid yourselves,” the director said, visibly moved. “This is the kind of performance that stays with people.”

Through these scenes, their bond grew stronger. Whether it was the stolen glances that felt too real or the way they naturally gravitated toward each other during breaks, it was clear to everyone that something special was blooming between them.

[liv2post]

Hello!!! I have another request if you have time, but I was wondering if you could do something with Severus and reader where they're super close and in love with each other but they're the only ones who can't see it 😭

Hi! I hope this is to your liking! I've never really written an oblivious pairing before, so I hope this works with your request '3'

Word Count: ~1.4k Pairing: Severus Snape/Professor!Reader Read on ao3!

Baffled

It was appalling how long you and Severus had managed to thwart her, Filius, and Dumbledore’s bet. Minerva sat in the staff lounge, grumbling at the seeming lack of progress. They had made the bet nearly a year ago and it didn’t seem like it would ever officially meet its crescendo. The bet was about you and a certain Potion’s professor. She had seen the way the two of you had looked at one another when you both met for the first time, the way intrigue shined in both of your eyes despite initially remaining to yourselves. Filius had to practically orchestrate your first interaction, “accidentally” requesting both of your help to control a room whose furniture had “mysteriously come to life” and couldn’t be controlled with just the wizard’s magic alone.

Since then, your interactions have blossomed from collegial to friendly to…whatever the hell was going on between you.

Love.

Or at least that’s what the Transfiguration teacher could hope for. It was an understatement to say that the two of you were arguably closer to one another than anyone else. However, the way you were closer to Severus made her think that it was love more than it was friendship.

Severus didn’t let anyone touch him. Anyone. The man could barely stand casual touch; a hand on the shoulder, a nudge with the elbow, and yet, the liberty had been granted to you. And the man didn’t shy away from it either. But it went beyond such little touches unbeknownst to Minerva. There had been a few instances where you had given him scalp massages. Imagine, the Potion’s master let someone touch his hair.

Outside of touches, the two of you could also be seen at each other’s side; sitting at meals, walking through Hogsmeade, the castle corridors, and lounging in the staff room. Just talking. Or reading in silence. And when the two of you talked, he would smile.

He would smile for Merlin’s sake!

And then there was that one time when she had walked down to the Potion’s classroom in need of a sleeping draught from Severus. 

She had pushed open the door only to be met with the sight of you and Severus hovering over a boiling cauldron, the both of you shifting your weight unsteadily and gripping the edge of the table, both smelling of firewhiskey.

“Are you two quite well?” she questioned urgently. 

Severus and had pressed his lips together, while you had burst into a fit of snorting giggles. “Mhm! Yep, we're alllllll good heeeeere,” you smiled, stumbling back onto a stool and patting your legs happily. “We maybe had a bit to drink.”

She raised an inquisitive eyebrow at Severus. “Really, drinking and brewing?”

“I’m no less smart drunk than I am sober, Minerva. I have all my facilities, though I can’t say the same for Y/N,” he sneered teasingly at you. 

You blew a raspberry at him, prompting him to grab the nearby potions textbook and bopping you on the head. In response, you had made an attempt to shove him, but the force of the push moved you back on the stool rather than having an impact on the man. The stool began to fall backward and as you tried to steady yourself, Severus shot a hand out and grabbed your arm, tugging you back to him and holding you against his side. 

“Quit messing around, you insufferable girl.”

She was baffled to no end.

“Ravenclaw.”

“Slytherin.”

“Ravenclaw.” 

“Slytherin.”

Both of your bickering interrupted Minerva’s reminiscing as the door to the teachers’ lounge opened. 

“What are you arguing about now?” she quipped.

“We’re debating on what house me and Severus’s hypothetical child would be.”

Filius, who had been drinking tea on the chair opposite of Minerva began to choke as Minerva herself stumbled over her words in nonpluss. “Wh- I beg your pardon?!”

“Hypothetical child, Minerva,” Severus emphasized with a roll of his eyes, following you to the cabinet to grab his preferred flavored tea. Filius and Minerva met each other’s gaze, both thinking the same thing: Are these two really that oblivious?

Finally, the annual Yule Ball had come and Dumbledore decided to take matters into his own hands. The conniving man had arranged for both of you to have chaperoning duties at the same time. In accordance with the rules, both of you had dressed up in formal attire, but neither of you had any intention of actually dancing with the other, especially in front of the students. 

No matter how much the both of you had wanted. 

“But that was ridiculous, wasn’t it?” you thought to yourself, inches from your partner in crime, who kept his hands clasped behind his back, surveying the students on the dance floor. He was your best friend. He probably didn’t see you as anything else. Surely if he did, he’d have made a move or dropped hints, right?

Severus was enduring the same turmoil, resisting the urge to place a hand on your waist and guide you to somewhere more private. You looked exceptionally beautiful, more beautiful than you did every day you saw each other. You were his closest friend and he didn’t want to ruin anything on the off chance that he was wrong. He thought he had given you enough indication about his feelings towards you, though they were rather indirect. Or maybe you just didn’t see him that way, and therefore didn’t consider them to be hints…

“Severus. Y/N,” the Headmaster greeted. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I believe I saw some students taking to carousing in the courtyard. Could you two handle that? I can watch those dancing in your place.”

“Of course, Headmaster,” Severus nodded and you followed after the professor in black who swept out the Great Hall.

But there were no students out there. It was an outright lie. He just wanted to get the two of you alone without any students’ eyes on you. The man counted down from two minutes in his head before quietly slipping out of the Great Hall himself. He paused outside of the doorway to the courtyard, casually peering out toward the stone fountain. The two of you were talking, the quietude of your conversation deaf on his ears as he watched the both of you trying to calm your nerves, Severus gripping his wrist hard behind his back, you playing with your fingers in front of your stomach.

But both your thoughts were loud, and Dumbledore could hear you and Severus cursing the headmaster for setting up a situation where the both of you were alone, bathed in moonlight with music drifting out through the windows of the Great Hall, neither of you wanting to take the plunge. 

“Ask her to dance, Severus,” Dumbledore mentally sent to Severus.

Severus stiffened, refusing to whip his head toward the doorway of the courtyard.

“Go. Away,” Severus thought back harshly.

“I will when you ask her to dance. She obviously wants to.”

Dumbledore felt Severus block their mental connection as a few seconds later the Potions professor slowly brought his hands down to his side, one curling nervously into a fist, the other he offered hesitantly to you, mouthing something at the same time. Dumbledore watched as a soft smile grew on your lips and you nodded fervently.

Dumbledore stepped back out of sight, smiling to himself in satisfaction as he went to converse with a nearby painting as he waited. Some minutes passed before the two of you reentered the castle, your lipstick lightly stamped on one of Severus’s cheeks and slightly smeared on his own mouth.

“Well, it’s about time,” Dumbledore remarked, not just referring to the amount of time you both spent outside. 

The both of you blushed the same shade of your lipstick. “Shut up,” you both muttered, as Severus grabbed your hand and tugged you close to him, the both of you sweeping away to the dungeons. Dumbledore just chuckled, turning on his heel and returning to his colleagues in the Great Hall. 

He had winnings to collect. 

[the-cosmic-cauldron]

18+ Synastry: Baby-Making Placements & Aspects “ I Want You To Have My Baby”

Some were born out of love. Some out of lust. Some through force. And some through rare, fateful circumstances.

But no matter the story, we all originated from the same place. Whatever the intention behind our conception was, it’s not always ours to question. The truth remains: we were all born from sex.

Yes—some parents barely knew each other. No middle names exchanged. No shared memories. Not even a mutual understanding of who the other really was. And yet—you’re here. Isn’t that fascinating? A little intriguing. And maybe, a little alarming too.

When it comes to synastry—the astrological art of comparing two charts—there are clues. If you want to understand how some of us came to be, look into your parents’ synastry chart. Within it lies the unfolding of your creation. Perhaps your soul was simply eager to come to Earth—longing for the human experience.But your parents?They may have wanted something entirely different.

A thrilling night. A moment of divine passion. A romantic evening. A sacred, intricate, even tantric experience. Or perhaps something darker. A forceful, eerily violating encounter. A drunken haze. A high. A quick fix for a need. And boom—you’re here.

Synastry can decode how you got here. Because there are planetary interactions—certain collisions in the sky—that awaken something primal. Something overwhelming. Something magnetic. The kind of chemistry that should probably come with a warning label—and a Plan B on standby.

Sometimes, that chemistry leads to love. Other times, it’s a side effect of violent passion. Passion that is rejected, contorted, or crosses into the unacceptable. And yet—it births you.

Today, we’re exploring the synastry aspects and placements that can lead to baby-making. And no, we’re not talking about the kind where you track your ovulation, count cycle days, and prepare your body with careful intention. We’re talking about the kind of synastry that hits you in the face. That leaves one parent looking at the other in disbelief: “I thought we were just having fun. I thought this was just one night.” And suddenly, they’re parents.

Let’s dive into the synastry aspects behind unexpected conception—the cosmic collisions that create life.

Venus-Mars

This is the placement of primal magnetism. Picture two people whose love is so raw and electric that the moment their eyes meet, the world around them fades. They’re always one breath, one glance away from losing themselves in each other. Even in public, there’s a pull—one grabs the other’s thigh, their eyes lock, and soon after, so do their lips. These are the lovers who disappear into each other. The passion is so undeniable that restraint becomes a foreign concept. Mars is intoxicated by Venus’ beauty and allure; Venus is captivated by Mars’ drive, heat, and sensual dominance. The result? Touch becomes inevitable, and often, so does creation—a baby born not just of impulse, but of sacred intensity.

Moon-Mars

When the Moon meets Mars, it’s mother meets father—the archetypal creators. The Moon becomes more fertile around Mars, emotionally and physically. Mars, in turn, becomes entranced by the Moon’s mystery, aching to uncover, to possess, to merge. This placement births a chemistry that is emotionally volcanic and physically primal. There’s tenderness and savagery in their intimacy—“I love you and I’ll caress you, but I’ll also wreck you with desire.” When it’s over, they’re breathless, disheveled, lying in the aftermath of an eruption wondering, “Are we expecting a baby now?”

Moon-Venus

While this doesn’t scream “baby-making” in the animalistic way Mars does, this is where nurturance births desire. The Moon and Venus adore one another. They give, they listen, they soften into each other. This is a relationship built on emotional intimacy and mutual admiration, and that kind of love leads them naturally to the bedroom. They enter slowly, gently. But once there, they fully give. The Moon whispers, “You’re my forever.” Venus replies, “Let’s ground this love.” And grounding often looks like creating something permanent—like a child born from devotion.

Moon-Jupiter

Here, expansion is emotional. The Moon feels seen, held, and uplifted by Jupiter. Jupiter feels nourished and stabilized by the Moon. Together, they believe in a future—they see their love as abundant, blessed, and filled with potential. They talk of homes, children, and the life they’ll build. Even if they hadn’t planned to, a baby becomes a symbol of everything they feel together: growth, luck, joy. The Moon brings fertility, and Jupiter multiplies it. They don’t just imagine one child—they dream of many, of legacies, of laughter echoing through the hallways of a home they’ve built together.

Mars in the 5th House

This placement screams spontaneity and heat. These are the “it just happened” people—the ones who get carried away in the moment and find themselves pregnant after a wild, passionate encounter. Mars energizes the 5th house of pleasure and children. Sex is fun, fast, and frequent—and every time, the possibility of a baby looms. They might not mean to, but the chemistry is too strong. Fertility follows fire.

Moon in the 5th House

This placement brings emotional intimacy straight into the realm of creation. The more emotionally connected these two become, the more they crave a family. Sometimes they want it, sometimes they don’t—but when the emotions are flowing, so is fertility. Their desire for children ebbs and flows with their emotional tides, but when the tide is high, they dream of parenthood, of bedtime stories and holding tiny hands. Ultimate baby-making potential.

Jupiter in the 5th House

Jupiter in the 5th is an amplifier—it expands everything it touches. These two are passionate adventurers, always seeking joy, always craving more. More love, more laughter, more life. They’re affectionate, exuberant, and never far from one another. Their love is visible, radiant, and full of enthusiasm. And eventually, they want to grow something tangible from it—children. Not just one. A family. A tribe. Jupiter makes the love feel so bountiful that creation becomes inevitable.

Mars-Pluto

This is a relationship built on sex. This is a relationship built on magnetism. This is a relationship forged in the molten pull between two souls who cannot resist one another. It is the quintessential “I’m wrecking you—and I don’t even mind.” It’s transformation through sex, an unspoken demand for surrender. One seeks to dominate in overt, physical ways—demolishing, devouring. The other conquers in covert currents—through presence, aura, silence, and words that hypnotize. This is not merely bedroom activity. This is a battlefield. Here, chains are not props—they are metaphors. Each lover competes for control while secretly craving submission. And in the end, neither submits—not fully. Not entirely. They circle each other, burning, breathing fire into flesh, mind, and spirit. The passion becomes addictive. The intensity defies language. Orgasms are insufficient; they’re just intermissions. Round after round, they lose track of time, lose track of self, lose track of the line between pleasure and undoing. It’s animalistic. Primal. But also deeply intentional—A sacred ritual of domination and exposure. They leave the room not knowing what, exactly, they’ve done—Only that they’ve undone each other in every way imaginable. And this is the kind of sex so consuming, so repetitive, so charged—that it doesn’t just stir the desire for creation…It insists on it. You can’t touch that kind of fire without risking a spark that becomes life.

Moon-Pluto

Here, Pluto ruins the Moon. The Moon is sanctuary. A temple of comfort. A home, a haven, a sacred inner coven. And Pluto doesn’t care. Pluto doesn’t come to preserve. Pluto comes to destroy—and then rebuild. It has visions the Moon has never dared to imagine. Where the Moon seeks safety, Pluto seeks transformation. And Pluto doesn’t arrive loudly. Pluto arrives silently. With eyes that hypnotize, with words that undress. Pluto speaks to the hidden parts of you—the ones you’ve never shared with anyone. And somehow, Pluto already knows. It sees through your pain. Through your softness, your stories, your carefully tended self. It strips you down to your rawest essence—then spits you out: guts and glory. This is the kind of love where the Moon tries to run. Because Pluto is danger. Pluto is the part of us we hide from the world. But Pluto doesn’t chase. Pluto consumes. Easily. Quietly. Completely. The Moon is seduced—to the highest highs and the darkest, most primal depths. Pluto awakens the taboos, the fantasies the Moon swore it would never explore—unless trust ran deeper than blood. And Pluto earns that trust with just a gaze. The Moon submits, not through force, but through revelation. And in that surrender, the Moon feels… nourished. In a place no one has ever touched. This is sex that isn’t just physical—It’s ancestral. It touches the unconscious, the dream realm, the inner child’s wounds, the cries of the foremothers, the shame buried deep in bone and blood. This kind of sex stirs. It unravels. It says, I will break these generational curses. I will unchain us. I will create through you. It’s not just orgasmic—it’s alchemical. This is not sex you forget. It makes you obsessive. Addicted. Changed. You crave more not out of desire—but because it feels like your soul is being rewritten, Like something ancient is being summoned through you. And so, the child conceived here—isn’t born just from passion. But from awakening. From a force that demands legacy. That says: Now that we’ve touched the fire—let something rise from the ash.

Neptune-Mars

These are the kinds of lovers who never fully know where one ends and the other begins. Boundaries blur. Reality bends. And logic? It’s often the first to dissolve. This is the kind of connection that becomes sticky, surreal—where sex is not just an act, but an escape. Sometimes, it’s an escape from their own relationship issues. Other times, it’s a refuge from the dullness of ordinary life. When life feels grey, they paint it in shades of ecstasy behind closed doors. Fantasies rise like smoke between them, emerging as their bodies collide—sensitive skin against sensitive skin, each touch feeling like a soul crossing. They pierce each other not with pain, but with presence. There is no veil. No distance. They become one—orgasmically, spiritually, physically demolished and reborn. They cry out names, moan in longing, but in their minds, they’re not just lovers. They are myths in motion. Mars brings primal power—urgent, rough, consuming. It stirs the carnal hunger neither knew they carried. Neptune wraps it in mysticism, in elusive tenderness, turning every movement into a spiritual offering.The rhythm of their love—sometimes fast, sometimes slow—becomes sacred. Their sex feels faded, fated. A tantric marriage of body and soul. Kisses blur, limbs intertwine,And they lose the ability to separate flesh from feeling. For them, sex is communion. A dream wrapped in sweat and stardust. Half-animal, half-angel, they fall into each other over and over again. They’re addicted—not just to each other, but to the high. The escape. The drunkenness of divine lust. Their bedroom becomes a temple of illusion. A cup overflowing, a taste of forbidden wine, a room filled with smoke that fogs the mind and frees the spirit. In this union, they forget. Plan B is forgotten. Birth control becomes an afterthought. Even their former resistance to parenthood dissolves. Because in their haze—the sacred delirium of pleasure and union—they birth more than orgasms. They birth children from the safe haven of release.

North Node–Moon

This is not a casual meeting. There’s nothing ordinary about two souls chosen to carry the weight and wisdom of ancestral memory into the future. This is the kind of love that dives deep—through lifetimes, through bloodlines, through the echoes of generations past. Together, you break the cycles that once hindered you. Together, you create something new. Not just for yourselves, but for the lineage you both carry—and the one you are destined to birth. This is not just fated love. This is evolutionary love. Love that births a new family line, rooted in healing, in consciousness, in renewal, in rebirth. Sex with this person is not merely physical. It is ritual. It is trance. It is sacred ceremony under divine surveillance. The gods, the ancestors, the angels, the spirit guides—They watch. They bless. They witness. Sex becomes a sacred transmission, a moment where time dissolves, and something eternal speaks through your breath, your cries, your motion. The pull toward each other is at times uncontrollable, the union overwhelming. Emotions rise—tears, outpourings, release. Memories resurface—some not even yours. Sex feels like remembering. Like coming home to something your soul has known for lifetimes. It feels divine. Plotted across timelines. Lit by God’s own light. And though it is physical, it is also a spiritual sanction—a vessel for calling in new souls. Souls waiting to arrive. Souls ready to change the course of the world. These moments together carry the weight of that destiny. There is nothing casual about this. This love is novel—yes. But it’s also ancient. It carries a divine intelligence, a spiritual orchestration far beyond this plane. It calls forth evolution. It births sacred beings. It builds families not just by DNA, but by emotional resonance, soul kinship, and divine design. Sex between these lovers becomes meditation, a merging beyond the veil, a connection that stirs discomfort, because it’s so much bigger than desire. And yet, they fall into it—again and again—because they must. Because this is how new life begins. How new timelines are birthed. How transformation becomes embodied. And the only possible result? A child. A soul. A new world, born from sacred fire.

Uranus–Mars

This is a highly charged interaction between two lovers. Electric. Explosive. Erratic. This is combustion, orgasm seated deep in the soul, rising to the surface whenever they’re near. It doesn’t ask permission. It doesn’t wait. It erupts. This is the awakening of primal, animalistic energy—the part of you usually hold back, afraid it might destroy someone. But not with this lover. With them, you don’t hold back. They don’t want you to. They don’t care where it happens—anytime. Anyplace. Public or private. Under sheets or against walls. When it rises, you must act. It pulsates through you, overtakes you, keeps your body hot, your cheeks flushed, your eyes glistening. And they know. They feel it too. That aching, soul-deep craving. That hunger that can’t be denied. You find yourselves parking the car at midnight, just to feel each other. To lose yourselves in the exploration of touch, of fantasy now turned reality. Everything you’ve imagined, now embodied, now acted out. You speak of future timelines that don’t even exist, But the mere idea of becoming something together makes you magnetic to one another. Mental sparks become physical ones. Stimulation of the mind turns into one pinning the other down—a seamless transition from conversation to carnal collision. This is sex of the minds and the bodies. Manipulating through words, minds reading each other’s intentions, tongues spilling truths and fantasies. Long moans tangled with meaning. Ideas turned into foreplay. This is the kind of passion that ignites the fire and brings the air to keep it burning. Not quick, not forgettable. This sex builds. This sex compounds. It becomes more every time. These are the lovers who find each other on opposite ends of the earth, yet somehow reunite under moonlight just to awaken the wolf between their legs. This is the wild cry of, “demolish me. Destroy me.” This is erratic love. The summer flame that never quite dies. The situationship that lingers. The sneaky link that stretches into years. The magnetic pull between them is unstoppable. They’re drawn again and again—Into long nights of pounding hearts, sweaty limbs, pulsing need. And eventually, amid the madness, between their casual returns to daily life—There it is: Morning sickness. Tender breasts. A missed period. A pregnancy test. And the electricity of desire becomes something else entirely: A life sparked in chaos. A soul born from the thunder of touch.

Uranus–Moon

This is a love story written across timelines. Future lovers with ancient souls. A fusion of past and future, merging somewhere in the middle—in the electrified, emotional now. One brings wild vision: A mind full of innovation, rebellion, and dreams too big for words. Uranus—the disruptor, the futurist, the spark. The other, the Moon—rooted, grounded, soft and slow. A soul who just wants to simmer in stillness, to feel deeply and stay close to the earth. But Uranus won’t let the Moon stay quiet for long. It yanks the Moon from its cocoon, spins it forward through time, and together, they collide—eletricity meeting water, idealism meeting emotion, awe meeting comfort. This is a relationship where ecstasy and joy are fused with ancestral memory. They feel like they’ve known each other forever, And yet they dream of futures they’ve never spoken aloud—timelines and prophecies they’ve both imagined before they ever acted them out. These are the lovers who, at random times—in the car, at the kitchen sink, during a lull in conversation—feel emotion rise like a wave. And from that wave, comes the hunger. A simple “I love you” spirals into an urgent, unspoken call to collide. Bodies glide. Souls stir. They make love not just from passion, but from prophecy. Sex, for them, is not casual. It is transformation. It is the seed of something greater— a lineage shift. A future child. A dream made flesh. They crave each other at the strangest times—not just from desire, but from alignment. The brushing of a hand. The soft sound of teeth against lip. The glimmer in each other’s eyes—suddenly, they’re undone. Their sex is mentally electric, emotionally soft. They cross veils together, time and time again. One speaks in ideas, the other in feelings. Then suddenly, they’re tussling in the bedroom—laughter mixed with moans, memory mixed with novelty. They try new things, explore fantasies, but they also return to the tried-and-true: The positions that promise release, the movements they know will unravel one another. It’s all woven in—past pleasure, future promise. They lift and throw, push and pull. There’s laughter in the air—a kind of mischievous joy. Because this isn’t just sex. It’s a rehearsal for their future: As parents. As guides. As creators of a new lineage. They dream of raising a child— Emotionally secure, brillant beyond their years, destined to transform the world. This is not just a relationship. It’s a meeting of destinies. Explorative. Explosive. Fated. And each time they touch, each time they merge, they whisper to the universe:“We are ready to birth something new.”

[droaxa]

awe yandere nerd is so cute!! i wonder how someone who acts oppositely to them would act as a yandere.

-🎀 anon

ooh you’re so right 🎀 anon, a yandere jock or popular kid would be interesting.. so here u are!

✧ yandere jock x reader

yandere jock who is one of the most popular guys at your university, everyone knows him. he plays basketball and is so charming that girls (and guys!) can't help but want to be around him, his handsome features totally help too.

yandere jock who you'd had some classes with in your freshman year. however, you hadn't seen him after that and forgot about him. but he couldn't forget about you

yandere jock who actually didn’t like you when he first met you, he thought you were too much of a doormat. he assumed off your quiet nature and antisocial tendencies that you couldn’t stand up for yourself or make your own decisions. and boy was he wrong

yandere jock who stumbles into you after class, well not really cause you hadn’t seen him yet. he watches a girl say somthing and shove you by your shoulder and he mentally scoffs ‘she gets bullied too? we’re in university i thought she’d grow a backbone by now’

yandere jock who is flabbergasted when you punch the girl straight in her face, she stumbles back, shocked, and curses you before running out the door and past yandere jock

yandere jock who is intrigued by your personality, so this is who you actually were. he tries to get closer to you: sitting beside you in lectures, talking to you after class, but just seem to hate him. often shutting down interactions or using the excuse that you’re busy to get away.

yandere jock who is frustrated but still dedicated, atleast until that semester ended. he’s annoyed because he never sees you anymore, and now that you didn’t have a shared class it’s even harder to catch you.

yandere jock who has you on his mind for the next two years, trying to make conversation with you whenever you saw he saw you. but the confused expression on your face said it all, your forgotten who he was.

yandere jock who’s fucking pissed, he spent two years thinking about you and you don’t even remember who he is? he makes it his life goal to make himself relevant to you. even if his ways were a bit.. unorthodox.

yandere jock who starts to pick on you, pushing you in the halls and spreading rumors about you. you’re confused, what did you even do to him? when you ask him, he just responds with “do i need a reason to?” with a tight grin.

quiet you who is now pissed. who did he think he was? a fucking gift from god that could do anything he wanted? you responds back with shoulder checking him in the hallways and pretending that he was bullying you and other students to the professors (well he kind of was wasn’t he?).

yandere jock who is mildly surprised, wow he knew you could fight back but this was different. he was flustered, you put all this effort into him?

yandere jock who retaliates with something a bit more extreme than you would’ve anticipated, he manages to convince one of the teachers that you cheated on a important test. the end of the year exam.

quiet you who is frustrated and angry, you’d worked your ass off to get that 95% and now he does this? oh it’s over for him

yandere jock who gets expelled from the university a week later. the reason? illegal drugs were found in his sports locker, not only was this against the school code but it put the basketball team at risk.

quiet you who pretends to not know anything, smirking as you get back into your study grind

yandere jock who decides that you need to be taught a lesson, although he’s not allowed on campus anymore, the girls dorms are in the edge of campus.

you wake up in the dark, what time was it? oh, just 2 am. you try to go back to sleep and hear some fabric rustling and you freeze. in the moonlit darkness of your room you can vaguely make out a shadowy figure at the foot of your bed.

your eyes widen and before you can scream or react, the figure leaps up and slams a rough hand over your mouth while keeping your body down with his own weight.

just as he leans over you, you make out his face as the moonlights from your window hits it. a strong face with messy hair you’d seen many times before. you didn’t think you’d see him again.

he grins manically, “you thought you could mess with me, forget about me and get away with it?” his voice breathy, like he was about to break into laughter at any moment.

you shake your head desperately no, tears form in your eyes as you register what’s going to happen to you.

he pressed you deeper into your pillow, your tears now running down your face and his hand. he then leans down to lick your salty tears off his hands and then your soft cheeks.

“fuck, i’ll make you understand why you shouldn’t forget about me”

[sectumsempraaa]

Drowning Lessons

Pairing: Theo Nott x fem!reader

Word count: 2.4k

Featuring: Theo, Mattheo, Lorenzo, Draco, Pansy

Based on this request! Thank you :)

TW: fear/phobia of water and swimming, traumatic memories, physical pain, freefalling, panic, severe weather

A/N: you GUYSSSS i missed you!! i have been away for a minute because… i met someone 🤭 but we’re back in the saddle now, working thru requests!

Summary: After a rip current incident when you were younger, you’ve lived your life deeply afraid of the water, vowing never to swim again. But when a lesson in Magical Creatures leaves you stranded in the black lake, your boyfriend Theo comes to the rescue.

“Never have I ever… got stuck underwater.” Pansy jokes, calling you out in front of your friend group. You sigh and roll your eyes, putting a finger down as the game instructs.

“Come on, Pans. That’s low.” Theo says, a stern tone emitting from him. “You know what happened.”

“Actually, I don’t! Y/N here would never tell me such secrets.” She playfully nudges your arm with her elbow, encouraging you to speak.

Theo notices your breath quickening as you attempt to swallow your nerves and reaches an affectionate hand to rub your shoulder in comfort.

The unwelcome memory snaps back to you, triggered by Pansy’s jab. You, a rip current, and the American sun. As a young girl, you had been swimming around in the ocean on a trip to California when a current pulled you under and whipped you around senseless.

No matter how far you reached your hands, they could never find the surface. You were convinced it was the end until a lifeguard raised you from the water and carried you to shore.

Unfortunately, your lungs suffered some minor damage. To this day, you get short-breathed easily, especially when you start to panic. It’s nothing too serious, but noticeable enough to your friends and Theo.

“Don’t listen to her, bella. She’s drunk.” Theo comforts you, his voice competing with the sounds of the party. You nod and give him a small smile, hoping everyone will just forget about this moment.

“Your turn, baby.” Theo kisses your cheek, easily bringing your good mood back. You reach a hand to rest on his knee, letting him know your appreciation.

“Hmm…” you think hard, attempting to give Pansy a taste of her own medicine. “Never have I ever… had a wet dream about a teacher.”

You smirk, knowing you hit it right on the mark. The group collectively drop their jaws, Theo’s hand grabbing your thigh in surprise.

“That was ONE time! And how do you know it was even a teacher?!” Pansy snarls, becoming fiercely defensive.

Mattheo pipes in, imitating Pansy. “Oh, Professor Lockhart, right there! Yes!” Pansy hits Mattheo over the side of the head, giving him a scowl and spewing profanities his way. Theo laughs uncontrollably, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Damn, principessa,” Theo says, his words laced with pride. “Remind me to never piss you off.”

You smile, shaking off any remnants of your panic and settle back into the party. For the rest of the night, everyone plays nice.

—

Later that week, you found yourself outside for Magical Creatures class. You watch on in awe as Hagrid presents a hippogriff to the class. You’re intrigued by the creature, the beauty of her feathers fanning out and her graceful strength striking to you.

Each student is to take a turn with her this week, bowing to and exploring their interactions with her. You are a gentle, animal-loving soul and she senses it as she immediately bows back to you.

You step forward, her beak nudging your ribs while you pet her. A small laugh escapes your mouth as you stumble backwards, quickly regaining your balance.

“Such a gorgeous, gorgeous girl.” You sing, stealing a glance at Theo who, like the rest of the class, is looking at you like you’re the damn bird whisperer. He nods, gesturing over to where Hagrid is standing.

“Aye, I think she likes ya. Care for a flight today, Y/N?” Hagrid asks, encouraging you to engage further with the creature.

Before you can even answer, she lowers herself to your height, inviting you to climb on. A pang of hesitancy hits your gut, your body and mind wanting two different things.

Theo approaches her from behind so as not to be noticed by her. He grips your hips, lifting and guiding you to her back.

He senses your nerves, whispering a thought before you take off. “Careful, cara mia. I need you in one piece.” He winks, stepping back to where the class is.

Once you’re up in the air and soaring around, you get comfortable with the height and let yourself enjoy the flight. It’s not every day you bond with a hippogriff.

Your hands are white knuckling but your face relaxes into a basking smile, taking the time to give her pets as she flies you around the circumference of the castle.

The wind picks up a bit, feeling cool and refreshing on your face. But it turns into more than just a breeze, as you feel a few droplets of rain cascading down your skin.

Down on the ground, Lorenzo nudges Theo’s arm with his elbow, holding out his hand to bring Theo’s attention to the rain. The alarm in his voice becomes apparent as he speaks to Theo.

“Hey mate, we best get your girl down. This isn’t looking too promising.”

Within seconds, a slight drizzle becomes harsh, thrashing sheets of rain. Unsure of how to land, you attempt to push down on your hippogriff’s back, signaling her to descend.

It was all so fast, the way a few drops of water became like bullets. The wind changing direction every few seconds starts to disorient you as you struggle more and more to hold on. Down below, Hagrid instructs the class to head indoors.

But before you even get a chance to land, a sudden clad of thunder erupts, blasting in your ears with your close proximity to the sky.

You can feel her panic beneath you as you try to soothe her and talk her down. Another clad. And another. She screeches just as she takes a turn over the black lake.

Theo storms over to where Hagrid is, a threat like hell lacing his words and crimson red burning in his eyes.

“GET HER DOWN, NOW.” If you weren’t so close to the roaring thunder, you’d have heard him repeat this several times in angsty Italian.

And then it all snapped. A bolt of lightning strikes the Whomping Willow in the distance, scaring your hippogriff so badly she bucks you off, jolting you off her side.

It takes a second for you to realize you’re free falling dozens of feet towards the water with nothing to stop you, almost like in slow motion.

On the ground, panic stirs wildly as Hagrid tries to lure her down with meat, which works… for her. The creature makes a near-crash landing close to Hagrid’s hut.

But Theo’s heart drops into his stomach as he notices the empty spot on her back where you’re supposed to be.

His heart races as he searches the sky for a sign of you, unable to move from his spot. Then, you appear, and the sight of you falling from the clouds utterly paralyzes him.

The sound of your scream prompts him back to reality, urging him to take action. The last thing you hear before you crash into the water is Theo’s horrified voice yelling your name.

“SHE CAN’T BE IN THE WATER!” he shouts at Hagrid through the relentless, howling storm as he shoves the professor out of the way.

Then… silence.

The pain of a thousand needles pierces your skin, the freezing water enveloping your body in a rigid embrace. The burn from the crash lingers for a while on your skin as your brain catches up with the moment.

Slowly, your eyes open to the dark and murky scene around you, your vision slightly delayed.

Once you realize you’re under, you actually have a moment of peace. Maybe it was the way your body stilled after the impact, maybe it was the quiet, or maybe it was you coming to terms with this scenario once again.

It’s starting to feel like fate.

Your arms float above you as you feel your lungs start to tighten. Then it all comes back to you, the trauma of it causing you to stir and thrash in the water.

Your lack of swimming skills is regretful now as you try to raise yourself to the surface. You helplessly grab onto plants and rocks for leverage, something falls into your hand, but ultimately nothing in your reach seems to work.

Suddenly, an arm grabs your waist with urgency, causing you to scream beneath the water, the air bubbles rising from your mouth. Another hand reaches up to cover your mouth, urging you to breathe.

When your eyes meet his, you wonder how they can still appear so crystal blue in such grim conditions. He shakes his head and points to his chest, as if to say, “It’s me.”

You wrap your arm around his neck as he pulls you up, making each second count. When you reach the surface, your lungs start to contract wildly, desperately trying to catch up on oxygen.

Your vision is still blurred and your head is still in a haze when you feel his arms wrap under your legs to lift you up.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Theo curses under his breath as he carries you to land. He yells out to someone as he gently rests you down on the ground. “Get Pomfrey, NOW!”

You’ve never heard his voice so urgent, so demanding. And he wouldn’t tell you this, but deep down, he knows he’s never been this scared before in his life.

You stir beneath him, fiddling the grass around in your fingers as your breath slowly begins to level again. “Theo…” you start, barely able to get the words out.

“Ssshh, mi amore, you’re okay. Don’t speak, just look at me, okay?” He asks, earning a painful nod from you in return. You can’t help but notice how both your voices are equally shakey.

The rain begins to subside, the skies finally concluding their vicious rein. Your body shakes a little from the several rapid changes in temperature. Theo scans you head to toe, attempting to pinpoint a place to start working.

His hands work on unbuttoning your jacket and removing your shoes, everything completely drenched that could weigh you down. Once he’s finished, he cups your face in his hands, bringing his lips to your forehead for a gentle kiss.

With your eyelids halfway open, you pause for a second before displaying a grin and letting out a low, humming laugh. His eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“What in the world could you possibly be laughing at?” He looks down in your eyes with worry and a slight annoyance.

Your voice coughs and croaks, struggling to project from your throat. “Remember in third year when you caught your first snitch? And Draco was so jealous you had won them the championship that he stole it?”

Theo nods gently, his eyes widening in awe and his jaw dropping in surprise as you weakly reach your hand up to his face, revealing the rusted, waterlogged snitch in your palm.

“It was resting in between a couple rocks in the lake. He must have thrown it in there amidst his toddler-like fit of rage.” You explain, your smile unwavering.

“Bella, you continue to both kill and amaze me.” He takes the snitch in his hand, leaning down to kiss you.

When his lips caress yours, you feel him smiling against you. Your fingers find themselves at the base of his hair, wet from the rain.

When he pulls back, he lifts his head to meet Pomfrey’s gaze. His stressed words sound like an echo as your eyes begin to close again.

“Please, madame, she’s pale and freezing and,” he starts, just before being cut off by the healer. A soft hand cups his face as you hear her voice begin to speak. He needs soothing just as much as you do right now.

“Well come on then, dove. Let’s get your girl to the infirmary. Get her up, I reckon she trusts you the most.”

Without giving it a second thought, Theo pulls you tight against his chest, letting out a small grunt as he lifts you and himself off the ground.

“Whatever I can do, I want to do it.”

—

The next morning, you wake up to a foggy sunrise. The early light creeps in through the infirmary windows, casting a glow on Theo.

His body sits in a chair next to your bed, his head resting in your lap and a hand clutching yours.

It takes a second to put the pieces back together. But the sight of your wet clothes on the ground and the boy sleeping on your thighs helps kickstart your memory.

You brush your thumb against the back of his hand while attempting to awaken your limbs from their still slumber.

When he stirs awake, a wave of relief washes over his features. “Y/N,” he gasps, waking up fast and standing up to sit on your bed.

He pulls you in, holding your head to his chest and cradling you safely in his arms. He rocks you back and forth, savoring your warmth. You pull back and meet his gaze, his eyes frantically searching your face.

“Hey, hey,” you whisper, resting your forehead on his. “You told me to come back in one piece. I did.” You smile, nudging his nose with yours.

“Cara mia…” Theo groans, trying to hold back his smile. “Next summer, we’ll swim every single day at Malfoy Manor if that’s what it takes to make sure this never happens again.”

You pause, hesitant to agree to the notion. But deep down, you know it’s time to recover from this and move forward.

“I’ll learn fastest there anyways, assuming we’ll keep playing fetch with Draco whenever he gets mad and throws something of value into the pool.”

You joke, running your hands through Theo’s dried hair. His eyes have a hint of bloodshot to them after yesterday’s events.

“Whoever gets him to throw his ring in the pool first gets to push the other in the water?” He offers, extending his hand to you. You take it, shaking and kissing the back of it.

“You’re on, Nott.” You giggle, sending a glimmer of light to his eyes.

You didn’t notice it until now, the way he’s clinging onto your waist like you’ll somehow fall away again. You pull back, bringing him with you so his head rests on your chest.

You look down at your boy in his exhausted state. You kiss the top of his head as he dozes back off to sleep, nuzzling the side of his face against your collarbone.

“Never have I ever… risked my life for someone.” You whisper, entangling your fingers in the strands of his hair. You feel him huff against you, the breath from his laugh caressing your hospital gown.

Gently, you feel one of his fingers press down harder onto your hand as it clasps yours.

“You love to win this game.” He mutters back to you, kissing your chest softly as you feel his eyelashes flutter against your skin.

“Maybe, but I love someone else much more.”

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

[yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy]

Rook isn’t a Dragon Age protagonist. Rook is designed to be a stand-in for people who never played Dragon Age, don’t care about diving deep into the lore, and aren’t interested in the romance mechanics. Rook is designed to be said bland avatar so that non-DA fans (who for some fucking reason decided to pick up and play Dragon Age 4 FIRST) have a pawn to control and navigate through the world in the most superficial and rudimentary manner possible. The way Solas is positioned in this game—which was originally pitched as him being the central antagonist all those years ago,—is evidence of this. Your Rook is deeply unconnected to Solas emotionally, mirroring how disconnected and uninvested a newbie player would be coming into this story blind at the climax of this decade long story. Even non-Solasmancers had a deep connection to Solas, whether as a friend or annoying thorn in their side.

The way that Rook is set up—someone who has no connection to Solas and can thus ‘do what’s necessary because sentiment is not clouding their judgment’—is coincidentally reflected further in the meta in that Rook, you, also end up functioning as having surface-level shallow connection to everything else in the game and world. You exist technically, you interact with it, but the world is rendered so bland, the dialogue so basic and repetitive and uninsightful, the roleplaying so limited, you might as well not truly exist in the Dragon Age world.

For a character so layered and so intriguing, Solas is sidelined and all greater access to him cut off. The golden opportunity to truly give us that Bioware levels of character exploration we saw in Trespasser by having us interact and speak frequently with this ‘Dread Wolf’ Solas—to interrogate him, to converse, debate, question— was never adopted in favor of…I guess flashy combat and pretty set dressings.

Elden Ring pulled off this angle of “late to the party” gimmick because Elden Ring did the heavy lifting of jamming several games’ worth of history and world-building into it. Veilguard plays both sides: “Eh, you’re a returning player so we’re not gonna go into much detail. You know how it is.” and “Eh, you’re a new player. Don’t sweat yourself on the actual in-depth history and nature of things established by the prior media. We know you’ve rotted your brain with a pure diet of MCU and tiktoks for at least a decade, so we’ve gone and removed the thoughtful nuanced spices and unique properties of the story so you can dive right in to the generic fantasy action rpg moba-like slop’.

Rook is the least real protagonist I have ever encountered in a supposed RP-heavy RPG. There are faceless boys in harem anime with more personality and weight and presence in their worlds than Rook.

[itsnesss]

i’m so happy your reqs are open again omgomgomg !! can you please write a hwang jun ho x reader where he meets her while on duty as an officer, maybe her friends got caught speeding and they try to flirt with him but reader doesn’t flirt and has a very spacey she aloof personality and is kind of an outcast because people think she’s strange so she’s just polite to jun ho and it catches his attention ? tysm !!

𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 | hwang jun-ho × fem!reader

summary | the request

warnings | fluff, brief mention of traffic violations, social anxiety themes, reader with an aloof/distant personality, mutual intrigue

word count | 1.0 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The car sped down the road, the sound of the engine filling the space. Your friends laughed and chatted non-stop about anything that crossed their minds, but you only heard them as a distant murmur. You were used to that disconnection, to being there without really participating, lost in your thoughts while the world moved on around you.

You sat in the passenger seat, gazing out the window with your head slightly tilted. The scenery blurred past quickly, but you weren’t really paying attention. Every now and then, a random thought would float into your mind, making you ponder things even you didn’t fully understand. But the sharp sound of a siren pulled you back to reality.

“Oh no!” one of your friends exclaimed from the back seat, nervously glancing at the rearview mirror. “We’re getting pulled over!”

The car began to slow down as your friend at the wheel tried to stay calm, though you could tell she was flustered. You, however, felt nothing in particular—just the usual distance you always felt. You were used to letting things unfold without much drama.

The car came to a complete stop, and you heard the door of the patrol car open. One of your friends immediately perked up, smiling flirtatiously as she adjusted her hair.

“Let’s see what happens, girls,” she said in an exaggeratedly sweet tone. You could see the excitement in her eyes, as if this were just another chance to impress a guy.

You sighed quietly, already knowing what she was up to. She was preparing to flirt with the officer who was about to approach. The other girls started whispering, clearly hoping the situation would go smoothly thanks to their charms.

And then, you saw him. The officer walked up to the driver’s side window, and for a moment, you found yourself watching him. He was tall, with a firm and professional demeanor, but there was something in his expression that felt different. It wasn’t like the other cops you’d seen before. There was something in his gaze that made you take notice, though in your self-contained world, you tried to avoid unnecessary interactions.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” he greeted in a clear, serious voice. He didn’t seem impressed by the smiles your friends offered, which gave you a slight sense of relief. “Do you know you were speeding?”

“Oh, officer!” one of your friends cooed, her tone overly sweet. “The traffic’s just been awful today, don’t you think? I’m sure we could work something out... if you know what I mean,” she added, making no effort to hide her playful tone.

You watched the interaction with mild disinterest, your eyes briefly flicking to the officer. While your friends kept flashing him their best smiles, you simply sat still, relaxed but distant. Flirting wasn’t your thing. It wasn’t how you operated. You simply waited for everything to be over so you could get on with your day.

The officer looked at your friends for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, his eyes shifted toward you. That’s when you finally lifted your head, meeting his gaze. Although he had barely noticed you before, now it felt like his attention was focused on you. There was no surprise, no superficial interest—just a subtle curiosity that made you feel both uncomfortable and intrigued.

“Any particular reason for the speeding?” he asked you directly this time, his tone serious but not harsh, as if he genuinely wanted to understand the situation.

“No,” you replied calmly, your voice even and soft. “I wasn’t paying attention to the speed.

There was a brief pause, and you felt his gaze linger on you longer than expected. Something about his demeanor unsettled you. He wasn’t looking at you the way others often did—there was no empty fascination, no surface-level interest. There was something more, something that made you feel seen in a way you weren’t used to.

Finally, he gave a slow nod. “I’ll let you off with a warning this time, but I suggest you be more careful next time.” His tone remained firm, but there was no trace of annoyance. He seemed to be simply doing his job, yet there was something about the way he addressed you that felt... different.

“Thank you, officer,” you murmured politely—not overly enthusiastic, but not rude either. Just enough to acknowledge his words.

Before turning away, he cast one last glance at you. This time, it wasn’t about the speeding or the formalities—it felt more personal. The interaction wasn’t like the others you’d had, where people either ignored you or found you strange. He hadn’t fallen for your friends’ charms, nor had he treated you like you were invisible. Instead, he’d noticed you.

The car started up again, and your friends burst into laughter, clearly thrilled with how things had turned out. “God, he was so hot! Did you see him? I totally would’ve said something more,” one of them giggled.

Your mind, however, was elsewhere. You didn’t care if he was hot or not. What stayed with you was how he had treated you—not like the others, not like someone trying to impress or be impressed, but like someone who saw people for who they really were. At least, that’s what it felt like.

You stayed quiet as the car continued down the road. Your friends kept talking, but you couldn’t stop thinking about him. About his gaze. About how, for once, someone hadn’t tried to win you over with empty words, but had simply done his job. And for some reason, that intrigued you more than any smile ever could.

[nikipuff]

omg another killer chat writer!! i love your work!! could i ask for some ronin fluff? maybe like with a reader that’s a horror game streamer but the reader is terrified of playing them?

Thank you! Happy you enjoy my writing :D

Ronin x !Streamer!Reader

Warnings: None

“Okay everyone!” You spoke through your headset, smiling as you noticed the numbers of viewers growing steadily. “Today, we’re gonna be playing . . . “ Your smile fell, before rushing to plaster on a fake one. “A horror game! Yay . . . “

. . .

Ronin watched, a smirk present as he watched your reaction to his request. Anonymous, of course, he couldn’t risk drawing attention to himself. It had been months since he had begun to watch you, a popular online streamer. You were cute enough, especially when you were screaming at the games you played.

Thanks to him, your recent content has become the one thing you dreaded the most- horror. 

Trashy knock-off games made you both laugh and scream, so he started with those. But it wasn’t enough. Ronin turned to real horror, the most gory and brutal ones he could find. 

Noticing the chat, he typed in a message of his own. 

goreboy: scared, darlin’?

. . .

Most of the time, you didn’t bother to interact with your viewers. Sure, you occasionally found one intriguing and made sure to read their comments, but other than that, they mostly went ignored. That is, until now.

goreboy: scared, darlin’?

God, how he taunted you. He only watched your horror content, leading you to believe that he was the one requesting them all. You could see him behind his screen, a devilish smirk on his face as he watched you suffer to get through each suggestion without screaming in terror.

Yet, you were growing fond of him. 

Constantly checking if he viewed your latest videos, if he left a like or dislike. You loved his comments, whether they were about how a certain murder method was off, or if you screamed too much or too little. 

Then you would adjust to his taste, trying to . . . please him? The thought caused you to stop, baffled. You didn’t like him- no, he was just a minor distraction from your work. Shaking your head, you tried to focus on the game.

“goreboy, I’m not scared at all!”

. . .

Ronin froze.

Did . . . Did you just address him directly?

No, he must’ve heard wrong.

But what if . . . ?

. . .

Hours passed as you worked to finish the game, and despite your previous statement, you were screaming the entire time. It was amusing to your viewers, but felt like torture to you. But you managed to get through it, with goreboy’s help.

goreboy: try the red key, darlin’

goreboy: jumpscare warning

Although you would never admit it, his comments got you through the game. The warnings helped you prepare, and you were able to continue time and time again from his hints. You ended your stream, leaning back in your chair with a smile.

And on the other side, Ronin was doing the same, the both of you anticipating your next stream, his next suggestion to answer and scream to. 

[daydreams-after-dark]

Free Use Jail Cell, Part 5

MDNI // 18+ content

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 (final) | extra: Police Reports | extra: dinner date with Minho

full master list for additional installments

Police Officer Skz ot8 x female reader

Premise: you're arrested and held for 24 hours by 8 police officers at the local police station / reader has her fantasy play out.

Word Count: 1400 (part 5)

Chapter Summary: Aftercare and kindness from one of the officers.

A/n: This was supposed to be the double pen with the Aussies, but I felt it really important for our y/n to have a breather after that sesh with Jeongin. I promise next chapter it will be them.

CW: aftercare, introspection, shame, comfort.

You lay on the wet, cold tiles alone, and begin to sob. What had just taken place was intense and now your body is shaking. You can’t make sense of it. You enjoyed what Jeongin did to you, but maybe your body couldn’t handle it?

A  little voice inside you says there must be something wrong with you if that’s the kind of interaction you craved.  

You pull your knees to your chest and will yourself to start counting, just like you were instructed.

One… two… three… 

You’re so fucking sick.

What’s wrong with you?

Four… five… six.

Freak! You’re a freak!

You try to ignore the voice in your head.

You barely get to the count of ten before the bathroom door violently opens. You look up, startled, to find Detective Minho holding a towel and large, thick blanket staring at you with concern.

He puts them down by the sink and immediately comes to crouch down in front of you. 

“You can stop counting now.” He whispers, reaching out to push the wet strands of hair out of your face. 

“Look at me.” He tilts your head up so you can’t do anything but look him in the eye. His expression held a tenderness, much like when he carefully took you to your cell earlier. 

“Fuck. You should have used your safe word, not just the colour system.” He clicks his tongue and stands, helping you to your feet. “Let’s wash you properly and get you warm.”

You know you’re out of it when you can barely stand, but Minho supports you carefully with strong arms. He washes you too, gently, all the while his clothes become more and more drenched.

”Turn around, I need to wash your back.” He says. You allow him to turn you to face the wall while he soaps up your back. You’re not sure what he must be thinking, but you don’t want him  getting the wrong idea about his - you’re not sure what they are to each other. Friend? Colleague?

”I wanted it.” You whisper ashamedly. “He didn’t do anything wrong.” You’re met with a grunt and silence.

”How did you know I was here?” You ask.

”Jeongin came and got me straight away.” He replied. “We’re not really going to leave you without aftercare. We’re not that bad.” He scoffs at the last part of the sentence, as though he doesn’t quite believe himself.

He shuts off the water and dries you down with the towel. Neither of you say anything, despite the fact you have so many questions. He is intriguing to you, and, for some reason, you feel safest with him. 

Sure Officer Han and Hyunjin seem safe and kind, but Minho? He feels protective, considerate. Even if he did do those extreme things to you in the interrogation room.

After he deems you dry enough, he wraps the thick blanket around you.

”Are we going straight to the Chief and-“

”You’re not in any state to go there yet. You’re going to rest.” He decides, and leads you back towards your cell. 

But that’s not where he’s taking you. You realize you’re headed to the interrogation rooms. Your heart picks up a gear, and you wonder if you’re in for a surprise scenario? Maybe Minho wants another turn of you? The thought makes you feel nervous in your stomach, but not in a fearful way. Oh god, you’re not feeling feelings are you?

Officer Minho opens the door to an interrogation room, and it can’t be any more different from the one you were in earlier. This one has painted walls, fresh, clean linoleum flooring, and a warm glow coming from the lamps around the room. A desk stands where the metal slab of a table was in the other room, and a couch on the far wall. 

“Come, sit. Rest.” Minho instructs, gesturing to the couch.

You do as you’re told, and sit on the couch, tucking your legs up and snuggling into the blanket.

Minho sits next to you, picking up a book from a side table and begins to read. 

You’re not sure what to do. He obviously doesn’t want to chat, or fuck, so you decide to close your eyes and rest just like he suggested.

You would love to ask him why he does this for a job, or even something as little as what his favorite food, or movie is. But you don’t. You’re far more tired than you thought, drifting off quickly.

You’re not sure how long you’d been asleep for when a soft knock at the door has you stirring, and you open an eye to watch Han enter the room with coffee cups. You let your eyes close again, listening to their conversation. 

“Looks like Jeongin really gave it to her?” He whispers in a shocked tone. 

“She’s fine. Just needs to rest. From what Jeongin said, she used the color code orange, then requested he use the real knife.”

Han let out a low whistle. “No wonder she needed to hire us if this is what her fantasies entail.” He pauses. “She looks so pretty when she’s asleep.” He coos.

“Absolutely not.” Minho says sternly.

“But,” he whines. “She was really into it before.”

“We’re not on the clock. She needs rest, and besides, you will get another chance tomorrow.”

“Ugh! I had to share her before, and tomorrow I’ll have to share her with everyone.” You can’t see him but you can tell by his tone he’s pouting. 

“Ya! I had to share too, remember.” He growls.

Their bickering is oddly comforting, and you find yourself drifting off to sleep again, dreaming of Minho taking you out for a meal and talking about normal, everyday things.

————-

You wake to the smell of coffee and a cooked breakfast, although you’re not sure whether it’s really morning or not. You lost track of time long ago.

“Here, y/n. Eat.” Minho hands you a plate of eggs, toast and sausages. “You’ll need your strength for your final two encounters.” 

You take the plate, smiling at the man who looks like he hasn't slept a wink. Was he watching over you?

He perches himself on the edge of the desk and watches you take a bite of toast. 

“What made you sign up for… this?” He asks curiously. 

You hesitate. “Well…” you set the slice of toast down on the plate. “ Oh god can you really share this? “It’s just…I’ve got these really intense fantasies. I don’t know why. I don’t know where they came from.” Tears begian to form in your eyes. “I guess I’m just some sick freak or something.”

You can’t hold back the tears and they spill down your cheeks and Minho is by your side in a heartbeat. 

“Hey, hey… shh.” He pulls your hands away from where you’re trying to hide your face. “Listen to me. You’re absolutely not a sick freak. Who the fuck made you believe that?” 

It was all your previous partners. Their words ring in your head. 

You’re too much.

Why would you want me to do that?

What’s wrong with you?

Every single one of them made you think there's something wrong with you. You tried to make the fantasies go away. You really did. But they wouldn’t. You couldn’t shake them. You tried to be satisfied with “regular” sex, and yes, that was enjoyable to a point. But you craved more.

“Why do you do this job?” You meet his eyes. He hesitates, eyes blinking rapidly. Maybe no one has ever asked him this?

“Because I have intense fantasies too.” He leans back on the couch. “I think all of us here do. I think all of us have felt different, or like as you said, a “freak”, but we’re not. None of us, including you, are freaks. As long as boundaries and rules are established, it’s perfectly fine.”

You swallow a lump in your throat. “You’re the first person to make me feel like I’m normal.” You whisper.

He leans forward and wipes the last of your tears away, and you feel a tug in your chest. His eyes catch your lips, and there’s a flicker of want in his expression. Then you remember he doesn’t do “kissing on the lips”. Then why does he look like he wants to?

A silence hangs in the air, but the moment is lost when there’s a knock at the door.

“It’s time.” Minho whispers. 

————-

a/n: Okay, so I am not sure what happened, but Minho! He snuck in and made y/n's heart skip a beat.... and I feel like maybe his did too.

Next up: really, we will have Felix and Channie!

-----

@jeonginsleftcheek @meilix @itgirlalisaa @linocz @boi-bi-ahaha @frozenpeasworld @grandma143 @milkypinkmimi @bangchansbbgirl @lunearta @leefelixsslut @privhace @justforreaders @galaxycatdrawz @melochacco @jiwoos-babygirl @kavifornia @chuuyaobsessed @iadorethemskz @hyun-hwanj @courtnort455 @brimarie0512 @dwaekkicidal @kibs-and-bits @txa-r @minh0scat @the-sweet-rose @chrizzztopherbang @velvetmoonlght @youcanstayyeah @skzswife @stephanieeeyang @withnia @kayleefriedchicken @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @ihrtlino

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itsseohannbin @3rachasdomesticbanana @palindrome969 @xxkissesforchanniexx @fun-fanfics @rhonnie23 @jisunglyricist @strayywayy @armystay89 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @mylittleponeypinkrosieposie @melochacco

[cyborg-3005]

SPOILER TADC EPISODE 4 ANALYSIS BELOW

so, generally, these episodes keep getting better and better. one is with the facial expressions, pomni’s and jax’s especially felt very nuanced and added more opportunity to read their characters. but i do also mean writing-wise.

this episode definitely felt like it gave us a much larger glimpse into these characters as people:

while she’s “high,” ragatha mentions a lot of things (horses, dancing, etc.) that seem to be memories of her past life. she’s also more genuine about her feelings regarding the other characters, saying that especially harsh thing of gangle being more annoying with her comedy mask. generally, we’re getting more of a peek at how ragatha feels internally.

zooble is given a chance to be a bit more of the straight-person or the emotional stability for other characters to lean on, and is just more present than ever before.

pomni hasn’t evolved as much from her previous characterization, but she’s more in a position this time to be stable and not in constant mental peril.

jax is forcibly toned down as the day goes on, his underlayer of apathy and depression beginning to take over for his usual sadistic vigor.

there’s so many examples with gangle, but i’ll be getting into those later.

notably, especially by the end of the day, the humans aren’t acting like it’s the end of their adventure, but the end of an actual shift, as if this is their actual job that they drive from to their actual home somewhere. i find this interesting, especially for someone like pomni, who seems to take the idea of closing the shift most seriously—as if it’s real—despite her previously being the one most conscious about the artificiality of the adventures. i think this speaks to how in a normal setting, the characters kind of assimilate into it much quicker; the normalcy of this artificial mockery of real life attracts them as respite from the existential dread in being in a world that isn’t theirs. it also seems to awaken a bit more of their underlying selves.

pomni and gummigoo, man that was a powerful scene. we had all been dreading it, but i think i was pleasantly surprised at how mature and quiet pomni was in handling the situation—so many in the fandom tend to kinda infantilize her and so assumed that when she’d see gummigoo that she’d have some sort of breakdown, but the more frazzled and nuanced reaction she actually had feels much more realistic and true to her character.

i noticed gummigoo at least has the same name as before, as when pomni speaks it he reacts by reaching his hand out with some expression of concern. some have interpreted his mannerisms in this episode as that he actually remembered pomni and his previous self when she called his name but didn’t want to say anything to make the situation more complicated, which isn’t exactly 100% confirmed but is a cool theory regardless. i just really like him as a character in general, so it’s cool to see him again.

and i also really like how pomni’s interaction with him ended on a resolute and bittersweet note. like yeah, she’s definitely sad over the situation, but she’s not completely heartbroken—she seems glad to just have seen him again, even if he didn’t quite remember their time together beforehand. her feelings when seeing him are equally positive and negative, not this abject heartbreak that makes her drown in sorrow. she’s even briefly sorta infatuated with him at the counter, which is fun considering how ragatha on an offhand comment basically confirms funnygummy to be canon.

gotta say, maybe a little sadistic, i like seeing jax actually frightened. it seems like the only thing that ends up bringing out any remote amount of good in him, which we implicitly saw in episode 1 when he seemingly pulls gangle and kinger away from the kaufmo situation (perhaps out of fear for their safety?). i’m hoping we get to see his facade further broken down.

ragatha being high was really funny and very intriguing, as we get more of a glimpse at her “true self” underneath her mary-sue-esque facade.

zooble, i love zooble, man. i think to an extent they’re possibly one of the more heartwarming characters in the whole show just on the merit that their “coolness” isn’t quite a facade to distance themself like jax and they actually show care for their friends. i feel like zooble is less of a character we’ll need a dedicated episode for, and moreso one that will consistently show a bit more of themselves throughout.

and then

GANGLE.

i love how many layers there are to gangle’s “dissection” this episode. we see a glimpse into an excellent representation of bipolar disorder and manic episodes, and so much beyond that with her specifically. i love how her mention of the comic artist thing in jax’s “training video” was clearly a projection of her insecurities over her inability to chase her dreams in her past life, which is set up in the beginning by her mentioning her experience as a shift manager. the adventure’s promise of “normalcy”—a relief from her emotional instability, perhaps—quickly devolves into the horror of being left alone with your thoughts and surrounded by the infinite horizon of crushed dreams and mediocrity, that being the spudsy’s itself.

this adventure clearly awoke some old memories of her past life, making her wallow further in her grief over her not being perfect or excelling all the time. i found it amazing how well the pacing of the episode was able to add these layers one scene at a time to build up both the viewer’s understanding of gangle’s struggles and gangle’s struggles building up with the increasing stress of her job.

that scene at the end with her dancing into the traffic felt very reminiscent of a certain scene in DanDaDan episode 7 (i won’t spoil any of that). it’s interesting how happy she appears, yet it’s revealed to be a suicidal moment in some manners—her joy is derived from a destruction of self and the feelings of pressures being lifted that comes with that. when she throws the weird mask away, she’s lifting the burdens of “normalcy” and social responsibility off of herself, and her joy is not necessarily happiness itself but a cathartic feeling of being able to have a true moment of her own. it highlights, perhaps, why people engage in self-destructive behavior—it lets them let go of the burdens and expectations weighing on them, even for a moment.

i like the touch of how this moment doesn’t actually end in making her feel better—she ends up devastated over how she “ruined” everything by having that moment and being emotionally “selfish” for once. zooble makes her realize that no one is mad at her for having that moment (although the circus might be pissed over her time being all of their boss). i do find that in particular interesting, as it’s sort of a continuation of the sentiment both ragatha and jax express that they find gangle more tolerable with her tragedy mask. they’re unkind words, but the episode, and zooble’s moment of comforting her makes clear why those two were saying that—gangle is more of her “true self” without these overlaying masks (with the mask in this episode specifically, i think it represents the expectations of success and normalcy that capitalistic society imposes on us). it’s not that it’s wrong or unwarranted for gangle to want a happier mask, but the show demonstrates that gangle is the most genuine with her tragedy mask, when she has shed the masks that present her as being “acceptable” in a way that actally makes everyone more distant from her.

the “normalcy” of this adventure seemed to be what got to gangle, as the societal expectations of “normalcy” that come with that might have been gangle’s biggest struggle in her previous life. i love that ironically, the two characters that read the most “normal”—pomni and zooble—actually end up being the ones that connect with her, not to demonstrate that normalcy is good but the opposite: expectations of “fitting in” are bullshit, no one fits in or needs to, and pomni and zooble are demonstrating that.

one more thing i have to mention is i actually like how the show is aware of the pattern of “pomni sits and has a heartfelt conversation with another character in the dark at the act 2 low point” of episodes 2 and 3, and breaks the pattern during that scene with pomni and gangle outside in two ways, one of which being pomni’s “here we go again” attitude with the scenario when it begins, and how gangle forcibly ends the conversation before it gets too far for comfort, leaving the emotional resolution a bit more ambiguous and taking more of a journey to get resolved by the end.

my rambles only make slight bits of sense, but i hope you found something interesting to talk about in here. chat with me in the comments if ya want!