#like i know that’s the whole point but i still wanted to point it out

[you-can-a1ways-come-home]

i know people have already dissected pretty much all of Tenna and Spamton’s dialogue connections, but i wanted to point out something i noticed that i haven’t personally seen mentioned before, and how it may tie in to their relationship. this could just be me going “i’ve connected the dots!” here, but…

these are the only instances in the game where Tenna says this specific line, and it seems like an intentional reference in the writing to parallel these moments with each other. we know Spamton is connected to and knows that jingle, because he also quotes it in his Neo fight (in reference to Tenna and Mike). it seems like it was probably an ad they made together.

many people have pointed out that the Tropic of Love was probably a special place for Tenna and Spamton, and to me, this further implies that; it also implies that Tenna was thinking about/missing Spamton in both of these moments. (and yet still tries to pretend he doesn’t miss him at all ….. )

the other evidence that the Tropic of Love is connected to Spamton has been discussed before but i wanted to put it here for clarity!

the song that plays on the Tropic of Love is called “SOUTH OF THE BORDER!!” and is the only song in the chapter to be capitalized and have multiple exclamation points, similar to the way Spamton speaks.

(i’ve also heard people say that this song and the “KEYGEN” song — when Spamton flashes rainbow colors like the trees do on the Tropic of Love — share a leitmotif, and the first few notes of both do sound similar, but as far as i know this hasn’t been completely confirmed yet? correct me if im wrong)

the only other time the phrase “south of the border” is used in connection with Deltarune is Spamton’s dialogue in the description for the “Mr and Mrs and Spamton cutting board” on the Spamton Sweepstakes page, which also feels like a very intentional reference.

and Spamton does indeed cross out Tenna with a red marker on the below page, which of course you can find linked in the “Spamton engraved wedding ring” description. there’s an implication here that Spamton bought a wedding ring for Tenna, never got to give it to him, yet still kept it for years — we know some other things found in the Spamton Sweepstakes have factored into canon in some way (Noelle’s blog posts, some questions Spamton answered on Twitter, many hidden links)

(still don’t know what went down w Spamton and Mike tbh)

basically the point here is that the Tropic of Love was almost certainly some kind of romantic getaway or memento for them — and Tenna kept it in his special version of the game even after everything that happened; he still thinks of it fondly. they both care way more than they want to let on, and still can’t get each other out of their heads (after at least a decade apart, if the hidden mailroom dialogue means anything). and, despite all their obvious anger and resentment, despite falsely believing that the other abandoned them and never actually cared at all, they absolutely still deeply miss each other. (there are so many instances i could point out that imply this but this post already took me way too long to put together! lmao)

i mean, famously bitter grudge-holder Spamton G. Spamton was overjoyed at the chance to reconcile when he realized that Tenna cares about him after all, that maybe he wasn’t only using him that whole time just to find out his secret. (“you really do care!!!”) and even after he got humiliated by Tenna yet again, Spamton wasn’t really even angry — more just disappointed and resigned. and Tenna, who thinks Spamton was just using him the whole time, that Spamton pretended to get a phone call just so he could abandon him at the very last minute, still keeps the gift Spamton gave him as his prized possession, still wishes Spamton could just be there for him at his lowest. i think all of this says a lot about how they actually feel about each other, underneath the fronts they’ve put up to protect themselves from the pain of realizing they both lost the one person in the world who might’ve truly loved them.

[as a last note: i do actually believe there is a chance for them to reconcile in the game if you keep Tenna in Castle Town. this is a Toby Fox game. the main themes present in his work are love, hope, and forgiveness — that even if you’ve been irreparably changed, even if you can never fully go back to who you used to be, even if you feel completely unloveable, there is still love for you. i think Tenna and Spamton as characters will be relevant to the overall narrative and themes of Deltarune. i do think it’s that deep. Toby is making niche pairings from ten years ago — like Burgerpants/Nice Cream Guy — canon after all this time because it will make people happy. he’s having Fangamer sell Tenna & Spamton plushies as a pair, in cuddly poses. if you think there’s absolutely no hope for their relationship… maybe, just maybe, there will be.]

[iamactuallysocute]

SAJA BOYS x HUNTR/X’S ASSISTANT!READER 8

AN: guys I just remembered in a part I mentioned Baby being the youngest, it’s not because of the whole infantilized character, it’s because he’s such a bitch and so disrespectful!! Dunno if this makes sense. Anyway this is part of my characterization, trust. Also I’m sorry for the lack of Baby and Mystery content, but that’s because each boy needs their own pace to come around and they’re a little harder to crack!!

cw: implied female reader, she/her used, cursing, handcuffing, heavy nsfw mentions, lots of jerking off, reader being a fucking boss, Stockholm Syndrome developing, begging, pathetic men, Romance and Abby almost kissing, me not knowing shit about doors so tell me if I wrote smth dumb

It’s 5:47 A.M.

You’re not sleeping. You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, hair an absolute crime, wearing a hoodie and no pants. In your lap? A fucking wrench.

You are undoing the front door.

Not unlocking it. Not sneaking out. You are physically disassembling the door. You’ve got screws scattered across the floor, hinges half-loose, and a thin line of sweat on your brow. There’s a bite mark on your lower lip from where you’ve been gnawing at it.

“Stupid ass… demon-infested… male whores—”

click

Another screw. Progress.

You are removing. The. Door.

“Mornin’.”

You freeze.

Two silhouettes approach down the hall, backlit by early morning gold. One tall, one taller. Robes, muscles, smugness.

Jinu’s in his robe, hair messy from sleep. He’s got a coffee mug in hand and the patience of a saint, or a man who thinks he’s got you wrapped around his stupid pretty finger. Abby is shirtless. Wearing some low-slung joggers, and he’s got an arm slung lazily around Jinu’s shoulders. Go back sixty nine-ing you fucking assholes.

You go back to the hinge you’re unscrewing.

“Still trying the door?” Abby grins, voice sleep-hoarse, leaning against the frame like it’s all so casual. “You missed a bolt near the bottom.”

Jinu sips his coffee. “She’ll find it.“

You don’t answer.

“You want the manual?” Jinu adds.

You ignore them, now pulling at the top hinge.

“Y’know,” Abby continues. “if you use a hairdryer on low heat over the center seal, it could melt it a little. Might shave a few hours off this whole process.”

“You know this won’t work.” Jinu says gently.

You don’t look at him.

“You’ll get past the locks, sure. Maybe even crack the containment. But once you open the door…” He gestures vaguely. “You’re not getting away. Plus there’s a security system. Last time, Romance cried when he forgot to turn it off before leaving.”

“I did not.” comes a muffled shout from down the hall.

“I almost feel bad.” Jinu continues, watching you now.

“I give her another fifteen minutes before she hits the door with the screwdriver.”

Jinu hums. “Ten. She’s losing patience.”

You are losing patience. But not because of the door. Because of them. “Don’t you two have something better to do?”

“Absolutely not.” Jinu says.

Abby raises a brow. “We’re making breakfast after this. You want anything?”

You throw the screwdriver at him. He dodges easily. Asshole.

“Hey, good aim though.” he says, catching it off the bounce. “You’re getting stronger.”

“You’re getting dumber.”

Jinu stretches, robe falling open a little. “That’s impossible. He’s already at max capacity.”

“Hey.” Abby frowns. “Some of us didn’t have to learn math before we got stabbed in the neck.”

You blink at that. “What—”

“Long story.” Abby says quickly. “The point is, you’re not leaving.”

“I’m not staying.” you snap back. You groan and go back to the door, defeated. And you’re so close. Not to escaping. No. That ship sailed three screwdrivers and a half-baked curse ago. But the top hinge is loose now. Wiggling. Practically begging for release.

Jinu sits down on the floor. Abby drops to the other side of you, casually letting one knee fall open, arm still thrown lazily around Jinu’s shoulders.

“Here.” Jinu murmurs, reaching past you, fingers brushing your wrist. “You’re angling wrong. You’re going to strip the screw.”

“I hope I strip you—”

“Careful what you wish for, baby.” Abby says with a wink.

You almost stab him. Instead, you hiss out a breath and go back to it. Try to ignore the way Jinu’s robe brushes your bare arm. Or the way Abby sits, legs spread.

“Okay.” Jinu says softly, pointing with one clean finger. “Hold the screw like this. Thumb under. Palm steady. Just like that.”

You do it. You do it right.

There’s a click.

Abby grins and slaps you once on the shoulder, firm and warm and ridiculously proud. “Atta girl. Look at you go.”

You blink.

Jinu actually claps. Out loud. One elegant, sarcastic clap that echoes through the hallway.

It’s the deep voices.

It’s the fact that they know shit about doors.

It’s… so hot.

This isn’t okay.

“This isn’t okay.” you mutter aloud.

Abby cuts in, voice breezy. “Okay, so you’re one hinge down. Now, that little metal’s gonna slip out easily if you do it right. You’ll wanna grab it and twist.”

You squint. “…Where?”

Jinu points to it. “There. You’ll need pliers.”

“Do I look like I have pliers?”

Instead, you reach back for the screwdriver, but Abby doesn’t give it. He holds it up instead. “Say please.”

You narrow your eyes. “I hope you fucking let Mystery kill you the next time you two fight.”

“Mm. Still not a ‘please.’”

You swipe the screwdriver from his hand and jab it back at the hinge, grumbling under your breath.

“Y/N.” Jinu says, his voice dipping low as he watches you with those stupid warm eyes. “Careful there. If you slip there, you’ll grate your hand. Badly.”

He says it so gently. So genuinely concerned. And his fingers ghost over yours again, adjusting the placement.

You hate that your skin warms where he touches it.

Abby nods. “Okay. Now you need to unhook that. Slide your finger under it—gently, babe—yeah, right there.”

You follow instructions. Reluctantly. Unfortunately. And the damn thing works. You feel the metal and screws give under your fingertip.

“You’re kidding.” you whisper.

Jinu leans over to see. “Well done.”

“Keep your hand steady, babe. There’s a trick to the angle. Real wrist shit.” Abby adds.

You get it wrong. Your hand slips. You yelp.

Jinu’s hand is on your back instantly, steadying. “Careful.”

Abby frowns. “Did it burn you?”

“No.” you mutter. “Just—startled me.”

They both stay close. Too close. And for one moment, one stupid, stupid moment, you let yourself imagine this is normal. That they’re just… annoying boyfriends teaching you how to fix something. That you’re safe. That you’re home.

You blink it away.

Behind you, Jinu leans over to whisper something to Abby that you can’t catch.

Abby mutters something, gets up, and slaps your shoulder as he passes. “Nice try, babe. If you start chiseling, lemme know. I got a crowbar.”

And then it’s just you and Jinu.

You don’t even have time to react before he gets up, reaches down and grabs you. It’s not violent. It’s worse. It’s deliberate. Fingers slipping beneath your arm, palm pressing into your lower back, hauling you up like you’re nothing but weightless. A quiet manhandling that makes your heart hiccup before you can stop it.

You twist. “What the fuck—”

He just guides you down the hallway, barefoot and infuriatingly calm.

Your heels drag for two seconds before you dig in. “Let go.”

“Can’t.” he says, not looking at you. “You’ve had three crackers in the last two days and are currently plotting a jailbreak.”

“So?”

“So,” he exhales. “you’re annoying me.”

“Oh, I’m annoying—”

“—yes, shut up.”

In the kitchen, you’re set on a stool like a child. You sit stiff-backed as Jinu moves calmly, boiling water, opening drawers, slicing fruit with a small paring knife that glints every time he turns it in his fingers.

“You know,” he says, slicing clean through a strawberry. “I was going to let you sleep.”

You stare. Say nothing.

“I was going to leave you alone,” he continues. “because you’re pissed and grieving and very, very tired of us.” He glances back at you, fingers stained red with juice. “And I thought—maybe space would help.”

Your knuckles clench on your thighs.

“You didn’t really want to open that door. I know you want to believe you did,” he continues. “but it’s easier to chase escape than to face the fact that they left you. That they haven’t come. That they won’t.”

You hate him.

“And you want me to be grateful for your little pep talk? Is that it? You want me to say thank you for lying even now?”

“No.” Jinu says. “I want you to eat your fucking breakfast so you don’t pass out while you’re trying to disassemble steel.”

You’re silent. You don’t know why you don’t walk away.

He places the plate in front of you. Strawberries. Toast. Tea steeping in a delicate ceramic mug with lavender flowers painted on the rim.

“Eat.” he says.

You don’t touch it.

“I said eat.”

You look up at him—quiet, cold, fucking furious.

And Jinu…

Jinu just looks in love.

Tragic. Starved. Like he wants to bury his hands in your hair and whisper forgiveness until it drowns you both. His eyes are dark, deep, in a way. His lips part.

You look up. Meet his gaze. And for one terrible second, all the rage in you softens into something worse.

Longing.

Because he’s beautiful. And fucked up. And so full of belief when he looks at you.

You hate him.

And you love him.

“Fuck you.”

Jinu smiles.

“What’d I miss?” Abby’s voice crashes into the kitchen.

Behind him, Romance.

You know something’s wrong the second you see his face.

He’s grinning. Too much teeth. Hands behind his back.

You don’t like the way they look at each other. Or at you.

Something is off.

“Come here for a second.” Jinu says.

You look at him. “…Why?”

He gestures lazily toward the refrigerator. “Wanna show you something. It’s weird. Like a mark—burned in. Look.”

Abby’s already whistling like he’s pretending not to be a part of this. Romance is pretending to examine the ceiling. His hands are still behind his back. Suspiciously jingling.

Curiosity gets the better of you. You step over. “I don’t see any—”

CLICK.

Fur snaps around your wrist.

You whirl around, yanking hard, only to be met with Romance’s smug face. He lifts a hand and gives you a little wave.

Handcuffed.

To the fucking fridge.

You look down.

Fur.

Bright red.

Heart-shaped.

You blink.

You process.

“WHAT THE FUCK.”

Romance, absolutely radiant with joy, steps back and gives a playful raise of his hands. “Voilà!”

“ARE THESE SEX HANDCUFFS?!”

Jinu, behind you, claps his hands once. “Well done.”

You start yanking on the cuffs. Hard. “LET ME OUT.”

“Soon.” Jinu says smoothly. “We’ve got to redo the entryway. Since you figured out how to break it.” His tone is… not mad. Not even disappointed. He almost sounds proud.

“Consider this a… timeout.” Romance purrs.

“Are you fucking joking.”

Romance sighs dreamily. “They’re my favorite pair, too.”

Jinu, smooth as ever, stands behind you and adjusts the cuff so it doesn’t bite your skin. “We’ll be back in a few hours. Abby has a photo shoot. The other three and I are needed for… some stage bullshit.”

“This is a crime.” you snap, wriggling. “This is actual—like, real world illegal!”

“Oh, and no messing with the hinge anymore.” Abby adds. “We’ll fix that. You earned points for figuring it out, but we’re not stupid.”

You growl—actually growl.

Jinu steps in, calm again, hand under your chin, tilting your face up to his. “Relax.” His voice drops to that terrifying register again. Gentle. Final. “We’ll deal with your little escape trick later. For now… stay. Be good. Eat something. Or don’t. You’ll crack eventually. Don’t hurt yourself.”

You don’t speak. You glare so hard it should start a fire in his soul.

He just smiles, kisses your temple, and steps away. To the hall, you suppose to get Mystery and Baby.

The heart-shaped fucking SEX cuffs bite every time you shift. Soft fur or not, they’re starting to piss you off.

Romance leans lazily against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, skin glowing under the soft morning lights. Abby’s dropped into one of the kitchen chairs, legs splayed.

You remember. Who they really are. Not idols. Not boyfriends. Not annoying roommates who make breakfast too loud and leave hair in the sink. No. These are demons. They turned themselves into something unnatural. They’ve killed. They’ve tortured. They’ve torn souls from bodies and never looked back. Abby ripped through a human body like it was paper. Romance kissed a dying man just to taunt him.

And now? They’re just… here.

You swallow hard. Don’t cry. Not now. Not in front of them.

Romance breaks the silence first. “You okay, love?”

You look at him. Dead-on. Flat and empty.

“You look pissed.” he says, as if this is new information.

“I want to die.” you say, because it’s easier than saying you terrify me. Easier than I used to have a life. Friends. Now I talk to a tiger and cry myself to sleep tied to kitchen furniture.

Romance hums. Crosses one ankle over the other. “Well. Let’s not be dramatic.”

You don’t speak.

He reaches into the fruit bowl, takes out an apple, and winks at it. No, seriously. He winks at the apple. Then offers it to you. “No?”

You say nothing.

He shrugs and bites into it himself. Loudly.

Next to him, Abby opens the fridge—literally reaches around you like this is normal—and grabs a bottle of water. He doesn’t even look at you, just twists the cap off with one hand and chugs.

You glare at him. “Baby spat into that.”

He whistles, low and appreciative. “Smart and hot. You’re kind of a nightmare.”

“I hate you.”

“Yeah,” he grins. “you’re really gonna hate me when you find out we’re coming home late.”

You tug your arms, the cuffs pulling taut. “You can’t keep me here.”

“We are keeping you here.” he says, all casual.

“But we’ll make it nice.” Romance adds softly, stepping closer. His voice drops into velvet. “You don’t have to be angry all the time. We know this sucks. We know we’re not… ideal. But we do care, sweetheart.”

“Then let me go.”

They don’t feel evil. Not to themselves. They’re comfortable in it.

“Oh, baby, you didn’t even touch your food.” Romance says softly, peering at your plate. “Jinu put love into this.”

You shoot him a look that could cut marble. “I’m handcuffed.”

Romance shrugs, eyes twinkling. “I’d pay to be handcuffed near ice cream and you.”

You hate it here.

“Look, since you’re so hungry you were trying to take the door off its hinges,” Abby says, voice full of that teasing weight that makes you want to throw furniture “might as well eat before you pass out.”

“I’m not eating.”

Romance walks over to your untouched plate and picks up a fork. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“Oh, I’m the dramatic one?”

They move in.

Together.

Romance is first, always the most forward, bringing a bite of Jinu’s lovingly crafted breakfast toward your mouth. “Say ‘ahh,’ sweetheart.”

You refuse the first bite. Lips tight. Eyes hot.

Abby leans down, his arm bracing the fridge, his voice at your ear. “Just open your mouth, babe. No one’s watching.”

You hate how your brain twitches at the tone of it—how close they both are now. How they radiate warmth and power and something evil that still draws you.

You feel the cuffs bite into your skin as you pull again.

“Don’t.” Abby says, and there’s a sharpness to it now. “You’ll bruise. Jinu’ll get pissed.”

You turn your head.

Romance sighs. “You’re being mean. Love of my life. Please take one bite. Just one.”

And then he lifts the fork.

You press your lips together.

“Open.” he murmurs.

You don’t.

So Abby takes his own fork and comes at you from the other side. The bastard.

Suddenly you’ve got two men feeding you.

“You’re not serious.” you whisper.

They are.

Abby gently nudges his fork forward. “Bite. Come on. Bite it.”

Romance strokes your hair. “Love, please.”

You breathe in slowly. Close your eyes. Then, bitterly, you open your mouth.

Romance slides his fork in first.

You hate that it tastes good.

Abby, immediately jealous, shoves Romance aside. “My turn.”

He holds up his fork, brows raised, and waits.

You open again.

Another bite. Another fork.

It goes on. Fork from the left, fork from the right. Abby gets competitive and starts cutting the food into better pieces. Romance pours a little sparkling water and holds the glass to your lips.

You look at them. Their pretty faces. Abby’s arms. Romance’s smile. They’re not good people. They’re not redeemable. Not the “soft boys with a past” you once tried to convince yourself they were. They’re bad. Evil, even. But they’re in love with you. Because their eyes—when they look at you—don’t lie.

Romance kisses your forehead after your last bite. “Shit, I’d do anything for you.”

Abby grunts. “Except set you free.”

Romance sighs. “Yeah. That.”

You’re still cuffed.

You’re still furious.

And maybe—maybe—a little full.

Jinu walks back in, calm and calm and calm. Mystery behind him, hands in his pockets. You immediately glance his way. Hopeful. Baby, phone in hand, pink gum in his mouth. Disinterested. That classic I don’t give a single fuck aura surrounding him.

“She’s fed.” Abby says, so proud of himself.

“Hydrated.” Romance adds.

You scowl.

Baby looks up from his phone.

Sees you.

Stops.

He fucking laughs.

It’s quiet, at first. Just a low pff— through his nose. But then he full-on laughs, head tilting back, hand over his mouth, gum nearly flying from between his lips as he doubles over, breathless.

You’ve never heard Baby laugh. Not once. And now here he is, taken the fuck out, because you’re handcuffed to a fridge.

You glare, cheeks heating. “Glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

He doesn’t even look at you. Just smirks, and mutters something to Jinu that’s too low for you to hear.

Jinu steps forward. He looks you over, lingers on your wrists, and gives you that impossibly gentle smile. “You’ll be alright, won’t you?” he says, like he’s tucking in a child.

You stare. Blank. “Go fuck yourself.”

He nods, like you just said “I’ll be good.” Bastard.

Abby claps you on the shoulder. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“I can’t.”

“Oh right.”

Romance blows you a kiss. He’s already halfway out the door, fluffing his hair.

Mystery walks by last.

You catch his eye. You puppy-eye his soul.

Silent. Pleading. Please.

He pauses. Just a second. Just long enough to make your heart thump with irrational, burning hope.

He shrugs.

And walks out.

Your soul leaves your body.

The door closes behind them with the softest click.

Silence.

Just you.

“…Fuck.”

Meanwhile, the three HUNTR/X girls sit in a semicircle on low designer couches, the city sprawling behind them in that fancy ass apartment or penthouse or the fuck they have.

Just silence.

And you. The empty space where you should be, I mean.

Zoey sits forward, elbows on her knees, spinning a ring around her finger over and over again. She’s the only one who isn’t scowling. Yet.

Across from her, Rumi has a laptop in her lap, screens open, tabs minimized and maximized again and again. She’s got a pen in one hand, clicking it with ruthless precision. Nothing is adding up.

Mira looks like she’s five seconds from punching a hole in the window.

“Still nothing.” Rumi says.

“She’s not dead.” Zoey says softly, spinning her ring faster. “They would’ve made it known if she was dead.”

Rumi snorts. “Comforting.”

Zoey leans back, biting her lip. “We don’t even know where to start.”

“She’s somewhere they go.” Rumi says.

Zoey lights up. “Then we follow that. Track their movements. Figure out where they disappear when they’re not on camera.”

“We’ve been trying that for weeks.” Rumi throws a hand toward the screen. “They’ve covered every trail.”

“They’re arrogant.” Mira says darkly. “That’s the crack in the glass.”

Rumi sighs. “If we had a way to find the exact location—”

“But we don’t.” Mira snaps. “Because someone,” she gestures vaguely toward the city below, then to Zoey. “thought it was a great idea to let them off the leash.”

Zoey sighs. “They were charming at first.”

“They’re psychopaths.”

“They were hot psychopaths.”

“I will rip their spines out and braid them together.”

“You’re so romantic.”

Rumi ignores them both, gaze pinned to a video of a Saja fan account recording some concert footage. They’re on stage, singing. Abby with his shirt half off, Romance blowing kisses. Jinu saying something quiet into the mic that makes the crowd lose their minds. The crowd eats it up. They always do.

“Can’t go to Bobby.” Rumi mutters, thinking aloud. “If we tell him they have her, he goes to corporate. They go public. She becomes a PR incident. We need to be smart.”

“And fast.” Mira adds.

“I still think she’s okay.” Zoey whispers.

Mira presses her fingers to her temples. “Okay isn’t enough. She was taken. We don’t know where. We don’t know what they’re doing to her.”

“I think we can get her back.”

Mira snorts. Loud. Unamused. “You think.”

“I know.” Zoey sits up straighter. “I—I mean, I hope. They didn’t kill her. That would’ve… we’d know. I’d feel it.”

“Same.” Rumi says, eyes still locked on her screen. “They wouldn’t. They want leverage. They want information.”

Mira snaps, voice sharp. “Then they’re torturing her for it. Great. Fucking great.”

Zoey shakes her head. “I didn’t mean—”

“You did.” Rumi says, calmly. “But you’re right.”

Silence.

Mira’s fists curl. She kicks a chair. Like, kicks it. Across the floor. It skids and slams into the glass.

Zoey sighs. “I know they’re pretty, but that doesn’t fix them. Objectively.”

“They’re not that hot.” Rumi mutters.

Zoey looks at her. “They are.”

Rumi glares. “Don’t remind me.”

Another silence.

They’re not good at this. Not the waiting. Not the planning. They’re warriors. Fighters. They know how to handle demons and stage lights. Not this aching, empty absence.

Zoey leans forward. “What if we just… bait them?”

Mira grins. “You want to piss them off?”

“Yes.”

“I love you.”

“They’re boys.” Zoey says. “They’re messy.”

They all pause.

Look at each other.

And for the first time in days, there’s something like hope.

Fuck these timeskips man. The front door clicks open. It’s late, past midnight. You’re still handcuffed. To the fucking refrigerator. In the kitchen. And maybe you’re crying.

Shut up.

You’re not like sobbing sobbing, just… that kind of silent crying that leaves your cheeks streaked and your throat raw. That exhausted, hopeless crying that you’re trying to keep quiet even though no one’s here to hear you.

Until they are.

Until Romance rounds the corner and stops dead in his tracks. He sees you. His smile drops.

“Oh no.” he says, soft.

He’s on you in two strides.

You blink through the blur in your eyes, chest too tight to yell, to spit, to insult, but you don’t need to. His arms are already around you, tugging you into his chest. You don’t want to let yourself lean in. You do anyway.

“Oh, baby.” he murmurs. “You crying? You really—ah, shit, don’t be like this. Shit—no, no, don’t—don’t be like this, gorgeous, c’mere—“

You let out a breath that’s barely a laugh. Barely anything.

“Okay, okay.” he pulls back just enough to cup your face, thumbing under your eye. “Is this because of the cuffs? Are they too tight? Are you dehydrated? You haven’t had sugar today, have you? That’ll make you emotional. Or maybe it’s hormones. Is it your period coming? Were you bored? Were you hungry? It’s okay, I know, I know—shhhh—”

You make a strangled sound.

“Oh, no no no, don’t cry harder—Abby!” Romance whips his head. “Abby, get the fucking keys!”

“WHAT?” Abby yells, somewhere down the hall.

“The handcuffs, you slab of meat!!”

“I think they’re in your pants.” Abby offers from the hallway.

“THEN FUCKING GO GET THEM.”

“I said I think—”

Romance shoots him a look that could unlace his spine.

Abby sighs and vanishes. There’s a deep groan. Footsteps. More cursing.

Jinu rolls his eyes, the heartless bitch. “Abby, fix the door before it falls off. Mystery, stop growling at your own reflection. Baby—don’t start. Don’t look at the wine. Don’t touch anything.”

“I’m not doing shit.” Baby responds, which is exactly what people who are about to do shit say.

“Abby.” Jinu calls calmly. “Fix the fucking front door while you’re up.”

“MAN.” Abby’s voice carries. “I just got home. I have, like, baby oil on me from—”

“Then you’re lubed and ready.” Jinu calls back. “Don’t waste the opportunity.”

“God forbid I take a piss first.”

You sniff. Romance cradles your head. You try to move your face away from him but your hands are still pinned, and he just hugs you tighter. One hand cups the back of your head. The other rubs down your spine.

“You’re okay now, shhh—hey, I got you. I got you, baby. What happened, huh? Did it get too much? I’ll make it better, I will. Just don’t cry like this, okay? It breaks my fucking heart, you gorgeous little witch. Don’t cry, gorgeous. I’ll cry if you cry.”

Jinu turns. “Baby—don’t track mud on the rug. Shoes off at the door.”

Baby scoffs—so Baby—but kicks them off mid-stride anyway.

Through it all, Romance doesn’t let go of you. He pulls your face against his neck, murmuring into your hair. He kisses your hair. Twice. And goes back to cooing.

“I swear, sugarplum, if I knew these cuffs were gonna make you cry I wouldn’t have let it happen. This is all Jinu’s fault. Probably Abby’s too. And like… Baby.”

“Fuckin’ right it’s not my fault.” Abby says as he walks back in, keys in hand.

Romance catches them without looking, still holding you with one hand, unlocking you with the other like it’s something he’s done a hundred times. The cuffs click off.

But your wrists are marked, even beneath the red fur. Tender red dents across the softest part of your skin, too tight, too long, too fucking humiliating. And Romance still has the balls to hold your hands. Gently palms them open, his expression soft and full of guilt like he wasn’t the one locking them on you.

He kisses your wrists.

Both.

Slowly. Lovingly.

He looks up at you, eyes glossy, lips still barely grazing your skin.

“Get the fuck off me.” You yank your hands away so fast he actually stumbles back a step. Your chest burns, eyes glassy again. Suffocating. You don’t spare any of them a look as you storm past.

The tiger follows, with a single flick of his fluffy tail as he pads after you.

You slam your bedroom door shut.

A few seconds later, Mystery lets out just one high-pitched little dog whimper.

Abby sighs. Loudly. Rolls his eyes, takes a knee at the front door, the one you nearly got off the hinges, and starts inspecting it. His massive, stupid hands flex as he tugs at it. He’s muttering under his breath already.

Baby opens the fridge, takes a fuckass little juice box, walks out of the kitchen. He doesn’t say anything, just takes a long, annoying slurp from the tiny straw and makes direct eye contact with Jinu as he walks past.

Abby’s crouched on the floor, tools scattered beside him.

Baby kicks him in the thigh. Not even that hard. Just enough to be a bitch.

“Fucking—ow, you dick.” Abby mutters, not even looking up.

Baby shrugs. Keeps walking. Slurping on that little fuck of a juice box.

Jinu’s already turning away, and disappears down the hall.

Romance just stands there. Alone in the kitchen. His hands still smell like your skin. He stares at the spot you stood. Eyes half-lidded, mouth parted. And then slowly, reverently, he brings his fingers to his lips.

He kisses them.

Then he exhales. Picks up the fur cuffs from where they’ve fallen on the floor.

“Yeah.” he mutters to himself, pacing back toward the table, still dazed. “We’re totally getting married.”

One day I’ll learn how to do a pretty timeskip, anyway, now it’s the middle of the night. Only a few hours passed, but you’re asleep. I mean that’s good, fucking great, you needed it. You’re half under Derpy, half tangled in a blanket, and with Sussie curled up against your neck.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep.

You definitely didn’t mean to cry yourself there.

You’d calmed down, sure. The tears stopped. But the anger didn’t. So when the knock comes, you wake up so fucking confused. Just… fucking exhausted.

You push yourself up with a groan, the tiger huffing once and adjusting to let you go. You just slide out of bed and pad barefoot across the room, open the door slow—

And there’s Jinu. In his hands, a takeout bag. Neatly packed. Still warm. Your comfort order. From your favorite place. Not a coincidence. Never a coincidence with him.

“Hi.” he says, quiet, careful.

You stare.

“I know you haven’t eaten.” he adds.

You glance down at the bag, then back at him.

He holds it out. You don’t take it.

“I thought—” he starts, but you cut him off with a look.

A look that says: Don’t fucking try it.

He sighs through his nose, smile faltering just slightly. “Look,” he murmurs. “I just… wanted to bring you something. Something you like.”

“I’m still mad.” you say, voice hoarse from sleep, maybe from earlier tears too. “You’re still a fucking criminal.”

That makes him laugh, soft. “Yeah.” he says. “That part’s fair.”

You narrow your eyes. “This is bribery.”

“It’s dinner.” he argues, lifting the bag.

“Bribery.” you repeat.

“Okay. It’s bribery dinner. But it’s your favorite bribery dinner.”

You snort, bitter. “I’m not forgiving you.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“Then what are you asking?”

He meets your eyes, serious now. “I’m asking you to eat.”

From behind him, bare feet slap against the hardwood, and a second later, Baby walks past in the hallway, shirtless and SKINNY AS FUCK now that you take a look at it. A bottle of clear liquor dangling from one hand.

He doesn’t look at either of you. Doesn’t say a word. He just slams his foot into the back of Jinu’s knees as he walks by, enough to make Jinu jerk with a grunt, almost drop the food.

“Ow—fuck, seriously?” Jinu hisses, half-glancing over his shoulder.

Baby keeps walking. Down the hall. Bottle swinging, spine relaxed, middle finger casually tossed over his shoulder without turning around.

Jinu exhales like he’s used to it. Stabilizes himself. Holds the food out again like nothing happened.

You look at the bag. Then at him. You bite the inside of your cheek. “You’re lucky I don’t throw this in your face.”

“Please don’t.” he mutters.

You still don’t take it.

He steps forward. A little closer. Holds it between you. “You can hit me later if you want. Or tomorrow. With something heavier. I deserve it.”

You look at him for a long time. Then you shut the door in his face.

Jinu exhales on the other side. “…Okay. Fair.”

You stare at the door.

Your stomach growls.

You hate him so much.

You rip the door back open.

Jinu hasn’t moved. He’s still there. Staring straight ahead, like he knew. Like he always knows. His eyes lift to meet yours, surprised? No. Amused? Maybe a little.

You snatch the bag right out of his hands. You don’t look at him. Don’t thank him. Don’t say a word. Just slam the door in his face again. A little petty, honestly.

You hear a soft laugh from the other side. Bastard.

You sit on the floor, legs crossed, and you eat.

And fuuuuuuck, it’s delicious.

Why did you open the door?

Why do you always open the door?

These boys are awful. Criminals. Monsters. Demonic entities posing as boyband idols. They kidnapped you. They tortured you. They laughed when you tried to escape. They put you in fur-lined heart-shaped sex cuffs.

And now they’re hand-feeding you takeout, bringing you flowers, whispering in the hallway about who gets to see you first.

It’s fucked up.

Why do you feel bad for them? You shouldn’t. You shouldn’t. You’re the victim here. You’re the one who was taken. The one who cries at night. The one who hasn’t seen the sun in weeks. You should be angry. Furious. You are.

But…

And it’s so stupid. It’s so fucking stupid, but you want to know.

You want to know what made them like this.

Because no one’s born this evil. Right? So what happened? What’s their damage? Why are they so lonely?

…And why does that make your chest hurt?

You bury your face in your hands. You feel sick.

You realize… you don’t know them. Not really. Not at all. Not who they were. Not what made them this way. Not why they’re like this now. Not what it means when Jinu says he’s interested and yet shackles you in the kitchen. Not what it means when Romance calls you the love of his life in one breath and locks you to a fridge in the next.

You know they’re evil.

But you don’t know why.

You don’t know that Jinu threw up last night.

Twice.

Not from alcohol. Not from illness.

Just guilt.

You don’t know that—right now—he’s leaning over the sink in his bathroom. That he’s breathing heavy. Not angry. Not frustrated.

Ashamed.

You don’t know that he looked himself in the mirror just now and gagged.

You’re soft. You’re kind. You’re fragile. You don’t belong with him, not even in the same story. And still, he keeps you here. For himself. Because he’s selfish. Because he loves you.

His reflection stares back at him from the mirror, hollow-eyed and handsome, and he hates it.

He hates himself.

You don’t know that Romance is stretched across his massive bed, the dim gold of his bedside lamp casting a warm glow across his chest. He’s not sleeping. He’s not even trying. He’s just lying there, staring at the ceiling. An ice pack sits under one thigh where Baby kicked him earlier for calling him “adorable” with too much eye contact. There’s a glass of wine on the nightstand. Forgotten.

Romance knows he could be a good boyfriend. He knows it. He would do everything right. He’d be good for you. He knows he would. He’d run your baths. Paint your nails. Carry your bags.

He would worship you.

Because loving you is the only good thing left in his life.

You don’t know that Mystery is standing shirtless in the fogged-up bathroom. His wet hair is pushed out of his face. He looks boyish like this.

He stares at himself in the mirror. Long. Too long. Water still drips from the tip of his nose. His collarbones are pretty. He looks pale in the sterile light.

He leans in just a little.

Do you think he’s pretty?

You’ve never said.

You’ve called Romance an idiot, Abby a gym rat, Jinu a manipulative bastard, Baby an asshole, but you haven’t said anything about him. Not once.

He wants to know what you see.

Does he scare you? Does he look human to you? Do you think he’s worth saving?

His breath fogs the mirror again. He wipes it clean with his hand.

Then he steps back, wraps a towel around his waist, and heads to his room in silence.

You don’t know that Abby is staring at the ceiling, in bed. Or… on bed.

His hand runs through his short hair.

He tried sleeping. He even counted pushups in his head instead of sheep, but it didn’t work.

He’s such a bad person that he knows you should hate him, and still, he wants your forgiveness. How pathetic is that?

He doesn’t know how to do better. That part was never taught.

He wishes he could be less.

Just enough to be held by you.

You don’t know that Baby is alone in his room. Sitting cross-legged on a plush white rug, wearing nothing but shorts and staring at the wall.

He doesn’t let the others know he still has this side. If they saw it, they’d ask questions. Romance might hug him. Baby can’t deal with that.

He lets his head fall back against the wall, a slow thud of skull against it. No one tells him to stop. No one ever tells him to stop.

Not unless it’s Jinu. And fuck Jinu.

He is bad. He’s done terrible things. He’s not lying about that. He’s a brat. A fucking alcoholic. But the real shit, the origin story? It’s worse than any of them know.

They’ve done unspeakable things. You’re not dumb. You know. They’ve killed. They’ve tortured. They’ve stolen and lied and ruined lives with a single breath. Whatever they’ve done to become this, it wasn’t clean.

And still…

Still, you think of Abby’s crooked smile when he gets something right, like a little boy who finally tied his shoe.

Still, you think of Jinu pressing the warm takeout box into your hands, his eyes begging.

Still, you think of Romance kissing your wrists and whispering to you.

Still, you think of Baby walking by with that bottle of liquor and a kicked knee, but his hand, didn’t it shake, just a little?

Still, you think of Mystery whining when you left them there.

You don’t want to want them. You don’t want to forgive. You don’t want to care. You don’t want to imagine hugging Jinu in the kitchen instead of shoving the food back into his chest. You don’t want to imagine petting Mystery’s hair. Or letting Romance lay his head in your lap while you caress his skin. Or letting Abby do pushups while you sit on his back. Or sitting down next to Baby by your own free will.

You don’t want to love them.

But something in your heart is soft where it should be hard.

What’s wrong with you? What is so wrong with you that even after everything…you still want them to feel loved? Why do you want to hold Abby, not for his body but for the feelings that are even bigger than him? Why do you want to brush Mystery’s hair back and tell him yes, of course you think he’s beautiful? Why do you want to rest your head on Romance’s shoulder and listen to his awful, overdramatic little stories? Why do you want to crawl under Jinu’s arm and pretend, just for a second, that he isn’t what he is? Why do you want to hand Baby a juice box and wrap him in a blanket and say you don’t have to be this person anymore?

They’re nightmares in perfect skin. And they would absolutely ruin you in bed.

Okay, WOAH, where did that come from?

No but for real, dogs. Nasty dogs. There’s a weird little headboard breaking vibe to the way they look at you, and you know they’ve each imagined it. More than once. Probably all at the same time.

Why the fuck are you thinking about how they’d sound whining beneath you? How they’d look all pathetic and breathless, fucked out and ruined for you?

You cough, half out of shame, half to try and physically dislodge the mental image.

Abby, shirtless and cocky and loud, biting his own fist to keep quiet, grinding his hips up for friction like a dog in heat.

Jinu, pretending to be composed even when his back arches, soft gasps slipping past perfect lips as he clutches your thigh. Even when you slap his cheek lightly for talking back, and his eyes close.

Romance, head thrown back, begging with his whole chest, kissing your hand, his voice desperate and cracking. Whimpering against your neck, saying sorry, sorry, sorry through a gag until you push him away and he begs you not to. Spread out, wrists tied in red silk scarves he definitely already owns, trying to talk his way through it like he’s not rock hard at your heel pressed against his chest. He’d laugh at first. Until you didn’t. Until you put pressure behind your words. And suddenly he’s choking on a “yes, baby” like it’s the first real thing he’s said in centuries.

Mystery, eyes wide and wet, cheeks flushed, arms bound above his head, perfectly still until you tell him otherwise. Quiet, feral, with that flash of defiance that only makes it more fun when you yank him back by his hair. Until he’s panting, low and choked, nails clawing the floorboards because he won’t beg unless you force him to, but when he does, it’s pitiful and lovely and you almost feel bad.

And Baby. Cold, bratty Baby, hiding his trembling behind clenched teeth, whispering “fuck you” even when he’s the one gasping every time you touch him. He’d pretend he didn’t care the whole time, rolling his eyes, acting bored, spitting out shit like, “Are you done yet? This is lame.” Right until you grabbed him by the jaw and made him care. And suddenly that smart mouth wouldn’t know what to say anymore, his knees would still hit the floor.

NO.

NO.

They kidnapped you.

They’re twisted inside and out.

They’ve done horrible things.

And they’re getting under your skin anyway.

You wrap your arms around yourself, try to ignore how fast your heart is beating. Your breath hitches. The thought of their hands softening only for you, slipping under your shirt, holding your jaw, breaking for you, is like swallowing lightning.

They don’t deserve your sympathy.

But they have it anyway.

What they do deserve though, is to get smacked across the face. To be shoved back by the collar and told no. To be denied, humiliated, reminded they don’t own you.

So you began to ignore them.

For days.

No eye contact. No small talk. No “fuck yous.” Nothing.

It starts small. The cold shoulder when you pass them in the hall. The way you refuse to lift your eyes when Jinu asks, softly, if you want him to make your tea. The stiff back when Romance touches your shoulder with a hopeful, “Baby, don’t be like this.”

But it builds.

You start giving them the kind of petty indifference that only someone truly furious can pull off. You live in the same house, eat from the same fridge, breathe the same air, and yet you do not exist.

Unless, of course, you need something.

When you can’t open a jar, you still hold it out wordlessly. No “please.” No “thanks.” Just stretch your arm and raise an eyebrow, stone-faced, unimpressed, and one of them (usually Abby) always comes. He pops the lid off with one twist and no effort, looks at you like a puppy who just did a trick, and you? You take the jar, walk away. Not even a nod.

They’re dying.

Jinu tries to play it off, at first. He pretends like this is good, like you’re giving yourself space, like this will pass. He tells himself it’s a phase. But when you don’t look at him for the third day in a row, when you walk past him while he’s speaking, mid-sentence, asking you something gentle, even sweet, he clenches his jaw so tight it clicks.

He’s not angry.

He’s going fucking loco.

He forgets appointments. Forgets to lie to management. Forgets what day it is. Baby throws a shoe at his head.

He’s started jerking off in the shower just to feel something that isn’t regret. But your voice, your silence, is always there in the background.

“Don’t touch me.”

“I hate you.”

“Leave me alone.”

Oh god, he wants your voice back.

Romance is in hell. Real, emotional, sexually repressed, oxytocin-deprived hell.

You’re ignoring him. Romance. The man who could make literal royalty fall in love with him in under three minutes. The man who’s carried empires with his jawline and you, his sweet little muse, won’t even look at him.

He keeps trying.

He makes your tea just how you like it, then pretends he wanted it when you ignore the cup. He lights candles in the hallway near your room. He writes you a four-line poem on a sticky note and slides it under your door like a fucking sixth grader.

Nothing.

His hands are in his pants. Constantly. Not even in a sexy way, half the time. Just stressed. Palming himself while reading, while eating cereal, while sitting on the edge of his bed with your old hoodie in his lap. Always cums pathetically fast. At night, he’s curled up, soft moans pressed into his pillow as he fists himself over the idea of you finally breaking, crawling into his bed, whispering, Romance, I forgive you, you pretty idiot.

He tries to bait you, loudly moaning from his room for your benefit, walking through the house in his robe with nothing underneath, but no reaction.

He’s a wreck. He’s also somehow still exfoliating. It’s impressive.

Mystery is suffering quietly. Which, for him, means he’s masturbating in the dark and miserable about it.

He doesn’t whine. Doesn’t beg. But his eyes? They’re so fucking lonely. And the fucking point of this is that you can’t SEE that.

When you don’t speak to him for the third day in a row, he just lowers his head slightly, like a scolded dog.

He spends a lot of time in the shower now. A lot. Head tilted back. Eyes closed. Imagining you.

Abby’s coping the only way he knows how. By being a fucking asshole. He starts working out more. Louder. Grunting. Slamming weights. Going shirtless in every room to give you subtle hints of the vibe “I miss you, please notice me.”

When that doesn’t work? He starts messing with your stuff. Moving your books. Rearranging the fridge. Leaving your favorite snacks just slightly out of reach. Then he works out for six hours straight. You walk past the gym. You don’t even glance in. He’s shirtless. Sweating. Arms the size of your self-worth. And you just… walk. Right. Past. No reaction. Not even a twitch.

He gets so mad he punches a hole in the punching bag and then grumbles, “This is dumb” before he stomps off to sulk in his room. Cue: him, hands under the covers, fucking his fist, muttering “fuckfuckfuckfuck” because he can’t stop thinking about your face. About the way you cried when he massaged you, about the sound of your laugh, which he hasn’t heard in DAYS. Your face behind his eyes. You, in all your unbothered, furious beauty. You, walking away, flicking him off, that one time you pressed a finger to his chest to shove him back—fuck, that was hot.

It’s torture. It’s worse than physical pain. But he keeps imagining you saying his name, just once. Just once more. He thinks about you storming into the gym when he’s lifting. Yelling at him. Throwing something. Just acknowledging him.

He’s literally stroking himself to the idea of you hating him out loud.

You asked him to open a jar the other night and he nearly came.

Baby says nothing. He’s mad that he misses you. Mad that he wants you to push him against a wall and call him a brat. Mad that he’s getting off on the idea of you calling him mean and insufferable while riding him until he forgets his name.

The silence makes him meaner. Picks fights with everyone. Shoves Mystery when he walks too slow. Flicks Abby in the head. Blows smoke in Jinu’s face and calls Romance things that would make you cry.

He kicks the back of chairs when you sit in them. He takes the last juice box every time now. He left the TV on full volume the other night just to see if you’d yell. He walks by you and shoves you a little harder than he used to. Spills things near you hoping you’ll snap. Lights a cigarette and blows smoke right near you just to get a reaction.

You say nothing.

He watches you walk away and mutters, “Bitch” but it sounds weak. Sounds like heartbreak.

But every time he passes you in the hall and your shoulder brushes his, his heart flips.

You’re his karma. He’s sure of it.

It’s like withdrawal. Actual, medical-grade withdrawal.

They want to touch you, even if it’s just a brush of your arm. They want you to yell at them, curse at them, cry at them. Anything. This silence? This empty, pretty silence? It’s killing them.

It’s been days.

Days since you started punishing them with your silence.

Days since any of them heard your voice, your laugh, your bite. Since your presence meant anything to them besides the slow death of being ignored.

And they are starving.

Romance lasted longer than they expected. You didn’t even crack when he left you chocolates. Or perfume. Or a whole ass handwritten love letter sealed with his kiss and sprayed with his signature cologne.

So only he moves.

Because Romance is the only one with no shame left to lose.

He knocks on your door at night. Gentle. You know it’s him. Of course you do. Nobody else knocks like this, even though he usually doesn’t knock at all.

You ignore it.

So he comes in.

You’re standing already. Back straight. Eyes flat.

He shuts the door behind him.

Then drops to his knees.

“Please.” he says, voice already breathy. “Please, baby.”

He doesn’t stay at a polite distance, no, he wraps his arms around your thighs, presses his cheek into your lower stomach, hands clasped behind your legs.

“Please don’t hate me anymore.” he whispers, muffled against your skin. “Don’t look at me like I’m everyone else. I’m me. You know me.”

You try to step back. He won’t let you. His grip tightens, his forehead presses into your body, and he sounds so pitiful when he talks.

“I can’t take this anymore. I’ll be better. I’ll be so good. You won’t even recognize me. Please just talk to me. Please just say something. I’ll slit my wrist for that.”

You grit your teeth.

He sniffles and stuffs his face between your legs. Not sexually, no. Desperately.

“I’d do anything.” he murmurs. “Anything you want. Please talk to me. Say something. I’ll take anything. You can tell me to go fuck myself, I swear, I’ll even moan when you do it—just—just don’t leave me in this fucking silence.”

He lifts his head just slightly, eyes glassy but bright. Gorgeous, even like this. And it’s so pathetic. So pathetic. Big, watery eyes. Mouth trembling.

“You’re so quiet. I didn’t realize how much I needed your voice until you took it away. Now it’s the only thing I think about. The only thing I want.” He pulls back, looking up at you with his fingers curled around your legs. “You can hit me. Spit in my mouth. I’ll thank you for it.”

You roll your eyes

Romance exhales, shaky. “Just… please. Please talk to me. Say something. Yell. Tell me I’m the worst. But let me hear you. I’m not trying to get off.” he lies. “I’m not trying to seduce you.” he lies again. “I just miss you.”

Still, you don’t move.

And so Romance slides his hands down your thighs, down to your knees. He presses his lips to them.

You reach down.

He freezes.

And you shove him back. Not hard. But clearly.

He stumbles a bit, catching himself on his palms, and his eyes flick up to you. And fuck, he looks so pretty on his knees like that. Red-cheeked. Wide-eyed. Heartbroken. Wanting.

He crawls back slowly. Hands and knees on the floor like something tamed. Still facing you. Still hoping.

“Punish me if you want.” he murmurs. “Hurt me. Use me. Just—don’t ignore me. Please don’t ignore me.”

He’s beautiful like this.

Your eyes linger on the man at your feet. You watch the way his shoulders rise and fall with shallow breath, the slow way he trembles like he’s holding in a sob. His face is pressed to your leg. He hasn’t dared look up in minutes.

“…Clothes.”

His head lifts an inch. Slowly. Carefully. Not quite hope, but something desperate that wants to be.

You look down at him now. “New ones.” you clarify.

“Of course, baby. Of course. Anything you want.” His voice is breathless and boyish and trembling with relief.

You hum. Barely a sound. Then, your fingers reach out, slow, and trace along his forehead. Middle and pointer finger moving like little legs, mock-walking across his skin, down the bridge of his nose.

His eyes flutter closed, lips parted.

“I want a proper skincare shelf in the bathroom.” you say next, tone casual. “And I want the pink shampoo. The one you assholes always use up before I get to it.”

“Yes. Yes, of course, baby. I’ll get you twelve. One for each day. For the tiger too.”

You “walk” your fingers again. Down the curve of his cheek, then back up.

“And a vanity mirror. With lights. And the snack drawer filled. I want that strawberry chocolate that Baby always eats.”

His hands tighten just slightly on your thighs, like the mention of things you love makes him ache. He nods fast, eyes still closed, voice low and breathy. “Yes. Done.“

“And a white bag.” you murmur, still tracing his skin, now gently picking at a lock of his soft hair between your fingers. “Like, a really good one.”

He nods.

You sigh, slow and thoughtful. Your fingers dance beneath his chin now, tilting his face up, thumb brushing his bottom lip, not sweetly. Just testing him. Like he’s a plaything.

And he lets you.

God, does he let you.

“God, you’re so fucking easy.” you whisper, just enough venom to tease.

You let your hand fall from his face. He almost leans into the loss.

And then you murmur, “Stand up.”

He does. In one graceful move, tall again, towering above you but not daring to be above you.

He’s holding his breath.

You nod toward the door.

“You can go now.”

He nods. Sheepishly. And turns to leave.

You stare at the door for a long, long while after he leaves.

On the other side though, Romance’s bare feet thunder down the hall, and he doesn’t knock, he doesn’t wait, he doesn’t breathe, he just kicks Abby’s door open. “ABBY!” he yells, breathless, wild-eyed, radiating joy. “You fat fuck I need your wallet!”

Abby’s lying on his bed, shirtless, boxers yanked halfway down, muscles tense, a tissue box on one side, one huge hand currently on his cock.

Romance’s eyes drop for one second to take in the situation. “…Ah.”

“Get the fuck out.”

“No, no, no.” Romance says quickly, walking across the room without a lick of shame, jumping on the bed as Abby covers himself up with the covers. “This is life or death. She spoke to me. She fucking talked to me, Abby, do you get it?! She touched me. Like—touched my face. With her little human hands. Like this.” He does a dramatic little finger-walking motion across his own cheek.

Abby stares at him.

Romance beams, unapologetic.

Abby stares harder.

Romance starts bouncing a little, like he physically can’t contain the joy.

Abby sits up slowly, dragging his boxers back up.

“She wants clothes. She said she wants shampoo, and chocolate, and a bag—Abby, Abby, we have to go shopping.”

Abby groans, drags a hand down his face.

Romance leans forward and grabs his bicep. “We’re gonna get her everything. Do you understand? I’m gonna be the BEST fucking boyfriend alive.”

“Fuck you.”

Romance rolls over, hugs Abby’s side dramatically. “Aww. You’re so in love with me.”

“Get your gay ass off me, I’m soft.”

“Ew.” Romance shoves him. “I hate you. Anyway, she’ll forget all about being handcuffed to the fridge.”

“Still think that was funny as fuck.”

Somewhere down the hallway, someone, probably Baby, shouts: “SHUT. UP.”

Silence.

Romance sighs. “Do you think she’d, like…” he scratches his head, trailing off. “I dunno. Do you think she’d ever kiss me?”

“Dude.”

“Not now. But like, later.”

Abby shrugs again. “She kissed me once.”

Romance’s head snaps toward him. “WHAT?!”

“By accident.”

“HOW do you get kissed by accident?”

“She fell. I caught her. There was lip contact.”

Romance glares. “You are a liar.”

Silence.

Romance bites his cheek. “You ever think we’re too much?”

“No.”

“You think she liked my hair?” Romance asks, flicking his fingers through it. “I curled it a little today. Not on purpose, but like, it fell that way.”

“Did she look at it?”

“She didn’t not look at it.”

“Then she liked it.”

Romance just leans his head on Abby’s shoulder.

“…You think she touches herself?” Romance asks suddenly, in a tone way too casual for the horror of the question.

Abby doesn’t even blink. “I think she does it when we’re not home.”

“Shit.”

(Guys I’ll be naming clothes sizes here, no matter what size you wear, you’re beautiful and the Saja boys would totally hit, but I needed to name them for the conversation! If you’re not that size, just replace it, I love you either way!!)

“…So like.” Abby mutters, rubbing a hand over his stomach, “if she wears, what—like, a medium shirt? You know the one. What size do we get?”

Romance blinks slowly. “Depends on the brand. Also on if it’s a crop top or a regular shirt or like… you know, the ones that do the thing.”

Abby looks at him sideways. “What thing.”

Romance raises both hands and mimes two invisible mounds in front of his chest. “The thing where it does the pushy-up-y thing. Like—”

“Pushy-up-y.”

“You know what I mean. With the—” He points at his own pecs, then flexes them. “Like this. But on her.”

Abby looks at him. Looks down at himself. Then brings both hands up and shoves his own pecs together, frowning with intensity. “…Like this?”

“Yeah, exactly.” Romance says. “But prettier.”

They stare at Abby’s pecs for a second.

Both of them very quiet.

“Okay. So. What’s a size 6?”

Abby shrugs. “A… small one?”

Romance frowns. “But not, like, too small?”

“Medium-small.” Abby offers.

“Is that even a real size?”

“Bro, I don’t know,” Abby replies honestly. “women’s shit is complicated.”

Romance thinks for a second. Stares forward. Nods. “…We need to reverse engineer this.”

Abby looks over. “What?”

“We use our memories. We recreate her.”

“…Bro.”

“No. Trust me.”

Abby sighs, but shifts anyway. They both sit up straighter, serious now. Tactical. Focused.

Romance raises his hands to his own chest, pushes his pecs together, thoughtful. “Her tits are like this. Right?”

Abby, chewing the corner of his lip, stares. Tilts his head. “No, no—wait. Tilt more. Your chest is too high. Hers is rounder. Softer.”

“Yours are hard as fuck, dude.” Romance agrees, then nods to himself. “Okay, so if we… press more here—”

They both adjust their pecs. Mashing them together like absolute fucking morons. Expression dead serious.

Romance pauses. “We’re geniuses.”

Abby mutters, “I think I’m getting aroused.”

Romance tilts his head. “They’re not, like, huge.”

“No.”

“But they’re… I dunno.”

“Perfect.”

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence, heads nodding a little.

Romance presses his pecs together, moves them around. “Like this?”

Abby squints. Mimics the motion. “No, dude. Yours sit too high.”

Romance looks down. “So yours are low?”

“They’re not low, fuckwad, hers are just like—” He frowns. Thinks hard. “Tch. Y’know?”

“Wait, wait—” Romance adjusts again, eyebrows furrowed in intense scientific focus. “This?”

They both look at each other’s chest as they press their pecs together in slightly different configurations.

Romance grunts. “I think you’re right.”

“Told you.”

Boy math.

They’ll figure out your size eventually. One ridiculous guess at a time.

“Human girls are so weird.” Abby says. “They cry when they’re mad, but they laugh when they cry, and then they don’t want help, but they get mad when you don’t help, but if you help too much they think you think they’re weak, and then somehow, that’s your fault.”

Romance shakes his pretty head. “You can’t get them with flowers or food or gifts. Not for long. That’s rookie shit. What she wants—what all women want—is to be understood. And if you can’t do that, then at least be devoted. Fully. You don’t get women by just looking good.”

Abby blinks.

Romance looks at him. “I’m serious.”

“I look good, though.”

“No, yeah. We both do. That’s not the point.” Romance waves a hand through the air. “Women are intuitive. You don’t get them by posturing. You get them by understanding the ecosystem.”

“…The what?”

“The yoni, man.”

Abby makes a face like Romance just brought up taxes. “Oh fuck off.”

“Means womb. Sacred feminine. The origin of all life. The portal to divinity, and shit.”

Abby pauses. “That’s… kinda beautiful, actually.”

Romance nods. “Right? Women are god. They carry pain, creation, time, all of it—inside. And if you treat them like shit, you’re missing the whole fuckin’ point.”

Abby’s mouth parts just slightly. This is above his intellectual paygrade, but he’s not about to say so. “Respect.”

Romance runs a hand through his hair, exhaling. “You don’t seduce a woman like that with flowers and abs and dumb little pet names. You gotta make her feel. Like you’re safe. Like she’s seen. Like she can open the locked door inside her chest and you’re not gonna throw a grenade in there.”

Abby makes a long, drawn-out sound. “Hmm.”

Romance glances over. “You thinking?”

“…Mostly about your nipples.”

“Fair.”

“But also… you’re right. I think.”

Romance grins, tapping his temple. “There’s a brain up here somewhere. Okay, okay—sit up, fatass.”

Abby scowls. “I’m not fat.”

“You are objectively massive.” Romance says, kicking him in the calf. “And I mean that in the most homoerotically admiring way possible.”

“Back off.”

“Listen, I’m serious now.”

Romance grabs Abby’s wrist, warm hand wrapping over bulging forearm, and drags him upright. Abby goes with it begrudgingly, sitting up against the headboard again.

Romance props his chin in his palm and stares. Unblinking. His hair falls into his face again, framing that ridiculously symmetrical face. “You need to apologize to her.��

“What.”

“You like her?”

“…Yeah.”

“You respect her?”

Abby pauses.

Romance raises his brows. “Wrong answer.”

“…Yes.”

“Then you’re not gonna fix this by standing around. You hurt her. You lied. So you gotta show up with your chest out, no shirt, bonus points, heart on your sleeve, and you say: I was wrong.”

Abby looks at him, unblinking. “That’s it?”

“Okay, no, not just that. You say you were wrong, you say why. Be specific. Say something like, ‘I didn’t tell you the truth because I’m fucked-up with the emotional IQ of a cactus but I love you and I want to do better.’ Then—”

“Wait.” Abby interrupts. “That’s what you’d say.”

Romance slaps a hand against Abby’s chest—solid, broad, godlike—and leaves it there. Palm flat. Warm. Centered over the beating thing inside that chest, his knee sliding between Abby’s legs. “You say sorry and then stay. Because if you leave right after, she’ll think you’re just doing it for her reaction. Not for her.”

“Shut up.”

“I will not shut up.” He points a finger into Abby’s chest, poking directly at a pec. “Do you know why? Because I like her. I like seeing her exist. I like when she eats the food I make. I like when she’s mean to you.”

“She’s always mean to me.”

“Because you’re a dick, Abby.”

Abby sighs and drags a pillow over his face.

Romance yanks it away. Then he leans in closer, his hand now cupping Abby’s jaw. “No. No hiding. Look at me.”

Abby opens one eye, unimpressed. “What do you want me to do? Cry?”

The silence is heavy.

Too heavy.

Their eyes meet.

Because suddenly they’re very close. Like very close. His face inches from Abby’s. Breaths mixing. Hands still on each other.

“…Dude.” Abby says, very low.

Romance blinks. “Are we—?”

Abby squints. “Is this—?”

“No.” they both say at the same time, recoiling slightly.

“Anyway.” Romance coughs, dramatically adjusting his position like he wasn’t just seconds from initiating the world’s most confusing demon bromance kiss. “Point is, you’re apologizing.”

Abby groans, rolling his eyes so hard his skull might crack. “Fiiine. I’ll try.”

“You go make that human girl forgive you, and you do it with your whole ass, you hear me?”

Abby stands. Massive. Brooding. Slightly flushed. “…I hear you.”

“You go to her with sincerity. You use your words. And for the love of hell, you don’t bring Mystery.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s prettier than you and might get forgiven faster.”

“…Fair.”

And just like that, the demon of brute strength walks out of the room, psyching himself up to do something harder than convincing Jinu to not whoop his ass for fucking a move up: say sorry.

Abby stops in front of your door.

Romance mouths “Go in.”

Abby flips him off and knocks.

You don’t answer with words. But he hears the quiet shift of the bedsheets inside.

The door creaks open and Abby steps inside.

You’re sitting on the bed. Legs crossed, looking devastating. Sleep clothes clinging to the kind of body he’s not strong enough to not look at.

Abby shuts the door behind him. No escape now. He stands there awkwardly for a second, all that muscle and rage and guilt trapped in one idiotically gorgeous frame, and then he rubs the back of his neck, clears his throat like a teenager, and says “…Okay. So. I suck.”

Nothing. You blink.

“I mean. Like—like not literally, ‘cause, I mean—I could. I’ve been told I’m good at—okay, no, wait—not the point. I’m here to apologize. Kinda.”

Your stare is lethal. So is the face card.

Abby looks at the ceiling, breathes through his nose, then finally lets it out in a grunted, desperate, honest mess: “I’m sorry we handcuffed you to the fridge.”

That gets a blink.

He keeps going. “I mean, I’m sorry about all of it. That you’re here. That we keep being dicks. That we don’t—I don’t—know how to do this. With you.”

You raise an eyebrow. He swallows.

“So… yeah. I’m sorry. That’s it. That’s all I’ve got.”

God, he sucks ass at this.

He shifts his weight. The silence stretches.

Then, as if his own brain catches up to the vulnerability he just let loose, he panics and throws in, “Also you look fucking hot right now.”

The tiger growls. Low. Protective.

Abby raises both hands. “I’m going, I’m going.” He backs toward the door, not breaking eye contact, even as he fumbles for the handle like it’s fighting him.

“Wait.”

He freezes.

You pat the bed beside you, once. “Come here.”

He doesn’t even hesitate. Just obeys. He closes the door gently. Crosses the room in just a few slow steps and sinks down beside you on the bed. Not too close, but close enough that his thigh brushes yours. He doesn’t look at you. Not right away.

You look at him, though. Eyes scanning the side of his face, the set jaw, the guilty slope of his eyebrows.

He’s so big. So strong. So dangerous. And he followed that one word like a dog.

“You were human once, right?”

He blinks. Slowly. Then shrugs. “Yeah.”

“Do you remember your name? Before Abby?”

“…No.”

You nod, like that’s alright. “Do you remember your mother?”

He swallows. Doesn’t answer right away. “Bits.”

“Do you think you’re a good person?”

He scoffs. Immediately. Like it’s the stupidest thing you could’ve asked. “No.” Silence. Then, softer: “Not even close.”

“What made you like this?”

That’s the one that gets him. His whole body shifts, defensive, and he glances at you, then at the wall. His jaw tightens. You wait. “I don’t know.”

“How old were you when you turned into a demon?”

He blinks. It’s not what he expected. “I don’t… know. Twenty-something, I guess.”

“Siblings?”

“I had a younger brother.”

And then—just to give him a breath—you grin a little, tilt your head to look at his arm. “…How big are your biceps?”

That makes him huff out a laugh. “Big enough.”

“Like—how big though?”

He flexes, looking away as if it’s nothing.

You glance, just for a second. “Hmm. Yeah. Passable.”

You touch his bicep with two fingers. Just tap it.

“You could kill someone with this.” you mutter.

“…I have.”

You both go quiet again.

“What are you feeling right now?”

“I… I don’t know.” he says slowly.

“Do you even know what you feel for me?”

He looks up.

Right at you.

And the look in his eyes is pure confusion. Not because the answer is no, but because the answer isn’t clear. Because feeling anything that isn’t rage or lust is a fucking foreign language to him.

“I don’t know.”

And he keeps saying he doesn’t know, but he really doesn’t. He so doesn’t know.

“Do you even remember your human life?” you ask, voice quiet.

He’s silent for a long beat. Then shrugs one shoulder. “Pieces.”

“What happened to you?”

“Stuff.”

“Stuff.” you echo dryly.

He huffs. “I didn’t come here for therapy, alright?”

“…You know you’re not forgiven, right?” you say, soft but firm.

“I know.”

“And you know what you did to me is wrong?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re still going to keep me here.”

“…Yeah.”

You sigh. Let the silence stretch again. Then murmur, “You need to work on your apology game.”

He snorts. “Noted.”

You brush some hair out of his face. He watches you like a kicked dog.

You don’t say it aloud, but god, you missed him.

The silence holds for another breath. Then another.

“…I do appreciate the apology.” you say.

Fuck, it’s impressive that you’re still so fair and nice even now.

You keep going. “And I know that’s probably the best version of an apology that someone like you is capable of.”

His jaw shifts, like he wants to argue that, but knows you’re right.

“So,” you continue. “if you can fix yourself, then we’ll see what happens.”

“That’s a tall fuckin’ order, babe.”

You glance at him sideways. “Then you’d better get started.”

He lets out a short laugh. Rough and dry. “Fair.” And then, because he’s Abby and subtlety is not in his toolkit, he blurts, “Romance said you asked for new shit.”

Your eyes narrow, half-glare, half-grimace. “Yeah. I did.”

“Clothes?”

“Mhm.”

“Anything else?”

“Thought about asking for a tiny dog.”

“…Why didn’t you?”

You sigh, looking away toward your bedroom wall. “Because I don’t want to put a poor innocent animal through whatever the hell this is.”

Abby laughs. “Shit. That’s fair.”

You glance at him again, arms crossed loosely over your chest. “What? You don’t think I deserve new clothes?”

“No, I think you deserve everything.” he says instantly, too fast to pretend it was casual.

You almost feel sorry for him. Almost. But then again, you’re the one who’s been dragged into this against your will.

Still.

“I meant it.” you say after a beat. “If you’re really going to try… then maybe there’s a version of this where I don’t hate you. Think about it.”

He nods again, eyes flicking toward yours. “Yeah… maybe.”

Silence. A soft one, you’d say.

“…Why do you keep me here?”

He tenses. Immediately. His jaw flexes. You keep going.

“You know I’m not going to talk. You all let go of that a long time ago, so… why? Why keep me?”

Abby stares at you.

His eyes, fuck, his eyes are wide now. Round. Almost soft. Which is ridiculous, because nothing about him is soft. Not the muscle under his skin, not his brutal hands, not the way he’s hurt you, over and over.

But now he just… looks at you.

Is he supposed to confess his fucking love to you now??

You see the panic flicker there for half a second. Just a flicker. But it’s enough.

“Get out.” you say softly, not unkindly. “I wanna sleep.”

“Yeah.” he mumbles, rising to his feet with a heavy stretch. “Yeah, alright.”

He walks to the door, one last glance over his shoulder before he slips out.

God, what a coward.

What a fucking mess.

He’s been a soldier. A demon. A killer. A protector. A brute. A thing that obeys or dominates. He knows how to crush skulls. He knows how to grab what he wants. He knows how to hold you against a wall and make you feel.

But ask him what he feels?

He’s useless. Lost. Like a fucking kid again.

He doesn’t know.

That’s the truth.

Not that he’s hiding the answers. Not that he’s manipulative like Jinu, or performative like Romance, or eerily silent like Mystery, or keeping secrets like Baby.

Abby just… genuinely does not know. There’s a locked box inside of him that hasn’t been opened in centuries, and even if he wanted to open it, he doesn’t know where the key is.

And worse, he’s a man. A man surrounded by other men like him, all pretending they’re fine, on that crying is weakness shit, fucking instead of feeling, laughing instead of healing.

He never had the chance to become emotionally fluent.

He’s been living his life in survival mode for longer than you’ve been alive.

So yeah, he could answer some things. He could tell you he had a brother, and that’s already more than most people get out of him. He could tell you how many lives he’s taken, how many times he’s seen death, how it looks when the blood gets under his nails and won’t come out no matter how hard he scrubs.

But ask him why? Why you stay here? Why he can’t let you go?

He doesn’t know how to make his mouth shape those words. His tongue has never been trained to speak love. Just lust. Just loyalty. Just need.

You ask him how he feels?

He doesn’t know.

You ask him what happened to him?

He doesn’t know if he can answer that, if the memory is even right, if Gwi-Ma didn’t fuck the memories up.

You ask him why he keeps you here?

He doesn’t know, because the truth is too terrifying. Because the only word that fits is love, and love is something he watched get stabbed, hanged, burned, and buried a long time ago.

“Awww. That was adorable.”

Gwi-Ma’s back, everybody.

“You and your little human girlfriend. I think I felt something. Your little heart nearly grew three sizes today.”

And before Abby can shut it out, before he can even breathe, he’s slammed with a rush of memories.

Every mistake.

Every hand he broke.

Every neck he snapped.

The child he couldn’t save.

The brother he watched die.

The lovers he abandoned.

The blood.

The war.

The smell of fire.

He tries to lock the thoughts out. To think about you. About how warm your thigh felt next to him on the bed. About how you didn’t push him away immediately.

But Gwi-Ma slaps it out of his mind.

“Pathetic.” Gwi-Ma hisses. “Coward.”

You said he should try to fix himself. And Gwi-Ma laughs at the idea.

Because there’s nothing to fix. Not in someone like Abby. He’s muscle. Meat. He’s a weapon, not a person.

Dumb.

Fucked up.

Violent.

Selfish.

Meat-brained.

Guilt-ridden.

Empty.

Ignorant.

Simple.

Clueless.

Emotionally castrated.

Expendable.

Disposable.

Replaceable.

STUPID.

That’s what he’s been told for decades. Centuries. Over and over. Every time he opens his mouth and can’t find words for what’s inside.

He tries to shut Gwi-Ma out. Presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, hard.

But the voice is in him. Not separate.

He wants to fix himself. Doesn’t he?

Maybe. Maybe not.

But it doesn’t matter.

Because the minute he even thinks about it, truly thinks about what it would mean to be better, to be someone who deserves you, Gwi-Ma hurts him. Again and again and again.

The truth is cruel.

He’s not someone in progress. He’s someone trapped.

The worst part is the humiliation. The humiliation of trying, and still being told it’s worthless.

Because Gwi-Ma doesn’t let them try. Not really. The moment any one of them reaches even a thread of softness, you, a thought of you, a smile you gave them once, a moment where they think maybe they could be better for you, he’s there. He’s always there.

Not just cruel, intimate. Personal. He knows where to hurt.

They can’t breathe.

None of them can, not really.

Abby, jacked and dead-eyed in his own bed, scratches at his forearm until the skin splits. He didn’t even realize he was doing it. Not until the blood warms.

He’d thought about trying again tomorrow. Thought about asking you if you wanted help, or offering to fix something in your room. Something small. Something human.

“You’re a joke. Look at you.”

And Abby did look. Into the mirror. Into his own face. And all he saw was a stranger.

Jinu is worse. Because he knows what he’s doing. But even Jinu, ruthless and slick and selfish, can’t stop Gwi-Ma from slithering under his skin.

“You’re a parasite.” Gwi-Ma whispers to him when he’s alone. “You don’t love her. You want to own her. Same thing, right?“

And you’re not stupid. You’ll figure it out eventually.

And then what?

When Romance puts a hand on your shoulder or whispers sweet things in your ear, Gwi-Ma leans in and coos, “She likes you best. Doesn’t she? Oh, she wants it. Wants you. Don’t worry about the others. They’re not built for it like you are.”

But the moment Romance believes it, lets the warmth in, imagines you choosing him for real, Gwi-Ma flips the blade. “Delusional little rat. She’ll see it. Eventually.”

And when he distracts himself with his hands, his hips, a sigh into his pillow and a slick palm and a fantasy of you, just as his breath hitches, right when the softest sound escapes his lips—

“What a little lapdog. Disgusting. You think you’ll be the boyfriend she deserves? You? Loverboy, candlelight, wine glass in hand, I can see it, even.”

Mystery, alone in the dark bathroom, runs cold water over his hands. He look in the mirror too long. He wants to be pretty, because you like pretty boys, right? Everyone does.

“She doesn’t care. You’re a pet. Not worth talking to. Why would she love you? You don’t even speak.”

Baby pretends he’s immune.

The alcohol helps. It’s the only thing that makes Gwi-Ma’s voice slur. Even a little.

But that’s not better.

Not at all.

“Not enough alcohol in the world to erase what you did. Drink up. Drown it. That’s all you’re good for.”

They all want to try. To say something kind. To change. To fix themselves for you.

But Gwi-Ma doesn’t let them.

Even when they still try, still fumble toward kindness, still find themselves reaching for you, it’s unbearable.

To want so badly to be better.

And to be reminded, again and again, that maybe they can’t be.

They like you so much. It’s stupid, how much.

But no matter how loud that love is, Gwi-Ma’s louder.

They still want you.

They still crave your laugh, your attention, your touch, your eyes.

They want to deserve you.

But they don’t believe they can.

So they keep stumbling.

Keep hurting you.

Keep hurting themselves.

~ thank you for all the support! tags: @lasa27 @limerenceisserenity @zoeisdreaming6 @killinkiwi @xxying-yangxx @bubbleishiaaa @prettylittlelavvy @gl00muraaii @boo-shalala @stxrrielle @vixyvlo @ny0000mw00m @loreleis-world @mshope16 @littlemissfix-itfic @fandomhoedamien @spiderset @azzberry @aerrz3 @tatsuri-zomushiki @theferretkids @apelepikozume @scpdragon @justanindiangirl12 @fuevrois @soggumm @ri-eveowe @lucifers16ducks @elixua @xh01bri @greensunflowerjuna @valeriele3 @lovely-maryj @c0sm1cp0tat0 @wantstoliveinfantasy @i-am-here3 @naarra @confusedparticle @itsberrydreemurstuff @asphodeloss @x-w-a @nosbaby07 @prorpy @blobbyblobblobblobblob @ryukumi @ryuucollapse @rainbowcupcakes23 @nnasv @aika-3 @thegirloftheirdreams

[sweet-halsey]

Outlap

lando norris x reader (requested by anon)

warnings: angst and cute stuff.

You were in Santorini when it happened.

A whitewashed villa, sapphire waters stretching out into eternity, the sun painting the sky with sherbet pinks and golden streaks. You should’ve been relaxed, happy, even. You’d been working nonstop, bouncing between Bali, Tokyo, and Morocco the past month, taking dreamy videos for your travel content, smiling wide for photos you didn’t always feel present in.

But it wasn’t the stillness of the sea or the golden hour light that made your stomach drop. It was your phone.

A single text from a mutual friend, followed by a screenshot. Then another. And another.

You tapped the Instagram icon. Your hands shook. And there it was.

Charles. Your boyfriend of two years. Monaco’s golden boy. Formula 1’s favorite heartthrob. Laughing in the streets of Milan, hand in hand with her. The her he told you not to worry about. The her who had been liking his posts for months. The her who, according to the headline under a reposted paparazzi story, had been “the shoulder he needed when things got hard.”

The comment section was merciless.

charles.babe: “Guess she couldn’t handle dating a driver.” 16cmhpl: “She’s always traveling, girl what did you expect?”

And just like that, the truth became someone else’s story.

You deleted the app, turned off your phone and spent the next three days crying into your pillow.

Weeks passed, but the ache lingered like saltwater in your lungs.

You couldn’t bring yourself to post. Every half-edited reel, every photo waiting to be color-graded tainted. Your audience noticed the silence. So did brands. You gave half-hearted apologies, saying you were taking time for your “mental health,” which wasn’t a lie.

You couldn’t bear to scroll. Couldn’t look at your own memories. Not when your last few photos with Charles still lingered in the grid like ghosts.

The worst part wasn’t even the betrayal. It was the aftermath. He didn’t call, didn’t text. Not even to explain.

He let the headlines speak for him. Let the comments eat you alive. Let people say you weren’t there for him emotionally, that you were always “chasing clouds instead of being his anchor.” The irony? You were drowning in the very storm he’d started.

So you made a quiet promise to yourself. No more racing, no more paddocks, no more Formula 1.

You muted every team account and blocked Charles. That world was his and you didn’t belong in it anymore.

But you should’ve known peace wouldn’t last. Your manager called three weeks before the Italian Grand Prix, bubbling with excitement.

“Guess who just landed you a paid collab with Richard Mille?” she beamed. “They want you in the Monza paddock. VIP suite. Full campaign. Six-figure contract.”

You went silent.

“…You still there?”

Your heart stuttered. “Do I have to go to the race?”

“It’s the whole point,” she said gently. “They want a ‘day in the life of a luxury traveler’ concept. You’d wear the watch, show your experience, mingle with guests. It’s Monza. You’ll be treated like royalty.”

You hesitated. She added, “Look, I know it’s complicated. But this is huge and we need you back out there. You’ve lost engagement. This would change everything.”

You agreed, numbly. Told yourself it was just work. That you'd avoid the paddock. That you wouldn’t even see him.

You lied. Because the moment you stepped through the paddock gates, the world tilted.

The air buzzed with sound engines revving in the distance, cameras clicking, voices overlapping. Everything was louder than you remembered.

It hit you like a crash: the smells of gasoline, the sharp sting of adrenaline in the air, the faces of people you once knew. Some offered sympathetic smiles. Some didn’t meet your eyes at all.

You pasted on a smile for your Stories. Held up the Richard Mille watch. Laughed as if you weren’t suffocating.

Then you saw him.

Charles fucking Leclerc.

In real life, not through a filtered screen or a cold tabloid headline. He’s just up ahead, dressed in a red Ferrari kit, sunglasses pushed back in his messy brown hair, laughing at something the girl said.

She’s there, of course, the nepo baby clinging to his hand like she’s earned it.

You freeze.

It’s instinct. Your whole body stills like you’ve walked straight into oncoming traffic and maybe you have. This whole thing, the breakup, the betrayal, the public unraveling, has felt like getting hit by a car in slow motion.

He hasn’t seen you yet and you want to keep it that way.

You turn on your heel, duck behind a hospitality tent and find yourself standing in a shadowed corner next to some stacked tire covers. It's pathetic, hiding like this, but you need a second. You need air.

Because it all comes back.

The way you found out. Not even an apology you could maybe, maybe believe.

No, social media. Your heartbreak wasn’t yours alone. It belonged to everyone.

You squeeze your eyes shut now and lean against the cool metal behind you, breathing through your nose. You just need to get through this weekend. Do the sponsor content. Smile for the cameras. Then disappear again.

You can handle that, right?

"Hey."

You jump.

The voice comes from the side, soft but immediate and it belongs to Lando Norris of all people. He’s not in his race suit, just a McLaren polo, sunglasses hooked in the collar, curls slightly windblown. His expression isn’t smug or teasing like you remember from past events.

It’s…concerned.

“You okay?” he asks, brow furrowed. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

You blink at him, trying to form words. He doesn’t move closer, but he doesn’t walk away either. Just stands there.

You manage a weak shrug. “It’s nothing.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Nothing, huh? So that’s why you’re hiding behind the tires like a rejected extra in a teen drama?”

A small laugh escapes you before you can stop it. It surprises you both.

“There she is,” he grins, clearly pleased he got a reaction. “Come on, I know that face. Something happened.”

You hesitate. It’s stupid. It’s messy. It’s everything you don’t want to relive, especially not with someone who knows him.

But then you meet Lando’s eyes and something about them is different: there's no pity, no performance, no fake paddock warmth.

Just… genuine concern.

So you sigh, push your hair out of your face and mutter, “I saw Charles.”

Lando’s smile falters.

You don’t have to say anything else. He gets it.

There’s a pause. A quiet space where he lets you have the moment without prying. Then he nods, slow and certain.

“You wanna get out of here for a bit?”

You blink. “What, like… leave the paddock?”

“Not really,” he says. “I know a shortcut to the media center roof. Best view of the track, no photographers, no fans, no ex-boyfriends.”

You stare at him.

Lando shrugs. “Unless you’d prefer to keep hiding here.”

You crack a smile. “Lead the way.”

The rooftop is quiet, windy and peaceful in a way the paddock never is. You sit on the edge with your legs swinging over the side and Lando hands you a paper bag full of snacks, granola bars, fruit, stolen Ferrari-branded cookies. You burst out laughing and he joins you.

“Did you actually rob the Ferrari hospitality?”

He shrugs. “Consider it emotional reparations.”

You shake your head, biting into a cookie. “This is deeply unprofessional.”

You both eat in silence at first. Then you speak.

“He didn’t even say sorry” you say softly, eyes fixed on the distant blur of orange and red cars zipping through the corners. Lando doesn't interrupt.

You twist the can in your hands. “I wanted to be angry but mostly I just felt stupid, like I should’ve seen it coming.”

Lando leans back on his palms. “You’re not stupid. He is.”

You glance at him.

“I mean it,” he adds. “You don’t cheat on someone because they’re busy. You communicate. You don’t just replace them with… whatever her name is.”

You snort. “You mean Victoria di Something Something?”

Lando laughs. “Exactly.”

The wind catches your hair and for the first time in weeks, you feel a sliver of weight lift from your chest. Not all of it. But enough.

“You know,” you say after a moment, “I thought coming back here would kill me.”

“Hasn’t yet?”

“No” you agree. “But it still kind of sucks.”

Lando nods. “Then we’ll make it suck less.”

You raise an eyebrow. “We?”

“Sure,” he shrugs casually, like this was always the plan. “You need someone to keep you distracted. I’m pretty distracting.”

You narrow your eyes. “Is this you offering emotional support or trying to flirt?”

Lando grins. “Can’t it be both?”

You laugh, startled and bright and this time it doesn’t feel strange at all.

After a while, you speak again.

“Can I tell you something stupid?”

“Absolutely,” he replies without missing a beat. “Stupid is my specialty.”

You smile, then sigh. “Sometimes I wonder if it was my fault. Not the cheating, I know that’s on Charles. But everything before it, the space, the distance, I wonder if I stopped being enough and didn’t notice.”

Lando doesn’t rush to answer. He just looks at you, brow furrowed like your words deserve full consideration.

Finally, he says, “You know what I think?”

You glance over.

“I think you were too much for him.”

Your heart stutters.

“He couldn’t handle your life,” Lando continues. “The freedom, the way people love you, the way you exist on your own terms. That doesn’t make you hard to love. That makes you powerful. And guys like him…” He shrugs. “They confuse power with absence.”

You blink fast, not trusting your voice.

Lando turns his head, studying you. “You’re not hard to love,” he says again, gentler this time. “He was just too small to hold all of you.”

It’s not romantic. Not exactly, but it lands somewhere deeper. Right in the center of your chest. So you say, very softly, “Thank you.”

And he doesn’t ruin it. Don't make it awkward. He just holds your gaze for a second longer than a friend should and smiles like the sun’s warming his skin from the inside out.

Before that you didn’t plan on staying the whole weekend. Originally, it was fly in, post content, fly out. Minimum emotional damage. Minimal risk of running into him again. But Lando’s faultless smile and effortless charm have complicated things.

He doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t prod. He just shows up. With a coffee or a sarcastic comment, or a stupid meme about F1 TikTok that makes you laugh against your will.

And following everything that’s happened, everything you’ve been through, that’s all you really wanted. Someone to see you and not see a mess. Not a cautionary tale or a PR disaster. Just… you.

After Monza, you expected the silence to return.

But then Lando DM´s.

lando: you still in Italy?

its.you: Barely. Flying out tomorrow.

lando: shame. I was gonna bribe you with gelato.

its.you: That almost worked.

lando: so next time?

its.you:…Next time.

And somehow, that became a rhythm.

He didn’t try to fix you. He didn’t ask for the ugly pieces. He just showed up. Sometimes as a meme. Sometimes with a “what are you reading now?”. Sometimes with voice notes from hotel rooms in Singapore, Japan, Brazil.

You weren’t sure when you started looking forward to them, or when your answers became longer, warmer, more curious about him. 

lando: dinner with me? (Please say yes or I’ll feel awkward.)

You didn’t even hesitate.

You met at a quiet pasta place. He wore a hoodie and a beanie pulled low. You wore a trench coat and tried not to stare at his smile too much.

He let you vent. About influencer fatigue. About constant travel. About how no one really talks about what it feels like to make your life a highlight reel when your heart’s still bruised.

Then he told you about racing. The pressure. The loneliness. The moments he felt like the entire world was watching and yet somehow, still alone.

You clicked in a way that startled you.

There was something steady about Lando. Something kind. Where Charles once made you feel like you had to earn space in his world, Lando simply made space for you in his.

You were invited back to the paddock for Abu Dhabi.

Same brand, new campaign. They asked for final race content “closing the season with a bang.” You said yes this time without hesitating.

Not because of Charles, but because you knew Lando would be there.

You found him during the media day. He spotted you before you even said his name.

“Look who finally forgave F1,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes. “Only for the watch.”

“Right,” he grinned. “Totally not for me.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Why would I do that?”

“Because,” he said, walking closer, voice dropping just slightly, “I’ve been waiting to see you again.”

And there it was. Unspoken, until now. Suddenly loud in the silence between you.

You didn’t know who moved first.

But then his hand brushed yours. And you didn’t pull away.

“You know… I thought I’d hate being back here.”

“And now?”

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “It doesn’t feel like his world anymore.”

He stepped beside you. “Maybe because it’s not.”

You glanced at him. His gaze was gentle. Steady.

“I think I was scared to let anyone in again,” you admitted. “Because what if I missed the signs again? What if I’m not enough, again?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just reached over, slow and sure, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Then, softly:

“You’re not too much. And you were never not enough.”

Your throat tightened. “Lando…”

He leaned in, nose brushing yours.

“I’m not asking you to fall in love with me right now,” he said. “But if you ever do… I’ll be here.”

You didn’t kiss him that night.

But your fingers laced with his. And that was enough.

For now.

•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•

Anon thanks for your request, i have to admit it's not one of my best works but i hope you liked anyways😭 sorry for taking so long. xo

English is not my first language and I don't want it to be. Any mistakes are made out of pure hatred and disrespect for this language. The English have taken enough from this world, I will not let them have my tongue as well.

Thank you.

[anakinmoser]

I had a — luckily — civil discussion with someone on Reddit about this!

It was a rather long conversation so brace yourselves for it:

(Yes, I am one of those people who will repeat again and again their point when they think they're in the right. But I'm also the kind of person that will apologize if someone tells me I was wrong. So I need yall to tell me if I was misreading something, thanks.)

This was the og post:

I'm working on a fanfic for a pretty big fandom, and it involves a major event. My readers have gotten attached to the characters, and the truth is... pretty much everyone will die

I'm genuinely torn about what to do. Should I give a warning in the end notes before that point something like "stop here if you want a happy ending" or should I just let it hit? It wouldn't exactly be a surprise because its pretty much canon, but it is going to be emotionally devastating.

The thing is, I want readers to continue into the sequel, which picks up after the event. But I'm afraid if they will feel sad, and they won't want to keep going. I also don't want to put any additional tags that may spoils things.

Advice is deeply welcomed!

Like to add: Readers will know such and such event will happen anyways. I also already added CCNTUAW from the begining

And this was my first answer:

I'll go against the other comments here.

One thing is if all the characters deaths is a main plot point in the story that sets up something else — namely the sequel.

Another is if it's simply that and nothing more.

I wrote a story character study from the 1st person pov and, had I tagged MCD, I would've spoiled it greatly since my main character is the one of the two who dies in canon. Now, I did turn that story into a trilogy where the MC comes back to life in the sequel, but still, he dies in that one just like he did in canon. I simply decided to use CCNTUAW instead, and warn readers in the tags with ones such as "angst" and "unreliable narrator" (since the whole story took place in main character's head in the seven minutes of brain activity post death).

With all due respect to the readers who don't want to read MCD, ao3 is a place where to read stories. I always interpreted it for that. And, last time I checked, unless we're getting into stuff like Hunting Adeline, when you read a book you don't get trigger warnings at the start. It's the point of reading the story. Getting interested from the summary and deciding to give it a go, whatever happens happens.

That's why, on ao3, there's the CCNTUAW tag, so that authors can tell you "either Main Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage Sex, apply somewhere in the story, do with that information what you prefer."

To which that person said:

I'm a fandom old. I remember the days of click and hope. People started adding tags because the surprise was often unpleasant. Also, the TOS also requires either using the creator chose not to warn or tagging.

Also, fanfiction is not analogous to published original works. First, we go in knowing the characters and world, and second tagging is not only an option but a requirement.

{I'd like to point out the last piece of the sentence: tagging is not only an option but a requirement. When the Terms of Service section II.J point 3 esplicitly states: "Applying a non-specific tag (such as "Not Rated", "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", or "Unspecified Fandom") is always considered sufficient tagging for that field."}

So I:

I understand where you're coming from, and I agree that tags have a purpose. That's exacly why the CCNTUAW tag exists, to tell the readers to beware for any possibly triggering content, which I see we both agree on.

But people here in the comments are pushing to tag MCD even when it's a major plot twist in the story. Like that, it defeats the whole point of storytelling.

In the case of my story (the example I made before) had I tagged MCD it would have completely unraveled the mistery and tension of it, because readers would've gone in expecting exactly who dies, and how.

I'm not suggesting that people shouldn't use warnings. I'm saying we have a system that already accounts for this, signaling to people that "hey, you may wanna think twice before opening this story", while also preserving the experience for those who have no problem going in blind.

Fanfiction is different from published books.

Absolutely. But that doesn't mean every story has to be tagged to the point of spoilers. Some authors, like me, write for themselves first and want the simple freedom to tell the story as it unfolds, not as a content list.

What's important here is that it doesn't become an obligation to tag your story thoroughly just because some people don't want, or can't, read about certain things.

I totally understand not expecting tags like MCD in, say, a My Little Pony fanfiction. But, when it comes to fandoms like Dexter, I don't think tagging every warning is mandatory as it's already intended that whoever watched the show had the mentality and guts to whitstand all warning present in the site.

Ultimately, readers can make their own choices based on the tags provided. No one is being tricked or harmed when CCNTUAW is used correctly.

They're simply being invited to read with care instead of being told about every major plot point outfront.

TL;DR:

I also understand that what I'm saying might be misinterpreted by some, and I want to clarify that's not my intention at all. This entire comment wasn't about disregarding people's boundaries. It was about simple mutual respect between reader and author.

Readers have tools like CCNTUAW to filter out content they're not comfortable engaging with, and authors are within their rights to use that system when more detailed tags would spoil the story. That balance is already built into A03's system. I'm not saying "don't tag," I'm saying "don't force authors to sacrifice the narrative's integrity just to preempt every possible reaction."

And they:

I mean, I get not wanting to spoil. However, in my mind, because fanfiction is wish fulfilling, both for authors and readers, I feel it's always better to give people the chance to opt out. Especially newer people who don't know what CCNTUAW means. I feel there's a way to tag without spoiling like a tag saying check chapter notes for warnings and then putting warnings on the individual chapters.

And I, again:

I understand what you mean, but I feel like you're not getting my point.

What gives readers a chance to opt out is using the CCNTUAW tag itself. It exists, as I said before, to say "Hey, one of the major warnings apply here, proceed with caution."

That's already a clear and functional way to alert readers of warnings without putting them into the story. It's the exact purpose for which CCNTUAW exists "Use this if warnings may apply but you don't want to use them." (from the AO3 FAQs)

Expecting authors to underline everything in the chapter notes, especially for longer chapters where the warnings could spoil a big twist, undermines the point of storytelling.

I understand that some newer readers may not know what CCNTUAW means right away, but that's the part of being in any fandom space: learning as you go. AO3 has resources, and honestly, a quick search (on either AO3 or Google with Urban Dictionary) would give any new reader the answer in less than five minutes.

We have a system that works, with clearly spelled out warnings, whose meanings are easily accessible to people with a simple search.

I really don't see the necessity in tagging everything.

And them:

We did end up on that moot point (mostly because I was tired of repeating myself and felt like I was talking to a wall so I just dropped it) but I still feel like I was right and they were not actively reading my comments.

I see what you're saying. I think we fundamentally see things differently, and that's okay. For me, I'm not concerned about spoilers, and I'd rather provide extra warning. To use a published work example, the book John Dies at the End literally gives a spoiler in the title, but readers read it anyway to find out how it happens and why. In my experience, most readers, even with a spoiler, will read for the details, so it ends up a moot point.

CCNTUAW exists for a reason. If tagging the Warnings had been a mandatory requirement, that option would've never been created to begin with, you get me?

Let me know if I missed anything or misinterpreted their words cause at this point I think I did but I can't figure out where.

This is a Moving Forward PSA for everyone using AO3. I am witnessing the results of a culture clash and communication failure. Not a lack of communication, but a misunderstanding caused by changes in fandom culture.

Before fic tagging was common, fics weren’t tagged. You had a pairing, if applicable, an author’s note about genre or general content, and if they were feeling charitable, a vague content warning. There are even a few genres of fic where even vaguely tagging literally spoils the plot and impact (such as horror, psyche thriller, in which the likely content is implicit to the genre). As a result, there is a basic category tag that permits this, as a courtesy to “old-fashioned” writers.

“No Archive Warnings Apply” means the fic is PG13 at worst, probably fluff, totally safe.

“Choose Not to Use Archive Warnings” is the polar opposite. It’s a glaring Enter at Your Own Risk billboard. It means: a shitload of warnings apply but I ain’t telling because this story requires shock value. It’s very important to read the author’s notes for those fics because they might be using that older format from above.

But without the context of fandom culture that generated AO3, it’s understandably easy to conflate the two categories, given their similar wording.

[hand-kimk]

Headcannons for how the girls would react to their s/o getting attacked and hurt by one of their fans bc they're jealous of their relationship. Like their S/O runs out to do some shopping and is taking a long time and when they start to get worried they get a call from the reader like ",OK so funny story I'm in the hospital bc I was attacked by a crazy fan"

anon, you are COOKING.

Warnings: Hospital, angsty, lots of crying. NOT proofread

__________________________________________

You always knew it would be risky dating an idol, from fans being unhappy about the relationship to having very little privacy…

———————————————————————

Her heart immediately starts racing when she looks at the clock. “It never takes this long,” she tells herself at least 20 times before checking her phone to see if you messaged. Then she got the phone call.

“So funny story-“ a pained laugher erupts. “One of your fans attacked me while I was on the way home.” She absolutely hated the humored tone you had. It wasn’t some random thing, it was HER partner getting hurt.

—————————————————

Rumi-

As soon as she sees your condition, she demands a name. After getting such information, she wasn’t sure what to do. Rumi wanted to find the person and teach them a lesson. But she did not want the situation to escalate either.

Her rational side overpowers her impulsive side and she instead demands that you pressed charges.

The guilt consumes her. You know, the way she thinks EVERYTHING is her fault. She spends your whole recovery avoiding eye contact and apologizing. Until you point out the fact that she doesn’t control her fans.

A sappy sob and apology for how she acts is given and then she kissed you like she will never get the chance again.

Mira-

She’s PISSED- Obviously not at you- but at herself. She keeps thinking of all the things she could’ve done to avoid this. To keep you safe. In the back of her mind, a little voice says “You didn’t deserve her anyways.”

Her mind immediately goes to thinking you’ll leave. Her heart aches on the drive to the hospital. Shes PRAYING you decide to stay. Mira can’t handle being unwanted by you.

However, your immediate smile as she walks in calms her nerves. She feels at home again, still covered in worry. Always asking if you’re okay, always asking if you’re going to stay. Girl needs reassurance and therapy.

Once recovered, she is LATCHED onto you. She doesn’t let you go anywhere without her, or someone she trusts.

(she finds the person and nearly kills them ngl)

ZOEY-

She doesn’t care what shes currently doing or feeling as long as shes there for you. Her priority is making sure you are comfortable and happy.

Girl brings everything from your rooms and somehow fits it all in the hospital room. She manages to fit 20 plushes on the bed without getting in the way of medical staff.

It’s not until late at night, when she thinks that you’re asleep, that she actually thinks about how she feels. She loves her fans, but they went too far. She sobs quietly until she feels your fingers in her hair.

“I’m sorry! I thought you were asleep..”

“Zoey.. It’s okay to have feelings, I want to hear all thats going on in your head, you know that.”

She CRIES and starts spewing all the words out. It almost sounds like a sad rap song.

__________________________________________

Sorry if it feels rushed guys! I had to keep myself from turning this into a Polytrix x reader fic 😭 shit would go hard and you know it.

[ihavenoideahowtodream]

HE KEEPS HIS EXS IN GLASS BOXES

Like i really dont think that is talked about enough!

How well they made him look so cartoonishly evil. like thats some doofenshmirtz type shit. But its also so SO fucking psychotic! Entirely unredeemable. No excuse for him and he never gives them one.

And that is the running theme of the movie

the cough Israelis/Russians vs Ukrainian/Palestinians cough conflict is a bunch of over armored guys with guns and tanks vs a bunch of farmers with sticks in a soccer field. like thats the most down scaled conflict possible, but it still got the point across of how ridiculously out matched our current genocides are without making it too gorey to stomach for any age group.

It straight up says "I invented this conflict inorder to have a reason to destroy you!" Whether anyone believes 9/11 was an inside job or not the reality is that the Afghan and Iraqi wars invasions were fabricated from that event for profit and god knows what else.

Superman is cartoonishly good cause he saves squirrels and dogs and w/e almost to the point that he really just handles the peripheral casualty mediation. Hell he doesnt even get involved with the giant glowing eyeball, cause if you notice, it wasnt near any civilians. He was using the glow from the fight as mood lighting to tell Lois he loved her ffs. He feels unrealistically good because he kinda is. He doesnt do anything a normal person can do the whole movie except his emotional capacity. All the other realistically accomplishable goals are done by people who are normal or is hawkgirl or Mal Reynolds with a green lantern ring. Mr. Terrific is a normal person who is the guy Iron Man thought he was.

Everything is blown to an extreme and abnormal proportion to show that the Alien isnt the point. The big tanks and evil dictator and creep with a glass block prison and a chip on his shoulder arent the point.

Its that there are corporations who own private prisons. And those corporations are staffed by people who arent the evil supervillain and they enjoy their jobs making them complicit in the evil ICE. its that caring for nature is important. Its a woman with a crappy car is worth helping in a way she feels safe regardless who she is. Its that kids have come to america every goddamn day for 300 years with no control of the fact that they are here cause there is a chance they may have a better life here than where their parents grew up. Its that families are being rooted from their homes and countries every day for decades now with no help in sight but the regular person can help somehow even if its just calling your senator or donating or passing along ways others can do it. And this movie says it in a way that makes sense to every age group.

The kid with the flag prays for superman. Superman doesnt come. Superman is fixing a ridiculous issue that would never happen in the real world. Who shows up are his friends. People who are all very different and have arguments with each other but show up for superman cause he tries with all of them. Superman is nice to all the people he meets and only freaks out when Krypto gets hurt. and even then he just does property damage. There is a quote from Parks and Rec that has stuck with me for years now: "Leslie knope gets every favor she asks for because she only uses those favors to help people and never herself" Green Lantern is an ass. Hawkgirl likes her job but is bored at best and over her coworkers. Mr Terrific has the patience of a saint while also kinda being a dick himself. All of them rally behind Superman because they think hes worth it even if they wont say so. You can do good even if it isnt exactly how youd want the task to go. A soup kitchen is a soup kitchen no matter who staffs it if every person there knows the point is to get people fed.

Lex Luthor is all the evil in the world

Superman is all the good in the world

one has people who work for him the other people who work with him. Superman wins because people decide the good in the world is worth working towards even though there is a black hole eating the earth because they have hope in the good.

everybody say "thank you superman 2025 for bringing truly irredeemable villains back with lex luther!"

he is a cold blooded killer. he has pathetic tantrums and throws pens on the floor. he only wears black. he delivers a fantasically evil villain monologue. he cries pathetically when beaten. his motivation is not related to some tragic backstory, but is simply jealousy twisted into something so deplorably evil. he is bald.

this movie really is All That™️ and then some.

[lisafrankgojo]

SUMMA CUM LAUDE

academic rival mean!sukuna fucks good student fem!reader stupid

⟢ 18+ MDNI ⟢ 3.4k ⟢ cw /// coercion, spit kink, heavy degradation kink, humiliation kink, public sex, p slapping, p in v sex, rough sex, dirty talk, squirting, unsafe sex, cream pie

a/n: im sorry, i really really am. i clutched my pearls and my rosary the whole time bc i was SCARED, this one's kinda intense so please proceed with caution

❀🂭 ⛩ 🂭❀ ….. ❀🂭 ⛩ 🂭❀ ….. ❀🂭 ⛩ 🂭❀

you've never actually spoken to ryoumen sukuna, only hated him from afar. his stupid pink hair, his stupid baggy clothes, and his stupid fucking face. it all makes you want to rip your hair out at the root.

you're in the same advanced chemistry class, live in the same apartment building, study at the same library, frequent the same coffee shop. It pushes creepy, to the point that he could even be following you. wherever he finds you, he brings annoyance with him, and leaves a bad taste in your mouth when he goes.

you both sit in the front row in lecture, opposite sides, and practically race to raise your hands first every time a question is asked. you exchange glances across the room every time either of you gets a question right, every time you're handed back a test with a perfect score. even when you win, he's still so smug. like he's satisfied just to have your attention. it's fucking infuriating.

and so, its because of your stupid little unspoken rivalry that you find yourselves alone in the library at half past three in the morning, studying at tables on opposite sides of the room. you refuse to leave until he does, you can do this all fucking night. the only question is, can he?

so far, it seems like he could— that is, if he wants it as much as you do.

you look down at the numerous empty energy drink cans scattered amongst the sea of notes, flash cards, and textbooks. your head is in your hands as you try to focus, and you'd never admit it out loud, but you feel yourself fading fast.

your eyelids feel like they're made of lead and your head starts to sag between tense shoulders. you don't even realize when you nod-off. it only feels like a moment, like you only blinked, but you're startled awake by the sound of rustling paper and a zipper being closed.

your head snaps up with glassy eyes to look across the room where sukuna is packing up his things and swinging his backpack over his shoulder. he stands, pushes his seat under the table, and heads toward the exit behind you. you jolt awake, quickly shuffling to make it look like you're wide awake, like you weren't just on the verge of r.e.m.

he walks right by you, no more than a few feet away from the edge of your table, and doesn't even spare you a glance. fucking asshole. he looks tired, the bags under his eyes more pronounced than usual. you know that you don't look any better.

at least, now that he's gone, you can finally focus. well, at least for a few more minutes— long enough so that he'll be far away by the time you call it a night.

what you don't foresee is the sound of footsteps approaching from behind you not even two minutes later.

he stands at the edge of your table for a few awkward seconds before he clears his throat.

"hey." his voice. it shocks the sleepiness right out of you.

"hey." he smirks down at you when he hears the scratch of sleep deprivation in your voice— he wonders how much worse it would sound with a cock shoved down your throat.

"they, uhh," he points over his shoulder with a thumb, "they locked us in."

it takes you a few moments to really process the words. they bounce around inside your hollow skull while you try your best to decipher what he's saying. he can see the gears turning, and wipes an open palm down his lower face to hide a toothy grin.

"the door. we're locked in for the night." he's setting his backpack down and pulling out a chair before you can stop him. he turns it around and sits in it backwards, then wraps his arms around the backrest. his biceps flex in the short sleeves of his t shirt as he rests his chin on his forearms, eyes locked on yours.

"okay? there's plenty of couches to sleep on." you point a finger to the other side of the library, "over there."

"that's okay, i'm fine here." your dismissal goes right over his head, that or he chooses to ignore it. he looking at you like he can see into your soul, like he can see every thought running through your mind. he tilts his head, feigning confusion. "am i not welcome?"

you can't bring yourself to lie. you sigh, then —"no, you can stay." he notices when your gaze lingers too long on his lips on the way back up to his eyes. they just look so soft. you shake the thought out of your head as soon as you realize its there. ew.

you try your best to ignore him, to ignore the way he's eyeing you, canting his head a few degrees farther to look you up and down. he's not even trying to be subtle.

"are you just here to distract me? is that it? i bet the door isn't even actually locked."

"oh, am i distracting?" his obviously fake concern isn't cute, and he doesn't even try to hide the it— he knows exactly what he's doing to you. you only groan and try your best to keep your eyes on your notes. all the variables and equations are starting to look like alphabet soup dancing across college-ruled lines.

you dig your palms into your eye sockets, a futile attempt to polish away the fatigue.

there's no point in even trying anymore. you're stuck here for the night regardless, and to make matters worse, you've got a cocky asshole for a cellmate.

you sigh, finally accepting defeat as you close your textbook for the final time this semester, then look back over at him. you catch him trying to peer down the front of your top, he doesn't even bother pretending to be ashamed.

"you don't like me, do you?"

your answer comes immediately, even quicker than you expect it to. "what's there to like?"

"geez, what's got your panties in a bunch?" it's obvious to him that you've pondered this question before. you've thought about him? little victories.

"my panties are not in a bunch." the way your face scrunches up in useless anger is so cute. he wonders briefly what it would take for you to let him fucking ruin you like you clearly need so badly. no matter how hard you try to hide it, he can still see right through you.

"whatever you say, princess" you can't help it, you shove at his bicep, probably not as hard as you should. he doesn't budge.

"don't fucking call me that." this guy is going to drive you up a wall, how are you supposed to last all night? at this point, you're seriously considering just pulling the god damn fire alarm.

"what should i call you then?" you choose not to answer and he doesn't ask again. "okay, princess it is."

"do you get off on this or something?" your sleep deprivation is speaking for you now.

"this?" he gestures between the two of you, perhaps you should've been more specific. "and what would you say this is? in your professional opinion." you should kick him in the shin or something, anything to knock that shit-eating grin off his face. still, you come up with nothing, unable to put your tense non-relationship into words.

"well, if i didn't know better, i'd say you get off on this" the fatigue leaves your body like a vacuum.

"what?" you heard him clear as day, you're just hoping it was an auditory hallucination.

"I said, i think you get off on being a spoiled brat, princess." his eyes rake you up and down again, lingering far too long on your thighs and chest. its like he wants you to call him out on it—

"stop doing that." he scoots the chair a few inches closer.

"or what?" your mouth just hangs open, giving him his answer; nothing. "yeah, that's what i thought." the look in his eyes is cold, every blood vessel in your body freezes over. even though you've only known the sound of his voice for a few minutes, you can tell that its gotten raspier.

there's a lump in your throat that tastes like energy drink and jesus fucking christ. your mouth dries up from being open too long, and your tongue slides across your bottom lip in an attempt to wet it before you can catch yourself. he tracks the movement and does the same.

"relax, you're so uptight," another few inches closer, and his voice drops again, "loosen up." he's only looking at your lips, and you find yourself wanting to give in. whats the worst that could happen?

apparently, a lot.

it happens fast, he rises to his feet and sidesteps his chair to stand behind you, then hooks his hands under your arms to pull you up. one second you're standing, the next you're bent over the table, sheets of notes crinkling under your weight as a firm palm presses into your lower back.

"suk-!" he kicks your chair away and steps behind you, pressing his erection against your ass. its fucking huge. you look at him over your shoulder, as best you can at the awkward angle, "oh my god." he grinds forward, lets you really feel him, how hard he is for you.

"feel that?" he's staring at you with a cruel sort of amusement, then leans over you with his other hand curling into the flesh at your waist "i can help you loosen up, wouldn't that be nice?" he tilts his hips and grinds himself up against you again from a lower angle. his clothed cock pushes your skirt between your thighs. the fabric sticks to a wet spot already forming on your panties. he feels the heat there, knows you're already desperate for it, "all you gotta do is ask, princess."

it has been so long since you've been fucked, you've been so focused on classes, you can't even remember the last time you touched yourself. the thought of finally giving in to all the repressed fantasies you'd had about him, even this exact situation, is intoxicating. the hand on your lower back creeps down to the back of your thigh and hesitates there—

"well? ask for it." he already knows that he's won, but he wants to hear you say it, wants to hear how pretty you sound when you finally lose to him. he'd never really cared about your stupid petty rivalry, he'd just thought you looked so cute pissed off.

"pl- please, sukuna, help me." you regret it instantly when his face contorts into something even more conniving, but you forget all your past restraint as soon as his hand moves between your thighs, under your skirt, to cup your pussy.

"theeere you go, you need this so bad, huh?" he's fucking laughing at you now. "don't worry, i'm feeling generous tonight." he hooks a finger in your panties to pull them aside, then moves his other hand around and under you to find your aching clit. you breath out a broken moan onto the table, rustling the notes around you.

"so fuckin' wet already, knew you'd moan like a stupid slut too." you choke on nothing at the switch up in his attitude, like he just got possessed by a demon. his voice is cold and apathetic. you try to push yourself up off the table, but he pins you back down with his body weight, and shoves on of his legs between your thighs to keep you from trying to close them.

"sukuna, what th—" the hand that was cupping you moves to wrap around your face and pull it off the table, completely covering your mouth and jaw.

"you're prettier when you shut up." and you fucking moan. the finger on your clit starts circling with practiced precision. "you sound like a whore but you squirm like a fuckin' virgin. which one is it, hm?" he laughs again when your answer fails to escape from under his palm.

your whole body tenses when he speeds up, then he ruts up against you again, then again, and his breath hitches right next to your ear. your poor neglected clit is so sensitive, practically anything could make you cum after being celibate for this long. you clench around nothing— a string of your arousal stretches from your pussy and catches on your inner thigh and the crotch of his pants. you're so wet, he can barely even keep your clit pinned under his finger as you writhe. "stay still." his chest presses down harder and you try your best to stop moving, "just like that, good fuckin' girl."

he mouths at your ear, breathing heavy across the curvature, and you sqeeze your eyes shut. he's, just, everywhere. it's all too much but still not enough. its like torture, he's got you right where he wants you but still isn't giving you what he knows you need so bad. you try to dig your fingers under the palm over your mouth, fully ready to beg pretty for him, if he'll let you. you manage to make a gap big enough for your pleading to get through.

"sukuna, please, just—" for his own sake, he almost lets you get away with it, but decides against it. he's feeling generous, but not that generous.

"told you to shut up, you too stupid to listen now?" he eases his grip just enough for your reply, and it comes, whiny and pathetic, before you consider the consequences.

"m'too stupid." there's actual silence now and the circles on your clit come to an abrupt stop, and you whine into his hand

"don't worry, i'll fuck some common fuckin' sense into you." the hand between your thighs is gone, and he tightens the grip on your jaw— you're almost thankful for it, at least you can't humiliate yourself like that again. you hear him unzipping his pants and the next second you feel his freed cock throbbing heavy against your cunt. it had felt huge before, but now, you don't even have to see it to know that it's way bigger than you'd thought. you instinctually pull your hips away and yelp under his palm that is quickly getting sloppy with your spit. "what's wrong? scared of some dick?"

uh huh, uh huh you're nodding your head frantically, as much as he's willing to let you, and he snickers in your ear. you yelp, broken and pretty, as he yanks your upper body upright by your face. drool is spilling out from under his hand now and falling onto your notes, making a pitiful mess on all of your hard work. you can't find it in yourself to care.

his cock slides through your folds, parting them and gliding against the underside of your clit. he moans in your ear, rough and low, "fuck, princess." he's shoving your skirt up around your waist then gripping the base of his cock to line himself up with your sopping wet pussy, not bothering to take your panties off. instead, he lets them sit, twisted and soaked, biting into the flesh beside your crying cunt— then, he starts pressing inside maddeningly slow. he doesn't get farther than a few inches before your back is bowing away from him, and you're clenching down like a vice— "relax." it's not a request, and your body obeys instantly, letting him in. "god, still so tight though." the hand not on your mouth reaches around to play with your clit again, and you gasp.

"nnngh—" he shushes you, coos in your ear in a disgustingly condescending way, as he splits you open, hand working your clit expertly. you can't believe it when you feel his groin against your ass, his cock fully sheathed inside you. your chest rises and falls, more drool leaking onto your chest, under your top and into the valley between your breasts.

and then he's moving, hips drawing back before burying himself to the hilt again with a smack. you whine into his hand, it hurts but you can't get enough, you know instantly that you want it, need it, hard. you buck your hips back against him when he starts to pull out again, dragging against your sensitive walls that only try to suck him back in.

you moan, a muffled please, and he's fucking into you like he wants to break you in. its rough and pointed, kissing your cervix with each thrust, its everything you've ever wanted, and its him. he fucks you like he owns you, maybe he does now, like your quickly approaching climax belongs to him. the finger on your clit rubs faster circles for several beats before pulling away and coming back down with a hard smack, and you're crying now. tears well up in from your waterline and wet your eyelashes, spill down your cheeks and soak his palm, and he laughs.

your whole frame shakes against him when he smacks your cunt again, then returns to drawing fast circles where you need him most. you can barely keep yourself upright, knees threatening to buckle under you. you're so close to the edge that it mocks you, just a little longer, just a little more, almost—

the broken sob that escapes you is humiliating when you squirt, and his still moving fingers splash your release everywhere— his hand, his balls, his pants, your thighs, the floor; and his hips don't stop even for a second. "nasty fuckin' bitch, you're makin' a mess." he slaps your clit one more time, then both of his hands are gone. all you can manage is a pitiful gasp, a desperate attempt to get oxygen back to your brain, before he's shoving your upper body back down on the table. more spit soaks your notes and the wood of the table between them, making an obscene sliding noise each time he fucks you farther onto the table.

he braces one hand on your lower back, forcing an arch, and wraps the other around the gusset of your panties and pulls. you cry into the table, mascara running, hands bracing as he holds your hips up with the new leverage and fucks you mean like you deserve it, hard like he wants to tear you in half. his moans echo around the empty library, overwhelming your senses. your own punched out breaths join them each time he pushes you up the table and drags you back on him.

"gonna cum again, princess? i know you are, i can feel it, dirty fuckin' girl." his voice is pushing animalistic now and his precise technique devolves into something filthy and desperate. he's panting, groaning, cruel words falling from his lips like he hates you. maybe he does— if it means he'll fuck you like this, then he can think anything he wants about you, saying anything, do anything.

you cum again with a strangled moan that tears past your tonsils and it almost hurts. you see stars when he buries himself one more time, leaning over you and muttering something in your ear that you miss, you're fucked too dumb and stupid to care. he paints your walls white, lazy thrusts smearing it around inside you and where it leaks out around him, down onto his balls and your inner thighs. you don't even care that he just came inside you, you feel dirty, like a whore, and you fucking love it.

he pulls out and stands up straight to get a better view of his cum leaking out of your slutty cunt, uses a thumb to pull your hole open just a little, pinching your labia against your panties. you wince, but don't protest.

and he leaves you there, fucked out and ruined, but not before giving you a laughably chaste kiss on your cheek, a harsh smack against your ass, and a few parting words—

next time, maybe check if the door is actually locked.

❀🂭 ⛩ 🂭❀ ….. ❀🂭 ⛩ 🂭❀ ….. ❀🂭 ⛩ 🂭❀

tags: @bistrocatxx, @j3llyc4kes, @raveszn, @stargirlforthefics, @spacebabe02

credits /// mdni banner from omi-resources, heart border from enchantthings

[thelazydetectivecat]

Amity parks podcast

I need Amity park after getting exposed by Danny after he made the planet intangible to save them from a meteor to start a TV show or a podcast or they laugh and talk about the things they experienced.

Meanwhile the other cities are getting progressively more concerned by the things they say

Danny: so then the creepy old man cloned me-

Star: ELLIE IS A CLONE?!

Danny: yeah anyways he did that BC I said no to being his son so he decided to make the perfect son using my DNA cuz god forbid someone tells him no!

Paulina: ew gross no wonder he's still single! so that's why you call her daughter. Wait since he technically created her using her DNA doesn't that make him the other parent? damand child support!

Danny: ew no that she only has my DNA I would like to say he's more of the scientist that helped set up the equipment and monitor the test tube baby

Star: did she try to kill you?

Danny: yeah shot but it ain't her fault she was basically a newborn doing what the person she wanted as her dad told her to do! It's the fruitloops fault

Paulina: already better then superman

Star: ... Wait... you had her for less for a year we need to make her first birthday special!

....

Dash: I feel like getting sucked to a whole other dimension or even the glue of it by a tyrant king who wanted to enslave us should be more traumatizing

Kwan: yeah I get what you I mean it was a little traumatizing but it was mostly a villain of the week that was more competent

Lancer: I feel like this is going to be something we're going to tell future generations as they look at us and horror by the amount of things we experienced. Honestly think the parents are having a harder time than the children

...

Sams mom: so what was it like learning your son was a half ghost?

Maddie: honestly? I think I realized how stupid I was the moment he revealed it. Looking back there were obvious signs but we never noticed due to our obsession. I never considered myself more of a failure of a parent then I did at that moment

Jack: as soon as we were in private and realized the amount of times we hurt our son we cried and had a mental breakdown. Maddie do not lie we were not well.

Sam's dad: okay if I may ask what possessed you to give the a concept of time parent ghost rights to Danny? I understand with the yeti doctor but time???

Maddie: Danny is his son by emotion. There's no stopping it and...

Jack: how dare you assume we didn't give jazz ghost parents as well!

Maddie: and...

Tuckers parents: AND?! there's more?!

Jack: they have... 4? No 5 ghost parents I think... maybe more

....

Valerie: Justice league... Yeah we don't talk about them

Reporter: why?

Sam: simple we despise them

Valerie: Sam-

Tucker: it's a open fact in amity. It ain't no secret

Valerie: please dont anger the people who can make us illegal again

Tucker: what are they gonna do? Put us in jail? HA

Sam: Valerie tucker is more of a threat then the league combined

...

Wes: I'm pissed I was right and no one believed me!

Danny: calm down pretty boy I need secrets too you know

Wes: STOP TRYING TO FLIRT WITH ME TO GET OUT OF TROUBLE

Danny: it's working isn't it.

Wes: ...

Jazz: and that right there folks is psychological warfare

....

Jazz: I feel like after everything that has happened I can embrace parts of myself I didn't want to reveal like being a vigilante

Kitty: good for you Jazz! But aren't you worried about a evil version of yourself coming to fight you or the messes that it can create? You're a psychology major!

Jazz: 1 ask Danny. 2 I found out too much too actually be phased anymore. It's amity park. Every week we have a world ending threat that we bs our way out of. We are amity Parker's soon enough they'll find out and won't have the mental energy to deal with it

Kitty: good point

Amber: give us a unpopular opinion on the hero society

Jazz: they should learn to psychology or at least social one to actually understand the victims and how to help them

I just want the Amity parkers to talk about their day-to-day life and sometimes dropping insane lore or disappointment in society and the lack of faith in the heroes. I need them to see the Joker and just shoot him and make sure he doesn't get resurrected or come back as a ghost.

I sort of need the world to just be stunned as they look at the rest of the world and be like "what that's a man with a gun. He's not special"

[flwrstqr]

MY FAVORITE PART ✶ MAKING DOE EYES AT THEM

𝗢𝗥 𓈒 𓈒 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗆𝖾 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾

❪ 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 ❫ ｡ boyfriend!enha x fem!rea ✿ 1OOOwc. ◞ ◟书 fluff established relationship 𝘄 ｡ cursing, skinship, petnames 𝑙’ click ❞

다니 ⦂ hi.. school is starting in a week so.. maybe my last post for the summer

LEE HEESEUNG

“baby, don’t look at me like that.” his voice dips, like you’ve already got him unraveling, and you know you do—because the second you blink up at him with those glossy doe eyes, he’s gone. melted. he groans under his breath, grabs your waist, pulls you right into his lap like he needs you there. “fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “what's wrong, baby?” you whisper, all sweet. “you tryna kill me, angel?” he mutters, nose brushing your cheek. “what?” you whisper, lips grazing his. “i didn’t do anything. i’m just sitting here.” “yeah,” he breathes, smiling like he hates it. “and ruining my life, baby.”

PARK JAY

“you know i can’t say no to that face,” jay sighs for the third time in ten minutes, but he’s already pulling out his wallet, already walking toward the register with whatever you’d pointed at. you barely even asked—just tilted your head, blinked up at him all soft and sweet and boom. done. "my princess wants it, my princess gets it,” he says, half teasing but fully serious, brushing your hair behind your ear as he leans down to kiss your forehead. “anything else, angel?” he murmurs. he carries your things, opens every door, keeps one hand on the small of your back like it’s muscle memory. completely smitten.

SIM JAKE

you don’t even have to say anything—just that sweet look, and jake’s already turning to you, his hand finding yours without a second thought. "what is it, hm? wanna sit on my lap? use your words, baby.” he’s so patient, so stupidly sweet, tilting his head with that smile like he’d wait all day just to hear your tiniest yes. . when you finally nod, his hands are already on your waist, pulling you onto his lap gently. “there we go, my pretty girl,” he murmurs, arms wrapped around you. he’s yours—completely, utterly, and without hesitation.

PARK SUNGHOON

you do it without thinking. those soft blinks up at him, lips just barely parted—and sunghoon exhales through his nose like he’s unaffected, but you feel it: the way his fingers tighten around yours under the table, how his thumb starts brushing gentle circles against your skin. “don’t start,” he mutters, barely glancing your way, but there’s the tiniest smirk tugging at his lips, betraying him completely. he plays it cool, still leaning back in his chair, still pretending he’s listening to the conversation, but his gaze keeps flicking to you like he’s checking if you’re still looking at him.

KIM SUNOO

you blink up at him, lash fluttering, lips ever so pouted. “no,” sunoo says, narrowing his eyes, arms crossing over his chest like he’s trying so hard to hold his ground. "don’t think those eyes are gonna work every time.” but his voice cracks halfway through and you see it. the tiny twitch at the corner of his lips. victory is close. they always work. . “baby…” he sighs, dramatically. he lasts a whole three seconds. that’s a new record. “fine,” he groans, burying his face in your hair, already smiling. “you’re so lucky you’re cute." you grin, tilting your head up, and he kisses your nose with a grumble, already melting into you completely.

YANG JUNGWON

jungwon freezes mid-sentence like someone hit pause. “don’t,” he warns, voice barely above a whisper, already folding. his fingers twitch and in a second he’s brushing your hair back, fingertips grazing your cheek. “you’re so pretty, i can’t even think straight,” he whispers, voice barely there, eyes flickering between yours and your lips like he’s trying to memorize you. you giggle, pulling him closer by the front of his hoodie. “you’re such a sap,” you murmur, but you’re grinning, and he just smiles back, tilting his head as his thumb strokes your jaw. “only for you, baby,” he hums. he’s so, so down bad and he doesn’t even try to hide it.

NISHIMURA RIKI

you do it just to mess with him like you definitely didn’t know what you were doing. riki freezes mid-sentence, blinks once, twice, then clears his throat way too loudly. “okay, what was that,” he says, trying so hard to sound unaffected, but his voice cracks ever so slightly and oh god his ears are red. “don’t look at me like that,” he mutters, turning away like he’s bored, but the way his fingers curl tighter around your waist—it gives him away. "you think that works on me?” he mutters, like he’s not already spiraling. you hum, curling into him with a smug little smile. “i dunno… did it?” “i’m gonna lose my mind because of you, baby.” and he absolutely means it. he’s already lost.

[lalaluna20]

can you write angst for kate martin where she is neglecting reader, but reader is like super famous and everybody would love to be with her? kate notices shes being a piece of shit after an ugly fight, could you do a little bit fluffy in the end?

faults

kate martin x famous reader warnings: neglect, arguing, intoxication word count 4,179 not even lying. if you read through this whole thing, you’re a real one fr.

you were living your dream life, part time content creator, full time social media worker for the New York liberty. the only downside? your girlfriend of 3 years, kate martin lives across the country. no not halfway, actually across the whole. damn. country. but this is year two, so it shouldn’t be as bad as last year…. right?

wrong, from the switch from unrivaled -> injured -> the off season -> the W season, was a lot. you followed kate to florida, working on the lunar owls media team. although you worked on a different team, you were still able to see kate everyday, even living in the same apartment for the first time. when her season was cut short due to injury. you and kate were able to take more trips and dates together.

during the off season for both teams, the two of you would travel back to iowa. kate would train and you would work with the women’s basketball team and some of the other iowa women’s teams.

when it was announced kate was drafted to the valkyries, you helped her move and settle in.

when the preseason came around you went back to New York, as much as you wanted to stay with kate, if there’s a possibility she gets traded to another team and she’ll have to move again, then you’ll be by yourself and out of a good job and area you know and love. Even if you did get a job with the valkyries, there’s a large possibility its not going to be the job you wanted/liked, so you stayed in New York.

now during this whole run, you were still filming and posting. people loved you and kate together, so when you went back to New York you genuinely wondered who was more heart broken you, kate or your fans.

for the first week of preseason you posted a vlog. you highlight your outfits, work and social life balance, and of course how you manage a long distance relationship that has a 3 hour time difference.

“the hardest part about being in a long distance relationship, is that i can’t go visit my girlfriend on a whim. like i actually have to save up at least 2-4 monthly paychecks to go visit kate. aghh this is torture.” you complain on your vlog. your comments usually filled with comments on how cute you and kate are, how long distance relationship suck but are so worth it, etc.

a few day later you posted an insta reel with texted on the screen “i almost forgot the whole point” and it was a series of photos. photos of good morning messages, cute notes, past dates and little facetime videos/screenshots.

katemartin: i love you baby ❤️ i miss you :( pinned & liked by creator username<3: i love you too baby!! i miss you so muchhh :((((

as the season goes on you find yourself looking at your notifications. each day the number of notifications from kate decreased. you’d send her a bunch of reels that would be left on read, good morning texts (adjusted to her time zone) just to get a response 5 hours later. you’d repost her posts and reels, comment, heart it, just to receive nothing in return.

fans started to speculate. “did kate and [reader] break up?” “is kate mad at [reader]??”

fan accounts start to post. “KATE MARTIN CONFIRMS BREAKUP IN NEW INSTAGRAM POST” “KATE MARTIN AND GIRLFRIEND OF 3 YEARS ARE ON THE OUTS” “IS THIS THE END FOR THE IOWA SWEETHEARTS??”

you try to ignore it, you really did. but with the rise of fan speculation, fake reports, and rising dms and comments wanting to take you on a date, it was getting hard to ignore. at this point every other comment was just “can i take you out mama? 😍” or “is it true you and kate are over?? 🥺 i literally love you btw” you knew you need to talk to kate about it. even if you didn’t want to.

kate we need to talk

you hated this. you hated you had to confront her. of course you also did it over text. you couldn’t do it in person, because of your job and expenses. you couldn’t do it over call, because goddamn its hard to confront verbally.

you knew kate would respond soon. she had a free night, no practice, no ads, nothing, she was free tonight. unlike many were speculating, you knew kate wasn’t cheating, but there was still a little voice saying “if she doesn’t respond maybe she is” although you try not to indulge those thoughts.

what’s up baby??

the text throws you off guard, even in the minimal texts between you two, she hasn’t called you “baby” in weeks. you falter a bit, but quickly you focus on the task at hand. “fix communication, don’t get sidetracked” you tell yourself. before sending the paragraph that has been in your notes app for the past month.

over the past month and a half i’ve seen our communication start to slip. our texts, calls, interactions have all decreased. i know you’re busy with basketball and brand deals and i know how exhausting it can be. but i can’t help but to compare it to our interactions from last year. even last year at this time we would still text and call daily. but now you don’t reply to my texts for days, you ignore my posts, and you decline my daily calls. and if you do answer them it’s once a week and barely for 5 minutes. now the whole internet and out friends think we broken up. i know i shouldn’t care what others think, especially the internet. but i’m scared that you do want to break up with me. read at 7:49 pm

kate doesn’t respond for the a few minutes. you could see that she was typing. with every few minutes the 3 dots would appear than disappear.

7:54 pm baby i’m sorry. i don’t mean to ignore you, but i have. at the start i was just exhausted and was telling myself i would respond later when i’m rested. but as time went on that would just become an empty suggestion. but baby i promise, i still love you and would give the world to be with you again. i promise i’ll do better, and please call me out if i start ignoring you again. thank you for bringing it to my attention , i love you baby.

you believed her because usually kate keeps her word. you had no reason not to believe her.

i love you too baby see you at all star weekend

i’ll see you then and i promise i’ll do better

those texts were from a week ago. now it was two weeks till all star weekend and you were already seeing improvement. you and kate were calling and texting daily again. she would repost your content and reply to your comments.

your fans were starting to see a difference. “i’m glad kate and [reader] are taking again” “is it just me or does [reader] look happier??” “i think [reader] is kate’s good luck charm because kate’s game has gotten so much better.”

kate even posted a story of the two of you. it was a face time call. you were eating lunch and later was eating breakfast. with text on the story saying “we may be long distance but we still have meal dates!” “nothing beats a breakfast-lunch date”

you reposted it, with texts saying “it’s a struggle but we make it work😂”

two weeks flew by, and it was now all star weekend. you were there for work, since you were promoting liberty’s social media. while kate was here for a mix of work and relaxation. while you were staying at the hotel the W assigned to workers and players. kate stayed at caitlin’s apartment, catching up on lost time with caitlin and gabbie.

you were excited to see kate again. the two of you had even planned a date night exploring Indianapolis.

when you and kate finally reunited was at the after party on thursday night. kate was the first to post a story. “reunited with my girl ❤️” and in the corner of the screen. “photo credits to @caitlinclark22”

then you posted a story. “with my baby!!!”

fan were excited that the two of you were together again. with posts and edits of the two of you being flooded everywhere. but what fans didn’t see was that kate was practically glued to caitlin all night, leaving you alone to hang out with your liberty girls. mostly izzy and tash since that’s who you’re to closest to. even though you were upset that kate pushed you aside, you couldn’t blame her. even though you should she was catching up with caitlin you understood their connection and understand they needed time to catch up.

as the weekend went on you found yourself feeling neglected an ignored by kate. even izzy getting worried about the two of you. “did you guys get into a fight?” she asked with concern, placing a hand on your shoulder. “n no, she’s just catching up with old friends.” you say reassuringly, yet it sounded more like a pathetic excuse. you try to play it off, telling yourself that you’re just being too sensitive and in your head. especially since it’s your first all stars and this is a new environment for you.

friday night it was the skills challenge, you were filming for media content. making sure to get photos and videos to upload to the liberty’s instagram and tiktok page.

after the game you were going to go to another all stars party with izzy and tash. but you decided to stay back, wanting to meet up with kate before hand. you happily wait for your girlfriend, knowing that this is the way she would exit. you find yourself waiting there for 10 minutes.

hey baby! do you want to meet up before the party?? i miss youu

3 minutes later she responds.

shit me and the girls already left, do you want me to have cait come back and get you?

you felt your heart drop. you felt pathetic and embarrassed. it’s so clear she just wants to be with her friends, she could careless about what you do.

no baby it okay. are you sure? yea i’ll just meet you at the party okay i’ll see you there stay safe ❤️

by the time you got to the party you didn’t even bother finding kate. you look around the room, trying to find izzy. you knew she could always bring a smile to your face.

when you spot her, you walk over to her. “hey [reader]!” she says happily. celebrating her girlfriend’s win. you don’t say a word, just wrap your arms around her waist and hide your face into her neck. a telltale sign you needed comfort. izzy hugs you, placing a hand over your head, as tash comes up, placing a hand on your back. “hey girl whats up?” tasha asks, concern and confusion looking up at izzy. “she’s ignoring you again isn’t she?” izzy asks, not wanting to make you upset even more. just trying to understand the situation. “i waited for her for 10 minutes. just to find out she left… she didn’t even offer to get me, rather just have caitlin get me.” you were genuinely about to cry at this point. tasha was seeing red, while izzy was seeing blue. izzy knew how much you were looking forward to seeing and being with kate. while tash was about to knock some sense into kate, she has this amazing girl and she’s just ignoring her. it’s not like they even dislike kate, they loved her, they got to know her during unrivaled and loved the sweet stories you would tell them.

after a few minutes of comforting you, the coax you into celebrating with the rest of the liberty girls. successfully getting you to enjoy your night.

you decide to head out when izzy and tash decided to head out. izzy needed to be up early tomorrow to spend time with her brother. she couldn’t be too drunk or exhausted. and tash didn’t want her to leave alone.

but once you were about to leave the club, you ran into kate. “[reader]! where have you been? i’ve been waiting for you all night!.” kate exclaimed, placing a hand on your shoulder stopping you right in your tracks. tasha looks at you, the look asking you if you want her and izzy to wait for you. you give her the go ahead to leave, before dragging kate to a quiet isolated part of the club.

“why didn’t you tell me you’re here?” kate asked, there was an edge in her voice, but she was just purely confused.

“didn’t think you would care or notice. so i just went to go find izzy.” you say dryly, trying to stay calm.

“d didn’t think i would care?! [reader] what are you on about?!” kate’s voice starts to raise. she’s usually in control of her temper, but due to being clearly intoxicated, any control is practically gone.

“you’ve been ignoring me al-” ”oh my god [reader]” she groans, interrupting you, “have you ever thought maybe you’re just too needy and clingy. this is the first time i really get to relax and even then i still have to do fucking work. unlike you i don’t get to mess around and still makes thousands okay.” she snaps at you, talking down to you like you’re a little child.

“i’m here for work too kate. you know this.” you fight back tears, feeling invalidated and hurt. your girlfriend had just yelled at you, had just talked down to you like you’re some dumb child. “fine, i may be too needy, too clingy. but at least i’m still trying to keep our relationship going. and fine i’m sorry for i want to be with you. this is the first time i’ve seen you in months and i fucking miss you.” your voice starts to break, your emotions becoming more present with each word.

“goddamnit [reader] the world doesn’t revolve around you. okay people have lives and they can’t accommodate to you. i’m sorry for not being at your beck and call 24/7 but you need to grow the fuck up and realize you’re being too goddamn insecure. we’ve been in a relationship for 3 years, so what if we don’t spend time together for a couple of months! many couples do it for longer and they’re not this fucking immature about it.”

a part of you tells you “she doesn’t mean it, she’s just intoxicated” both the other part says, “drunken words are sober thoughts, you’re just being too much.” you get a salty tear fall down your face.

“fine, i’m sorry for being too clingy and needy, you don’t need to worry about it anymore.” you say, starting to head to the nearest exit, “wait [reader]” you hear kate call out,

you turn around in a flash. “no kate you make it really fucking clear where i stand. you want space, you’ll get space. you didn’t want me to bother you, don’t worry i wont bother you anymore.” you say coldly through tears. you start walking way. not stopping till you’re outside in the cool summer air of indianapolis.

you felt like a stupid teenager again. you didn’t know where this leaves you and kate, are you guys still together but just in a fight? were you guys on a break? or did you guys break up? the last thought only made you cry harder. you were going to order an uber, but called tash instead. rather being safe than sorry.

can you pick me up? yea doll omw stay right there okay

when tash finally picks you up, you sit in her rental car. you stay silent for all of a minute before breaking down. she quickly scoops you up in a hug, letting you cry it out.

saturday morning

you had posted your personal content of all star weekend to your instagram and tiktok. you had also posted a story of you at a local cafe caitlin had recommended to you.

but behind the aesthetic posts and stories, lies the messy aftermath of your argument with kate.

13 new messages from love of my life 💜

good morning baby i love you ❤️

i’m sorry for last nighti was intoxicated and handled things badlynot badly, horriblylike the worst way possible

i know you’re probably hurt and mad at me and i completely understand. how i talked to you was completely unacceptable.my behavior for these pasts months have been completely unacceptable.

i have to get going now but i promise to make it up to you if you’d let me. we could get lunch together? or we could just spend our free time before the all star game cuddling? okay, well let me know when you’re awake i hope to see you at the unrivaled event! love you baby ❤️ read at 7:30 am

throughout the day kate waited, she waited for a response or maybe even seeing you. although she was able to hide it, her guilt was gnawing at her. she remembered everything she’d said, she remembered how you looked. she was so mad at herself, how she acted last night, how she’s acted all weekend, how she treated you for the past few months. she’d promised you that she will change, but 2 weeks just to go back to the same routine, she felt awful. she knew her words meant no value, especially when her actions don’t match her promises.

but as time went on, from start to finish for the unrivaled event, you were no where to be seen.

you in the meantime were doing work. editing photos and videos for your upcoming posts, both for the liberty’s socials and yours. you pondered about exploring indianapolis. but then you remembered that you and kate had planned a date to explore, you felt two different ways.

one part of you wanted to explore. 1. you’ve been wanting to explore indianapolis for a while. 2. you wanted to be mean and petty. you knew kate has been to indianapolis and so what if she isn’t there, it’s not like she’d care.

but the other part of you wanted to wait. you really wanted to go with kate, you had planned a bunch of places you wanted to go to. were they tourist hot spots… yes, but you knew you and kate would have fun. and as much as you would want to be petty and mean. you knew most likely you would just feel sad and lonely.

you ended up staying in your room, because in reality, this work won’t get done if you just wander all day.

close to 11:30 tasha had texted you.

girly you wanna get lunch with izzy and i????? hell yeah!

at lunch you’d posted a reel. the little trend of mama y papa “mami y mama” (love both to death)

while at lunch kate had interacted with all your posts and stories. hearts, reposts, comments.

fans has noticed that you didn’t respond to any of kate’s comments or reposts. “are kate and [reader] fighting again?” “doesn’t [reader] usually respond to kate’s comments in a mere matter of seconds??” “i’m really hoping [reader] is just busy at lunch and nothing bad is happening.” “if kate and [reader] are on the outs do you think i’d have a chance?” “[reader] i could treat you better than kate ever could. please mama one chance 😭”

as time went on, the all star game came and went. before hand you were filming liberty content pregame. then halftime you posted glorilla content, while enjoying the performance caitlin came to hang out with you. she didn’t bring up kate around you, just wanted to be with you. the two of you are still friends, and caitlin hadn’t been able to hang out with you all weekend.

“you wanna get dinner with the girls and i?” caitlin asks just loud enough for you to hear. “um maybe, honestly after the game i just want to call it a night. i’ll come for your all star weekend celebration tomorrow tho.” you say not wanting her to be disappointed. at the end of the day the two of you are still friends and caitlin absolutely hated it when relationship problems impact it. “make sure you get rest tonight then, because i expect to see you tomorrow.” she says with that signature smile. “okay coach caitlin.”

after the game you left with tasha, not bothering to wait or go looking for kate.

when kate caught wind that you’d left already, she didn’t go out with the iowa girls. instead she ordered an uber to your hotel. even though caitlin had offered to drive her.

even with the heavy traffic in indianapolis, she made it to your hotel in a mere matter of minutes.

you had barely just finished settling in for the night, when you here a knock at your door. you begrudgingly got up, expecting tash had forgot something or izzy just wanting to check in on you before bed, maybe decompress with her bestie for the next hour. but when you answered the door, you were met with a blonde. a blonde with a guilt stricken face, and regret ridden eyes.

before you could even process the sight before you, kate had pulled you into her arms. she was holding onto you tightly, like you’d disappear if her hold loosened, even just a little bit. “i know i messed up, i know i’ve been messing up.” her voice was a soft whisper, like if she raised her voice any higher she’d cry. which wasn’t wrong, kate was on the verge of tears. because she knew one wrong word or action, you’d slip away and move on like she was never there. “please… j just let me fix it. i promise i’ll fix it.” she gives you a small kiss to your head. she was gentle, so gentle you almost felt like you were a precious fragile artifact.

before you knew it, your arms were wrapped around hers, your head now nuzzling into her chest, seeking the comfort you’ve been missing so dearly.

that’s how the two of you ended up sitting on the edge of the bed. you in your pajamas while kate was still in her all star fit. her arm wrapped around your waist, while your head was on her shoulder.

a small silence falls between you two. you could tell kate was trying to come up with what to say. not because she didn’t think she was in the wrong, no she definitely knew she was in the wrong. but rather, she didn’t want to say something wrong that will just cause her to lose you.

she sighs “i’m sorry, i’m sorry for how i’ve been treating you these past few months. i fixed up my actions, just to revert back to ignoring you. i can’t believe i got too caught up in my work just to push you aside.” you could hear the guilt and regret in kate’s voice. you could hear the realization in her voice, how each word carried more shame. “and oh god, my behavior friday night was unbelievably. i should’ve never yelled at you, i should’ve never spoke to you like that. intoxicated or not, what i did was unacceptable.”

she gently pulled you away, just enough so she could look you in the eye. when your eyes lock, she’s already trying to read you. trying to read how you feel, if her words hold any meaning to you.

“do you remember how i told you, all i ever want to do in the future is take care of you? well i mean it” her voice comes out shaky. “i really do. i know my action don’t seem like it, but i do. and i promise i’ll make up for how i’ve been treating you. no matter what, no matter how long, or what i have to do i'll make it up to you." and you knew, she meant it.

for the rest of the night you and kate cuddled till you fell asleep. in the morning you woke up to breakfast in bed, and kate in different clothes. ”i had caitlin bring me my clothes and bring us some breakfast. come on, eat up. we have a museum to visit in an hour.” a smile formed on your face. she remembered the date you planned.

after breakfast you got changed and started your date with kate. this time you knew kate was going to fix her act.

and she did, no more ignoring, no more neglecting. she made sure that there wasn’t a day that went by, where she didn’t tell you how much she loves and adores you.

[lululoveyy]

hi can i request a a fic where reader gives sunghoon or jake a footjob under the table in publicc

omg yes thank you for your request!! i hope you'll enjoy it💕

m. list

ᡣ𐭩 pairing: p. sunghoon x reader

ᡣ𐭩 genre: smut

ᡣ𐭩 tw: praise, foot job (over clothes), begging

he's been fidgeting in his seat for the past ten minutes.

adjusting his jacket. crossing, uncrossing his legs. shifting like he can’t get comfortable, but you know exactly what’s wrong with him.

the party is loud, glasses clinking, chatter buzzing, but you and sunghoon have your own little corner. tucked away at a small table, half-hidden from view. the dim lighting does you a favor.

you glance at him over the rim of your champagne glass, lips curling. you lean closer, so he’d be able to hear you, voice sickly sweet.

“you good, baby?”

his eyes snap to you, wide, pupils dark. he swallows hard. shifts in his seat.

he nods, way too fast.

“i’m fine.”

his voice is a little too tight. hands a little too clenched in his lap.

you let your gaze drop and you see it. the outline in his pants. thick and obvious, pressing up beneath the fabric. twitching every time you shift in your seat.

he’s been hard since you walked out of the apartment tonight.

that dress. that slit. your heels.

you’d noticed the way his throat bobbed the second he saw you.

but now you’re both sitting here, alone at your little two-person table, long black tablecloth hanging just past your knees and sunghoon is pressing his thighs together like it’ll do anything to calm the ache.

it won’t.

you lean back slightly, letting your leg slip forward just enough that the slit in your dress parts. the sharp point of your stiletto heel brushes his ankle.

he chokes on a breath.

you smile.

���use your words,” you murmur, voice low enough only he can hear.

he glances around. nobody’s paying attention, caught up in the loud hum of clinking glasses and polite small talk. you’re tucked in the back, mostly out of sight.

his voice comes out broken.

“please, can i— can i feel your heel. just there. a little.”

your heart thuds.

“where, baby?” you whisper, teasing. already sliding your foot up his calf, under the tablecloth. “say it.”

he swallows hard.

“on my cock. please. i’m so fucking hard. it hurts.”

you hum. soft, innocent.

“poor thing. all worked up at my work event?” you tilt your head. “what if someone sees?”

“they won’t,” he breathes. “i’ll be quiet. i won’t move. i swear.”

you bite back a grin, letting your foot drag up further— over his knee, to his thigh. he twitches under you, trying so hard to sit still.

you settle your heel gently between his legs. feel the heat, the pressure. your heel presses lightly over the bulge in his pants. barely there pressure. cruel.

he bites his bottom lip so hard it goes white.

“fuck,” he breathes out, barely audible.

you press a little harder. just a nudge.

“is that what you wanted, baby?”

his eyes flutter shut.

“yes.”

you move cruelly, not rubbing, not stroking, just shifting the pointed curve of your heel back and forth over his bulge. light pressure, maddening friction.

his hands curl into fists on top of the table. his thighs shake.

you watch him try not to react. he exhales a shaky, broken breath. you can tell he’s struggling not to move. not to rut into the soft pressure of your heel like an animal. his jaw’s clenched, breathing shallow, lips parted like he wants to moan but can’t.

you lower your voice to a whisper, teasing.

“you’d come like this, wouldn’t you?”

“from my heel. on your pants. at a work party.”

he whimpers. actually whimpers. but swallows it down fast, looking wrecked.

you press down, just for a second, and his head tips back with a silent gasp. mouth open, eyes wide, throat working.

he’s shaking.

you slow again. drag the tip of your heel across the thickest part of him. he twitches under you, sweat beading at his temple.

“you’re being so good,” you murmur. “so quiet. taking it so well.”

his whole body trembles.

“i can’t” he whispers. “i’m gonna—fuck, y/n”

you pull your heel away just in time. deny him, leave him soaked in his own arousal and desperation.

he stares at you, ruined.

you sip your drink.

“bathroom. five minutes.”

he bolts up so fast he almost knocks over his chair.

- lulu

[rafesteddy]

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪 𝕠𝕗 𝕌𝕤 | 𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝙲𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚗, 𝙰 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢

𝓓𝓘𝓛𝓕!𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝔁 𝓜𝓘𝓛𝓕!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

1.4K

He’s spiraling. Two shirts on the bed, a million thoughts racing through his head, and one girl upstairs who might already own his whole heart.

c/w: language, angst, + anxiety

𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮’𝓼 𝓟𝓞𝓥:

The second I handed her those flowers last night and she kissed my cheek that was it. Game over. I belonged to her.

Not that I’m gonna say that out loud. Not yet anyway… That’s crazy—I… I mean. If she asked. If she felt that way too… I don’t know.

Because if she does, well… I’m—

I guess… I don’t know what I’d do if that’s the case.

It’d be her and I.

And, well…

I can’t think of anything better.

I’m standing in front of the mirror with two shirts laid out on the bed, and I still can’t figure out which one makes me look more like I didn’t try while also looking like I tried.

And her… Holy shit. She’s—Where do I even start?

She’s not like the girls back home. No fake laughs or bikini tops under linen sets. No preventative Botox at sixteen, looking for the next best thing, and a four-carat ring. Some Kook princess who’s final boss is to be bred like some bunny, arm candy with a whole football roster of boys to carry on the family name.

No. No… She’s different. She is special. And somehow that just makes everything harder.

I glance down at the watch on my wrist—polished, heavy, stupid expensive. Dad gave it to me when I graduated high school. “Wear this when you want them to know,” he said.

But I don’t want her to know. Not yet.

She doesn’t even know what Figure Eight is—doesn’t know about the yacht or the house with too many bedrooms, the country club or the island divide. Hell, she probably thinks I’m just another freshman tryin’ to scrape beer money together.

And maybe I like it that way. Because she likes me. Not Rafe with the flashy car and the bank account. Just me.

Still, I tug at the metal clasp of my Breitling, slipping the watch off like it’s burning my skin. I toss it in the drawer. Out of sight, out of mind.

“You’re actin’ like you’re gettin’ married, buddy,” Topper taunts and smirks, watching me completely unravel.

I suck my teeth and roll my eyes, messing up my hair a little in protest. “Don’t worry, Top. You and your hand will have the entire room to yourself tonight,” I shoot back, jerking off the air for good measure.

“Fuck you. I got Anna comin’ over.”

“Anna?” I ask, curious enough to get him off my back.

“Sorority girl,” he sighs blissfully. Topper nods toward the open drawer, not letting me off that easy. “‘Ditchin’ the Rolex? What are we goin’ with?’”

“It’s not a Rolex,” I mutter, which isn’t really the point.

“My apologies,” he laughs. “These aren’t the girls from home, man. You don’t gotta flex—”

“Yeah. I know,” I breathe as I shut the drawer instead of taking out the other, which is exactly what he thought I was gonna do… And I can see the wheels turning.

“You worried about her?” He asks, a little surprised.

“M’worried about a lotta shit, Top. Stop askin’ questions.”

“What?” He says, gaze narrowing. “You worried she’s after your money or some shit? Like a gold digger? Hittin’ too close to home or what—”

My stomach sinks ‘cause that dumbass nails it on the head.

Just a sliver of doubt. But it’s there.

What if my dream girl’s chasing a dream of her own? What if she doesn’t want me, not really, just the version of me that comes with a trust fund and a last name like the girls back home?

What would I mean to her if I lost it all tomorrow?

“She doesn’t know you, Rafe,” he adds, like he’s hearing my goddamn thoughts.

“I know. Thankful for that,” my words barely pass my lips.

“Gotta give her the benefit of the doubt, man. This town’s full of men with money… old men who could take care of her; ball players, doctors, lawyers—”

“Enough,” I chuckle, ‘cause he’s right—but also ‘cause the thought of that bein’ a possibility makes me physically ill.

“She’s a freshman in college. I’m not worried about her bein’ a gold digger or some shit,” I mock him. “We’re just gettin’ to know each other. It’s casual. First date shit,” I lie. And we both know it. “Don’t want her thinkin’ I’m just some douchebag frat boy whose only redeeming quality is my cash—”

“You’re also tall.”

“Fuck off,” I mumble and drop my head ‘cause I’m fuckin’ blushing. What the hell’s wrong with me? “I just met her last night—”

He snorts out of laugh and buries his face in his hands. “Fuckin’ liar, dude—”

“How?” I scoff, shooting him a look.

“You’ve been watchin’ her since day one. Be serious. Subtlety is an art and you, my friend, lack it—”

“Bullshit—”

“Bullshit? Cameron, are you fuckin’ high? Waitin’ at the window like it’s Romeo and goddamn Juliette. Gettin’ all huffy and puffy when her ex talked to her in any way you didn’t like—which was every way mind you. Jumpin’ at the first opportunity you had. Just waitin’ for your chance—”

“Shut up,” I laugh him off.

“I’d call you a stalker if I wasn’t adorable.”

“Not a fuckin’ stalker,” I mutter under my breath.

“Mhmm,” he hums, biting back a laugh.

“And a gold digger? Really?” I mutter under my breath, the thought of this girl—who took flowers from me and already looks like forever—was anything more than someone who said ‘yes.’ Who hasn’t stopped tugging at my heartstrings since the first time I heard her sigh. A sigh… A fuckin’ breath, and she had me. There’s no way this is just some casual first date.

“Jesus, dude, you’re a mess,” Topper’s voice breaks through on a breathy laugh. “Sorry I hinted at your future wife bein’ a gold digger…”

“My future wife…” I mumble as I turn away from the mirror, burying my face in the closet to dig out a sweatshirt to hide the fact that I’m blushing… yet again? She’s ruined me.

“I said what I said.”

“What did that old lady at the club say, huh? ‘There’s no such thing as gold diggers. Women are expensive. You find one in your price range and shut up.’ Even if that’s what she’s after, y’know, it’s fine—”

“She wants you for you, Rafey. Holy shit. You’re like talkin’ to a teenage girl—”

“Stop fucking talking then,” I cut him off and I’m not sure if I’m talking to Thornton or the thoughts in my head because honestly they’re both too loud.

He lifts up his hands in surrender as I grab my wallet, ducking as I walk by, slapping him on the back of the head for good measure.

The door shuts behind me and the thoughts start again, and between that and the banging of my heart in my ears I can barely breathe.

Relax, Rafe…

Stop thinking… Just stop… Just—She’s not like them.

Enough… But it’s hard to ignore the way my shoulders fall and my heart slows when I think about last night.

I mean she’s the whole package. She’s smart, funny, ridiculously pretty, sharp in a way that makes me shut up and listen.

Last night we stayed up way too late, just talking. About family. College. Dumb shit that doesn’t matter and somehow still does.

I didn’t even wanna go to sleep. Didn’t wanna leave that conversation. Don’t want anyone else having it with her but me.

And I wasn’t worried…

I didn’t think about any of that shit I thought about when I was getting ready. None of that shit even existed when she looked at me. Not when she spoke. Not when she listened like that…

She was just her.

She’s perfect.

And somehow, even with all that noise in my head, I find myself standing outside her door again.

In no better shape than I was last night, somehow deeper in the pits of my mind, wading through the sea of my anxiety with my heart in my hands.

She could be the girl I hope she’s not… She could be the girl I saw in front of me last night. She could be using me… She could be the safest, sweetest, best-thing-to-ever-be-mine kinda forever… But right now I’m over thinking it.

I’m finding a way to ruin this before I even get a chance to see her for her.

I’m taking out my trust issues on the one woman who I could very-well trust even more than myself.

I gotta stop.

She’s the start.

Knock. Knock.

I’m trying to answer the asks that are about the beginning of their relationship in a little series 💜 first date is coming soon!

@rafesthroatbaby @babygoddam @cherrywriterrr @chriscroissant @littlelamy @imakeepers-world-blog @rafesbabygirlx @bisexualcvnt @love-4-rafey-lando @slut-4-rafey @prettybabyyyy @maybankslover @rafecameronswhoore @leather-n-velvet @user25786433455 @wtfdudesblog @i-love-dilfs @tatoda @krissy455 @mymelii @angelicameron @chem1cali @missmookie @rafespeach @heyitsmewee @taliescapes @lolasangelz @cokewithcameron @k4yr14 @starkeyjoseph @daddyrafeslittleslut @leviathan0000 @luvrcndy @mrswidowjohansson @vanessa-rafesgirl @sapphiresighs @atpeacee @alexxavicry @sithapprentice @spideysimpossiblegirl @dilflover72567 @esmerai-artemis @littleshinythoughts @apricityxoxo @rafecamlovr @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @boopiesmif @st8rkey @randomdupe @mqndi1

[jackie-q]

I propose a third:

Kalim never speaks up about his feelings for Jamil 'cause he didn't realize he had them until the overblot incident and then kinda freaked out about things like "do I like him or do I like the version of him he's been pretending to be all these years?!?!?" like this man seems the same as always but he really does start to actually introspect and THINK about these things after that (see: DVC Kalim) and instead puts all his efforts into freeing Jamil's family (honestly speaking, he probably ends up being the voice towards abolishing legal slavery all together) and so like they spend their last 2 years of school avoiding each other (they prob had like a big confrontation before this at second year graduation after Kalim managed to get an anti-slavery law instituted and like Jamil blew up at him and told him to never talk to him again) so like the first year they're both kinda in turmoil- Jamil hates himself for having fallen for Kalim and Kalim loves him with all his heart but knows Jamil doesn't want to even look at him and it hurts but he'll bear the hurt if that's what Jamil wishes - Jamil went through so much worse after all - and then in second year the only real change is that Jamil's anger is slowly waning - cause being mad all the time is actually really exhausting - and he has to confront his own complicated emotions about Kalim and like they spend their last year in a strange will-they-won't-they thing where they keep coincidentally ending up near each other all the time and Kalim is trying to respect Jamil's wish for space and Jamil is trying to needle Kalim and trying to provoke him to find another reason to latch onto to fuel his rage and also he thinks maybe the whole "distance makes the heart grow fonder" is gaslighting him into forgetting Kalim's faults and that's why his emotions are betraying him- so he starts showing up where Kalim is and trying to needle him or get him to be obnoxious or something like he always used to be to convince himself that liking Kalim is like the stupidest thing to do ever- but he just ends up falling for Kalim even more cause like Kalim has changed a lot since they last spoke and like he's still bubbly and kinda loud and everyone still loves his radiance - and that last bit still annoys him but for like all the opposite reasons Jamil was trying to find - but like he's also AWARE of all that now? Like watches his volume around Jamil because Jamil said it was irritating and he makes Jamil coffee when he shows up in the same room as him in the dorms even though they both know there had been an unspoken schedule to avoid that possibility the year before and looks him over for injury or declining health in a way that is probably subtle for someone who hasn't been literally trained to respond to the man's every reaction since he could walk. At some point Kalim is basically living rent free in Jamil's brain 24/7-

wow this got long idk I just have a lot of thoughts? I just really love these two and how complicated their relationship can be-

tldr; Jamil is in denial and Kalim is seducing him very thoroughly completely on accident-

There are two Jamil×Kamil dynamics.

[bittybeanscafe]

Oh, They’re So Weird (☉-⚆)

“You recently got laid off of your job. Thankfully, you found an ad on Craigslist that paid quite a bit for you to just housesit! 🍩”

DAY FOUR

Previous Day -> Next day

CONTAINS: Mateo, Betty, Mac, Artt, Keyes, Tyrell, Amir, Telly, Hector, Friar Errol, Luke, Stefan, Freddie, and brief mentions of other objects because of a meeting (Celia, Harper, Dirk, Teddy, Chairemi, and Volt)

A/N: Sorry for the long wait lol. Also, sorry if I was unable to get you in the tag list. A lot of people wanted to be added, so I might have missed a bit. Or I was unable to tag you. I think that might be a me issue but I’m not sure.

You stirred slowly, blinking up at the ceiling with a sleep-heavy haze behind your eyes.

Something was… different.

The blanket was wrapped around you just right. Not too tight. Not too loose. Just firm enough to press into your shoulders, your hips, your chest. It felt like it had weight to it now. Not stifling, just comforting, like a hug that knew when to let go and when to hold you closer.

You didn’t remember it being a weighted blanket when you got here. Had you missed that detail?

Did it matter?

You sighed through your nose, eyes fluttering shut for a few more precious seconds. Your legs shifted slightly, but the blanket moved with you, cradling every angle of your body. You felt… cocooned. Safe.

Unseen and unspoken in the quiet world just beside your own, Betty gently fluffed the pillow beneath your head. Mateo pressed a little firmer into your back, a silent, immovable warmth that grounded your whole body. Neither said anything. But both radiated a quiet, glowing joy.

They were happy.

You were here.

Eventually, the morning tugged you from the bed with soft reluctance. You murmured a half-hearted goodbye to the blanket, maybe you’d even thanked it, and got dressed in something loose and comfortable. Today would be lighter. Or so you thought.

Your first stop was the office. You weren’t even sure why, just that it felt right. Familiar. Like maybe the computer would greet you again with completed work you didn’t remember doing.

You sat in the same chair and booted up the computer. It whirred to life like it was happy to see you. Still fast. Still flawless. Still faintly unsettling.

As you waited for the screen to load, your eyes wandered toward the walls. There was that art again. The framed pieces you had admired on the first day: beautiful, strange, modern in a way that felt too intentional.

You squinted.

Had the eyes on that one always been… turned this way?

You stepped to the side.

The gaze followed.

You blinked, looked at another. Tilted your head.

Still following.

You frowned slightly, a pit blooming low in your stomach. “Weird,” you muttered to yourself.

There was no sound in reply.

Just a low creak behind the walls.

The air felt… different.

Only slightly.

But enough.

You shook it off and sat back down at the desk. The keyboard clicked happily beneath your fingers, and your work loaded again, flawless. Maybe even better than yesterday.

But something inside you, something you hadn’t quite heard since that dream, was beginning to whisper again:

This isn’t normal. You know that, right?

You leaned back in the oddly perfect desk chair and let out a satisfied little huff. “Man, I don’t know how this computer does it, but everything’s done again.” You squinted at the screen. “Seriously. I feel like I should pay you at this point.”

You laughed to yourself. Then…

A white window appeared.

Just a blank screen… with a pixelated smiley face sitting in the middle.

: )

You paused.

“…Okay then.”

It was simple, kind of weird… but not creepy. Somehow. You smiled back awkwardly at the screen and reached forward to shut the computer down. “Glad you’re on my side, mystery machine.”

Inside the humming body of the computer, Mac quietly glowed with joy. Someone had smiled at them. Not mocked or ignored or dismissed, smiled. It was a small thing, but for them? It felt bigger than code.

You headed to the kitchen next, stomach growling. You were too tired to cook anything complicated, so you grabbed the bag of frozen nuggets from the freezer.

“Simple lunch,” you muttered, tossing a few into the air fryer.

Minutes later, a soft ding announced they were done.

You opened the fryer and paused. The nuggets were… perfect. Crispy on the outside, tender inside. The exact golden color you liked. You blinked at them.

“You didn’t do too bad,” you mumbled, poking one with your fork. “Thanks?”

From beyond the veil of your reality, Friar Errol tood tall in his metal shell, glowing with righteous smugness.

“And lo, did I say unto thee, ‘be not tempted by the false idols of soggy heating!’ For Stefan burneth, and Luke scorcheth, but I? I crisp with divine balance!”

“Convert now, dear child, and I shall lead thee to salvation: perfectly golden, perfectly seasoned.”

From across the room, Luke buzzed in irritation.

“Excuse me?! I reheat with consistent internal temperature! Not everything needs to be rung out like a towel, holy man.”

Stefan flicked his burners.

“I may get a little zealous on high heat, but at least I cook like a real appliance. You’re nothing but a glorified hair dryer with a superiority complex.”

“Silence, flame-born sinner!” Friar Errol bellowed back. “You turn chicken into ash and pizza into charcoal! I deliver divine crunch!”

Meanwhile, sweet Freddie gave a quiet hum of happiness when you opened the door.

The drink inside? Perfectly chilled. Not frozen. Not warm. Exactly how you liked it.

You took a sip and sighed. “Okay, kitchen… you’re really pulling it together today. Gold stars all around.”

In the cold hum of his little world, Freddie practically wiggled in delight.

“I’m just happy to be of service!”

After lunch, you walked into the living room with your cold drink in hand, planning to relax a bit before heading back to the office. You passed by the piano on your way to the couch, glancing at it the same way you always did, politely, like one would nod at an old neighbor you don’t really know.

But then, the keys moved.

Just one or two at first, like a fluke. But then they played again. And again. And before you could process it, a familiar melody began to echo gently through the room.

Your favorite song.

You froze.

No one was near the piano.

You turned in a slow circle to make sure.

Still alone.

“…Okay. That’s not weird at all.”

The music continued, soft and sweet. Like it wasn’t trying to show off, just please you.

Deep within her elegant wooden frame, Keyes smiled to herself as her keys danced smoothly.

“Such sophisticated taste,” she whispered to no one but herself. “I knew it. I knew it. And to think, I wouldn’t have known had Curt and Rod not mentioned the humming. They listen so closely. I owe them so much.”

She played the last few notes with extra care, like placing flowers at someone’s door.

After shaking off the piano thing, kind of, you dropped down onto the couch and grabbed the remote. A little TV wouldn’t hurt, right?

You clicked the power button.

The screen lit up. Instantly, a show started playing. Not just any show, that show. The one you’d been meaning to start but hadn’t gotten around to. Weird coincidence. You changed the channel.

Another show you had mentioned offhandedly. Then another. Then one you’d forgotten you wanted to watch.

You lowered the remote slowly. “…Alright.”

On the other side of the screen, Telly nearly buzzed with excitement, their static heart fluttering.

“Only the best for our favorite viewer!” they chirped. “No subscription fees, no commercials, just curated perfection. You’ll see! I’m better than any streaming service! I know what you want before you do!”

You stood up, shaking off the weird feeling starting to press in behind your ribs. “Okay… maybe I just need some fresh air.”

You passed through the hallway, and the mirror you caught your reflection in? Your face looked really good in it. Not like a normal mirror. Like the perfect lighting, perfect angle, perfect everything.

“You look your best with me, azizam,” Amir whispered from behind the glass, his frame humming gently with pride. “I only show you what you deserve to see.”

In the bathroom, your toothbrush had already been loaded with paste. The water was the exact temperature you liked. The towel rack had the fluffiest towel folded on top, just for you.

“I fluffed it twice,” said Tyrell. “Just in case once wasn’t enough…”

Even the hallway lights dimmed when you squinted. Brightened when you leaned in to check your phone.

The objects weren’t just helping, they were observing. Adjusting. Learning.

You sat down on the couch again and gripped your cup a little tighter. This was nice. Very nice. A little too nice.

You weren’t sure when it started feeling like the house was… watching.

Not in a bad way. Not yet.

But you could feel it now. Something behind the warmth. Behind the comfort.

You took a sip from your drink.

“…What is this place?”

And though no one answered, the house practically held its breath.

After dinner and a few more eerily perfect episodes of your favorite show, you decided to turn in early.

The minute you stepped into your bedroom, the air shifted. The temperature? Exactly how you liked it. Not a single degree off. The sheets? Warm but breathable. The blanket, just weighted enough to anchor your limbs without crushing you.

You blinked.

“Okay… now I know it wasn’t this comfy on day one…”

“That’s because you’ve been adjusted,” muttered a voice, though only just outside your perception.

Behind the vent, Hector sat in the dark of the central panel, staring at your sleeping figure through the vents like a Victorian man seeing his muse for the first time.

“They’re perfect,” Hector whispered reverently. “So considerate. So grateful. So warm-blooded.”

“I calibrated every degree to match their soul. Their SOUL!”

You drifted off to sleep fast, your body practically melting into the bed.

And once your breathing evened out…

The house began to shift.

Not physically (they weren’t trying to scare you… yet), but in a low hum of gathering energy, of quiet footsteps, of whispers through pipes and vents and sockets.

In the ethereal echo of the object world, Mayor Celia stood on her platform, a clipboard in hand, heels clicking on the polished marble floor that didn’t actually exist. Her glasses perched perfectly on her nose, her blouse wrinkle-free despite being conceptual.

“Okay, meeting of the household objects, let’s come to order!” she barked with a sharp smile. “Topic of the hour: the house sitter. Or as Hector has called them: ‘my thermal twin flame.’”

“I stand by it,” Hector muttered, arms crossed, a small space heater clutched dramatically to his chest.

“You’re so embarrassing,” Rebel groaned, flopping over a chair back. “You need therapy. A fan. Something.”

Telly raised a hand. Their screen face was showing a soft blush emoji.

“I…I would like to state for the record that I’ve never felt this seen before. They watched three shows in a row. THREE. They even LAUGHED. At ME.”

“You’re a TV,” said Stefan, who was trying to light a cigar with one of his burners. “Laughing at you is kinda your job.”

“Blasphemy,” Friar Errol hissed. “The house sitter has chosen us. Clearly, they’ve seen the light. The light of the righteous fryer path.”

“Don’t you start,” snapped Luke, slamming his door dramatically. “You’re not the only appliance in this kitchen, grease boy!”

“Grease boy? How dare you, wretch!” Friar Errol fumed.

Keyes twirled a spectral music note through her fingers. “I played their favorite song. Did anyone thank me? No. Because I’m not in the kitchen and I don’t toast bread or confess sins through oil.”

Amir checked himself out in himself.

“Oh, please. I’ve been holding their insecurities together with glamour and good lighting. The rest of you just feed them.”

“Okay, okay, settle down,” Mayor Celia said, rubbing her temples. “We’re getting off track. The house sitter is clearly-“

“A GIFT TO HUMANITY,” Hector interrupted, his voice echoing through a heating vent. “I would lay down my circuitry for them.”

“Same,” muttered Freddie, who rarely spoke in meetings but had been secretly glowing just a little extra every time the reader opened him.

Celia clapped once.

“Focus! We need a plan. We’ve been slowly revealing ourselves in little ways: temperature, food, comfort, music. But they still don’t know we’re alive. And if we scare them too much-“

“-they’ll leave,” Volt finished solemnly.

The room fell quiet.

Then, from the back, a soft beep: Mac shyly displayed a smiley face on their screen.

“They smiled back at me today,” Mac said, their tone gentle. “I think… they’re starting to feel it.”

Everyone went quiet again.

Then:

“I think we should let them find one of the letters,” whispered Teddy.

“No!” Harper shouted. “It’s too soon! They’ll freak out!”

“Better to let them know than make them feel tricked,” Dirk said, arms crossed.

“How about we just… drop a hint?” Chairemi offered. “Like, subtle. A post-it note that blinks.”

“You are not allowed to do anything with lights,” Mac grumbled.

Mayor Celia cleared her throat, voice firm:

“We vote. Raise your hand if you agree that we start nudging them more directly, just enough to let them know… they’re not alone.”

Almost every hand (or equivalent) rose.

“Very well,” she said, writing something down. “Tomorrow, we begin phase two. Meeting adjourned.”

Back in your bed, warm and safe and perfectly regulated by an emotionally attached HVAC system, you shifted in your sleep as a dream drifted in.

A dream where the house was alive.

And it was smiling.

Tags: @nightlark100 @stinkyboyfaliure @darlink-xoxo @pumpkincitrus @sweetly-sicken @owihitmyhead @emiko-chan-the-clown @glitch-05o2 @theblackberry @moonjellyfishie @irethepotato @shadowlover321 @gonegonethankyouuu @eternityofend @leathesimp @viennarambles @littlesliceofcheese @blu-brrys @ecao @hallahella @call-me-nyxx @hhhyperbole @goldebloom1977 @kittenlover614 @fearthefrostbyte

[lostrologyy]

feral for himbo!james and reader who are supposed to be studying but end up fucking in the back of the library

fucking himbo!james at the library*. ⋆

cw: smut. oral (fem!receiving). piv. unprotected sex. public sex. cursing. creampie. begging?. degradation if you squint. clothed sex. lmk if i missed something!

a/n: thanks for requesting, lovely<3 hope you enjoy and remember english isn't my first language!

you should’ve known he wasn’t going to study the second he sat down with that look on his face. honestly, it was obvious. his brows were pinched together with that face he uses when he doesn't get his way, his sweater sleeves pushed up his forearms like he wanted to kill you without touching you.

james has exactly two things in his brain at any given time: you, and your tits. the open textbook in front of him might as well be written in parseltongue.

“I can’t focus,” he whines, slumping dramatically in his seat. “your tits keep moving when you breathe and you smell so good and—fuck, baby, this is torture.”

you don’t even look up from your notes. “that’s the point of the library, james. to study and suffer. quietly.”

“I’d suffer a lot better if you sat on my face.”

you almost drop your quill.

“james.”

“what?” he says, blinking at you like a puppy who’s never done anything wrong in his life. “I’m being serious. we’ve been here for almost an hour. you haven’t let me touch you once.”

“that’s because we’re here to study.”

“I am studying,” he says, standing and grabbing your hand. “studying you.”

he drags you into the back row, one of those dead aisles that hasn’t been reorganized in ages, and cages you against the dusty shelves.

“you’ve been bouncing your leg for ten minutes,” he breathes, nose brushing your cheek. “drives me fuckin’ crazy, you know that?”

“james, someone could see-”

“then be quiet,” he says, already sinking to his knees. “or shut me up.”

and then he's there, lips pressed to your inner thigh, hands pushing your skirt up around your hips, mouthing at your cunt through your underwear like he needs it.

one slow lick, hot and wide and messy, and your knees nearly give out.

“oh my god,” you whisper, biting your knuckle. “jamie-”

"not james anymore, huh?" he smirks.

you tug his hair, making him groan before his mouth goes back between your legs.

“been dreamin’ about this all day,” he mumbles against you. “wanna make you cum right here. right fuckin’ now. let me, baby. please, please.”

his tongue finds your clit, swirling slow at first, teasing you. then faster and firmer, sucking until your hips are jerking forward and you're grabbing the shelf behind you to stay upright. his arms wrap tight around your thighs, anchoring you to his face. you feel him moan when you grind down on him, shameless and slick and desperate.

and then he groans, muffled by your cunt. “come for me. come in my fuckin’ mouth.”

the orgasm hits you in a dizzying, trembling rush, your legs start shaking, your whole body curling in as you try not to cry out. and he just keeps going, tongue soft now, licking you through it, practically whining with how good you taste.

you slump back against the shelf, completely ruined.

“turn around,” he says, getting on his feet and yanking the zipper of his pants down.

you barely have time to grab the bookshelf before he’s pushing into you from behind, his thick, pulsing cock stretching you open with one deep, filthy thrust.

“fuck, yes,” he groans, hands gripping your waist. “so fuckin’ tight, baby. still so wet from my mouth. you like being my little library slut?”

you whimper, grinding your hips back into him. “yes. yes, jamie, please.”

he ruts into you like he can’t help it. like something in his brain short-circuits the second he’s inside you. it’s frantic, dirty, loud. the sound of skin slapping, shelves rattling, his hand clamping over your mouth when your moans get too high-pitched.

“wanna ruin you,” he pants in your ear. “wanna fill you up, make you drip all over these books. fuck you so hard you can’t walk back to class.”

you can’t speak. you’re shaking, coming again without warning—this time around his cock, spasming around him as he keeps thrusting, frantic and desperate.

“shit—fuck, I’m close, come with me, baby, wanna feel you come on my cock, please.”

and you both fall apart together.

you cry out into your palm. james groans against your shoulder, hips stuttering as he spills inside you, cock twitching as you pulse around him. he ruts into you through it, milking every last drop, every last wave.

then you collapse, bent over the shelf, dripping and breathless, your legs barely holding you up.

he leans forward, pressing kisses down your neck, still buried inside you.

“best study session of my life,” he mumbles.

you wheeze. “we didn’t study.”

he smirks, kissing your temple. “nah. but I still learned something.”

"what?”

he pulls out slow, admiring the mess. “that your cunt is way better than anything in that textbook.”

lostrologyy © 2025.

[ablobwhowrites]

Yandere dc idea once again

(I SWEAR I HAVE A GOOD REASON FOR THIS IDEA PLEASE HEAR ME OUT GUYS!! Also made some changes to make this idea kinda original for a y/n but is heavily based on tenna from Deltarune.)

Image a ant tenna villain y/n who was once a popular TV host but disappeared after his partner disappeared from the show as well. It was a very popular show and everyone didn't know why it suddenly stopped until it came on again but y/n was different as now sporting a red suit, yellow tie as the old suit is gone as the new and more popular y/n is the new star of the show! (The TV head tenna has is also on y/n cause I like tenna a lot. And I kept y/n being fucking huge but can change his size because I like that being one of Tennas power he can do. ) The show airs only when y/n is able to get new contests with new challenges and old popular ones as well but most likely having y/n on camera.

Tenna y/n: "What TV host, past or present, have you had romantic fantasy about?"

Civilian pressing the buzzer: "Y/n."

Tenna y/n: "watch yourself-"

*board showing y/n's name as #1*

Tenna y/n: "#1!? WHAT!?"

Y/n is a villain and has his 'staff' take people to participate in his game shows even gets fanmail as he never hurts his guest oh no no, he loves his fans and the attention that his fans give him but of course having innocent civilians being put on his game shows is concerning for the heros as Batman comes to save the civilians but ends up being put on the game show as it will boost the ratings! Y/n's staff is his old crew that stayed as y/n changed a lot as he treats his staff well after y/n worked on himself after his old co-host just left so everyone loves the new y/n.

The new 'crew' are just other goons and henchmen of other villains that kinda went over to y/n as he's changed and gotten better but has become a bit obsessed with views and what will make the people happy to watch his show that it kinda concerns the new and old crew as y/n is a nice boss and all but seeing y/n basically mumble to himself a lot and the scattered paper on the floor with the blue light emitting from his screen face that is glued to the papers of new ideas for challenges.

Tenna y/n: "OH! we have some fanmail! Time for our! FANMAIL SEGMENT! now let's see what we have."

*opens letter and clears his voice*

Tenna y/n: "Dear, Mr Y/n. Please take off your coat and let's see those wire-...Okay let's cut to commercia-"

I love to think y/n has abandoned issues to the point that when the cameras are off that one crew member kinda stays around y/n as he kinda isn't good on his own as the whole rebuilding himself after the separation of him and his co-host. Y/n is afraid to be forgotten, he doesn't want to be alone again after so long the people love him again, the heros, the villains, the civilians. All love him yet they all see this host side, always cracking jokes and keeping the guest entertained but alone. Y/n wants someone with him, he wants someone close again to make him feel seen again and not always having to be in a post light to feel right but y/n doesn't know that the people are obsessed with him really.

Y/n has had the heros and villains on his game shows as well as the bat kids who did have fun on y/n's show but Damian was kinda a smart ass to y/n half the time and was pulled off stage with those comical long wooden hooks and yanked off stage once. (He was put in time out.) Y/n's show works kinda like regular games shows but kinda also a lot like game changer show type of challenges as well as steve Harvey kind of segments here and there as the bat kids say honest answers as then there's Damian who has a stool to be able to be to even be seen over the stands.

I also like the idea of the bat kids liking y/n a lot because they find it fun being on y/n's game show as even if he's a villain, he's kinda those villains you don't really worry about but still are very present in villain life style.

Tenna y/n: "Now my contests! Say cheese for the camera cause your our new show winners!"

The bat kids: "Cheese!"

Damian: "mozzarella."

Tenna y/n: "...listen kid, your getting on my last nerve."

Damian: "I thought you were a TV."

Tenna y/n: "...Your not getting the prize candy for the participating prize."

I also do image the justice league appears here and there as the one who comes back a lot is flash, superman and somehow martian man hunter. Y/n loves to see the ratings go up when having such big names on the show. Y/n also kinda stresses out because flash comes up with the most random shit when it's the guessing segment of the show.

Tenna y/n: "Who would you kiss If you'd had a cha-"

*both buzzers go off*

Flash: "SHOW HOST Y/N!"

Civilian: "DAMNIT!"

*y/n looks straight at the camera as the board dings correct.*

(Anyways! Hopefully you guys like this and if you want more please don't be shy and request any ideas for stories or y/n's you have! But for now please stay safe and drink water!)