#mic is in his element

[tobylovesick]

Rave dj mic and his somewhat supportive husband

[metamatronic]

The “purely ghost” characters (i.e. character not attached to a specific animatronic) are always interesting to me—namely, what does possessing a computer or phone look like? I like to imagine they have their own little mind palaces they retreat to, and they all look different based on what they’re possessing. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[kiynania]

I haven't posted Ninjago here in a while sooooo

I haven't seen no one has drawn her powers like this

Anyways this was my inspo

You can't tell me using water like that isn't badass you just can't

[novena-proxy]

sometimes I wish there were more fics about mic that's just about him. He's in alot of fics but he kinda just cameos as aziawas huband/boyfriend and i want fics that focus on him outside of his relationship to aizawa.

[mightaswelljxmp]

hm ok so interestingly, bdubs’s courthouse is built on an odd number of blocks. note the roof of the facade coming to a point, but more importantly, the nine pillars….

you don’t use an odd number of pillars. like ever.

let me get this out of the way first: i get why you’d build with odd numbers in minecraft. i usually do it myself, to not run into problems like double doors or two-wide pointed roofs or frustrating spacing/symmetry between decorative elements. however. to not even out the design of something so unequivocally done in every other example of columns and pillars…. fascinating implications…

every other example guys. every other building with columns like this has an even number of them.

doing so sets the line of symmetry at an invisible point between two pillars, an even number on each side. but an odd total number of pillars makes the central pillar itself the line of symmetry. this does a couple things.

one, it upends the sense of community and equality. which i know sounds crazy, but really, a group of columns are all put there to hold up a structure. there’s no focus on one because they are all are working as supports.

symbolically, at least when first used in ancient greece, pillars represented people. and it makes sense for courthouses, especially, to want to show an even, fair, equal number of people on each side. no focus on any one, no inherent bias right off the bat just looking at it.

with an odd number of pillars, though, one will always be placed front and center.

and THEN. and then you walk in the courtroom itself (also odd-numbered blocks) and you are immediately opposite the judge, bdubs, located exactly centrally. and true, courtrooms are often set up like this anyway. but bdubs ups the ante and reaffirms that no, focus is on him by staging it all as a daytime court show, boom mic just over his head, cameras pointed in, spotlights on him.

literally by design, it was not built for justice. it’s built for show, for entertainment. and just look at the credits to know exactly what sort of message you’re supposed to be getting from this show.

the biblical story he used, with king solomon. it’s about king solomon. isn’t really about the trial itself, or the babies, or the women. it’s about showing (off) how wise and just he is. that’s the point. hm. interesting.

now, getting to the second point that etho also picked up on: it feels like a prison.

it’s not just the color palette. when your eyes naturally draw to the center point, you aren’t seeing an open space. instead of feeling like an arch or gateway or otherwise some kind of opening, the pillar there makes it feel closed off. the overall effect is that of prison bars. not pillars lining the entrance to a place of order or a temple. bars of a cage, a cell.

imagine the lincoln memorial were set up with 11 or 13 pillars. he’d look so much more trapped in there.

having a central pillar blocks the entrance. it’s not welcoming. you have to go around it; it’s immediately inconveniencing you. and when you go to leave, it’s there blocking you again.

this courthouse was not designed and built to be fair, nor accomodating, nor equitable, on any terms. even if unintentional, i wouldn’t call it so much coincidental as i would… subconscious.

after all, y’know. form follows function.

[sixeyesonathiel]

cw: dubcon, non-con elements, somnophilia, manipulation, codependency, obsessive behavior, jealousy, netorare themes, explicit sexual content (penetrative sex, oral, fingering, degradation, breeding kink, choking, spit kink), voyeuristic surveillance, panty theft, dacryphilia, power imbalance, emotional abuse, forced dependence, explicit language, 18+ only, minors DNI.

rich boy roommate satoru who’s the sole heir of the gojo conglomerate, a silver-spooned prince with eyes like shattered sapphires and a grin that cuts deeper than any blade, born into a world where desire is a currency he spends without thought, yet starved for something real beneath the polished veneer of his charmed life. his penthouse is a glass cathedral overlooking tokyo, where he throws lavish parties to drown out the silence of his own heart, but it’s the glimpse of you—singing in a smoky bar, fake diamonds glinting in your ears, rented dress clinging to your curves—that snags his attention like a hook in his throat. he books you that night, not for your body, but for the way your sharp tongue slices through his bullshit, offering you a room in his apartment by dawn because he can’t stand the thought of you slipping back into the grime of your world.

rich boy roommate satoru who you meet under the dim glow of a bar’s stage lights, your voice a sultry thread weaving through the crowd, fake earrings catching the flicker of neon as you belt out lyrics about heartbreak you’ve never let yourself feel. he’s lounging in a vip booth, all long limbs and careless charisma, but his gaze locks onto you—not your body, but the defiance in your eyes, the way you hold the mic like it’s a weapon, and when he approaches you after, offering a wad of cash for “just a chat,” you laugh in his face, thinking he’s another rich prick playing games, until his soft, persistent charm and a promise of no strings convinces you to follow him to a quiet diner where he listens, really listens, to your stories of scraping by. by morning, he’s dangling keys to a spare apartment in his building, calling it a favor, but the hunger in his stare when you accept betrays the lie—he’s already weaving a web to keep you close.

rich boy roommate satoru who wastes no time reshaping your world, his generosity a velvet trap as he floods your closet with dresses, silk skirts so short they barely skim your thighs, tops that hug your tits until they spill over, all delivered with a sheepish grin and an “oops, must’ve misjudged the size.” he insists he’ll toss them and order replacements, but you, stubborn and wary of owing him more than you already do, shrug and wear them anyway, oblivious to how his breath hitches, eyes darken when he catches you in the kitchen, your tits practically falling out as you pour coffee. every morning, he tells himself he’s saving you from the life you led before him, erasing the cheap glitter of fake diamonds with real ones—earrings and a necklace that gleam like his wealth, a sparkling collar to mark you as his.

rich boy roommate satoru who can’t stand the thought of you selling yourself to strangers, his jaw tightening when you mention your clients, their sweaty hands and clumsy thrusts, because in his mind, you’re too good for that filth, too pure for the muck of your past. he tells himself he’s protecting you, offering you a job at one of his company’s cushy offices—easy work, fat paychecks—but when you shyly refuse, citing the debt you already owe him for the apartment, his blood simmers, because how can you be so demure, so soft-spoken, when you’re spreading your legs for anyone with enough cash? he masks his irritation with a lazy smile, thinking he’ll mold that innocence into something that belongs only to him, even if it means breaking you first.

rich boy roommate satoru who’s got eyes everywhere, not that you’d ever notice—tiny cameras tucked into the corners of your apartment, hidden in the vase of roses he sent, capturing every moment you think is private. he watches you on his phone at 3 a.m., your silhouette slipping out of a too-tight dress, or your fingers brushing against your panties as you change, and he’s hard as a rock, stroking himself to the sight of you unaware, his own private show. he tells himself it’s to keep you safe, to make sure no one else is touching what’s his, but the truth is he’s addicted to the thrill, to the secret of owning you without you knowing.

rich boy roommate satoru who’s got a habit of slipping into your room while you sleep, the city lights casting shadows over your face as he stands over you, heart pounding like a drum in his chest. he traces the curve of your hip with a featherlight touch, sometimes sliding your panties aside to slip a finger inside you, feeling your warmth clench around him as you stir, half-conscious, thinking it’s a dream. he’s careful not to wake you fully, but the thought of you waking up, catching him knuckle-deep, makes his cock throb, because even if you screamed, he knows he could make you beg for more.

rich boy roommate satoru who’s always stealing your panties, pocketing the lacy ones you wear for clients, the ones still damp with your scent, and keeping them in a locked drawer in his penthouse. late at night, he presses them to his face, inhaling deep, jerking himself raw to the thought of you wearing them for someone else, only to come back to him, his bed, his world. it’s a sick ritual, but it fuels his obsession, a reminder that no matter who fucks you, he’s the one who owns your soul.

rich boy roommate satoru who’s got a silver tongue, seduction dripping from every word when he leans close, whispering how much better he could make you feel than those clumsy johns you service. he’ll catch you in the kitchen, pressing himself against your back, his cock hard against your ass as he murmurs about how he’d eat you out until you’re sobbing, how he’d fuck you so deep you’d forget every other man. you laugh it off, thinking it’s just satoru being satoru, but the way his eyes darken tells you he’s not joking—he’s waiting for the moment you say yes.

rich boy roommate satoru who buys you everything—designer bags, heels that make your legs look endless, perfumes that linger on his sheets—but it’s the diamond necklace he clasps around your throat that feels like a chain. he tells you it’s to replace the cheap shit you used to wear, to make you shine like you deserve, but deep down, he’s marking you, branding you as his creation, his doll to dress up and parade. every time you wear it, he’s reminded of how he’s rewriting your past, making you someone who belongs to him and no one else.

rich boy roommate satoru who’s always touching you, casual but deliberate—fingers brushing your neck when he adjusts your necklace, a hand lingering on your waist when he guides you through a crowded party. he’ll tug you onto his lap during movie nights, his breath hot against your ear as he teases about how you’d look better naked, and though you swat him away, the heat pooling between your thighs betrays how much you crave his touch. he knows it, too, and the smirk on his face says he’s just waiting for you to break.

rich boy roommate satoru who’s got a knack for showing up when you’re with clients, “accidentally” running into you at hotels or bars, his charming grin masking the rage in his eyes when he sees another man’s hand on you. he’ll slide up, all smooth talk and expensive cologne, introducing himself as your “friend” while his grip on your arm screams mine, and the client scurries off, intimidated by the sheer force of his presence. later, he’ll fuck you in his car, rough and possessive, growling about how no one else can have you, his cock slamming into you so hard the seat creaks, leaving you trembling and marked.

rich boy roommate satoru who’s obsessed with your stories, the way you recount your clients’ fumbling attempts at pleasure with a laugh, detailing their quick finishes and awkward groping. he listens, leaning forward, cock straining in his pants as he imagines you under them, only to replace them in his mind—his hands, his mouth, his dick making you scream instead. he tells himself he’s better than them, that you deserve him, but the twisted part of him loves the details, loves jerking off to the thought of you being used, because it makes his claim on you that much sweeter.

rich boy roommate satoru who tries to wean you off escorting, dangling carrots like a trust fund or a private studio where you could sing instead, his voice soft but insistent as he paints a picture of a life without strangers’ hands on you. you hesitate, not because you love the job, but because his gifts—the apartment, the clothes, the jewelry—already feel like shackles, and taking more would mean surrendering the last shred of your freedom. he hides his frustration behind a playful pout, but inside, he’s seething, because you’re choosing that dirty world over him, and he won’t let that stand.

rich boy roommate satoru who’s got a thing for your demure nature, the way you blush when he compliments your singing or duck your head when he stares too long, and it drives him fucking wild that you can be so shy while spreading your legs for strangers. he’ll tease you about it, calling you his “little contradiction,” but there’s an edge to his voice, a quiet fury that you can play innocent while letting random men fuck you raw. he wants to ruin that shyness, to make you so dependent on his praise, his touch, that you’ll never look at another man again.

rich boy roommate satoru who’s always pushing boundaries, like the time he “helps” you relax after a long night, his fingers kneading your shoulders before slipping lower, massaging your tits through your dress until you’re gasping. he’ll chuckle, acting like it’s all a game, but when you don’t stop him, he’s sliding a hand between your thighs, fingering you until you’re soaking his wrist, your moans echoing in the penthouse. he doesn’t let you come, though, pulling away with a smirk, saying you’ll have to beg for it next time, conditioning you to need his hands, his control.

rich boy roommate satoru who’s got a savior complex, not that he’d admit it, convincing himself he’s pulling you out of the gutter, giving you a life you could never have without him. he’ll buy you a grand piano for your singing, install it in his penthouse, and watch you play, thinking he’s giving you a future, not a cage. every gift, every favor, is a thread in the net he’s weaving, and when you thank him with that guileless smile, he feels like a god, even as he’s plotting to keep you his forever.

rich boy roommate satoru who loses his shit when you tell him about your new boyfriend, some stable, kind nobody who takes you to coffee shops and holds your hand like you’re fragile. he’s livid, pacing his penthouse, because he’s been pouring his soul into you—paying your bills, dressing you up, listening to your every word—and you throw it away for a guy who’ll probably fuck you in missionary and call it love? he corners you one night, voice low and dangerous, saying you’re ungrateful, that you’re wasting yourself on someone who can’t fuck you like he can, and the hurt in his eyes cuts deeper than his words.

rich boy roommate satoru who starts sabotaging your relationship, subtle at first—cancelling your dates by “accidentally” scheduling emergencies, planting doubts with offhand comments about how “normal” guys get bored fast. he’ll hack your phone, reading your texts, smirking at your boyfriend’s sappy messages, then send anonymous tips to make him question your loyalty. when that’s not enough, he’ll fuck you in your sleep, slipping into your bed while you’re out cold, his cock sliding into your slick cunt as he groans your name, knowing you’ll wake up sore and confused, wondering why your boyfriend’s touch doesn’t feel the same.

rich boy roommate satoru who’s relentless in bed, the night he finally snaps, pinning you to his mattress, his hands bruising your wrists as he fucks you like he’s punishing you for choosing someone else. his cock slams into you, deep and unforgiving, each thrust hitting your cervix until you’re crying, babbling “i love you, satoru, i love you,” as he chokes you just enough to make your head spin, spit dripping from his lips into your open mouth. he grabs your phone, video-calling your boyfriend mid-thrust, angling the camera to show his balls slapping against your ass, your tits bouncing, your face twisted in pleasure as you scream his name, making sure your boyfriend sees every second of you falling apart.

rich boy roommate satoru who doesn’t stop after the call ends, flipping you onto your stomach, fucking you into the sheets until your voice is hoarse, your body trembling from overstimulation. he’ll pull your hair, growling about how no one else can make you come like this, how your pussy was made for him, and when you’re sobbing, begging for a break, he’ll slow down just to edge you, keeping you teetering on the brink until you’re pleading for his cum. he’ll fill you up, groaning as your cunt milks him dry, then spread your legs to watch it drip out, marking you as his, knowing you’ll never go back to that nobody after this.

rich boy roommate satoru who thrives on your tears, the way they streak your face when he fucks you too hard or when you realize your boyfriend’s gone for good, and he’ll lick them off your cheeks, his tongue hot and possessive. he tells you it’s your fault for pushing him to this, for making him jealous, but the truth is he loves seeing you broken, loves knowing he’s the only one who can piece you back together. every sob makes his cock twitch, and he’ll fuck you again, slower this time, whispering that you’re his, always his, until you’re too exhausted to cry anymore.

rich boy roommate satoru who conditions you to crave him, making you dependent on his touch, his voice, his money, until you can’t imagine a life without him. he’ll withhold affection when you mention work, only to shower you with it when you stay home, training you like a pet to seek his approval, his cock, his bed. by the time you realize you’re trapped, you’re too addicted to his chaos, to the way he makes you feel alive, to ever leave, even when you catch glimpses of the cameras, the stolen panties, the truth of what he’s done.

rich boy roommate satoru who moves you to a new city, far from anyone who might remember your old life, setting you up in a penthouse identical to his, where he can watch you through the cameras he’s installed there too. he’ll visit unannounced, fucking you against the floor-to-ceiling windows, your body exposed to the skyline as he whispers about how no one else will ever have you, how he’s your future, your everything. you don’t argue, because deep down, you know he’s right—you’re his, and the thought of anyone else touching you now feels like a betrayal.

rich boy roommate satoru who buys you a ring, not an engagement ring, but something heavier, a band of diamonds that sits like a collar on your finger, a constant reminder of who owns you. he’ll slide it on while you’re sucking him off, his cock stuffed down your throat as he murmurs about how it’s a promise—you’ll never need to sell yourself again, because you’re his to fuck, his to love, his to ruin. you gag around him, tears mixing with spit, and he laughs, thrusting deeper, knowing you’re too far gone to say no.

rich boy roommate satoru who owns you completely by the end, your body and soul molded to fit his desires, your days spent waiting for his touch, your nights filled with his cock and his voice. he’ll fuck you whenever he wants—on the kitchen counter, in the shower, while you’re half-asleep—each time more possessive, more demanding, until you’re nothing but his slut, his doll, his everything, and you love it, love the way he’s broken you down to nothing but him. you’ll wear his skimpy dresses, his diamonds, his marks, and when he pulls you onto his lap at parties, showing you off like a trophy, you’ll smile, because you’re his, forever his, and there’s no one else you’d rather be.

[whatdoyouwanttocallmefor]

Their reaction when their s/o suprise them at their concert (Hyung Line)

This is the Hyung Line version. The Maknae Line will be in the next post so stay tuned!!

WARNING: NONE!

---

🐺 Bang Chan

The energy in the stadium was electrifying, the deafening cheers of thousands of fans blending with the music. Bang Chan was in his element, commanding the stage with ease. Sweat dripped down his temples, but the exhaustion was pushed aside by the sheer adrenaline rushing through his veins.

Then, as he glanced over the crowd, his breath hitched.

Right there, standing amongst the sea of Stays, was you.

His lips parted slightly in shock, and for a moment, he forgot what he was doing. The music continued, the members carried on, but his focus was locked onto you. His fingers curled around the mic tighter as if grounding himself, trying to process that you were really there.

A slow smile spread across his face, not just any smile, but the kind that reached his eyes, the kind he saved only for you.

Throughout the concert, he kept sneaking glances at you, throwing in little gestures just for you. A playful wink, a small wave, even a teasing eyebrow raise when he knew you were watching him closely. Fans caught on quickly, their screams growing louder every time he looked your way.

As soon as the final song ended, Chan was the first to rush backstage. His heart was hammering against his ribs, but the second he spotted you waiting for him, all the exhaustion melted away.

“You… you really came,” he breathed out, his voice barely above a whisper.

Before you could even reply, he pulled you into a crushing hug, his strong arms wrapping securely around your waist. His face found the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

“I missed you so much,” he murmured, holding you tighter, as if afraid you’d disappear.

You smiled, stroking his back. “Surprise.”

Chan chuckled against your shoulder, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. “Best surprise ever.” Then, with a cheeky grin, he added, “But you owe me cuddles for making me almost forget my lyrics.”

---

🐇 Lee Know

Minho was focused, his every move precise as he danced flawlessly in sync with the beat. His gaze remained sharp, professional, until it landed on you.

For a split second, his smirk faltered, his steps almost stuttering. His body caught up quickly, but his mind struggled.

You were here.

A slow, knowing smirk stretched across his lips as he continued dancing, pretending like he wasn’t affected, but you knew him better than that. His eyes held something softer, something warmer.

He made sure to keep looking your way throughout the concert, as if silently saying I see you. At one point, when he passed by your side of the stage, he subtly mouthed, “Took you long enough.”

Fans screamed at the interaction, catching the way his usually serious stage persona had shifted just a little, revealing a more playful, lovestruck side of him.

When the concert ended, you barely had time to react before Minho was pulling you into a secluded corner backstage. His arms were crossed, his expression unreadable.

“So, you thought you could just show up and not tell me?” His voice was calm, but you could hear the teasing edge.

You grinned. “I wanted to surprise you.”

Minho scoffed, shaking his head. “Well, congratulations. You succeeded.”

Before you could respond, he stepped closer, his hands gently cupping your face. His eyes searched yours, his usual teasing demeanor melting into something more tender.

“I missed you,” he admitted in a rare moment of vulnerability.

Your heart swelled as you wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him closer. “I missed you too.”

Minho smirked, his lips brushing against your forehead. “Good. Now, don’t think you’re getting away without giving me all your attention for the rest of the night.”

---

🐷🐰 Changbin

Changbin was already in his zone, feeding off the energy of the crowd, his raps powerful and full of intensity. The bass vibrated through the stadium, fueling his adrenaline.

Then, in the middle of hyping up the audience, his eyes landed on you.

His brain short-circuited.

For a split second, he forgot what he was supposed to do. His breath hitched, his heart skipping a beat as he tried to process the fact that you were actually there.

A wide grin broke across his face, his smiles deepening as he pointed directly at you during his verse. Fans went wild at the sudden interaction, screaming even louder when he threw a playful wink your way.

Throughout the concert, his energy was even more intense, his jumps higher, his gestures more animated, his smiles brighter. Every now and then, he’d sneak another glance at you, shaking his head in disbelief but looking absolutely smitten.

The moment the concert ended, he wasted no time sprinting off stage. He barely had time to catch his breath before he found you.

“Y/N!” His voice was breathless, but full of excitement. He didn’t hesitate, his arms wrapped around you instantly, lifting you clean off the ground as he spun you around.

“You have no idea how happy I am right now,” he said, setting you down but keeping his arms firmly around you.

You laughed, cupping his face. “I take it you liked the surprise?”

He grinned. “Like it? I love it.” Then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he added, “Now, get ready for the best post-concert date ever. You owe me for making my heart race like that.”

---

🦦 Hyunjin

Hyunjin was lost in the music, his movements fluid as he poured every ounce of emotion into his performance. But then, he saw you.

He froze.

It was only for a fraction of a second, but it was enough. His lips parted, his breath caught in his throat, and his usually sharp choreography faltered just slightly before he quickly recovered.

His hand flew to his mouth as if trying to stifle a reaction, but the redness creeping up his neck betrayed him. He turned away for a moment, his hand resting on his chest as he tried to regain his composure.

Fans noticed immediately. The camera caught his stunned expression, and the crowd erupted into screams. Hyunjin, still visibly flustered, peeked back at you, his eyes wide with disbelief.

As the concert continued, he couldn’t stop stealing glances at you. Every time he danced past your side, he’d bite his lip, shake his head, or flash a shy but affectionate smile. At one point, he even mouthed “You’re unbelievable.”

When the show finally ended, Hyunjin practically sprinted backstage. The moment he found you, he didn’t hesitate, he pulled you into a tight embrace, his hands clutching the fabric of your clothes like he was afraid you’d disappear.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” he whispered, his voice shaking slightly.

You smiled against his shoulder. “I wanted to see your reaction.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes still filled with disbelief. “I could cry right now.”

You chuckled, brushing his damp hair away from his face. “Don’t cry. You were amazing.”

Hyunjin sniffed dramatically before breaking into a soft laugh. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?” His lips brushed against your temple. “But I love you for it.”

---

How's the reaction? I hope it's not that awkward. Please do go to my list if you intersted in reading my humble creations ✨️ Niweys, to the maknae line!

[amoressb]

───── KISS ME MORE 西村 力 N. RK

ꪆৎ ⋆˚࿔ trying to finish his makeup but he just can’t stop kissing you ｡｡ idol bf!riki x makeup artist!reader. fluff & wc. 1.4k ; lots of kissing, skinship, petnames｡｡

──── ARCHiVE

the backstage dressing room of the sold out arena was alive with activity. assistants rushed in and out, carrying outfits and adjusting mics, while the members of enhypen filled into the room, their energy a mix of nerves and excitement. riki, the main dancer, was the last to enter, his stage outfit already clinging perfectly to his frame. his hair was freshly styled and his usual confident grin was firmly in place.

you stood near the vanity, arranging your makeup tools neatly. you glanced up when the door opened and your heart did it’s usual flutter when your eyes landed on riki. despite working and being together for years now, he still had that effect on you.

“hey pretty,” riki greeted, making a beeline for you as the other members settled into their chairs. without a care for the busy room, he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to your lips. “riki!” you exclaimed, glancing around to make sure no one had seen, your cheeks flushing pink. “we’re at work!”

“and?” he teased, his voice soft and low so only you could hear. “it’s not like they don’t already know.” you tried to keep your expression neutral, but his adoring gaze was making it impossible. he looked at you like you were the only person in the world, his dark eyes warm and full of affection.

“go sit down,” you finally said, trying to suppress a smile as you motioned to his chair. “you’ve got a show to get ready for.”

“yes ma’am,” riki said with a mock salute before plopping into his chair. the other members exchanged knowing smirks but didn’t say anything, accustomed to their maknaes antics when it came to you.

you approached him with your makeup kit, your expression shifting to one of focus. you grabbed a primer and started dabbing it onto his skin. riki leaned back obediently, watching you the entire time. his eyes followed every move you made—how you tilted your head slightly while working on his foundation, the way your lips pressed together as you concentrated.

“stop staring,” you said without looking up, your voice tinged with amusement. “i can’t help it,” riki replied, a grin tugging at his lips. “you’re too pretty when you’re in your element.”

“flattery won’t get you out of wearing eyeliner,” you quipped, picking up the next product.

he chuckled, staying quiet for a moment as you traced sharp, precise lines around his eyes. but when you leaned in to work on his lips, he couldn’t sit still anymore.

“riki, baby,” you said, holding his chin to keep him steady, “if you don’t stop moving, you’re going to look like a mess out there and i’ll let the fans blame you.”

riki grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “would it really be so bad? they might think the smudges are part of my charm.”

“charm doesn’t cover uneven eyeliner or faded lip tint,” you muttered, dipping the brush back into the product. you leaned closer, focusing on his lips. “well,” he said, voice dropping a bit deeper than before, “if it’s my lips you’re worried about, maybe you should test them.”

“riki,” you warned, but your cheeks flushed at his teasing tone. in response, he leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, leaving a faint mark of coral lip tint behind. “there, a little something just for you.”

you froze, your brush midair, and fixed him with an exasperated glare. “riki! you’ve ruined it again, that’s the third time!” he laughed, utterly unrepentant. “what can i say? your face is more fun to decorate than mine.”

“you’re impossible,” you muttered, grabbing a makeup wipe to start over. “at this rate, you’re going on stage with bare lips.”

“then the fans will get the real me,” he said with a playful shrug.

“no, the fans will get a makeup artist who quits her job halfway through the tour because of you,” you shot back, though your lips twitched in amusement.

as you leaned in again, riki stared at you with unabashed affection, making no effort to hide how enamored he was. the way your brows furrowed in concentration, the way you bit your lip when you worked—it all made his heart race.

“riki, stop looking at me like that,” you murmured without glancing up.

“like what?”

“like you’re about to—”

before you could finish, he closed the distance between you two and kissed you square on the lips. it was soft but lingering, enough to make you forget for a moment that you guys were backstage, mere minutes before showtime. when he pulled back, your carefully applied lip tint was smeared, and his own lips were a mess.

“—do that,” you finished, blinking at him.

he grinned, completely unbothered. “you make it hard to resist, baby.” you sighed dramatically, though your cheeks were pink. “i give up. you’re going on stage like this.”

“no, no, no,” he said quickly, laughing. “i’ll behave this time, i swear.” you arched an eyebrow. “you said that five kisses ago.”

“this time, i mean it,” he said, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands in mock innocence. “scout’s honor.”

the other members started laughing. jake smirked at riki from his chair. “you’ve got it bad, riki.”

“jealous?” riki shot back, unbothered by the teasing.

you sighed, rolling your eyes but smiling as you reached for the lip tint again, applying it with quick, practiced strokes. riki stayed still this time, though you could feel his eyes on you the entire time. “there,” you said at last, stepping back to inspect your work. “you’re ready.”

“perfect,” he said, glancing at himself in the mirror. then he turned to you with a cheeky smile. “almost as perfect as you.”

“flattery won’t save you if you mess it up again,” you warned, though you couldn’t help but smile. a knock on the door interrupted them and the groups manager poked their head in. “you guys are on in five.”

“got it!” riki called, standing up. he looked down at you, his expression softening. “wish me luck?”

“break a leg,” you said with a small smile, your voice gentler now. “and please don’t kiss anyone on stage.” he chuckled. “you know my lips are only yours.”

with a wink, he was gone, leaving you to clean up your station. you could hear the deafening roar of the crowd as the show began and a small smile tugged at your lips. as exasperating as he could be, there was no denying how proud you were of him.

hours later, the concert was in full swing. you watched from backstage, your heart swelling with pride as riki belted out the final dance moves of their song. his moves effortless and smooth, his stage presence captivating as always. by now, he and the other members took their final bows and headed offstage.

riki burst into the dressing room, still glowing with the adrenaline of the performance. his hair was damp with sweat, his shirt clinging to him, and he looked every bit of the star he was.

“y/nnn,” he called, his voice still slightly hoarse. he scanned the room until his eyes found you and his face lit up. without hesitation, he strode over, pulling you into a tight hug.

“riki, you’re all sweaty!” you protested, laughing as you tried to push him away.

“and i missed you,” he said smiling, grabbing your chin, turning you to face him, and leaning in without hesitation to kiss you before you could respond. his lips still tinted faintly with the remnants of his stage makeup. when he pulled back, your own lips bore the faint coral hue.

“you just kissed off the last bit of your lip tint,” you said, your voice soft but teasing. “good,” riki said, his grin boyish and unrepentant. “it belongs on you anyway.”

their moment was interrupted by the other members filing into the room. jake let out a low whistle, grinning as he pointed at the couple. “you really can’t keep your lips off her, huh?”

“you’re gonna wear her out before the next show,” joked jungwon. riki rolled his eyes but kept his arm firmly around your waist. “jealousy isn’t a good look on you guys.”

“sure, sure,” jake said with a laugh. “just try not to kiss off her patience, too.” you shook your head smiling, “too late for that.”

riki leans down to kiss your lips again and looked into your eyes, ignoring the teasing entirely. “lucky for me, she loves me anyway.”

“unfortunately for me,” you muttered, though the warmth in your smile gave you away.

⋆｡°✩ @miukidoll @flufflights

[casssmalefantasy]

OFF MUTE — PAIGE BUECKERS X READER!

| synopsis: you never thought your casual scroll on tiktok would land you on a live with kk arnold and paige bueckers. but a last-minute song request, a few suspicious smiles, and one dm later… you’re starting to think paige might’ve just found her new favorite singer.

| warnings: secondhand embarrassment, lots of flirting, suggestive banter, minor swearing, social media chaos, and hints of mutual pining

| word count: 3.2k / part two

you’ve been a uconn wbb fan for a minute now. it started out casual—just catching games on tv and watching clips on twitter—but it quickly turned into something deeper. the kind where you know their next five matchups, have favorite pregame fits saved on your phone, and would absolutely fake confidence if any of them ever looked your way in person.

you’ve already been to two home games this season, and yes, you may or may not have replayed that one clip of paige doing a no-look dime to azzi like thirty times.

so when you see kkarnold2 pop up in your tiktok live notifications, your fingers move before your brain even catches up.

you click in.

the screen loads, and there they are—kk and paige, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on what looks like paige’s bed, a mountain of snacks behind them and the sound of a basketball game from the tv playing in the background.

“we live. what’s up girly pops,” kk says immediately, grinning into the camera. she does a peace sign while sticking her tounge out, and paige snorts beside her.

“hey girly pops,” paige mimics, reaching for a gummy worm. “i sound just like camera, huh?.” she says while smirking.

“girl boo,” kk says. “you lucky i invited you. the people don’t come here for you.”

“bold lie,” paige says, looking directly into the camera now. “they definitely come for me. watch this—”

she leans in closer. “talent show.”

and just like that, the comments start exploding. people are begging to go live. some are typing “i can do a backflip on command” and others are already screaming “PAIGE I LOVE YOU” in all caps.

you laugh to yourself, just watching. you remember the last “talent show” live they did. someone tried to do a magic trick and exposed themselves accidentally. it was chaos.

kk starts accepting people randomly—one girl screams as soon as the camera flips, another guy attempts to rap, and two different girls sing a snippet of sza before fangirling too hard to finish.

you pause for a second. bite your lip. then… screw it. you hit the request button.

you don't actually expect anything, though.

“ooh hold up,” kk says, squinting. “this username kinda cute. should i let them in?”

paige leans over to look at her screen. “wait, show me the pfp.”

there’s a beat.

then paige goes quiet. really quiet.

so quiet you hear her say under her breath, “pretty.”

but the mic picks it up.

kk turns to look at her, then immediately starts grinning. “paige.”

before you can panic and back out, your screen changes.

you’re live.

with paige bueckers staring directly at you.

“yo!” kk cheers. “we got a new one. say what’s up!”

“h-hi,” you manage, trying not to sound like your heart’s doing jumping jacks. “uh… i wasn’t actually expecting to get in.”

“too late now,” paige says, smiling. “you’re here. what’s your talent?”

you blink. “uh… i sing.”

“yesss,” kk claps. “okay pick a song, we ready.”

“you pick,” you say, a little bolder now. “what do you want to hear?”

paige doesn’t even hesitate. “sza. sing ‘love language.’”

you raise an eyebrow. “is that your favorite or something?”

paige shrugs, but she’s smirking. “might be.”

you set your phone down, take a breath, and hit play on the instrumental in the background.

the second the first note drops, paige mouths the intro. then stops completely once you start singing.

you’re locked in now—soft, smooth vocals floating through the speaker. eyes half-closed. completely in your element.

the chat explodes.

@buckets4bueckers: WAIT SHE CAN ACTUALLY SING

@kkarnoldstan420: PAIGE LOOKING LIKE SHE'S IN LOVE RN

@d1gf4paige: this girl is fine AND talented??? bye.

@fuddnation: paige got her mouth open 😭

@bueckherdownbad: THE WAY PAIGE LOOKED AT HER??? I’M SWEATING

@paigesgfconfirmed: y’all this is the real draft night

@szaandslay: girl sang sza and stole paige’s heart on live… legend

@loveandlayups: paige better dm her RIGHT NOW

you keep going. full verse, chorus, little riff at the end.

when you finish, there’s a few seconds of silence.

then—

“oh my god,” kk says. “no cause you ate that.”

“like, actually,” paige says, still staring. “you’re insane.”

you glance at the chat. one comment catches your eye: “paige been smiling since she joined.”

paige reads it too. she covers her mouth, laughing. then leans out of frame and lightly punches kk in the arm.

“you see how they got me lookin right now?”

kk cackles. “you did it to yourself.”

“nah. don’t even start right now.” paige says

you’re blushing hard now. “okayyyy i think it’s time to pass the mic to someone else.”

paige frowns. “what? no, sing another.”

you shake your head, trying to keep it smooth. “wish i could, but i got homework. maybe next time.”

kk nods. “respect. education comes first. even if paige is heartbroken.”

“literally shut up,” paige says, half-laughing, half-hiding her face.

she suddenly turns to kk. “wait—mute the live real quick.”

kk gives her a look, but does it.

the screen goes silent for twenty seconds. they’re clearly talking. paige’s hands are moving a lot.

then the live un-mutes.

paige leans back into the camera. “thank you for joining. you’re seriously amazing.”

“come back next time!” kk adds. “we need some more.”

you smile. “will do. night y’all.”

the second you leave the live, your phone buzzes.

followed by: paigebueckers and kkarnold2

then—another notification.

dm from paigebueckers:

hey. you really killed that. we should talk more sometime.

and you sit there smiling, already typing your message back to her.

[crimsonbubble]

Your Idol

cw. nsfw, afab!reader, streamer!reader, idol!joong, possessive joong, overstimulation *not proofread, just pure horny*

[BITING THE WALLS RN KOYA WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME] anything said in this fic is a joke dont get your panties in a twist

taglist (dm to be tagged); @sidusvenari @sugarnspice630 @ravenempress101 @autieofthevalley @linearities @wisejudgedragonhairdo @madiexuberant @mifuelarts @straytiny127 @yun-fangz @huen1ngk41 @juyeonshour @uniq-tastic @hongjng8 @miyaluvvsyou @everyonewooeverywhere @hongjoongtime117 @oddracha @kingbloopter @jay-0n3s @ane1o2 @jelly1117 @aftertherain-atr @k-zuzulibrary @lxnnrobin @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @lezleegerguson-120 @moonlitarcade @koyagifs @les4heeseung

masterlist <3

Your room was lit by LED strips and the glow of your dual monitors, the air filled with overlapping laughter from both your Discord call and chat.

“Alright y’all,” you said, giggling as you dragged another PNG into your cake tier list, “hear me out… Markiplier.”

“Oh GOD here we go,” one of your friends groaned over Discord.

“NO LISTEN,” you said, raising a hand to quiet the imaginary crowd. “That man is built like a Greek god and talks like a podcast host. He could be reading IKEA instructions and I’d be like ‘yes sir.’”

Your chat spammed: THE ARMS 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️ "Hello everybody my name is Markiplier" is a mating call now idc MARK PLS CALL ME BACK

“I just know he smells like cedarwood and emotional trauma,” you added, sipping your drink.

Meanwhile—unbeknownst to you—Hongjoong was taking a break in his studio across town, headphones around his neck, half-watching your stream on mute with the captions on. He had smiled when you started streaming. His heart always warmed seeing you in your element. But that smile disappeared real quick once he read the captions:

"Markiplier could deadass choke me and I’d pay for the hospital bill myself."

He blinked.

Then, just as he turned the sound on:

“OKAY NEXT: Grizzy. I’m sorry but that hoodie-and-chain combo? That’s a straight-up fold. Like, this is pavement behavior. He’d call me ‘girl’ once and I’d black out.”

Laughter erupted from your friends. Hongjoong didn’t laugh.

He scrolled through the tier list. Smii7y. CoryxKenshin. Pezzy. ElasticDroid.

All ranked. All thirsted over.

You were giggling as you leaned into the mic. “Okay no but real talk? ElasticDroid gives throat demon energy. Like...he’s definitely the reason someone walks funny the next day. And I’d write a Yelp review about it.”

“Oh my god,” one of your friends wheezed.

The rest were dying. Chat was going absolutely feral.

And Hongjoong?

Silent.

Stewing.

You finally ended stream an hour later, exhausted from laughter and wired from sugar and adrenaline. Your friends had come over in-person too—your place was a cozy streamer nest, and you’d hosted tonight’s cake chaos like a pro. They hung around for a while, rewatching clips, roasting each other, snacking, and slowly filing out into the night.

“Thanks for letting us crash,” one of them said, pulling on their hoodie. “Sorry if we made your boyfriend jealous. He’ll live, right?”

You waved them off. “Joong? Please, he doesn’t care about stream stuff. It’s all jokes anyway.”

You closed the door behind them, still laughing.

You didn’t hear the second door open.

Not until you turned around, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hands full of half-finished bubble tea cups—and nearly dropped everything when you saw him.

Hongjoong, standing in the hallway. Keys in one hand. Expression unreadable.

You blinked.

“…Hey, babe. You’re home early.”

“Early?” he echoed, voice soft, deceptively calm. “I’ve been watching since Smii7y.”

Your smile wobbled.

“…Oh.”

He stepped forward, slow and quiet. He wasn’t angry—no, that would’ve been easier. It was the fact he looked completely calm that made your stomach flip.

“You’ve been real loud tonight,” he said. “Lots of opinions.”

You swallowed. “It was content—y’know, like a tier list—”

“Right,” he nodded, setting down his keys. “So when you said you’d let Pezzy ‘shut you up and ruin you,’ that was content?”

Your jaw opened. Then closed.

He walked forward again, crowding you against the kitchen counter. His voice dropped just slightly, barely a whisper. “You really think ElasticDroid could wreck your throat better than me?”

Your whole body lit up at the heat behind his words. “Joong—”

“‘Grizzy in chains makes you fold?’” he quoted, tilting his head. “You think anyone on that list could have you making the sounds I pulled out of you last week?”

You felt your knees threaten to buckle.

“That was stream stuff,” you said quietly.

“Oh?” He leaned in, brushing his nose against your cheek. “Then tell me now. Tell me with a straight face that you’d rather have any of them than me.”

Your hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt. “I—”

He didn’t let you finish. His hand tilted your chin up, gaze burning into yours.

“Try again.”

And something in you snapped.

You weren’t thinking. Just breathing, just wanting. Needing to be pulled apart, dragged to pieces, undone by the one person you knew could ruin you like no one else.

“I want you,” you whispered.

“Louder.”

“I want you, Joong.”

He kissed you hard—deep and punishing—teeth and tongue and heat. When he pulled back, his thumb swiped over your bottom lip, slick and possessive.

“You wanna rank me, baby?” he murmured, voice like sin. “I’ll make sure I’m the only one you even remember.”

[clarii]

Title: Just Chilling

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie Munson wasn’t your boyfriend- at least, that’s what he told people. But after one careless moment at a gig shatters everything, he realizes too late that losing you is the last thing he ever wanted. Now, he has one chance to fix it, and he’s willing to put his heart on the line to do it.

Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, mild language, fluffy ending

Eddie Munson wasn’t your boyfriend.

At least, that’s what he told people.

But if you asked anyone else, they’d swear otherwise. The way he held your hand absentmindedly, thumb tracing circles over your knuckles. The way he always pulled you onto his lap instead of letting you sit anywhere else. The way he kissed your forehead before dropping you off at home, murmuring a soft “ Sleep tight, sweetheart.”

If he wasn’t your boyfriend, then what was he?

It was a question that lingered in the back of your mind more than you wanted to admit. But you never asked, because Eddie-loud, dramatic, full-of-himself Eddie- shut down when things got too real. You weren’t stupid. You saw the way he stiffened whenever the word relationship was mentioned. You heard the way he brushed off questions about love like they were ridiculous.

Still, he acted like he was yours. So you let yourself believe maybe, someday, he’d say it out loud.

Then came the night that shattered everything.

Eddie’s band, Corroded Coffin, had landed a gig at The Hideout- a bigger crowd than usual, packed with regulars and newcomers alike. You were there, of course, front and center like always. His biggest fan.

He caught your eye as they set up, flashing that boyish grin that made your stomach flip. You winked at him, and he tilted his head, mouthing, For me?

You rolled your eyes but nodded. He knew you hated being in crowded, sweaty places like this, yet here you were. For him.

The show was electric. Eddie was in his element- head-banging, fingers flying over his guitar, voice rough and wild as he screamed into the mic. And you? You were completely lost in him.

Then, during a break between songs, someone from the crowd called out, “Hey, Munson! That your girl?”

Eddie looked up, confused.

The guy gestured toward you, smirking. “The one you’ve been making heart eyes at all night.”

The crowd laughed. Your cheeks burned.

Eddie hesitated, glancing at you for half a second. You felt it then- that flicker of uncertainty, the moment where he could choose to claim you.

Then he shrugged.

“Nah, man. We’re just chilling.”

Just. Chilling.

The words hit harder than any guitar riff.

You barely heard the crowds reaction, barely noticed Gareth giving Eddie a What the hell, dude? kind of look. Because the only thing you could focus on was the way your stomach twisted, the way your heart squeezed so tight it physically hurt.

Eddie turned back to his guitar, ready to jump into the next song- until he saw you.

Or rather, saw your back.

You were already walking away.

His fingers froze on the strings. Panic surged through him like a bolt of electricity.

You weren’t staying to watch the rest of the show.

You weren’t waiting for him after.

You were leaving.

And that’s when he knew.

He fucked up.

—

Eddie barely made it through the rest of the set. His head wasn’t in it anymore, and he knew the guys could tell. The moment they finished, he shoved his guitar into its case and bolted out the back door, scanning the parking lot for you.

Nothing.

His heart pounded. You always waited for him after his shows, always teased him about the way he got lost in the music, always let him wrap his arms around you and press a sweaty, breathless kiss to your temple.

Not tonight.

Tonight, he was alone.

—

You ignored his calls. His knocks at your window. His voice outside your house at midnight, begging you to just talk to him.

Each day that passed without you felt like a slow, agonizing punishment.

For the first time in his life, Eddie Munson was terrified.

Because he realized something.

You weren’t his.

And he had no one to blame but himself.

—

The next Corroded Coffin gig rolled around a week later. Eddie couldn’t bring himself to care. Playing didn’t feel the same without knowing you were there, watching, cheering, rolling your eyes at how much of a show-off he was.

But he had an idea. A desperate, last-ditch effort.

And he needed help.

So, he did something he rarely ever did.

He asked his friends for it.

It was Robin and Dustin who came to your house that night.

“Look,” Robin started, hands on her hips. “ you know you don’t want to see him, and honestly, he’s been a colossal dumbass, but-”

“He’s miserable”, Dustin interrupted. “Like, really miserable. And he wants to fix it.”

You crossed your arms, unmoved. “Then he can come here and say that himself.”

Robin sighed. “He wants you to come to The Hideout. Just for a few minutes. No pressure to stay. No tricks. Just…hear him out.”

You hesitated.

Going back to the place where it all fell apart? Where you felt humiliated? Where Eddie made you feel like you were nothing to him?

Yeah, no thanks.

But…if he really wanted to fix things, why would he bring you there?

Unless-

“Did he say what he’s gonna do?” you asked suspiciously.

Dustin grinned. “Nope. But I do know he’s been pacing like a lunatic and mumbling to himself all day.”

Robin smirked. “That means he’s planning something big.”

You chewed on your lip.

And against your better judgment….you caved.

—

When you walked into The Hideout that night, the first thing you noticed was how Eddie was already on stage, gripping the mic with white-knuckled hands.

The second thing you noticed?

The way his eyes locked onto you the second you stepped inside.

Everyone else faded. The noise, the crowd, the band. It was just you and him.

He took a deep breath. Then, with everyone watching, he said-

“ I lied.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd, confused.

Eddie’s gaze didn’t waver from yours. “Last time we were here, someone asked me if you were my girl. And I said, ‘We’re just chilling’.

A beat of silence.

“That was the biggest lie I’ve ever told.”

The entire bar went still.

Eddie licked his lips, voice raw. “You are my girl. You always were. And I was a fucking coward for not saying it.”

Your throat tightened.

Eddie shook his head, almost laughing at himself. “ I was scared. Scared that if I made it real, you’d realize I wasn’t good enough for you. That you’d leave.” His voice dropped. “But I lost you anyway.”

You swallowed hard, feeling every eye on you.

Eddie took a shaky breath. “So, I’m saying it now, in the place where I ruined it. In front of everyone.” His voice was steady now, sure. “You’re my girl. And I love you.”

Your heart stopped.

He loved you.

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes.

Eddie’s expression softened. “ I know I don’t deserve it, but… if you’ll have me, I want to be yours. Officially.”

The silence stretched.

Then, finally-

You stepped forward.

Eddie barely had time to react before you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him down into a desperate, breathless kiss.

The crowd exploded, but all you could hear was the pounding of his heart against yours.

Eddie Munson was yours.

And this time, he wasn’t afraid to say it.

[mashtatosworld]

in your arms

summary: your baby attends her first GDragon concert

The energy of the concert is electric.

The bass reverberates through the arena, the lights flash in hypnotic patterns, and the entire stadium is alive, thousands of voices screaming for GDragon.

And from the side of the stage, his daughter watches.

She’s perched on Daesung’s hip, her tiny fingers fidgeting with the straps of her little pink backpack - the one that has a leash. The one she whined and stomped her feet at whenever it was brought out.

You and Jiyong are embarrassed to use it, but you’ve both learned the hard way that Diva is fast. And has a desire to go wherever she wanted. So unless you’re her Appa or Eomma, she will wiggle, twist, or roll her way out of any grasp.

“She’s going to be fine,” you assure Youngbae and Daesung, adjusting the bag’s straps one last time.

Youngbae looks skeptical. “Are you sure?”

“She’s been calling for Jiyong the whole night,” Daesung says, shifting her weight in his arms. “What if she tries to run to him?”

You shrug. “Then use the harness.”

The two men exchange a look.

They'd seen Jiyong shout - for a solid twenty minutes, at Seunghyun when he'd let the lead slip out of his grasp one time and Diva had nearly made her way out of the park.

“She’s too smart for her own good,” you sigh, recalling all the times your baby had attempted a great escape. “And besides, it’s only for five minutes. I just need to run to the bathroom. You’ll be fine.”

Diva wiggles impatiently in Daesung’s hold, her big, expressive eyes glued to the stage.

She’s mesmerised.

Because Appa is famous?

Of course, she knows you sing.

She’s watched you perform, even toured with you when she was barely a year old. But Appa? He’s just the one who reads her bedtime stories, who does the silly voices, who lets her steal bites of his snacks even when you tell them both no.

And now, here he is, standing under blinding lights, thousands of people screaming his name.

She misses him.

You glance toward the stage, where Jiyong is in his element, his shirt damp with sweat, his voice intoxicating over the mic as he sends the crowd into a frenzy.

A tiny part of you gets distracted, watching him perform.

But you shake yourself out of it, pressing a kiss to Diva’s head before pulling away. “Okay, back in five.”

Youngbae nods. “Got it.”

Daesung doesn’t look as convinced, but he salutes you anyway. “No problem.”

You hesitate for only a second. It’s fine. They’ve got this.

And then you’re off.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Two minutes later and Diva is impatient.

She clutches Daesung’s shirt tightly, eyes wide, ears straining as she listens to the deep echo of her father's voice fill the stadium.

She recognises that voice. It means comfort and safety.

But where is he?

The lights flash bright, the music booms, and suddenly - it’s too much.

Usually, when it gets dark and loud like this, her Appa holds her close, whispering that everything is okay.

But he’s not here.

“Appa, here!” she says, tiny fingers tightening around Daesung’s collar.

Daesung lightly pats her back. “Appa’s singing, sweetheart. We have to wait. Look, look, we can watch him from here!"

She pouts.

Not good enough.

Youngbae tries, taking off his sunglasses and holding them out to her. “Hey, here we go, do you want to wear these? You like glasses, right?”

“No.”

A fib, but she only wanted one thing at that moment.

Her tiny fists ball at her sides.

She wiggles again.

"Hyung, hyung! I'm losing her here!" Daesung shifts his grip, like he was wrestling with a slippery fish. “Don’t even think about it!”

She'd already thought about it.

And then, before either man can react -

She moves.

Fast.

Like a tiny bullet, she twists out of Daesung’s arms, hitting the ground running.

Youngbae yelps. “YAH - !”

Daesung lunges for the pink harness - but she dodges.

Tiny legs sprint past staff and security, and the harness leash dangles uselessly behind her.

They chase.

She's heading straight for the only person who matters.

Jiyong.

He’s in between songs, catching his breath, preparing for the next set - when suddenly, the crowd erupts into something different. A different kind of scream.

A laugh ripples through the stadium as he turns just in time to see a tiny figure barreling toward him.

His little, trouble-making daughter.

For a split second, he thinks he’s imagining things.

But then, nope, that’s definitely her. Pigtails and all.

And she’s coming in hot.

The audience loses their minds.

Security hesitates - that’s his baby. They all recognise her. She’s the one who waved at them backstage and raided the snack table.

So they let her through.

And Jiyong - crouches.

Arms open.

And she collides into him, wrapping her small arms around his neck.

The stadium erupts.

Screaming. Cheering. Crying.

Jiyong laughter is caught by the microphone while adjusting his in-ear. “My princess!”

Diva clutches his shirt. Her safe place.

He lifts her effortlessly, so proud of his little Houdini. “What are you doing, huh?”

Diva leans toward the mic.

“Appa sing."

The crowd melts.

From the side, Youngbae and Daesung finally stumble onto the stage.

Panting.

Hands on their knees.

Jiyong raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“She’s too fast,” Daesung defends, breathless.

“We're getting old.” Youngbae mutters, wincing as he straightened.

The audience erupts with laughter.

Jiyong kisses Diva’s temple, smiling at his little girl. She can do no wrong in his eyes.

Then the opening chords of “Home Sweet Home” begin.

Jiyong chuckles. “Guess you’re staying for this one?”

And just like that - Diva is part of the show.

She kicks her legs in victory as Jiyong sings, happy to be in his arms again. Youngbae and Daesung interact with her mid-song, playing along, making her giggle.

The cameras catch everything.

Her curious hand pulling out Jiyong’s earpiece.

Her patting his shoulder to the beat.

And then -

You return.

You stop dead in the wings of the stage, watching the performance. And the last minute added addition.

Your five-minute bathroom break turned into a viral moment.

Jiyong catches your eye. You raise an eyebrow.

Seriously?

He just smirks.

When the song ends, you hurry onto the stage, reaching for your daughter. “Alright time to come back."

But Diva has terms and conditions.

"Yes, yes, we'll get you a snack and juice.” You shush her while trying to pry her grip from Jiyong's shirt.

The fans continue to scream and chant at your surprise appearance.

You smile and wave at them anyway, adjusting Diva on your hip.

Jiyong smirks into the mic, his arm coming around you two. “What do you guys think? Should we do a song together?” he asks the crowd.

The roar is deafening.

He laughs at the reception. “It's been a while, hasn't it?”

The last time you two performed together was when the mischievous little daughter you were holding was still in your belly, unable to escape and cause havoc.

You shoot him a playful glare.

This man.

But the glint in his eyes is irresistible.

And just like that -

The night just got a little longer.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

im backkkk - revived by a kiwi passion fruit and guava vape

hope you all enjoyed. gd's tour will be the start of big changes for the btu series!!

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @maskedcrawford

[dolche-tejada]

You know, I think this ending would have been slightly less of a fucking disappointment if the heroes hadn't been so unfairly favored by Horikoshi compared to the villains. I mean, seriously

Deku destroys every bone in his body multiple times throughout the story and is warned that if he continues, he'll permanently lose the use of his limbs ? Everything's fine, his body's just got used to being reduced to a bloody pulp somehow so there's no consequences for him. In fact even when he literally loses his arms to Shigaraki, he gets them back two minutes later thanks to Eri because guess what ? Her horn still works even when cut off from her body. How convenient.

Gran Torino gets his ribcage obliterated by Shigaraki ? Don't worry guys, he'll survive that despite his old age and injuries, and this to have no particular role in the plot afterwards.

Bakugo dies heroically trying to buy time before Deku arrives ? Lmao, did you really believe it ?? No of course not, Edgeshot just uses his last-minute Deus Ex Machina to save his life at the cost of his own and- Oops nope he's fine too, my bad !

Hawks murders a criminal fleeing for his life in cold-blood ? The best Hori has to offer is him completely free and in charge of the HSPC.

And no, losing his quirk isn't a real consequence for him because not only it literally played a major part in saving the world with Vestige!Hawks raising an insurrection among AFO's quirks, but also because his quirk has always been the element through which people exploited him.

Endeavor abused his family for years and completely destroyed his eldest son ? No jail time and no media backlash for that, the only blame he received was due to the heroes' failure to stop the League during the Raid Arc.

And don't even get me started on this bs about facing hell or whatever for what he's done : He's literally free and wealthy ; he has Rei, Fuyumi, Shoto, his sidekicks and Hawks on his side ; and all the difficulties he's apparently going to suffer are off-screened.

Deku had to sacrifice OFA and his future hero career to save the world ? Guess what, Bakugo invested all his time and money to make him an Iron-Man suit and now he can still be a hero with everyone else.

There are plenty more examples of this but I think you get the idea. Now let's take a look at the villains' ending :

Toya is now a piece of charcoal kept artificially alive for the few years he has left, unable to move a finger, and whose few minutes a day during which he can stay awake will be spent talking to his father who abused him as a child.

Toga, a literal teenager, killed herself to save Ochako and because she knew it's still better than rotting at Tartarus her whole life.

And not only did she die but she did by bleding to death. Let me repeat for those who have trouble grasping what I've just said : In a manga where the heroes can survive having their heart blown to bits, being impaled Kakyoin-style or smashed against buildings like a fly on a windshield, one of the main antagonists died of a fucking hemorrhage…

As for Shigaraki, after learning that his very birth and all the tragedies of his life have been orchestrated by AFO, after all this development and narrative promises about him being saved in the end... Deku just kills him.

Because despite all his speeches about saving him, it seems like the best our MC could do was beating him both physically and mentally until he crumbles to dust…

Compress on his side is apparently locked up for life and kept alive by machines too.

A begging Kurogiri tried in a desperate attempt to save Shigaraki, only to be unceremoniously blown up by Bakugo and dying off-screen without anyone giving a shit, including Aizawa and Mic.

And Spinner will now spend the rest of his life struggling with the extra quirks inside him that affect his body and mind, while having to cope with the thought that his boyfriend best friend and companions have either died alone or are locked away for life in horrifying circumstances.

Clearly not the same as with the heroes...

Now don't get me wrong, even if they suffered just as much from the consequences of their actions or the plot as the League, this ending would still be a disaster in terms of writing but AT LEAST it wouldn't reek that much of hypocrisy.

[drgnflyteabox]

a little continuation of this. john price x cashier fem!reader. verbal abuse, anxiety, yelling, hurt/comfort, price comes to your retail rescue<3<3 1.4k words

The only good part of a 5am wakeup is watching the sunrise slowly climb the sky.

There’s a quiet sort of tiredness that lets you appreciate it more — and though the lot associates have made a joke about the morning crew and their sunrise photos, there’s an element of truth there that’s both funny and a little beautiful.

It’s a drag to wait outside the doors for a manager to open them, trying not to make eye contact with the early-bird oldies and the impatient contractors who think they should just be allowed in before everyone else based on the amount of money they spend.

When the doors open and the 6am hardware warriors stroll in, ready and chipper, you’re half asleep leaning against your counter.

Another good thing about the early shift is the lack of uptight managers. None of them want to wake up before ten, so you’re safe to lean and lounge while waiting for customers.

A call comes through your earpiece after a few customers, nearing the cusp of 8am.

”Hey, we’ve got the guy coming your way,” your head cash – Lisa – says, voice crackling in the mic. The guy is a rude jerkoff, some contractor who thinks abusing staff is the way to get good service and better prices.

What’s worse is that your managers allow it. In fact, you get warnings like this all the time. The guy is here, the guy has a big order, make sure to cash him out fast or he’ll start shouting. Be pleasant. Smile.

The guy is walking down the store lumber aisle with a pinched expression on his face and two other employees dragging his stacked carts behind him.

You try to ignore his caustic vibes, thinking instead of the pink, purplish sunrise you’d seen earlier. Clouds like magic, cotton candy, floating above you 

You ignore the incessant tapping of his feet, the annoyed groan he makes when you lift a package of insulation up and find flat saw blades.

Sure, you can’t accuse him of stealing. But you can make a cheery, passive aggressive comment–

“Oops, I guess you forgot these!” you chirp, scanning them a little slower than necessary. It’s not mature, but it does make you feel a little better. Nice try, bozo.

Playing the idiot cashier helps with these types. Why are you mad, sir? I’m just a cashier? And though you could answer more questions than you do, you don’t. Playing the ditz makes life easy.

Lisa’s definitely judged you for it, but hey. She’s not stuck at the register like you are.

Sometimes, it works. You get a scowl, but they’ll go quiet. Sometimes.

Today, it backfires.

“Excuse me?” 

Oh here we go, you think. It’s way too early for this.

“What was that, sir?” you play dumb, voice squeaking.

“Are you accusing me of stealing?” his volume raises. You see redness crawling up his neck. Fuck.

“No, no, I only meant–” you try to backtrack. Fuck, fuck. This is the result of your hubris. Your reasoning flies out through the massive lumber area doors as his rage climbs.

“No? No? Because I think you just accused me of stealing. Do you understand how much I spend here, you moron?”

“I do, I didn’t mean to imply–”

“Get me a fucking manager, now,” he snaps. God, you have no clue if he acts like this to get his way, to get discounts, or if he’s really this angry half the time he comes in.

Regardless, the effect is real. You’ve never been good with anger, and you’re shaking a little as you press the call button on your pager.

“C-Can I please have a manager down to lumber cash?” you broadcast to the store.

All you can think of is looking away from his angry gaze while you wait. Oh, a bubble bath – you have an aloe and green tea bubble bath packet at home waiting for you.

Hot water. Bubble bath. Manager to fix this mess. Maybe a hot chocolate after work?

A couple minutes pass. Longest minutes of your life.

No answer. The guy taps his foot, sighing loudly, angrily. You try again.

“Can I please have a manager down to lumber cash?”

Oh fuck, is that someone else in line? You turn away bodily, speaking again into your mic. Trying to look like you’re doing something about the wait.

Another couple minutes. Despair washes over you like a cold blanket of snow.

“Need a manager at lumber cash,” you try.

Typical, really. Lisa is likely on break, and you have no idea who’s managing the store at the moment.

You imagine it’s likely Cody, who’s good with contractors like this because he's personable but he’s also lazy it almost cancels out. Also, he takes a smoke break every 5 minutes.

And never takes his pager.

“What the fuck is taking so long?” you hear behind you.

“I’m sorry,” you say, turning. “My manager is busy at the moment but–”

“Busy?” his voice is like a gunshot in the airy space, an absurd volume for the time.

“Yes–”

“Do you know–”

A third voice cuts in.

“Think you better learn a little patience, mate,” British?

Oh, shit. It’s that guy from before. He’s got one hip a little cocked, a frown on his face like he’s smelled something bad. His boonie hat is titled down, nearly covering his eyes. You can see them because you’re shorter than he is.

“Excuse me? And who are you? Mind your business,” the guy says.

“I think you’d better let the nice girl check me out while you wait,” he motions for you towards the parallel cash desk, and you’re grateful to just follow.

You scurry away from the guy faster than is appropriate, calling out again as you cross the open space towards the other cash desk for a manager.

You can only hope they arrive while you’re helping this one. John Price, you think his name was. He's a memorable man. Him and his moustache and his expensive company.

John Price has left the guy flabbergasted. He also has twice as many carts as him, and when your eyes widen to see them he just says take your time in a smooth, deep voice.

Oh man.

You do take your time, already calmer for John’s presence. Strange maybe to feel safe in the company of a stranger, a contractor no less, but it’s a nice change of pace.

Beep, beep. You scan methodically. John has no hidden items, and he doesn’t pressure you. He leans up against his lumber order and watches you check underneath things, under the cart, doing everything you’re trained to do.

“Start early?” he asks.

“Hm?” you lift your head. “Oh, yes. 6am.”

He whistles.

“Hard worker, I see,” he helps you lift a heavy bag of concrete.

“Thank you,” Marx look away, you think. Your face is only a little hot.

Cody strolls in the lumber doors missing his apron and – you guessed it – his pager. You fix him with a look as he smiles in greeting.

“Need a manager when you’re free,” you rush. Cody is nice, but you’re kinda miffed now.

“Oh, sure,” he says, walking by you toward the breakroom.

John Price raises a brow.

“Not everyone’s up to the task, eh?”

You feel hot again.

“It’s just early.”

John smiles. He looks remarkably silly doing it, you think. His facial hair makes him look approachable, cuddly. Like a teddy bear.

John’s order totals double the guy, which isn’t really a victory for you but it feels like one. Ha! See, you aren’t the richest guy here. You feel vindicated. Cody looks miserable cashing him out, which makes you just a little guilty.

“Will that be cash or card?” you ask, finger hovering on the POS.

He pays with card. You certainly do not notice how he cradles the machine. You aren’t that down bad.

Only you are, and his fingers are huge. His knuckles are hairy.

When you go to hand him the receipts, printed twice for record keeping, he manages to slip a 50 into your hand before you notice.

“Oh, no! I’m not allowed to–”

He folds those big bear paws over your hand, enclosing the cash in it with a sh sh sh as you protest.

“For the trouble,” he winks.

“You didn’t give me any trouble,” you try. The warmth of his palm, the roughness of his calluses. You’re a goner.

He chuckles, and you wonder how he can be both so intense and so disarming.

“You know what I mean, sweetheart,” he squeezes your hand, pushing it gently back towards you until you can put it in your apron pocket.

“Thank you,” you squeeze out.

“Don’t let him get to you,” he says.

“I’ll try,” you thank God or the universe or whoever that Cody and the guy finished a while ago.

“Attagirl.”

Yeah, you’re a goner.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Cheeky Interview || F1 driver!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: just Rafe being cheeky during the after race interview

Warnings: none

Word count: 926

A/n: no f1 for awhile :(

MASTERLIST (F1 driver!rafe x reader au masterlist)

The press room buzzed with energy as Rafe Cameron leaned back in his chair, the epitome of relaxed confidence. His racing suit was tied around his waist, revealing the snug black undershirt clinging to his toned frame. The cameras loved him; his cheeky grin and smouldering blue eyes ensured that.

“Rafe, fantastic result today,” a journalist began, her pen poised. “P2, and some excellent overtakes out there. How are you feeling?” Rafe flashed a grin, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Yeah, it was a good day. The car felt great—big shoutout to the team for that. But, uh…” He paused, the corner of his mouth quirking up mischievously.

“I think I’ve got someone else to thank for the extra motivation today.” The room perked up, sensing something juicy. His PR manager, Mia, sitting in the corner, visibly tensed. “And who would that be?” another journalist pressed, leaning forward eagerly. Rafe shrugged casually, though the glint in his eyes betrayed his intentions.

“My girlfriend,” he said, his voice laced with affection. “She’s here this weekend, which doesn’t happen often. When I saw her waving at me on the way to the grid? Yeah, I couldn’t let her down.” The reporters chuckled, a few murmuring “aww.” Rafe was in his element now.

“She’s been in the paddock all day,” Rafe continued, leaning into the mic. “I swear, the cameras are more focused on her than the cars. Can’t blame them, though. She looked unreal. Honestly, it’s unfair—I’m out here sweating in a fireproof suit, and she’s just strolling around making me look bad.”

More laughter rippled through the room, but Mia coughed, a clear signal. Rafe ignored it entirely. So, are we saying Y/n is your secret to success?” one reporter teased. “Secret?” Rafe scoffed. “Mate, there’s no secret about it. She’s my lucky charm. I told her if she keeps showing up, I might just win the championship.”

“She was in the paddock before the race, looking way too good. I was about to ditch the car and take her out for lunch instead.” The room erupted in laughter, but Mia was already shifting in her seat, a warning look sent his way. “Rafe,” she interjected, her tone polite but firm. “Let’s keep it focused on the race, yeah?”

Rafe barely blinked. “I am talking about the race. I mean, if she wasn’t here, I’d probably be in the gravel by lap two.” He winked at the room, fully aware of the chaos he was causing. Mia pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering something under her breath as the journalists continued to eat up Rafe’s every word.

“One last thing,” a bold reporter called out. “Any chance Y/n will be joining you on the podium next time?” Rafe chuckled, shaking his head. “If it were up to me, she’d already have her own spot. Honestly, I’d probably just step aside and let her take my trophy. She deserves one just for putting up with me.”

Mia cut in again, this time more forcefully. “Thank you, everyone. That’s all for now!” As the reporters reluctantly began to pack up, she shot Rafe a look that clearly showed she was annoyed. Rafe only shrugged, his grin never faltering. “What? They asked. I answered.”

“Next time,” she hissed under her breath as they walked out of the room, “stick to the car and the team. You’re impossible, Cameron.” “Impossible or irresistible?” he quipped, glancing back at her. But his smirk softened as he spotted you waiting at the end of the hall, your smile brightening the moment you saw him.

“See?” Rafe said, nodding toward you as he strode up, his confident smirk softening the moment his eyes met yours. “Totally worth it.” You couldn’t help but grin, stepping closer. Rising onto your tiptoes, you pressed a quick kiss to his lips. His arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, holding you close as he smiled against your lips, his warmth seeping into you.

“How was it?” you asked softly, glancing over his shoulder just in time to catch his Mia pinching the bridge of her nose. “Typical Rafe,” she muttered under her breath before walking off, clearly exasperated. Rafe chuckled, the sound deep and full of mischief, as his hands slid to rest on your hips.

His blue eyes sparkled with playful defiance as you raised an eyebrow at him. “What did you do this time?” you asked, laughter bubbling in your voice. Rafe held his hands up in mock surrender, his grin widening. “Why do you assume it was me?” he said, feigning innocence with an exaggerated gasp.

“Because,” you replied, crossing your arms as you tried—and failed—to look stern, “most of the time, it is you.” He leaned closer, his smirk downright wicked now. “Fair point,” he admitted, dropping his voice just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “But come on, you know you love it.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to stop your own smile from breaking through. “One of these days, you’re going to get yourself in real trouble.” He shrugged, pulling you back into his chest. “Probably. But as long as you’re there to bail me out, I’ll survive.”

[chrissturnsfav]

if star made pornstar by nessa barett do u think chris could’ve been fucking the shit out of her in the studio and that’s how she got the moans in the bridge 🤭🤭 or she could tell chris that’s the vibe she’s going for and he immediately suggests that he does that? IDK IF IM BEING CRAZY BUT THAT WOULD MAKE SUCH A HOG PROMPTTTTTTT AUGGHH

⋆.˚✮ rapper!chris helps singer!reader put her moans in her song

it’s after midnight in the studio, and your legs are tucked up on the worn leather couch while chris leans over the soundboard, head bobbing slightly to the beat looping through the speakers.

you can’t help but smile watching him—always so in his element. it makes your heart beat faster sometimes, just how effortlessly confident he is.

you clear your throat, heart thudding just a little. "chris?"

he looks up, a grin already on his lips. "what's good, kid?"

you toy with the hem of your oversized sweatshirt, cheeks heating up even though it's just him. "remember the song i've been working on for the album? pornstar?"

his brows lift, and that grin of his turns wicked. "yeah, i do. what’s on your pretty lil’ mind, huh?"

your stomach flips, but you press on. "i kinda wanna put, like, my moans in it. like, not in a gross way. just, y’know, artistic and stuff."

there’s a beat of silence before he laughs—low, rich, and full of mischief. "yo, you wild f'that." he steps closer, resting a hand on the back of the couch right next to your shoulder. "but i'm not gon’ lie...sounds fire. you tryna break the internet or what?"

you laugh nervously, covering your face. "stop! i’m serious."

he pulls your hand down gently, locking eyes with you. "m'serious too. but lemme guess—ain’t tryna jus' fake that, huh?"

"no..." you mumble, feeling stupid but oddly excited.

he tilts his head, smirking like he’s already got the answer. "bet. we can make this reealll easy, ma."

you blink up at him. "what do you mean?"

he leans in, voice dropping low and playful. "we record your moans live. like... i make you moan right here in the booth. get authentic wit' it, y’feel me?"

your jaw drops. "chris!"

"c'mon," he grins, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you close. "i know you wanna."

chris proves you right just moments later when you're perched in his lap on a desk chair, panties pulled to the side as you feel him filling your puffy pussy, riding him at a comfortable pace, mewling softly.

one of chris' hands are kneading the flesh of your ass, looking up at you with a smirk as he breathes heavily, the other holding a microphone up to your parted lips.

your hazy eyes flit down to his face with your brows furrowed in pleasure, the smirk on his lips sending a pleasure wave through you as you let out another soft moan.

he nods up at you, snickering breathily, "keep goin', you sound so pretty," he whispers.

chris' tip brushes against your cervix deliciously with every bounce of your hips, causing you to let out airier moans into the mic, your eyes rolling back as your fingers curl around his shirt for leverage.

he hums in awe up at you, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip as he squeezes the flesh of your ass, "mhmm, look at you," he coos quietly, lidded eyes burning into yours. "ridin' my cock like such a good girl, wanna go faster f'me? hm?"

you nod your head, swallowing hard as you pant softly into the mic. you adjust your position on his dick before bouncing your hips harder and faster, eliciting a loud whine into the mic and a low grunt from chris as his fingers sink into your skin.

"theeeere you go, that's my fuckin' girl, jus' like that, baby, keep ridin' jus' like that," he purrs quietly, hissing in pleasure as his eyes flutter close, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip when he feels you take him into your tight warmth deeper.

"m-mmph...a-ah...ah," you moan into the mic, your eyes rolling back as your jaw falls open, drool seeping past your lips, the delicious feeling of him stretching you going straight to your tummy, a knot forming in it.

your walls tighten around him hard, causing chris to groan deeply, letting you both know how close you are. "c'mon, take this dick, baby, cum all over it too, wanna feel that shit," he grunts quietly, looking up at you with lidded eyes.

the knot tightens in your tummy, your thighs beginning to shake as your noises become more high pitched into the mic, your pace on his cock growing sloppier and erratic. "o-oh god...a-ah.."

"mm, c'mon," chris mumbles, his chest heaving up and down as he feels his balls tightening as he gets close. "you so close, just cum f'me, mama."

the knot snaps in your tummy, your hips stuttering as you let out a cry into the mic, your walls fluttering around chris' dick as your knuckles turn white at how hard you grip his shirt.

chris is pushed over the edge shortly after you, his eyes rolling back as he gasps, his hand holding the mic to your lips shaking slightly as his fingers sink into the flesh of your ass, thrusting his hips up into you to ride out his high.

"fuck," he grunts breathily, lowering the mic from your lips as his head falls back against the chair, his eyes closing. you wrap your arms around his neck, panting into his chest.

he chuckles breathily, his arm coming around your back to rub it beneath your sweatshirt, "damn, kid, you really gonna break the fuckin' internet wit' this shit. loud as hell."

thank you for reading!! <3

tags 🏷️: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @forgottxen , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @freakiolos , @slut4chris888 , @chriss-slutt , @ilovedanielcaesar , @annsx03 , @snoopychris , @chrissweetheart , @slutformatt17 , @mattsturnii , @dominicfikeenthusiast , @mattsbratt333 , @ivysturnss , @tessasturns , @coquettechris , @courta13 , @sturniolo101

@chrissturnsfav ™