#real-time sentiment tracking

[loverboybrightsideghost]

la cage aux folles musical. that is all.

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Finished a journal, the first entry is back from September of 2021 and I wrote all the way down the last page today 💖

[technologyequality]

AI-Powered Brand Storytelling: How to Build Deep Emotional Connections

AI-Powered Brand Storytelling How to Build Deep Emotional Connections Let’s be real—people don’t fall in love with businesses. They fall in love with stories. If your brand messaging is all about features and pricing, you’re missing the point. People connect with the WHY behind your brand, not just the WHAT. And in today’s AI-driven world, storytelling isn’t just an art—it’s a science. We’ve…

[wendichester]

This is such an odd request, but I swear it's really sweet. I just got home from the club, and I'm super drunk as I'm writing this (I'm typing like a sloth to make sure everything makes sense).

My feet are quite literally killing me, yet I can't help but think about drunk reader complaining about their feet hurting and being all pouty because of it while they ask Dean to carry them back to their room. Only to drunkenly yap his ear off with things that they absolutely adore and love about him, even if they don't say it much when they're sober. (Clingy drunk reader 🔛🔝)

Established relationship preferred! Tyy in advance~

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡ tipsy,

summary. you've had a night. fun. drinks. and now your feet are killing you. luckily for you, dean's strong

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 733

notes. please come back drunkie anon~ i absolutely loved this 🩷

You know your feet are going to fall off.

Like, actually detach from your legs and go on strike for the way you’ve abused them tonight. Stupid heels. Stupid dance floor. Stupid fun times that made you forget the very real consequences of being on your feet for hours.

But it’s fine. You have a solution.

“Deeaaaann,” you whine, tugging on his sleeve as you stumble down the Bunker hallway, your limbs feeling more like jelly than anything solid. “My feet are dead. Gone. Say goodbye.” You wave dramatically toward your legs, nearly toppling over in the process.

Dean steadies you instantly, his hand firm against your waist. “Yeah? And whose fault is that, sweetheart?”

You gasp, mouth falling open. “Mine,” you admit, frowning. “But that’s not the point.”

Dean huffs out a laugh, already guiding you toward your room like he’s done this a million times before. “Oh yeah? Then what is?”

You stop in your tracks, blinking up at him with big, glassy eyes. “Carry me.”

Dean exhales sharply through his nose, like he knew this was coming. “No way.”

Your pout could win an Oscar. “Please? Please, please, please? You love me, right? Doesn’t love mean carrying your poor, helpless, beautiful girlfriend when she’s on the brink of death?”

Dean lifts a brow. “Brink of death, huh?”

“Yes. My feet are GONE. You’re dating a footless woman, Dean.” You gesture to yourself. “Might as well call me Floaty McGee.”

That gets a chuckle out of him. “Alright, alright. C’mere, ya menace.”

The next thing you know, Dean is sweeping you into his arms like you weigh nothing, one arm under your legs, the other supporting your back. You practically melt against him, letting out a dramatic sigh as you nuzzle into his chest.

“God, you’re so big,” you mumble, tracing lazy circles over his shirt.

Dean snorts. “Uh. Thanks?”

“No, I mean it. All strong and warm and—you smell so good.” You sigh dreamily, letting your fingers trail up to the back of his neck, playing with the short hair there. “Like home. Like leather and whiskey and safety and you.”

Dean’s grip on you tightens just a little. “Damn, sweetheart, didn’t know alcohol made you this sentimental.”

You hum, tucking your face against his throat. “M’not sentimental.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I just love you,” you say, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Like, so much. Soooo much.”

Dean chuckles, his voice softer now. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirm. “Like, you don’t even know how much. It’s ridiculous, honestly. You’re all…” You wave a clumsy hand in the air, smacking his shoulder in the process. “You. And you do all these little things, like—like making sure I eat and giving me your jacket when I forget mine and keeping my favorite snacks in the car even though you pretend you don’t.”

Dean doesn’t say anything to that. You don’t notice.

“And your hands,” you continue, oblivious to how tense he’s gotten. “God, your hands, Dean. Do you even realize how nice they are? Big and rough and so good at everything they do? Touching me, fixing Baby, shooting things—”

Dean clears his throat. “Okay, sweetheart, time for bed.”

You whine, clinging to him tighter. “Nooo. I have so much more to say! Like how pretty your eyes are. Like, stupidly pretty. All green and golden and—ugh, it’s annoying.”

He smirks. “Didn’t realize my eyes pissed you off.”

“They do. Because they make me weak.”

Dean lets out a real laugh at that, finally reaching your bedroom. He nudges the door open with his foot, stepping inside before carefully laying you down onto the mattress. The second he tries to pull away, you refuse to let go.

“Stay,” you murmur, looking up at him with those big, sleepy eyes. “Please?”

Dean exhales, shaking his head fondly before sitting on the edge of the bed. “You’re gonna be a real pain in the ass tomorrow, y’know that?”

You smile. “Yeah. But you’ll still love me.”

His gaze softens, all that teasing amusement melting into something quieter. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I will.”

You beam, completely content as sleep starts to pull you under.

Before you drift off, you feel Dean press a kiss to your forehead, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Drunk or not, you’re gonna hear all this back in the morning.”

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @lovewolfspirit ⋆ @kayleighwinchester ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @beakaleak32 ⋆ @ocelotlist51 ⋆ @lelapine ⋆ @pwin098 ⋆ @lacysretribution ⋆ @globetrotter28 ⋆ @i-love-gvf ⋆ @lemonswinchester ⋆ @4k1vrr ⋆ @bejeweledinterludes ( continues in the comments )

[retrosabers]

𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐝.

FICMAS DAY 5 - UNWRAPPING

A RETROSABERS X PANDAPETALS DOUBLE FEATURE

old man logan x fem!reader

summary: logan didn’t believe in exchanging christmas presents. so, you offer him something you know he can’t refuse. a night where’s he’s free to have you all to himself.

contains: 18+ content below the cut. MINORS DNI. making out, some dry humping if you squint, oral (fem receiving), implied age gap, a dash of angst, swearing

word count: 2.6k

a/n: you thought i’d let a whole season pass without a little taste of some festive smut? absolutely hilarious. this is my first time writing for old man logan, and i think i did pretty alright considering i have yet to watch the movie (i’m terrified of the pain it will bring)

any feedback is always greatly appreciated!

also, don’t be confused by the fact that this says day 5 when i still haven’t posted day 4, i’m writing these bad boys out of order

and finally, a huge shoutout & thanks to the wildly talented @pandapetals for agreeing to do a little collaboration! please go check out her blog and all of her amazing work! <3

FIND HER PART HERE

!! divider by @estrelinha-s !!

FICMAS MASTERLIST

“are you sure your eyes are closed?”

logan grunts. “they’re closed, darlin’. promise.”

he’s been sitting here for almost fifteen minutes now, waiting for you to bring out this so-called “surprise.” from the ambient lighting and freshly washed bed sheets, the man thinks he’s got a general idea of what it is, but you’ve been fiddling in the bathroom too long for him to be certain.

still, he appeases you, and waits patiently at the foot of your bed. even if it’s a little bit uncomfortable on his knees.

meanwhile you’re fussing over every little detail of your appearance in the groggy bathroom mirror.

this was your solution to getting around logan’s “i don’t need anything for christmas” rule. you always begrudgingly abided by it, save for the box of cigars that always mysteriously turnt up in his nightstand on christmas eve. you knew he could never turn it down, no matter how much he tried.

logan could never say no to a smoke break with a nice pack of cubans. and he most certainly couldn’t say no to you.

that's how you decided upon this whole scheme. dolling yourself up and donning a new set of lingerie themed to the occasion, knowing logan had no leg to stand on. because technically, you didn’t buy anything for him. you bought this for you. he just so happened to be the person who was going to help take it off.

or rip it off, knowing your man’s track record of impatience and eagerness.

you share the exact same sentiment, though your tendency to be anile overpowers all else. you know it doesn’t matter if you have a hair or two out of place, or if your lips are slightly over lined. perfection never mattered to logan, but it still didn’t stop you from doing everything in your power to be pretty damn close to it tonight.

even if it meant making him wait a few extra minutes.

you pay your reflection one final glance before sauntering out into the bedroom.

he smells you before he hears you.

your scent wafting into the room captures his attention more than anything else. logan’s senses may not be as keen as they once were, but the fragrance of you was something utterly unmistakable. a sweet yet sultry aroma that he ached to have on his skin, his clothes, anywhere, to keep him grounded. to remind himself that you were real and you were his. it only adds to the anticipation building inside, the mere seconds he has to wait dragging on like hours in his mind.

a wave of lust overtakes you as logan comes into view. somehow just the sight of him is enough to send a bout of arousal down to your core.

that crisp white dress shirt he always wears is unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled up to reveal those chiseled forearms you love to have wrapped around you. the soft glow of the lamp on the bedside table illuminates the weathered curves of his face so beautifully. a contrast to the ruggedness of his position; legs lazily spread wide and long, thick fingers tapping mindlessly against his thigh.

the picture of a real man. and he’s all yours for the taking.

the sound of your footsteps padding against the floor grows louder. obediently, logan’s eyes stay shut, despite the fact that the other aroma you carry is hot and heavy in his nostrils. his upper lip twitches with a knowing smirk.

so this is exactly what he had in mind.

on instinct, his thighs spread even further when he senses your approach, hands itching to find their place on you somehow. when your own stay glued to your sides, he takes that as his cue to do the same.

logan really hates to admit it, but there’s something about this little bit of mystery that’s got him going before you’ve even begun.

“you ready?” your voice comes out breathy, and if logan didn’t know any better he’d think you’re nervous. and truth be told, you were. not that logan wouldn’t get his kicks, you were certain of that. more so that you’d be unable to walk come tomorrow morning.

though neither of you would consider it a bad thing

“yes ma’am,” he grumbles in response, knowing exactly the effect it has on you. the cockiness on his face is inevitable when he hears your breath hitch.

tease. if that’s how he wants to play, you’re in for a long night.

with a quiet sigh, you splay your fingers over the expanse of his broad shoulders. the man takes it as permission, calloused palms wrapping around your calves and not daring to travel any further. he knows he’ll lose any remaining self control if he gets so much as an inch closer to the apex of your thighs.

“okay.” you murmur. “you can open your eyes.”

slowly, those dark irises begin to drink you in. his grip on you tightens as soon as he gets the whole picture, a visible tent forming in his dress slacks almost immediately.

logan thought you were the most beautiful women he’s ever seen under any conditions. didn’t matter if you were sick, if you were bare faced, none of that changed how otherworldly you looked in his eyes. but nothing, and i mean nothing, compared to the sight of you before him right now.

you look like something out of a dream. hair styled in a way that drives him particularly crazy, makeup done to highlight your features so elegantly in the dim light. the best, and quite possibly logan’s favorite part, however, is that your lips are painted a shade of red to perfectly match the ensemble adorning your body. it sparks a slideshow of rather lewd images in his brain, wanting the color scattered across his cheek, his chest, his cock. anywhere you’re willing to brand him.

he’s committed every inch of you to memory by now. countless nights of exploring, mapping out your curves with hand and tongue. and still, everytime he sees you like this, practically offering yourself on a silver platter, he can’t help but stare back as though this is the very first time.

especially when that crimson silk is accentuating your figure so nicely.

“do you like it?” you ask coyly, bottom lip tucked between your teeth like you’re not fully aware of the power you have over him.

logan scoffs out a laugh, dragging his hands higher and higher until they tug at your hips, pulling you to straddle his lap in one swift motion. you squeak at the sudden display of strength, forgetting that despite his age, he was still infinitely stronger than any man you’ve ever met.

even beneath the layers of fabric between you, the sheer size of him was impossible to ignore. fuck, and he wasn’t even fully hard. you bite back a moan at the outline of his length pressed between your legs.

“that answer your question?” he quips back lowly, smirking smugly.

you hum in content, pressing your hands further into his shoulders as you experimentally grind your hips. the pair of you preen at the contact, desperate for any form of relief after being pent up and waiting.

“careful,” logan grits out in warning. “gonna cum in my pants like a fuckin’ teenager if you keep that up.”

you tsk in response, cocking your head with faux concern. “can’t have that, now can we?”

logan shakes his head at your antics, eyes wandering back over your body once more. before tonight, his favorite set of lingerie you owned was a black lacy number. simple and classic. but the more time he spends inspecting what’s currently adorning your frame, the more he thinks that red might be his new favorite color.

something warm spills over him when he glances at your chest again. something different than what he normally experiences every time he catches a glimpse of your cleavage, anyways.

“is that a bow?” he questions, a little bit amused.

you let out a soft giggle, nodding in reply.

“wanted you to be able to unwrap your present.”

you can count the amount of times logan has laughed, really truly laughed, on one hand. and as much as it sounds like music to your ears, you’re rather confused as to why he’s laughing right now.

“what’s so funny?” you huff, brows knit together and bottom lip jutted in a near pout.

logan averts your inquiry, burying his face in your neck so you can’t see him grinning like an idiot. instead, he busies himself with dragging his lips up and down the column of your throat, reveling in the breathy moans spilling from your lips with each and every press against your skin.

from the moment you met logan howlett, you fantasized about that salt and pepper beard. longed to feel the delicious sting of scruff against every part of you. as addicting as it is, the sensation isn’t enough to keep you completely distracted.

“logan,” you whine, titling your head back to grant him more access. “m’serious.”

he doesn’t halt his ministrations, too consumed with making sure your neck is painted every shade of lavender under the sun. he only stops when you rake your fingers in his hair and physically pull him off, much to both your dismays.

you give him a look. that pursed lips, narrow eyed “what aren’t you saying to me” look that signals he’s going to have to fess up to whatever’s on his mind, or else the evening would be coming to an end right here and now. from the way he’s about to burst through the zipper on his dress slacks, you know he’s not considering weighing options.

logan sighs heavily. if you didn’t know all the variations of the sound, you’d think he was upset with you. but that was far from how the older man felt. he begins to examine your face, observing everything from the slopes of your bone structure, to the color of your irises. he studies your features like an artisan in a gallery, content on not missing a single detail.

after a moment, the corners of his mouth turn up a hair. eyes almost dopey; filled with a lovesickness he never thought could be possible.

“you’re somethin’ else, y’know that?” he murmurs into the air, rough fingertips tracing back and forth across your spine.

you speak the language of logan fluently, knowing exactly what the underlying message of his words were. in reality, he was saying, “what did i do in this life to deserve you? will you ever know how much i love you? i hope you’ll be mine for as long as you’ll have me.”

suddenly his round of laughter from before rings brighter in your ears.

instead of saying another word, you guide his face to yours, connecting your lips in a silent understanding.

logan always kisses you like a man starved, devouring you whole as though every kiss may be the last. there was nothing tame, or tender about the man they once called the wolverine, but you managed to slip between the cracks of his stony disposition, and bring forth all the parts of himself he swore he lost decades ago.

your hands encircle around the back of his neck, logan’s squeezing at the flesh of your hips. he pulls you impossibly closer, pressing the swell of your chest against his own. the feeling of your nipples pebbling through velvet fabric reminds him of the true nature of your current situation.

tonight was for him. his pleasure, his enjoyment. he knew you’d be heavily dissatisfied if he didn’t indulge in what you were offering.

and what kind of man would logan be, if he disappointed his sweet girl?

you’re not expecting him to be so gentle when he turns and flips you over, mouth never once leaving yours. a large hand spread across your back as he lowers you down onto the mattress with a care reserved for you and only you. a fact that adds to your current state of arousal. your legs open like second nature, and logan slots himself between them as though that’s where he was always meant to be.

the whine that leaves you when he pulls away would be embarrassing if it weren’t for the hunger in his stare. those normally hazel pupils now a brownish black that overshadowed bright white. he sits back on his haunches, glazing over your pretty little lingerie with a newfound appreciation.

he reaches to toy with the end of the bow tied snugly between your breasts, a teasing invitation that he graciously accepts.

at a tantalizing pace, he begins to unwrap his present, watching with lustful eyes as more and more skin becomes exposed. you arch your back the slightest bit to get the job done faster, the shoe of impatience now snug on your foot instead of his.

normally, logan would scold, spit something about “being a good girl and waiting.” but he’s just as riled up and eager as you are, and he gives the velvet one final tug that has your breasts springing free.

god you were absolute perfection.

he can’t resist running a thumb over your erect nipples, reveling in the way you squirm over such a small touch. your color coated lips swollen and shiny from his kisses. body already relaxed and pliant, willing to do whatever he so pleases.

a few minutes ago, he would’ve torn your outfit off without second thought and shown no mercy. let the shitty week he was having take control, guide him through the motions of achieving pleasure. but something inside logan urges him to be a little sentimental; take his sweet time on the off chance that he wakes up and discovers this was all a dream.

so he decides that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

the path down to your core was a familiar one, a route he knew like the back of his hand. sloppy, wet kisses trail down your stomach, a small crack in logan’s otherwise composed exterior. by the time he reaches the hem of your panties, tongue teasing beneath the waistband, you’re bursting at the seams with desire, unable to stop yourself from whimpering and bucking your hips upward.

“i gotcha honey,” he whispers against the inside of your thigh, rubbing soft circles with his thumb. “m’gonna take real good care of ya.”

logan knew you were soaked the second you walked into the room. didn’t need to see or feel it to know. still, he indulges his ego and stares proudly at the dark patch in the center of your underwear. knowing it was all his doing, that he was the only one who could get you like this.

when he pulls the fabric to the side and is met with your glistening folds, he can’t help the groan that rumbles in his chest.

“merry fuckin’ christmas to me,” he all but growls before diving right in.

it’s in moments like these where he wishes that photographic memory was his mutation, though he doubts he’ll ever forget this. his perfect girl, laid out so delicately beneath him, basking in the pale moonlight that seeped in between the curtains. his own personal utopia, paradise within the four walls of this rickety building you called home.

logan wonders if maybe he’s finally succumbed to the poison in his bones. because this sure does feel like heaven.

at the very least, it most definitely feels like christmas.

because having the privilege of watching you come undone was the gift that kept on giving all year round.

thanks for reading! <3

taglist: @alastor-simp @j4desblurbs @pandapetals @hextech-bros

!! if you would like to be tagged in the rest of the ficmas blurbs, please send me an inbox message or leave a comment !!

[crocsandbitches]

Not to get overly sentimental but rap beef is honestly such a creative form of expression. Like we’re going to hold off on kicking the shit out of each other and calling up shooters to make clever rhymes about each other and get the common man saying words like ‘double entendre.’

Here’s a couple of suggestions of other diss tracks to listen to if you’ve found you’ve liked bitchy poetry:

Ether - Nas (2001) - diss track vs Jay Z & widely considered to be one of the best diss tracks ever released. It’s a response to Jay Z’s diss ‘Takeover’ which at the time of its release left people thinking Nas’ career was over and then Nas uno reversed that shit with Ether and it’s still considered to be a miracle that Jay Z managed to maintain his fame.

Hit ‘em up - 2Pac (1996) -diss track vs Biggie & Bad Boy records. Part of the East Coast / West Coast beef. 2Pac was shot 5 times and survived and Biggie released a song called ‘Who Shot Ya.’ Hit em up is Pac’s response and it’s iconic. Plus the tune is groovy as shit.

Real Muthaphuckkin’ G’s - Eazy E (1993) - Dr Dre left his group NWA over a dispute about contracts/pay. He later released a song called ‘Fuck with Dre Day’ where he had a go at Eazy E (the lead rapper of NWA). Eazy released this in response and it’s another groovy, west coast banger.

Story of Adidon- Pusha T (2018) - Pusha T walked so Kendrick Lamar could run. Need I say more.

No Vaseline - Ice Cube (1991) - vs remaining members of NWA. Cube was the first to leave NWA over contracts/pay disputes. The remaining members released an album, with subtle disses against him. Ice Cube, as Ice Cube does, got pissed.

Life’s on the Line - 50 Cent (2003) - adding this because 50 Cent hates as easily as he breathes and it’s something to marvel at. His beef with Ja Rule started in ‘99 when Ja Rule was robbed by 50’s people and then one thing lead to another and 50 was stabbed and then he was shot 9 times. ‘Time is the best medicine-‘ no. no it’s not. If anything 50 gets angrier through the years. 19 years later 50 bought 200 tickets to Ja Rule’s concert so the front rows were completely empty.

[ybklix]

somebody’s watching me

♱‧₊˚.pairing: lee minho x camgirl!femreader ⋆⁺₊✧ 𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔: Meeting a mysterious and secretive man excites every part of you, yet without you realizing it, he watches you from his window on a lonely night, not aware that it would ignite a new behavior in him. ⋆｡°⛧ 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 — 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: MDNI, smut, stalker & soft dom minho, perv and obsessive tendencies, voyeurism, mention of sex worker, teasing, overstimulation, sextape, fingering, masturbation, cunnilingus, chocking, spanking, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names, slight dirty talk, cumplay, cumshoot, sex toys, mention of mental illness. ⭒₊ ⊹✩₊˚.₊ ⊹⭒ 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 18.5k

♬⋆.˚ somebody’s watching me by rockwell 🕸️ every breath you take by the police

(𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 '𝟮𝟰) - 𝔴𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔬𝔟𝔢𝔯 ₊˚🕯️♱‧₊˚. 02: psycho

It was such a lonely night, he didn’t know exactly why he felt that way, besides the obvious fact that he was alone; he came home alone, just like any other day of his life, being greeted by no one but the sweet and warm company of 3 felines, which was more than enough for him, but Lee Minho had already gotten so used to that. He arrived tired from his work, with no thoughts in his mind and acting more automatically with his routine: getting to his apartment, taking a shower and trying to relax, abandoning the immensity of thoughts that flooded his head more and more like annoying voices repeating the same thing over and over again, what was he doing with his life and the existential question if it was really worth what he was doing, he was an adult, an average man, seemingly normal to everyone’s eyes, but he was hiding his own demons and secrets, as he was no longer a proper guy, he was a private detective working in one or another questionable job, making him live in the shadows because, despite his tough image, he lived in uncertainty and in the indescribable fear of humanity, Minho had seen so much that he was not proud of, and that made him think that he was a terrible person… sometimes he felt too much and sometimes he was just a completely heartless guy doing his job.

It was hard for him to live before society as an average man, living alone, a citizen blending in among the people, but his real hidden life was more than that. He gave up working for justice long ago just for a little money, leading him to have the apartment of his dreams in one of the best and safest areas of the city… but sometimes he wondered at what cost, if he never felt satisfied, much less safe, he didn’t even trust his own shadow. He was recruited years ago for his incredible finding ability and among other things, Lee Minho was a damn modern ninja, he knew how to fight, kill, and was so stealthy and clean with his moves, but none of that caused him pride, sometimes he wondered, what did he need in his life to experience even the true sentiment of feeling fulfilled.

Minho sighed, he really didn’t understand why the sudden feeling of wanting to fill his life. But there he was again questioning himself. His alarm suddenly rang, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and instantly silenced it, he grimaced, knowing exactly what it referred to… it was his medication time. His job was not easy, he was rolling in money doing favors and special missions… in exchange for a bit of his deteriorating mental health, post trauma and stress were real, he used to go to the psychiatrist on Thursdays and had his special medication to get back to being the same average and functional man… otherwise he would go crazy, or at least he thought so. Anxiety, paranoia, and small episodes of delirium that were labeled as schizophrenia and certain antisocial personality traits accompanied a poor Minho. His doctor warned him that he could not live alone, that he feared he would suddenly suffer a psychotic break and he knew the risk of being given pills without keeping track of them so every day he visited his doctor for his daily dose. Minho was a patient of psychiatrist Dr. Kim, a patient of very detailed importance, and his curiosity about him grew every day because deep down he felt that there was something in Minho that he needed to work on better… but Minho’s money was also very important, enough to shut him up, plus he was a little afraid of him because of the dangerous work that Lee Minho was involved in.

He took the small plastic bag with his pills out of his jeans pocket, put them in the palm of his hand, and looked at them, a combination of antipsychotics and antidepressants… knowing what he was taking put him even more in a loop of emotions, it depressed him to know he was dependent on drugs in his youth, he was unhappy and the constant fear of having no purpose ate at him again, the anxiety returned, over thinking if he was doing the right thing, if this was what his life should be or if he was wasting his potential, Minho was a killing machine and a lethal weapon of intelligence gathering, he was agile, stealthy, clean, smart and cunning. He was a modern-day spy and ninja.

Minho bit his lip, hesitating whether to take his medication or leave it for that night…. he saw his cat rubbing between his feet… and abruptly and suddenly closed his hand, deciding not to take them that day. He wanted to feel normal, a young man of almost thirty, living alone, enjoying his night because his heavy work was over, so far Minho had no mission and just the one he had finished had left him so economically rewarded as to take his things and run away on vacation… but no he didn’t exactly want that, he felt he wanted to enjoy his solitude, his apartment, he was a bit antisocial, he didn’t feel like socializing with people, he wanted to feel normal and his mind spun thinking about what a normal man at his age could do.

He sighed again, this time audibly, tossing the pills on his desk almost contemptuously, his medication was putting him to sleep, making him feel out of himself, or at least that’s what he felt. The silence made him hopelessly uncomfortable, making him nervous, and he ran to his living room only to turn on the television, letting himself watch the news channel, just to hear something more than his constant and disturbing thoughts; he didn’t pay attention to the TV and kept walking in the darkness of his apartment, he had forgotten to turn on the lights, he was about to do it but the impulse of wanting to be illuminated by the city and the night took over him, suddenly opening the curtains of his big window, his mind went from one thought to another, while he opened the curtain he thought of ordering some dinner and watching a movie, doing little things that someone sane and healthy would do, without getting carried away by the calming effect of the medication that would put him to bed in seconds. He was going to have energy, maybe drink alcohol, he hadn’t consumed it in a long time because he was on medication… but every one of his thoughts ceased just as he saw you.

For the first time in a long time his mind experienced silence and tranquility, for the first time in a long time each of his senses awoke to something unrelated to his work.

In front of his window was another apartment building, popular for being an old and exclusive building where most of its residents were older people, adults with families, businessmen, and people with money, it was a serious building, and it was so rare to see a young woman alone living in that building… unless of course, you were a young newlywed living in your first kind of ‘home’, Minho knew everything about the area he lived in, he knew what each of his neighbors did and who were the people who lived in his apartment building, not because he was sociable and knew them casually… but he knew every detail because of his careful, suspicious and obsessive personality. His doctor wanted to call it something else… one more diagnosis to his list instead of just calling it something characteristic of the intelligent, investigative nature of his personality, because clearly, the behavior was not normal. But Minho knew little about his neighbors in the building across the street, he knew the names of some, and their occupations, and he knew enough to not consider anyone a threat or something he should be on the lookout for… or have an episode of paranoia. He knew of the one young man who lived there at 221-B who looked about his age range named Han Jisung, who was the son of a major millionaire, who moved there because that street meant money, status, and elite and that Jisung would bump into Minho from time to time on his morning jogs, acting friendlier than Minho could stand since they were the same age and the only young men on the street.

He flicked his eyeballs in a quick glance at the windows of the people across the street, disinterested and ready to continue on his way through his home… but something, in particular, stopped him from moving forward, something so captivated his gaze that it made him remain in shock, stopping his gaze on that fixed point, transfixed in his spot as he opened his big round eyes, shocked and absorbed at what was going on in that apartment and what he witnessed that night of which suddenly became uncommon and exciting.

Minho licked his lips, unable to believe it and unable to take his eyes off that window, the movements of his eyes were fast and agile catching every detail of what was happening in that apartment… for the first time in a long time, thousands of sensations exploded inside him, unknown sensations beyond the adrenaline of the constant danger and fear in his daily work, beyond the mental illnesses that were bringing him down every day… it was thrilling, exciting, forbidden and kinky. Who are you…? It was the only thing that crossed his mind as you took his breath away. It was a beautiful girl, the silhouette of her, naked on her bed, with her body illuminated in what seemed to be an led light recording, it was you, a stranger to Minho, completely without the slightest idea that they could see you because you trusted the seller saying that your window was one of those where you could not see inside during the night, so you had just moved in and you were making your typical adult content, pornographic and dirty which generated you an exaggerated amount of money.

Minho was hiding in the dark, watching you, analyzing your every move with curiosity as if he was witnessing a woman’s naked body for the first time as if he was discovering pornography and living in shame of being discovered, starting to excite his manly body… you were making him question, when was the last time he had felt this sexually aroused, when was the last time he had masturbated out of boredom, and excitement, the last time he had fantasized or desired someone, the last time he had been intimate, had sex… possessed another woman’s body for pleasure. He cursed his antidepressants, thinking it was obvious that the adverse effects from his long-term medication were affecting him, diminishing his libido.

He watched you lustfully, his cock getting harder and harder, he watched your silhouette sideways, spreading your legs as you gently and slowly inserted a dildo into your cunt, how your head fell back moaning in arousal and your hair fell gracefully, how you looked seductively to the front where you gently bit your lip and massaged your naked soft breasts as your hand pushed the sex toy into you, Minho delighted, almost imagining the sound of your moans and then watched as you settled back to pretend you were riding the dildo. He not only examined your naked body but admired, what he could from a distance, your sweet, pretty jovial profile side.

He felt dirty, and lurid, like a hormonal young man magically discovering that a hot neighbor was the most typical and dreamed-of sexual fantasy, a young woman who lived for the adult entertainment industry… he felt like a man again.

He examined the room, there wasn’t much more than your bed and the tripod with what appeared to be a cell phone…. Minho deduced… you were either recording yourself for later, or you were one of those of which they were live. He couldn’t take it anymore, he had to find you right now. He let out a gasp and felt his cock throb painfully choking in his pants, he couldn’t stop watching you… but he had something better to watch if you were doing it live. He cursed in annoyance that he had to take his eyes off of you and with bated breath and trembling hands —sensations of which deep down he was rejoicing in pleasure and happiness that he could feel alive again and not like some kind of inhuman, unhappy creature— he grabbed his cell phone, quickly searching the database of the building across the street, it took him three minutes to log in and find out the name and identity of each of his guests. Minho was desperate, his heart pounding because he had to find out who you were and what pages you were on, now. He was still looking straight ahead making sure you were there while he was in a desperate wait to be able to hack into the system.

He blinked suddenly, thinking quickly about what floor you were on and what your apartment number might be.

There you were. Shining before his eyes just as you were just now in your room.

Y/n — 223-B. Female. DOB: 11/02/2002. You were young, too young for him, to live alone and do those things, he thought. But he couldn’t let you go like that. You were the one who made him feel human again. He was becoming obsessed.

He studied your data and in frustration rushed for his laptop, turning it on and bringing it right in front of his window. Something in him told him he must feel like a maniac to be doing all that… but another part taking over told him it was feeling so good… to have a purpose, a mission, to find out something he was genuinely interested in. He repeated your name in his head over and over again. Y/n, Y/n, Y/n, Y/n.

Minho rubbed the bridge of his nose, frustrated, about to act the fastest in his entire career so he could find out about you, in two minutes he got every social network of yours, your academic history, birthplace, and phone number. He knew that getting information took some time but he wanted to know what kind of services you did and there it suddenly was. Your OnlyFans username. Minho sighed in relief and again a rush of adrenaline filled his body, it felt so wrong but so right, he was so curious.

He filled in data quickly, linked his card with the data already saved on his laptop, and was impressed to see how famous you were on such a site… and there you were. Live. Minho looked up at your window one last time before he went engrossed to the first thing he could sit at and put his laptop on, his table. More quality, more closeness, and a close-up of your beautiful sweet pussy, swollen from constant stimulation, dripping and glistening, Minho felt virginal, a first-timer watching something so exciting. He looked around the rest of the room, white walls, and horror movie posters… you liked horror movies then, you lived alone as only your name was registered in the database... and you were so young making that content, it was wrong, so wrong he guiltily pulled his cock out of his pants and began to masturbate to your image, moaning through his teeth as he felt his pulsating erection on his rough hand, fantasizing about fucking you, about having his tongue trapped in your slick… he missed the feeling of masturbating, of feeling alive and with purpose, in a soft moan you made Lee Minho cum and filled his hand with his semen, you had changed him forever. But he couldn’t help but feel jealous of the other people who could see you and were doing the same as him.

Minho wanted to get to know you up close, but suddenly his curiosity got the better of him. He wanted to hear your voice and know why you were doing it... who are you.

Minho was able to hack into your account and see all the content you had for free, but something in him thought you were worth every fucking penny. That night was like no other, he cummed so many times he ended up exhausted, his cock and hand sore and tender, scared of everything his body could throw out. That night Minho spent it like a sick man watching absolutely every video and picture of you, masturbating uncontrollably until he left his cock red from the constant stimulation… if that was what you caused him without even knowing you, he already wanted to have you all to himself… but it wasn’t all a dirty sexual fantasy, it was also a dirty dark obsessive fantasy.

That night Minho didn’t sleep at all, he investigated every detail about you. He found out where you grew up, what schools you attended, that you used to live with your mother and stepfather, you have an older brother a couple of years older than Minho, your father died when you were fifteen but your parents were divorced since you were little, you have a 12-year-old younger half-sister whom you miss, you just finished college but you started your OnlyFans account earlier this year. Since then in all these months your popularity has grown to the point of taking you to live in that building. You had two best friends, one of them lives in the city in another area, Minho knew their names, occupations, ages, and workplaces and that they had been your friends since childhood. You had a boyfriend at 17 but it was nothing serious, you lasted two months, you love the horror genre, and art and cinema are your real passions, but you studied and graduated in something more practical because you had little hope of making money graduating in arts, you gave up your dreams but now you were generating millions making adult content… Minho wondered if that was your dream.

You for your part, after that precise live streaming you felt a little strange… besides the fact that you overstimulated yourself and were recording yourself while masturbating, but you had an eerie feeling that someone was watching you, so you closed your curtain and decided to go about your activities with the window covered.

Minho saw your window with the curtain in place the next morning, but he knew it all by then. You are generally shy, but charismatic, you graduated with a high GPA from high school and were doing well in college. You come from a small town and no one but your best friends know about your source of income as an adult content creator, you fool your mother and stepfather that you have a steady job in the city in an office and send them money from time to time, you lived with your best friend after graduating until you just moved out on your own on Roxbury St. and you had a small job in an old and famous bookstore which the owner is an old artist who worked in movies, galleries and so on. You worked Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday, 9 to 5 to keep your mind busy, to feel unashamed to walk down the street, as if the night before you hadn’t recorded yourself over-stimulating and self-pleasuring yourself.

Then Minho put his plan in action, his new mission was you, beyond fucking you, he wanted to hear your voice, to know you better, you seemed so cute, sweet, tender, and innocent to keep doing that kind of content, he was so curious about you, if at some point you will try to resume your dream by paying your own career, if you need help in something and he can give it to you; he was nervous, imagining your voice, your gestures, and manners… the only thing he had no idea about was your type, Minho wanted to make the best impression on you, he wanted you to like him, your last boyfriend was a skinny freckled guy absolutely nothing to do with Minho, but still he had some hope… he never considered himself unattractive, but it was little details he never stopped to think about, in fact, he had stopped thinking about women and flirting since a long time ago, until you showed up.

He smoothed out his sweater and entered the bookstore, the scent of cinnamon and apple filled him completely. A sound of a bell opening the door accompanied him, he looked to the side, finding the place classically decorated in dark wood and dim light only, but he was looking for you. You were tidying up the main desk a bit, passing the time, until you heard the little bell on the door and settled your body to look quickly towards the entrance, with the slight hope of meeting the grandson of the owner of the place, who was handsome and you couldn’t help but have a little crush on him, but you were surprised to find another equally handsome man, with an enigmatic and magnetic beauty, dressed in a navy blue sweater with white stripes, light blue jeans and white shoes, his appearance was clean, fresh and manly. You approached him happily.

He looked for you with his eyes, subtly without looking like a crazy person that the only thing he wanted was to see you and a smile without showing his teeth formed on his face when he saw you approaching him, accelerating his heart, making him feel like an excited teenager and finally you were next to him, a little more than a foot away, you smiled shyly at him, putting your arms behind your back. Minho studied your every move, your every blink, it was as if a divine figure was approaching him in slow motion, with a divine melody in the background, as if you were shining and an imaginary wind was playing with your hair. He saw everything about you, from your black mini skirt, dr. martens boots, your thin white strapless blouse and the modestly cute pink cardigan you wore on top, with a necklace adorning your neck. He couldn’t believe he had you this close.

“Welcome,” you said politely. Honestly, there was no one else in the store, so not approaching him seemed rude. Besides, he was a cute guy. “Can I help you with anything?”

Minho’s world stopped at the sound of your voice, his skin bristled, it was as if a beautiful, cool, soothing autumn breeze delicately hit his face, a feeling he had stopped enjoying so long ago. He was thankful he was wearing a sweater, otherwise you would have seen his arm hairs bristle and his skin change. He thought you were prettier up close, your makeup intact, your sweet, floral perfume scent, he felt he was dreaming for a moment.

“Mmm… I’ll just be watching” he spoke a little nervously, forgetting the last time he talked to a girl he liked, “Well, actually, I’m looking for something by Lovecraft and Stephen King.”

Your smile widened a little and Minho noticed the sparkle in your eyes, locking his gaze with yours. Bingo, Minho had hit the target. You took the bait, you loved horror. And it was true, an attractive man walks into your workplace, black-haired, honey-smooth skin, big, dark, sharp eyes, straight velvety eyebrows with a soft arch, long eyelashes, sharp nose and lips in the shape of a soft heart, he dressed well, smelled good and was looking for something in the horror genre, the quick thought that he was the man of your dreams and the love of your life crossed your mind.

“Sure, the horror section is in the second aisle… do you want me to help you if you’re looking for something specific…?”

Please say yes, you thought, wanting to spend more time with the cute guy.

“Sure, please…”

You smiled, walking beside him to the bookshelves.

“Anything special?” you asked.

Minho couldn’t help but seek to look into your eyes, in a way you found it tender and intense, his big eyes slightly wider, watching you, you liked it.

“Well, from Lovecraft I want something that's good for a 9 year old girl who likes horror to start to read, and from King it’s something recreational for me.”

But what a choice of words, you thought.

Your hopes went to the floor, thinking please please please, this girl is not about his daughter, he looked young, but older than you, plus he didn’t wear a ring on his finger… there was nothing wrong with him having a daughter, just that your little fantasy made in 5 seconds would fall apart.

“Ah, I understand” you pretended to look through the books, wanting to disguise your next question, “Do you have a younger sister…?”

“Oh no, well, almost” he snickered, “It’s for my best friend’s little sister’s present but his family is practically mine too.”

You pouted tenderly, relieved to hear it was just that; he was cute, liked horror and got along well with kids, it was too good to be true. Minho knew how to hit the target again. You loved horror and using a little girl as an excuse would make you remember the great love you have for your little sister and make you sympathize with him more. He had it under control; what he couldn’t control was whether or not after that little encounter you would end up liking him or not, but he hoped you would.

“Well, there’s this collection of Lovecraft stories is good and for you…”

Minho saw you with a small smile and you were interrupted by his arm reaching out to grab a book, passing close to your face.

“I’ll take secret window, secret garden, I wanted to see the movie but I think I’ll read the book first.”

He gave you a shy smile as he held his book in his hands and you looked at him engrossed and gone for a second… feeling a strange sensation in you… maybe butterflies, maybe restlessness, you wondered if this man was your destiny or why all of a sudden so many connections: you had literally just rated and left a comment 3 days ago on your Letterboxd account about the 2004 movie based on that book.

“Yeah… the movie is good” you replied gone.

Minho frowned, studying your movements, “So… should I read the book first or watch the movie?”

“Ah, never mind, I don’t have a specific order. I like the movies more. Anything else?” you added, coming out of your trance.

“I think that’s all for now…. thank you.”

“Well, let’s go to the counter.”

Minho didn’t want to get away from you just like that, in his mind you were somewhat more talkative, more outgoing to him and you had a radiant personality, just like the first minutes of meeting you but he noticed how little by little that glow was gone from you, like you were disappointed… he wondered if he had done something wrong.

It was obvious that you were a little glum, you liked that stranger, you didn’t even know his name but you saw yourself together with him having little dates… maybe it was a little exaggerated and hasty to think but, he looked young, cute and that’s how dating and relating after all worked, with a stranger you suddenly know and like, but you have a very big problem in yourself. As much as you wished you were a simple girl living in the big busy city, with your perfect makeup and perfect attire being nothing more than a woman working in a bookstore… you weren’t, you were a sex worker and you always believed that no man was going to take you seriously, in situations like that you just wanted to cry, you wanted the cute guy to pay and walk away leaving you to wander in your deeply sunken heart. You had this belief that any man was going to humiliate you or run away from you as soon as you confessed to him the real way you get money… and you couldn’t leave the job, it really was such a good economic livelihood, the money was exaggerated and you were only in that bookstore to clear your mind and not feel dirty all the time that what you do is practically filming yourself masturbating, plus you were a great admirer of the bookstore owner and the old man had an appreciation for you since he believed you were a good young girl, he looked at you with such pure eyes that made your day. Sometimes you thought you would end up alone, as youth didn’t last forever and people get bored fast, sometimes you thought you had to start flirting with people in the same industry as you.

Oh, but you had absolutely no idea who the man standing in front of you was and what he was capable of. He already knew that and more about you, he was obsessed.

You charged the man, biting your lip nervously, this time avoiding eye contact, you couldn’t help but feel lonely all of a sudden, you wanted a normal life but you had that social rejection for yourself, directly assuming that making money doing what you did was something shameful.

“Mmm and… don’t you wrap books here as gifts or something?” he suddenly spoke, meeting your gaze, bending down gently as you were still crestfallen.

You chuckled softly and looked up to see his big eyes sparkle.

“No… in fact no one has ever asked before, but for what it’s worth, I think you can use the bag as such, it’s nice.”

Minho looked at the details of the paper bag, decorated and printed in the bookstore’s unique design.

“Ahh, sure, the bookstore of the great artist Hwang Hyunwoo, it’s my first time here, really, it’s nice, I think I will come back… for more books.”

“Well, you only brought one” you smiled at him, playing along a bit.

Minho, a handsome stranger in front of you, laughed, adorably showing his teeth.

“True, but it’s because I want to come back” you blushed a little and Minho couldn’t resist, he wanted to let you know he was interested, give you those subtle signals, “You work here every day?”

“Mmm, yes” you answered shyly for the first time, over analyzing his look, his body language, but you didn’t want to get your hopes up, still you answered him, “I’m here almost every day, on Saturdays Mr. Hwang’s grandson is here and on Sundays it’s closed.”

He smiled broadly, “That’s good to know, thank you… since I moved in recently I’ve been trying to look for different healthy habits and relax, like reading a book, maybe you can recommend me more of the new stuff that came in” he added tenderly, putting it on the air that he just moved in.

He just moved in, just like you. Once again you took the bait just as he wanted you to and again you said subtly and softly.

“Sure, you can come over anytime. Did you move nearby?”

“Not really, I came here because I wanted to get to know the place but now I live on Roxbury street.”

Your heart pounded hard, it was too many connections and coincidences that you couldn’t take it anymore, you were almost scared, scared that someone this perfect and cute would suddenly come into your grey life. This time you didn’t want to play along, you wanted him to leave before you could get to know each other more, before he ends up horrified or inside a fantasy with a merely sexual purpose with you.

“Oh, I see. Yes it is a bit far, but… I hope you can come soon.”

Minho again noticed your sudden change, your muffled tone of voice, in his mind you should have said excitedly that you lived on the exact same street… but your reaction was very different than planned, leaving you more as someone unpredictable and mysterious, leaving Minho even more intrigued about anything and everything about you.

“I will. Thank you… what’s your name?” he dared to say, earning from you to look him warmly in the eyes again.

He knew, but he wanted your first meeting to be so natural and a nice chance.

“Y/N.”

“I’m Minho. It was a pleasure, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Have a nice day” you smiled at him.

Of course it would be a nice day for Minho. He talked to you, came closer to you, saw your smile dazzle his face and your fingers which naughtily played with your femininity the night before. From today he could not stop. Your new story had already begun.

You watched him leave and sighed as soon as he walked through the door and lost himself in the crowd and on the sidewalk. You sighed taking all the air out as if you were holding your breath. Minho, you thought, Minho from Roxbury, your exact same street… he must have money, he looked so ordinary, you mean, like a nice man, but his beauty was unmatched.

You continued your regular activities while Minho managed to sneak into the perfect spot to watch every movement in the bookstore. He sat by the window of the coffee shop across the street, so he watched each of the customers coming in, counting the approximate time they were coming in, all the while pretending to read a book, eat, and be on his laptop. Everything was going well, until a tall, black-haired man with a thin build came in around 4 p.m. and after half an hour he immediately made Minho uneasy.

Minho couldn’t see anything of him, other than his back, his clothes and his long shoulder-length hair, but to his luck, the man had parked his luxurious car right in front of the bookstore, causing Minho to have the license plate number, but to his fate, he felt under pressure, as if someone was watching him, as if the people in the coffee shop were watching him so he couldn’t comfortably perform his stalker activities, discovering even the guy’s dirtiest secret just by his license plate. And he didn’t want to go to the bathroom either to have privacy, he would lose sight of you and lose sight of the guy. So Minho found a secret way to look up the information on his phone, secretly putting it under the table and starting his search.

Hwang Hyunjin. He was the owner of the car, and probably of the store, since it was Hwang Hyunwoo’s grandson, and he was also clearly the man who came in and was still in the store from a while ago, with you alone since no one else had come in anymore… plus you were not long in closing, Minho thought since it was 4:44 p.m. and the Hyunjin didn’t get out of there.

He began to fret, to get annoyed. He shook his leg frantically in despair as his gaze darkened and he didn’t take his eyes off the bookstore, more than forty minutes had passed and Minho could only think of the worst, it was torturing him not being able to know exactly what was going on and what he was to you. If Minho wanted total control of you he would have to steal your cell phone so he could transfer all the information to him and see your every move on the cell phone… but he wouldn’t do that plus he wanted to know what you were doing face to face with someone else, every second that passed he was losing more of his sanity; he couldn’t bear the thought of seeing you with someone else, you were already his, or so he thought. Hyunjin was rich, a grown man, he was married but shit, you were too beautiful not to want to risk everything for a simple caress or kiss from you.

4:46. Hyunjin was with you for forty-six minutes by yourselves. Absolutely anything could have happened in that time, caressing your body, running his hands through your hair, Minho wanted to murder him as soon as he saw Hyunjin get out of there and get into his vehicle to leave. Minho would have followed him… but the good news was that you did not leave with him.

Sixteen minutes passed and at exactly 5:01 you closed the place. By that time Minho was already waiting in his car, ready to follow you, since he already knew you were walking all that long way from work to your apartment.

On the other hand, you didn’t have the slightest idea that you were being followed by the cute boy you met in the afternoon that you couldn’t get out of your head, Minho… until, of course, then Hyunjin showed up at the bookstore and you completely forgot about Minho’s existence. You liked Hyunjin from the first moment you met him, when you shyly came to ask for a job and he was standing next to the legend, and his grandfather Hwang Hyunwoo. Hyunwoo and Hyunjin quickly trusted you and put you in the absolute care of the bookstore like they had never done with anyone before. You were grateful, plus you could occasionally delight visually and in all platonic realms with Hwang Hyunjin, as he was older, another well-known artist and a married man. You still enjoyed every second you spent with him because he was like a pure and cute crush who made you remember how human you were. Hyunjin was gentle, shy and cute, his flirtations were soft and subtle, never crossing the fine line between you and the great tension of kissing whenever you were alone in a room.

Hyunjin arrived that day to tidy up a bit since he would be working the next day. He stayed a while ordering the books and checking boring inventories when… you both knew it was a silly excuse to see you, and that put you in a very good mood. You both chatted. You helped him, always by his side, passing him books and taking the opportunity to brush his hand every time you did it since it was the only way you could touch him.

You were walking happily, almost with a dazed smile on your face. With Hyunjin you didn’t have that insecurity of him finding out you were that kind of girl who does that kind of content, in fact, you fantasize about him finding out one day and not stopping fantasizing about you, you fantasize about the idea of him touching himself behind his wife’s back, with his cheeks pink, shame and guilt on his face, with his hand on his cock, stimulating himself with pictures and videos of you that with regret he has to pay for. After all, your crush on him sometimes wasn’t so pure… is that, Hyunjin had a strange way of treating you, sometimes he would treat you like a little girl, tousle your hair and look at you tenderly, sometimes he would see you so uniquely and inexplicably, as if his dark thoughts were taking over him, you fantasized about the idea of him finding out what you were doing and stop seeing you as an innocent little girl and dare to take you and fuck you… but that was a thought that went to the extreme.

Still, Hyunjin left you more confused than usual, as he said he had something for you and would go and bring it to you, leaving… but you didn’t know whether to wait for him or not, whether to bother him by calling his number or leave it at that, but you left without waiting for him, acting even weirder, you were afraid he wouldn’t show up and leave you waiting so you just left as soon as it was your time to go.

Minho followed your steps, sneaking out from his car. He knew exactly which road you used to take, a lightly used route that left him in better total control to observe you. He had absolutely everything under control until, at a certain point, another car managed to get in front of his. Now, being the one that was following you closely, Minho knew exactly who it was.

For a couple of minutes you were starting to feel nervous, a little scared, as if someone was behind you watching your every step. You didn’t want to turn around, because you were afraid that it would encourage or incite more whoever was following you, a silly idea, for someone obsessed with mystery and horror movies, but happening in real life made your hair stand on end. You reached a lonely street, rarely occupied, making you even more paranoid, why you suddenly felt you were being watched…

Then something happened that almost made you run, you saw out of the corner of your eye the car leveling out as you were walking down the sidewalk, you saw the figure of the car pull over, but you continued your walk scared, holding tightly the pepper spray and your self-defense kit in your sweater pocket; usually you used to have nice and relaxing walks, you didn’t understand why today it felt so strange.

The guy in the car accelerated further, stopping a distance ahead of you from your walk, so you could recognize the vehicle and guess perfectly who it was.

Your racing heart calmed down a bit, and you took your hand out of your pocket, but you still felt uneasy because you could have sworn it was someone else and not him, who gave you a smile as soon as you approached the car.

“Hyunjin?” you said with a smile.

He quickly rolled down his window and showed a happy countenance.

You were glad yet you felt a rush of fear and hesitation, as a car passed by at a moderately low speed, as if they wanted to watch you, you followed the car pass by with your eyes and as soon as it was out of your sight your attention returned to Hyunjin.

“What are you doing here? I told you to wait for me, I had something for you. Sorry if I was late, honey. It’s about to rain, get in the car, please.”

The nickname made you crazy in so many ways and you obeyed him instantly.

Minho parked in a strategic spot where you couldn’t observe his car, but he saw every detail of you getting into Hyunjin’s car, filling him with anger.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t know if you would come back” you replied already sitting in the passenger seat.

Hyunjin stared at you.

“Of course I would come back. I just forgot the little gift and wanted to give it to you now.”

You got excited again. You were as excited as you had ever been in your life. Hyunjin bit his lip nervously and turned his body towards the back of his car to take the canvas of a painting about 50 cm. A painting of him.

“You have an original Hwang piece” he laughed adorably, “Just kidding. I did it thinking of you, since you just moved in, maybe it will look nice somewhere in your apartment.”

You held it and admired it, the small details of that red flowers in a vase enamored your sight like never before.

“Hyunjin… Thank you, it’s beautiful. I’m speechless.”

You looked into his eyes amidst the poor light of the night. You watched his face, with an immense urge to kiss him.

You would definitely put it in your apartment, every work of Hyunjin’s is so expensive or was just on display that you found it hard to believe he would give you something like this. Hyunjin could notice the sincerity of your gaze and watched tenderly as you saw his painting, even appreciating his signature in the lower right corner.

“If you need help with decorating your place, you know you can let me know.”

You nodded, biting your lip trying to hide your big smile but your eyes sparkled of their own accord and you laughed softly as you remembered how unseriously your apartment was decorated, complete with framed posters of your favorite horror movies. Then slowly the gentle rain began to fall as it became more and more intense. Hyunjin drove you to your apartment building, ruining Minho’s plans and making him uncontrollably furious, his mind thought of eliminating Hyunjin right away… but he didn’t want to hurry, he wanted to have a real reason and not act out of cruelty and perversity; although he wouldn’t tolerate waiting until something really happened between the two of you. His stomach spun at the mere thought that while he was sitting in his car, squeezing his hand against the steering wheel, something between the two of you may already be happening in Hyunjin’s car under the rain.

Minho felt a slight relief as the little meeting of you lasted 7 minutes and Hyunjin started his luxurious vehicle. Minho hurried to get to your apartment building earlier, just in case his plan could somehow be arranged: if you didn’t show up, you had left with Hyunjin, or in the worst case scenario, you showed up with Hyunjin entering your apartment. You were thinking just the second option.

Hyunjin parked the car and you both remained in a tense silence filled with so many questions and heavy breaths as you watched the rain fall. You had to wait for the rain to stop for a while. You couldn’t turn off your thoughts, so you told him:

“Do you want to come in? You can help me put up your painting, you can see the place and judge for yourself, give me ideas for decoration…”

Hyunjin looked at you, roaming your body with his eyes from your thighs to your face, he licked his lips, about to say yes, with so many ideas in his head of what can happen with a young girl as pretty as you in the comfort of your apartment, by yourselves… but he had a wife waiting for him at home.

“No… no….” he whispered almost to himself, stopping himself from doing something he was going to regret, “It’s night now, I must go home and finish some projects” he excused himself.

You pressed your lips together and he noticed the disappointment in the sweet look he adored so much about you.

“But I’ll help you another day, earlier, how about Sunday?” he said without thinking just to take that expression off your face and please you.

You smiled happily nodding. Hyunjin thought that since it was daytime maybe his mind was clearer and wouldn’t be clouded with so many overwhelming thoughts that involved messing around with you. Maybe the clarity of the day would make him more aware of what the consequences might be.

You got out of his car with a smile when the rain stopped and went back to thank him, you were excited and feeling on cloud nine. Even if nothing happens, you want to keep him close.

Minho felt his chest squeezing waiting for you to appear in the corridor of your apartment, however and with whomever, but waiting to see you, while he was hiding; his pain vanished as soon as he saw you and quickly he also walked carefree, acting completely as if he didn’t know you and went to the apartment next to yours a few far and considerate meters away. You pressed the code to your apartment without realizing that there was someone else wanting to enter the apartment to your left… but the sound of clicking keys coming from that side caught your attention, as you thought the apartment was unoccupied and you only had one neighbor to your right, Han Jisung. You turned your head with curiosity and serendipity, finding something that froze your blood for no apparent reason, but then the impact became good news. There he was, you would recognize that man anywhere, his soft, shiny, straight black hair, his perfectly sculpted side profile. The boy from the afternoon who visited the bookstore. Minho. He was your new neighbor apparently.

Minho knew exactly that you were seeing him, his peripheral vision and eyesight of a ruthless, trained, stealthy killer knew it. He feigned innocence as if he sensed a look on him and turned to see you, squinting his eyes and tilting his head as if processing whether that was really you.

A rush of happiness came over you after you looked at each other in confusion for a moment.

“Minho?”

“Hey… Y/n, right?”

You nodded, leaving your door slightly open and walking down the hallway approaching him, which he did as well, dropping his shopping bags on the floor near his door.

“You moved here?”

“Yes” he smiled, “You live there?” he pointed to your apartment, “Wow, what a coincidence, we’ll be neighbors now.”

“Yeah… I hadn’t noticed anyone moving in.”

That was because Minho literally did everything today.

“Ah, maybe because you were busy during the day and evening.”

After a few glances, and tender and awkward goodbyes, you entered your apartment, unwilling to continue your night’s work, so you took a shower and relaxed until you fell asleep, this time wishful thinking about Minho.

Minho hadn’t quite moved in next door to you, it was a fake apartment just to get close to you and have an excuse, his whole life was in the apartment across the street from yours. He kept watching you during the night from his real apartment and he in his true element, started to take out all his professional equipment worthy of the best private detective: professional cameras with excellent lenses and zoom capabilities. He couldn’t help it, you looked so pretty for him enjoying the comfort of your living room, with the window uncovered; then you went out for a moment through the small balcony to enjoy the fresh and humid weather and aroma that the rain had left in the city, making Minho get some almost artistic shots, while he thought that kissing you would be so far his greatest achievement in life.

The next morning was also planned for Minho, waiting by the emergency stairs for you to arrive as it was time for your 8 a.m. morning jog, at least on the days you didn’t work. When you heard footsteps he pretended to come downstairs also wearing sporty clothes until you met casually once again. You greeted him happily and walked down the stairs beside him, as you liked to warm up your body that way without using the elevator.

“I hadn’t seen you coming downstairs also to go jogging” you told him.

“Really? I always go out at this time, while I’m still doing my work online, between 8:30 and 9:00.”

“Ah, you’re right, since I dont work today I overslept a little and go for a run later” you laughed, “I usually do it earlier.”

And he knew all those little details about you.

“And you already had breakfast?” he observed you briefly and shyly.

You denied, humming a soft no.

“You don’t like having breakfast?”

“It’s not that, it’s just that I skipped it today and wanted to go straight for a little run.”

He smiled, “Then let’s have breakfast later. How about at my place?”

You both jogged through the park and stopped to talk as you walked; Minho felt so free being with you, almost forgetting the issue of wanting to clarify what was between you and Hyunjin. And you felt good together with Minho, you were starting to like him that you came to think that even if your insecurity didn’t allow you to go further, at least you could maintain a friendship, like with your other neighbor Jisung, whom you only thought he was cute and you used to have a tender friendly relationship.

Later when you returned to the building, you shyly told him that you would like to take a shower first and then go to his apartment. You wanted to look nice for Minho, and not sit next to him at a meal agitated and slightly sweaty. He did the same, showered and dressed up for you to start preparing breakfast. You knocked on his door where you were surprised by an even more handsome Minho if that was even possible, fresh from showering, dressed and changed, smelling good and in addition, cooking by himself.

“Wow, you just moved in and you already have everything arranged? That’s nice” you commented.

“Ah yes, I hired an interior designer and her team to get it done quickly.”

You wanted to know what he was doing for a living, the apartment and getting it in order in such a short time was a crazy idea, but you restrained yourself from asking him as you knew he would return the question and you had no idea how to evade it not even 24 hours after meeting him. Minho understood that it might make you uncomfortable, so he wouldn’t bother asking that question until he saw trust, and confidence in your eyes, when he felt you were sincere and would be willing to tell him.

You couldn’t stop thinking about him, so far you had what you considered important, Lee Minho, 29 years old and single, coming from the city, the rest was a mystery. When you were done and it was time to say goodbye you invited him to your apartment later to hang out watching movies, which he accepted with a mischievous and playful smile as he felt you were feeding his obsession and enticing him to continue.

You had never invited a boy to your apartment, because there was no boy to invite, let alone your own fixed place where you lived alone, but everything changed when you met Minho. You dressed up for him like you had never done before, with neat makeup and comfortable but cute clothes, accessories, your hair, everything, meeting him had awakened in you an unknown motivation.

There was something about him that captivated you and caught you too much, besides his cute looks and mysterious and inexplicable presence and personality. You tried to look him up on social media but everything was private and there was so little information, awakening your curiosity even more… why someone like him would be single.

Minho had stopped taking his medication two days ago and felt that only you were his new stability, meeting you and learning more about you distracted him from whatever he was dealing with, or so he thought.

He knocked on your door, after mentally preparing himself, going back to take a shower and getting ready for you… he was finally about to officially enter your life and your home. Things might be moving fast but it still felt good. It was a delightful pace to get to know each other. Minho was not the second choice because Hyunjin was never an option for you. After all, you recognized that he was married…. Minho was like your first crush after so long, one where it could truly happen and you had a vision… or at least just now. You were letting Hyunjin go and wanting to focus on Minho. Yet you were so genuinely nervous that as soon as you heard him knocking on your door you instantly regretted it, thinking the idea was silly.

Minho finally entered your apartment, analyzing and admiring every part of your space, it was better than he had imagined. You spent the last few days decorating the place and arranging every piece of furniture, with the help of your kind neighbor Jisung on occasion. For Minho it was all going well, horror movie posters all around your apartment, Halloween, Scream, Psycho, The Shinning, Child’s Play, Saw, The Grudge… he smiled, thinking you were a little nerd trapped in a hot girl’s body and in the shape of temptation. Nothing about your slightly creepy posters disturbed him until he saw a painting he recognized in seconds as a Hwang Hyunjin piece, Minho’s face changed in milliseconds, but you didn’t notice because you were walking in front of him, your back to him.

You were with your cheeks slightly red and turned to see him, you led him to the kitchen, just by the counter to prepare the snacks, but you were as anxious to even eat something. It was… like a first date.

“So… you like scary movies movies?”

You widened your eyes slightly, trying to contain your smile. It was obvious.

“Not really, I’m more into romance” you replied sarcastically.

Minho chuckled softly, seeking to look you in the eyes and in a serious tone said:

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

You couldn’t help but smile, wondering if he had done it intentionally, it still gave you a bit of a shiver.

“Okay, Mr. Ghostface” you replied, Minho laughed realizing the use of the popular phrase, “Actually… it’s Halloween, it reminds me of happy times. But I love so many, I can’t pick a favorite.”

“Your happy times involve a killer who murders on October 31st?” he joked.

“Ah, so you do know Halloween.”

Minho was more into emotional movies, but he read all the reviews just so he could match you. A mischievous half-smile formed on his face, you were both getting more and more comfortable.

“So I guess we’ll watch a scary movie then.”

“You guess right” you sounded somewhat seductive, “It’s that time of year… October.”

You moved closer to him to tease him without losing eye contact, creating tension but only to slide your hand on the counter and playfully grab one of the snacks. For a second… Minho thought you were going to make a big step between you, but you were just playing around a bit.

By their second movie you had already entered into absolute trust and were throwing comments on the air about the plot or movie facts, Minho found it absolutely adorable that you knew so much about whatever it was you were watching, plus the distance between your bodies was non-existent. Minho had to confess that despite being able to murder mercilessly to do his job, horror movies were never his thing, but he did it just to be with you. You watched The Ring, Halloween, Scream and A Nightmare on Elm Street, you’d never been so intimate with a man in that way, being yourself after all. Minho was tired of seeing death, fear and fantasy, it was something he lived in real life before he met you, so now he wanted to see you.

“Do you think you can sleep alone?” you joked.

“Sure. I think you were a little soft on me and didn’t show me the real scary movies.”

You smiled. “You’re right. I hate extreme gore, I’m more about living in nostalgia, the feeling of suspense and a little jump scare. I mean, Chucky to some extent gives a laugh but the plot had all the people in the 80’s gripped.”

“You’re so interesting…” he spoke absorbedly, letting himself go and softening his gaze.

You were both still sitting on the couch in your living room and his sudden look at you made you shy and nervous… it had been a while since anyone had looked at you like that, even Hyunjin never did because he held back so much himself but Minho had nothing to hide, other than his obvious obsession, his real job and he believed he had to hide his mental medical conditions, but he was a free man to be able to date you.

“I think I’ve had you here long enough, sorry, I didn’t even ask if you could stand to watch more than two movies” you spoke nonsensically, flustered by the closeness of his face and his soft but piercing gaze.

“I can stand anything with you. I liked it—I like being with you, a lot. I like you.”

“Minho…”

It felt good for the moment: the confession, the tension. Minho couldn’t resist and slowly leaned towards you, you could see it coming and your heart raced, letting his left-hand cup your cheek and his handsome face come close to yours. You both closed your eyes and enjoyed the caress of each other’s mouths. A tentative brush at first, his warm and soft breathing play and the delicate touch of his nose with yours to kiss in the sweetest and gentlest kiss, a kiss that touched absolutely every particle of you that even made you almost unleash tears… you had never been treated this sweet before… maybe you didn’t deserve it.

It felt like a real fairy tale, your hands gently clutching at his sweater, your stomach uneasy at the sensation, your face warm and your emotions on edge. You enjoyed every second of his lips moving against yours, but deep down you were both scared that this would trigger an inevitable series of events and that would cause you to have to reveal your truths that you were struggling to hide. You could lose each other. You questioned whether you should tell Minho what you did, and he wondered if he should stop his unhealthy tendencies.

The sweet kiss gradually became more passionate and playful. You didn’t complain, you liked it, his tongue was naughty and slick, and your tense body relaxed, letting it lay back gently, causing Minho to fall slightly on top of you. His left hand began to caress your thigh and he settled his body suddenly, lowering his kisses to your neck, pressing just your center with his bulge which you weren’t sure if it was stiff at all but you felt it grind against you subtly, teasing you to perfection.

You were becoming aroused and Minho was reveling in your scent, in his lips brushing your skin, his closeness, your breathing close to him, he was reveling uncontrollably, again feeling the dopamine and serotonin being produced in him.

You never thought that someone could make you feel like that and that you could like him to that extent, in a tender way and desire him with all your strength. You needed Minho and your soft moan when he pressed your thigh close to your needy center revealed it completely. Minho smiled playfully once more and whispered teasingly to you:

“We’re breaking one of the rules for surviving in a scary movie… no sex… or how come that guy in Scream used to say that?”

You smiled, shuddering feeling how Minho was teasing you. Your concern wasn’t that he had just confirmed you were about to have sex, but that you took the importance to the little game:

“Are we in a scary movie?”

Minho kept pressing his crotch to your center and brushing his lips on your neck until he pulled away from you a little leaving you confused. You saw his smile.

He just wanted to tease you a little.

“I think it’s time for me to go… but we have to meet again soon.”

The next day you made up an excuse for Hyunjin not to visit your house, from now on you wanted Minho, that kiss had changed everything.

But your situation was something you couldn’t hide, you spent more and more time with him, you got to know each other more, you went places together, he took you out on the town, and he came to pick you up after you finished your work at the bookstore and you both talked for hours, it was so cute and it was something hard to hide at the same time, what you actually did alone when you said goodbye to him during the night. Besides the fact that you didn’t want him to find out about somewhere else, he seemed sincere, you thought he genuinely didn’t know how you made money.

And the more time you spent together, the more Minho’s paranoia grew. He wanted to quit, he tried, to be normal and not have to study and watch your every move all the time, but he couldn’t do it. Now he had gradually developed insomnia and on lonely nights he couldn’t help but break into your house, circumvent the security system and watch you sleep comfortably; the quietness in which your chest moved as you breathed, your body relaxed, your eyes closed, even though Minho stood there expressionless, watching you caused him so much tranquility and sensations. He knew he should stop… but he couldn’t, he kept watching Hyunjin closely, Minho joined Hyunjin’s wife’s book club, to flirt with her and slightly use psychological manipulation where she would think of infidelity and that would make her go back to her husband’s arms, Minho wanted to take Hyunjin away from you in a healthy way…. because if he finds out that he somehow touched you or has been looking for a way to do so… his next move would not simply be manipulation games, his next plan was to truly use his skills and what he was made of, taking him away from you forever, Minho still took a deep breath and calmed down, letting Hyunjin be a part of your life, but only as your boss. Minho was to be the only man in your life, the only one you love.

But his mind was all over the place, handling so many things at once and thinking about you all the time. Minho thought he only calmed down when he was with you, because when he was alone the constant fear returned, the paranoia of whether his plan and deeds had been clean enough to continue, the constant fear that someone was watching him, that someone might know what he was up to, he felt it deep in his bones and was suspicious of everyone… until he got to see you and the noisy, scary feeling went away.

And all he longed to do was sleep next to you, but somehow you always ended up pushing him away, creating more fear in him. You also awakened in him a fierce sexual desire, he would touch himself watching your content every night, he would steal your underwear or a lingerie set he saw you wearing in one of your videos and end up getting completely obsessed, he would cum fantasizing on you, he would use the garment to stroke his cock… Minho was crazy about you, but none of that would compare to the day he finally got to be with you.

He would leave little clues that he was there, slightly moving certain things in your home out of position… it was fun for him to sneak around and live in the dark, it was a meticulous game that kept his mind busy.

You began to notice these small changes, finding it strange, at first you thought the clothes were getting lost in the laundry but there was no point in that since you remembered to put them away…

But you decided that enough had happened, that before Minho came more into your life and it hurt you more intensely to have him leave, you decided it was better to confess to him what you were doing, so you spoke to him that cold night at your apartment.

“So, we’ll watch Dead Silence tonight, right?” he said, sitting down on the chairs at your kitchen island.

Minho was happy, but judging by your serious expression he didn’t know what to think now.

“I have to tell you something because I want you to know it from me,” you said.

He knew exactly what you meant.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, trying to sound sympathetic, hiding his excitement.

“I’ll tell you something and you have every right to leave if you want to, because it might not be easy…” you kept looking at him seriously and kept your distance, “I have an OnlyFans account, I make content by myself, don’t worry, I’m not seeing anyone else. If you have any questions… I’ll answer them, if you think you should distance yourself, I’ll understand.”

You were nervous and Minho enjoyed every second of your expression and your tense body, it was a guilty pleasure, plus you agitatedly confessed not dating anyone else. You saw pure confusion on Minho’s pretty face, his frown was furrowed and his lips were in an ‘o’ shape ready to ask as he softly shook his head. Of course, it was all part of his act.

“What is OnlyFans? Why are you so nervous, honey, is it something bad? Why would I want to distance myself from you?”

Your heart pounded, you were ready for any answer… but of all things you never thought he would sweet talk you and not know what it was.

“You seriously don’t know what OnlyFans is?”

“I barely know what Instagram is, honey” he laughed.

You bit your lip nervously, you wanted to be just as relaxed as he was, waiting for the news, “It’s… a page where you pay to see adult content, people create content and…. I’m part of that. It’s how I make money, Minho.”

Minho softened his face, nodding as he took it all in and crooned a light “Ohh…” Then he watched your sparkling eyes and silence formed. You didn’t want to walk away from him, but if it happened later it was going to hurt more.

He stood up from his chair and walked towards you, placing his hands on your upper arms.

“I don’t have any questions. I understand,” he spoke and you looked into his eyes, “That’s no reason to walk away.”

You looked at him incredulously and let him lightly squeeze your arm. Now it was you who was speechless.

“I like you, Y/n, I don’t have to judge you for that.”

It was clear that in his time he had judged you… but that was how he had known you and he didn’t feel it was fair to criticize you.

“Are you sure?” he nodded, loving the sight of your big pleading eyes and your plump lips that Minho resisted kissing, he nodded, “Because I like you too and I wanted you to know that….”

Minho’s heart wanted to jump out of his chest after hearing that.

“Now I know and I'm okay with that…you’re already calmer?”

You nodded, but it was still hard to digest that someone like him still liked someone like you.

That night you watched the movie but fell asleep in Minho’s arms after half of it, but it only lasted a few short minutes until you woke up. He was holding you, finally living his dream, with your face and body against his chest, his pecs were comfortable but you felt embarrassed when you woke up and realized. You released your body from his grip and smiled shyly, ready to say goodbye to him… but Minho was lost in his own thoughts.

“I have some questions now…” he said, licking his lips.

You blinked, looking at him as you tried to clear your tiredness.

“Which ones?”

“What do you usually do… what’s that content?”

Minho looked you straight in the eye, intimidating you. He knew but he wanted to hear it from you. You felt like you were in a nightmare.

“Well… sex videos, nude or provocative pictures, that’s what I do.”

“Where?”

You swallowed nervously, “My room.”

“The only thing I don’t agree with is that strangers have seen your room and naked body before me” he blurted out, serious.

You looked at him. You didn’t expect that… but his serious expression and dark eyes pleased you. Minho couldn't help fantasizing about you with your body on top of his. At first, it was tender, but then something awoke in him. You smiled. You desired and wanted Minho like you had never wanted someone before. If he wanted it now, you were more than willing, and you were sure you would enjoy it.

“Well… you have something better,” you said, moving closer to him, cutting an absolute distance. “You can touch me all you want, the rest… they can only wish for it.”

And to think that Minho was exactly that, just like the rest, that he could only wish to have you, but his obsessive plan and behavior were paying off as you finally positioned yourself on his lap, seductively, with your knees on the side of his thighs, you played with his sweater and thought about how much you loved his big, worked arms, but it was rare that you saw him like that, as all the time he was so well covered, wearing a nice sweater, making him look adorably hot.

Those were the few times you saw his body…like when you were out and he was taking off his jacket and revealing his arms.

You fantasized about Minho’s body, his thighs were strong and thick, and his masculine build felt so good under your body, he alone made you feel uncontrollably aroused in seconds. Despite being a sex worker, you felt lonely, you only did it for money but everything was absolutely yourself using your body, and now… you couldn’t wait for Minho to use it.

You leaned towards him to take his lips, Minho was surprised by the speed of the situation he hesitated as he gently pulled his neck back but instantly kissed you back with pleasure. His hands roamed your body and you both delighted in the taste and feel of each other’s lips while the movie was still playing, the sound accompanied you and the light from it reflected brightly on you, you lasted like this for a while, kissing until you heated your soul and spirit, dropping your center into his bulge and rubbing you gently, almost causing a moan to escape your lips as you felt how big and hard he was. When you were both breathless and tentatively separated still giving each other little kisses, you suggested:

“Do you want to know my room? There’s nothing special about it, but since you want to know…”

You started to say playfully but were interrupted by Minho’s huge smile plastered on his face and him getting up from the couch with you in his arms.

Minho walked up to your room without you giving him any instructions as to where it was, and for a second, you questioned if you had told him before. His lips on you interrupted all thoughts. He admired the place and breathed in deeply the sweet essence of it—white walls, more posters—it was the place from which he had fallen for you since that night. You turned on the dim lamp light.

You didn’t say a word and let Minho act amidst the sharp breaths and piercing, lascivious glances. He sat you on the bed and leaned his body to kiss you while his hands caressed your thighs. You were so aroused, the caresses of his soft hands and his dominant, masculine presence on top of you weakened you in desire, his movements were smooth and intense that you could feel the slight desperation in him, squeezing your thighs as he pressed his lips tightly on you, as if he wanted to devour you, as if this was all something he had been waiting so long to do and was enjoying every detail of the process.

Minho once again ever since he met you, he felt like a normal man, capable of having his sexual desires, capable of finally being able to touch the woman he was so eagerly longing for. He lowered his lips to your neck and it took him great willpower not to bite your skin, he wanted to kiss you, caress you and make you feel good but at the same time he felt he had to be on your skin, he wanted to leave you the most satisfied you have ever been in your entire life, for sex to be more than sex, he wanted to truly unite with you, in his mind, his intense thoughts worked best.

Your clothes suddenly made him desperate, believing they were interrupting something very intimate between you and with a big smile and in a hurried act, Minho took off your blouse, causing his erect hard cock to throb painfully in his pants, he was so ecstatic just to have you all to himself and the mere sight of you, no silly cameras or recording in between, he was so excited to feel like the luckiest one to be the one enjoying the process of undressing you and being able to pleasure you.

You bit your lip as you hadn't quite appreciated how Minho was incredibly hot how he looked right now, it was true that the constant thought of having sex with him kept recurring in your mind but it was something you let go of and now you were hugely immersed in him, every inch of your body throbbing and messed up with just the beginning of caresses and foreplay, you had never wanted someone as much as you felt now, as if you were back to being an innocent and hormonal sweet girl again. You were a little embarrassed, if you had known you were going to have sex with Minho tonight, you would have worn nicer underwear, you were wearing your black bra and your comfy Hello Kitty little pink cotton panties with the detail of a little bow on the top seam in front.

Your new lover appreciated you for a moment to return his lips to your bare skin, pressing kisses down your chest, moving lower and lower and leaving you breathless, Minho nimbly unfastened your bra and became engrossed with the mere sight of your juicy breasts exposed, the delicacy of your tender nipple decorating your organ. He bit his lip and did not hesitate to feel and squeeze your breasts with his hands, moaning softly as he finally felt the softness of them, the firmness of your erect nipples pressed against the palm of his hand and dark fantasies were taking over Minho, remembering all those nights when he masturbated and cummed to exhaustion drooling over your breasts, for your femininity and naked body, he could pull out his cock and masturbate so he could cum on your breasts and pretty face as he so much desired, all his pearly white liquid erotically adorning your beautiful body, but he believed it would be pointless to self-pleasure himself just now when he had you when he was finally touching you and felt the most intense pleasure in pleasuring you too.

You on your part were feeling your panties so wet, you were so excited because it was the first time in a long time that you were with someone, that you were satisfying yourself sexually with someone else, for despite a generalized thought that sex workers must have such an active and turned on sex life, yours was not like that, it was so lonely, you were relatively popular among the community and other creators invited you to their kind of content. Still, you refused all the time, nothing was exciting with fucking strangers, and Minho for you was that cute guy who agreed to watch horror movies with you and with whom you longed for a relationship.

You didn’t hold out long enough and you let yourself be carried away by the pleasure Minho was giving you and slowly laid your body down, you had so many thoughts like the fact that Lee Minho truly was a man, because from the last times you had been intimate after confessing to the guys that you did adult content they went crazy and thought they could release any kind of fantasy with you, they used you for their own pleasure without even thinking about yours, they played dominant and even though you adored being ordered around in sex… they did it in such a different way, they ended up ordering you around for their own pleasure… but Minho… god, you felt so different with Minho, it was obvious he was also looking to satisfy himself with you but you could tell he was prioritizing you; most men would just drop their pants, rudely looking for easy access to you and have their 8 minute fun, or 5 if they ordered you to blow them off and their pathetic horny bodies wouldn’t allow them more time.

“Fuck, baby, they’re perfect—you’re perfect” he gasped, feeling your breasts, playing and pinching your nipple.

You heard—read that all the time, but coming from Minho you felt it was true. Minho was there, looking to take advantage of touching every inch of any sensitive spot of yours, you couldn’t even notice his intentions for getting naked, but you also longed to see his naked body. He delighted in every moan that came out of you after he tried a little hard on your nipples.

Before you could make a playful move with Minho’s sweater so he could take it off, Minho’s mouth on your breast unhinged you in seconds. He ran his tongue delicately in circular motions over your nipple moistening it and making it more sensitive, sucking and biting your skin, completely reveling himself in one and doing the same process on your other breast as his hand went back to gently mistreating your other sensitive organ. You took the opportunity to touch his hair, it was so soft and fell gracefully over his handsome face, he looked up, making a little eye contact as his naughty mouth played with you.

His dirty and erotic kisses and caresses began to move down your body, caressing your abdomen, Minho adored the softness of it, finely running his fingertips across your skin and brushing the tip of his straight nose, so delicately as if it was the most fragile thing about you, causing you to uncontrollably pleasure and gasp in satisfaction as you felt and thought that he was getting closer and closer to your sensitive center.

You stirred your legs to feel your wetness rubbing up to your folds, getting more and more excited at the thought of being touched there. Minho finally took off your skirt, smiling at the sight of your girlish panties, he must have known, you were still younger than him after all, the idea went to his head, a cute and cuddly young girl just for him.

“Hello Kitty” he said amused, running the back of his finger along your slick, making you sigh, “You’re so sweet, honey, you’re the sweetest.”

You looked at him with mock displeasure but your face changed in seconds as you felt his fingers press against your clit. Minho chuckled softly.

“Look at the little kitty, is a mess, you left her so wet, baby…” he said again playfully, running two of his fingers on your slick.

His pun was fun. It was true, you were so wet, so aroused almost sweating just in sexual desire, the thin fabric of your panties was soaked and Minho enjoyed seeing you so needy for him. He admired your body and position, lying back with your heavy breathing, eyes shining, breasts exposed, foreplayed nipples and your sweet Hello Kitty panties attached to your folds by your wetness. Minho became even more aroused.

“You are so beautiful, my dear and I’m not just saying that because you are like this, naked in front of me” he gently placed his body over you and teased you with his hand on your clit and his hot breath between your neck and ear, he whispered, “You are truly beautiful. I adore you.”

Your cheeks grew flushed hot. The low tone in his voice, his words and him caressing you were the whole damn package of how to have you attracted in seconds.

He brought his face close to yours again, almost looking for a kiss but he was just teasing you. You were speechless, his big dark eyes were so enigmatic. It was your best sexual encounter so far, there was so much chemistry and connection between you.

“Minho” you finally said, biting your lip nervously, “I want to see you naked too.”

He raised an eyebrow and smiled amused.

“Whatever the princess asks.”

He removed himself on top of you, standing on the floor with his knees touching the edge of your bed. You sat on the bed quickly to get a closer view of him undressing. You bit your lip and Minho proceeded to undress, removing his sweater, tousling his pretty black hair a bit and relieving his warm masculine scent. You admired his bare chest, his broad shoulders, worked and smoothly muscled arms where you could see his veins running down to his attractive hands, his shapely pecs and his smooth but firm worked-up abdomen. You fell more and more for Minho.

His hands reached the button of his jeans and you couldn’t resist not touching him, you finely ran your fingers over a scar he had near his navel and looked him in the eyes, almost wanting to ask just with your eyes —a scar he got because he was stabbed— and you put your hands over his and he let you do it right away. You caressed a bit of his big bulge on top of the denim and now you fixed your eyes there, you pulled it down desperately to see also the bulge in his underwear to then subtly lick your lips and finally pull his boxers down to see his erection, you almost sighed thinking why he looked so good, absolutely everything about Minho looked good, his smooth pubic skin all the way to the incredible sight of his big veiny cock which you held and played with, your thumb caressing his glans glistening in his precum, feeling his erect throbbing organ engorged in sex, you thought he had the best cock you had ever seen, even better than the ones that make money on that, Minho was like a hidden diamond, you still didn’t believe he could be single looking like that.

“Fuck, baby” he moaned enjoying your hands on his cock, but then gently removed them, “It feels so good but it's your turn, sweetheart, get comfortable I want to touch you and make you feel, good, okay?”

You nodded submissively and slid backwards until you reached your pillows. Minho finished removing his clothes completely and moved lustfully closer to you, pulled off your panties and approached your wet center with a smug smile. He dropped his body to the bed, his abdomen and hard cock pressed against it to position himself between your legs, he entwined your thighs in his strong arms and his lips went straight to your pubic skin to deposit soft kisses until he looked into your eyes and took the opportunity to view your body from that angle, with his hot, heaving breath hitting your core, then he looked at your glistening pussy just before he dipped his pretty face into you. He caught your clit making you moan and shiver, you needed it already and it was feeling so good.

Minho caressed your body while his mouth did all the dirty delicious work all over your pussy, his hands ran over your thighs, your abdomen, gently squeezed your breasts and so on as he sucked your clit and ran his tongue over your labia and got lost in your taste and how satisfying it was having you moaning. You stroked his hair again and his tongue entwined between your pussy lips and when he felt you desperate and highly aroused almost at your peak, he brought his hands to your pussy, sliding them all over your slick and then penetrating your lubricated entrance in a rhythm that only teased you.

You were so close to your first orgasm, the rhythm of his fingers in you was slow and enticing that it was making you tremble, and the tension in your stomach ached for release. He played with your clit once more as his fingers filled you and you felt a slight vibration in your sensitive spot, Minho moaned with a vein in his neck visible that his body did not resist and he cum just like that, just by touching you.

He pulled slightly away from you and looked admiringly at your aroused body.

“You like that, huh, baby?” his voice made you shudder, “Or do you like it rough?”

His fingers began to move roughly in you while with his other hand he played with the rest of your pussy slowly, you whimpered arching your back, you were being so stimulated, the difference of rhythms in you hastened your orgasm.

“Yes, yes, Minho, ple—”

You couldn’t even speak, your entrance felt full and used and your whole pussy was treated to perfection that your body reached its maximum release, collapsing in your orgasm.

You tried to catch your breath, but Minho didn’t end there, he got hard again and savored every part of your orgasm by shamelessly swiping his warm, wide tongue, making you enjoy and aroused again this time slightly calmer, humming soft “Mmm”, but the pace of things escalated as you felt his tongue to thrust through your insides and you felt stimulated again.

“Fuck, Minho, let-let me touch you now” you moaned.

You wanted to touch and please him as much as he did you and you obviously wanted to feel him too.

“Okay” he replied softly with an adorable smile that made him show his teeth.

You noticed semen on your sheets and on Minho’s cock and bit your lip. He licked his lips and wiped his mouth to gently position himself on top of you and rub his hard erection on your labia. You blubbered, looking down at the action and returning your gaze to his piercing eyes. You whimpered. And you were happy to be able to make as much noise as you wanted if he dared to fuck you with his well-endowed cock, you had no neighbors, the one in 221 was on a business trip and you were having a very hot encounter with your other neighbor.

“You know what… from now on I can help you with whatever you need, from the smallest thing, you can tell me” Minho spoke softly as he stroked your hair, “Even if it’s that you need help in your videos or when you don’t want to feel alone.”

You were both satisfied, cuddling after having the hottest and dirtiest sex, while tenderly wearing his sweater.

You caught his comment as tender as you watched his bare chest rise and fall from his quiet breathing as you had your cheek resting on it, but the tender moment faded as you realized the intent of his comment… did he mean he wanted to be a part of your videos? Your sex videos.

That’s exactly what he meant. You didn’t think twice.

Filming time with Minho was one of your favorite moments. Another one of your favorite moments was when you spent some nice quality time with him and he would hold you and kiss you tenderly while looking at you with purity…. but your little alone time recording was something that nothing could compare to, it was your little moment of fun, your little twisted and kinky game that started with nervous laughter and developed little by little to show a taste of Lee Minho’s nature, he being the mastermind behind the sex tapes that included him developing an almost in him dominant character, the one he liked to treat you with during sex.

Your idea was not to show Minho’s face, you both agreed on that and first you would start with something so common and typical to know people’s response to the appearance of a new character to your videos, so your first sexual activity recorded and uploaded was a video of a popular and classic blowjob you had done to Minho.

You joked, saying that people loved oral sex videos with the man receiving and, by people you meant mostly horny men who would pay money to see you, so it was a win-win, you would blow Minho for pleasure because you liked doing it, he would enjoy it and you would get money for it.

And your first kind of recorded encounter was in your room, Minho sitting on the edge of your bed and first you started to get aroused without cameras recording, for Minho it was not hard to get an erection, you were wearing a nice lingerie so revealing that it didn’t leave much to the imagination, all your mons pubis and nipples were transparent in the thin pastel pink lace fabric, you had done your makeup and hair beautifully so you just laid on top of him, who was only wearing his underwear, you started kissing passionately, touching each other’s body and you grinding his cock with your core, when both of you were already panting but especially Minho and when you felt his real firmness in him, it was time for the show.

You got off on top of him, Minho had to take off his underwear and leave them absolutely out of the shot, you had two angles to film, one directly that Minho will hold and another angle that you had set up to look sideways and show your kneeling body and Minho’s lower body.

You were nervous and excited, you had done it before but it had not been filmed, you fixed your hair, put lip gloss back on and took a last look at your makeup and returned your view to Minho completely naked with his big erect cock, nervously taking the cell phone, it was weird, but hot. You started recording from the side angle and approached him. You stood on your tiptoes to give him one last kiss before getting completely on your knees in front of his erection. Minho bit his lip and sighed in a half-hearted, excited sigh.

A video of you sucking his cock would live forever on the internet… and he couldn’t be happier about it. It was dirty and vicious, Minho adored it.

“I want you to make as much noise as you want, be yourself and enjoy it, don’t be completely silent like the boring man in porn videos looking like a zombie, please. Besides… some women love men moaning and yours sound so good though.”

Minho smiled adorably showing his front teeth and relaxing his body.

“Got it” he replied.

You nodded your head giving him the signal to start filming, he adjusted the cell phone holding it with his right hand and as soon as it recorded, he gave you a tender signal with his thumb of his left hand. You smiled looking into his eyes and finally took his cock between your hands to start jerking him off, playing with his cock and stroking his tip while looking innocently at the camera from time to time. Minho bit his lip hard, trying not to gasp in just the first few seconds of the video.

You looked up, but instead of seeing the camera, you saw Minho’s body and face, weakening you and making your pussy explode in tingles and twinges of excitement, he made you so crazy and needy. Minho looked so good like that, naked, watching you from above with his dominating presence, biting his lip, his veiny hands holding your pink cell phone and hyper-feminine decorated. Your eyes sparkled at the sight of him and that was something the camera managed to capture.

You began licking his cock, playing with his balls, tentatively inserting his tip into your mouth and licking it to savor every sensation of his soft, sensitive glans with his precum. Minho was doing his best to keep his hand steady but he gave in little by little and moaned as you began to thrust his length into your cavity, he grabbed your hair, his veiny manly hand drove crazy more than one who watched your video and Minho captured to perfection the messy shot of his thick length entering your mouth.

What followed were long, pleasurable minutes of the most angelic blowjob Minho ever had; it was your makeup smearing a bit, your tears coming out, your face begging for mercy and drooling as you enjoyed every moment, and a breathless Minho completely aroused, fucking your mouth and tentatively reaching down your throat to climax inside your cavity, but the video didn’t stop there. Minho rubbed your lips and pretty face with his glans gently coated in his semen and in a desperate act he began to masturbate, overstimulating himself again; you understood and helped him to bring him to his second orgasm, this time a cumshot straight to your cheek, you smiled happily.

With the video saved, Minho helped you wipe the cum off your face with a tender smile and giggles, then kissed passionately again, turned your body and fucked your wet, throbbing pussy hard as you held on to your bathroom sink, while he held on to your hips and played with your breasts with you enjoying being fucked in front of the mirror.

The video of you blowing Minho was a hit and as expected, people wanted more of the mysterious man with the nice cock, sexy hands and cute moans.

So you and Minho had some fun giving them exactly what they wanted.

He had the idea of dominating you in bed and having his voice make an appearance, recording your ass being pounded until it was red and sore, turning Minho on too much with your throbbing pain and whimpers. He would treat your entrance hard, penetrating it harshly and overstimulating you bringing you to orgasm after orgasm as his arm fell heavily on your back limiting your movement. Minho babbled little derogatory nicknames at you, whispering, “You like that, huh, little slut?”, treating you rough. You didn’t know where that idea came from, maybe a little fantasy he had, but it pleased you so much, you were a mess, tears in your eyes, your body agitated, pussy throbbing and soaking wet without stopping being used by Minho even for a second.

Then he got the idea to tape you having a 69 which aroused every one of your senses, your pussy was already stimulated but you couldn’t stop, it was like you were ovulating the whole damn time you were with him. You sat on his face and rode him, his mouth pleasuring you and his sharp nose pressing exquisitely into your core.

It was your little adventure play that just kept getting better and better.

Then it was time for your livestream, you had been missing it since you met Minho… but you didn’t want to do it alone this time and having sex with him live would be risky, so he ordered you to do everything just like you used to do it, only this time he would be behind the camera, giving you little instructions, watching you pleasuring yourself.

You looked at Minho amused, the idea that he could just stand there watching you was too much of a turn-on for you. You started to transmit, as usual, wearing tender and provocative lingerie that when you used to be so excited you ended up taking it off completely. You bit your lip, spreading your legs, and placed the vibrator on your clit, instantly moaning more excited with the idea that Minho was watching you sitting behind the led ring light.

His cock throbbed, and he analyzed every part of you, bringing back memories of when he did it that night from his window. Your panties were already a mess, you were overstimulating yourself. You pulled the fabric of your panties away from your folds and inserted two fingers inside you, glancing at Minho from time to time.

He bit his lip but kept a serious and penetrating gaze, studying every part of you.

“Take the other toy and ride it, ride it until you cum.”

Minho suddenly ordered you and his look and voice made you shudder. You took with some embarrassment the realistically shaped dildo and did exactly as he instructed, sliding it inside you still with your panties on and starting to ride it so that you could appreciate the dirty act of the toy filling your insides; you whimpered in pleasure, you were leaving a mess on your sheet and you looked with an expression of joy at Minho, missing him, wishing it was his the cock you were riding and a stupid toy.

Minho licked his lips at the sight… there was something about you, you were particularly more aroused and needy than the last time he saw you do the livestream.

“Cum, princess, do it faster, make yourself cum.”

His voice made your nipples erect and you kept sliding up and down on the stiff toy that filled your walls and whimpered as you looked back at Minho and fell into a roaring orgasm, for the first time you had forgotten the glamour of cumming, the orgasm had been so real and more so looking into Minho’s eyes, hearing his voice and fantasizing, usually you would try to be all pretty girl, moaning cute and cumming prettily, showing off your collection of your toys glistening in your fluids but now all you could think about was Minho and how every inch of you was madly aroused.

Your makeup was starting to get ruined, your hair was slightly tousled, and every emotion of yours was feeling so real that your live was being a hit but all you wanted was for Minho to finish it once and for all and fuck you.

“Now show everyone your beautiful pussy, sweetie” he ordered you and you did, pulling aside the fabric of your panties and showing your swollen and wet pussy folds, “Shit, you are the most beautiful doll, sweetie. Spread your folds apart, show them what’s mine.”

You blushed following his orders and watched as he lowered the cell phone further and gave it a little zoom to bring your pussy more into focus. Minho moved closer to you, his face not coming out in the shot and took your vibrator and dildo and continued your pleasure and light torture by stimulating you. He penetrated you quickly and roughly with the dildo while pressing the head of the vibrator into your clit making you frantic.

“It’s mine, honey?” he said dominantly, watching your body collapse in pleasure, nothing could take away his smug smile, for having you at his disposal and for being the one who was touching you while thousands of idiots were just fantasizing behind a screen.

“Y-yes, yes. Fuuck, Mi-, I need you. Please” you whimpered in desperation.

“Beg for more, tell me how much you want it.”

You swallowed saliva and took a big gasping breath on the verge of collapse. Still, all you could think about was him, the feel of his body on top of yours, pushing against your body, and the wet, hot, pleasurable sensation of his pumping, real sex inside you that missed every inch and vein of him.

“Please, please, please, I need you, fuck me…. Lee.”

You didn’t even know whether to call him Minho as it was risky and Lee was still a common first name for other people. He smiled, smug and satisfied, pulling the dildo out of you and turning off the vibrator, making you moan.

“The live is over.”

Minho ended the live quickly with no problem, took off his pants and boxers and then proceeded to yank your panties off in a tug to approach you and finally take you, gently inserting his big, erect cock into you and began frantically pounding your pussy in a hard, body smashing rhythm. He caressed your breasts with his hands and then brought his right hand up to your neck subtly cutting off your breath. You felt so pathetically aroused, you cum twice on his cock penetrating your insides and tickling all the way to your cervix and after your second intense orgasm, Minho finally came to his orgasm too, happily filling every drop of his cum inside you. Minho was a fan of your quivering, used pussy gently releasing his cum so he once again enjoyed the show that left you tired and full.

You were just his in so many ways.

After that you asked him if he could treat you the same without cameras around to which he was very happy with your request.

Minho had to return to his own little hell. His own job. He had a new mission to take care of so he would be out of town for days and he didn‘t want to leave you but he had to. Everything was going so well with him that you missed him, you wanted to invite him on a little trip together with the money earned and you fantasized again about filming the act, it was so dirty and risky, you loved the adrenaline and pleasure Minho made you feel.

When you asked Minho what his job was he answered somewhat coldly and curtly that he was a private detective and quickly changed the subject, you felt a shiver but you understood perfectly, that he didn’t want to talk about it.

While Minho left, your other neighbor Han Jisung had arrived from a long business trip and upon meeting you in the hallway invited you into his apartment which you accepted since you were supposed to be friends but it was more than obvious that Jisung wanted you a little more than just for that.

Jisung untied his tie, tossing it onto his couch.

“I’m exhausted, do you want something to drink?” he expressed.

You shook your head and once you were inside you questioned what you were doing there.

“Mmm I have to go” you said suddenly.

Jisung laughed.

“You just walked in, beautiful. Everything okay?”

You nodded, “I forgot I was kind of busy with something…”

He grimaced, “Too bad for me, I was hoping we could talk a little, the trip was long and tiring.”

You felt bad, you didn’t see Jisung with other eyes than friendship, you recognized that he was handsome and maybe the most wanted bachelor, young and billionaire… but you didn’t try anything because the idea of him dating someone like you was absurd and now you had Minho and he was everything you were looking for, someone you can have a relationship with and be so sexually open with each other, someone who would love you for who you were, you wanted to feel loved despite your little mistakes.

“It’s okay, I can stay for a while.”

He smiled.

“What’s up? What movie do you want to watch today? I’ll order some dinner, do you want anything?”

After a while you were both eating dinner, in absolute confidence, feeling comfortable with each other.

“Someone moved into 225,” you said.

“Mm… who?”

“Lee Minho, he’s cute, we’re dating.”

Jisung was about to joke with you but the name seemed familiar.

“What’s his name?”

“Lee Minho. He lives alone.”

“Lee Minho…?” Jisung visualized his face, but thought it was coincidence, he still asked, “A young man with black hair and big eyes? Do you have a picture of him?”

“Do you know him?”

His poor description sounded so much like Minho that you showed him a picture, surprising Jisung.

“Wow, that’s weird, he lives in the building across the street, not this one… Well, maybe he just moved in. He’s a tough and lonely guy, he’s kind of scary, he’s a fucking hitman or so my dad’s friends say.”

You blinked in puzzlement at the sudden information.

“What?”

“Yeah, I don’t know too much about him just that he lived across the street and his job is kind of heavy.”

That left you thinking too much and you took the opportunity to find out on your own, but you couldn’t do too much since you couldn’t get to the apartment and they flatly refused to give you information about him, so you returned somewhat confused back to your building, you knew exactly Minho’s entry code from the apartment next to yours since you pretended not to see him every time he did but you got to memorize it… entering was so wrong but you couldn’t help it and you did it, you also had that curiosity in you and you remembered even the smallest details, like Minho told you that he didn’t installed security cameras inside his apartment yet and that he would do it coming back from his business trip, so if he was telling the truth, nobody knew you were sneaking in there in the dark.

You entered his room, with the feeling of curiosity in your chest, you felt that Minho knew everything about you, but you knew little about him. You knew his name, his age, you half knew his job… you knew he was a good man, cute and attentive but why you still felt deep in you the question of who is Lee Minho.

His room was just as you remembered it, you weren't looking for anything specific but you had an unsettling feeling of wanting to find something but you were already beginning to feel that you were effectively trespassing on Minho’s property so you were about to leave, but the drawer in the cabinet to the side on his bed half open caught your attention, everything looked in order but that precise piece of furniture made the tidy room look as if Minho had been in a hurry and left that little detail, so you approached it and found inside what looked like a pink book, a specific shade of pastel pink which is your favorite color, you took it innocently thinking that maybe it could be a gift for you and you could see immediately that it was a photo album; you were disconcerted for a second, the feeling of uneasiness returned to you and impatiently opened the book, you could not see well so you illuminated it with the flashlight of your cell phone and as soon as you saw it you were perplexed and with the frightening sensation of an agonizing cold taking hold of your body.

Your eyes moved in terror and surprise… they were pictures of you sleeping… why? Why would Minho do such a thing? Why are they pictures of you from your room? What kind of psycho was he?

Your heart skipped a beat and you felt fear and disappointment as you immediately thought that Minho was not the kind of guy you thought he was and that he was obviously a weirdo. The angles of the pictures made you shiver, you weren’t such a heavy sleeper that you didn’t realize someone was watching you but just the thought that he used to come into your house at night… it was something you never thought would happen. You were paralyzed, thinking whether to take the album and leave, confront Minho, or leave it there… now you were even more curious about what else he might be hiding.

You slowly stepped back in fear and shock, you had no idea who Minho really was, your mind was filled with thoughts but suddenly you felt your back collide with a rigid body that you knew exactly whose body it was.

You turned your body and a mysterious gust of a cold breath of wind blew through your body. You met Minho with a serious look and expression, with a face so serious that you had never seen on him before. You got more scared, thinking how the hell he had gotten there if he didn’t even make the slightest noise, you were so scared, you wanted so many answers, in your little madness you thought he might even be a ghost.

But Lee Minho was so real, a human with tendencies different from the established, but he was still normal or at least that’s what he tried to convince himself… suddenly you felt petrified before his presence, anything could happen right there and now you felt helpless.

But of one thing Minho was sure, that his heart broke when he saw that peculiar look on your face when you saw him. And he who only expected you to look at him with love all the time. You looked at him with terror and panic, a petrifying look that only those movies you used to watch with him could reflect in the real world. Why? What was really happening?

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[theminecraftbee]

In the Permit Office they have security cameras to keep an eye on the exiles.

Skizz, frankly, isn’t really sure how they have them set up. Cub had waved a hand and said something about how they were necessary for the plot. This is a patently insane thing to say, but Skizz has been around the block long enough to simply roll with it. The cameras are up and work because they’re necessary to the plot. He and Scar sit in front of them and eat popcorn and boo Jevin when he seems to not be getting the lesson. Skizz brings in donuts also. These, too, seem necessary for the plot as far as Skizz is concerned; he’s hungry!

It’s when he’s watching the cameras and eating donuts that he first notices Jevin shouting something at the world border.

Really, it shouldn’t be worrying. Sure, Jevin’s been going rapidly mad in isolation, but Skizz has been assured that it’s all okay. It’s necessary in service of the higher-ups, the story, and sanctity of the shopping district, and honestly like, fuck Jevin. He’s not supposed to swear as an officer of the law, but he thinks the sentiment is fine. He’d been ruining their system! Rebelling against the shopping district! So what if Jevin’s talking to a dead fish head? People have been doing that since the start of the season!

It’s just—

“Do you think he’s looking at something specific?” Skizz asks.

“What? Nah,” Scar says as Jevin yells once again at something just across the barrier that separates the world from the non-world. “See, there’s nothing there!”

And Scar’s right. Scar’s right. There’s nothing there. It’s just—Skizz is pretty good at reading faces. People think he’s not but he is! And Jevin’s eyes, they’re… tracking something. They move back and forth in the way only someone who’s tracking something would move his eyes.

He’s just—cracking under pressure. That’s all. That’s the point! He’s supposed to crack under pressure, go to the comfort room, and fall in line with the higher-ups. It should be simple. Easy.

Skizz stops eating the donuts. His stomach doesn’t feel good.

“I’m not paid to worry about that,” Grian says. “Ask Cub. I don’t know. The higher-ups want the shopping district put together. This sort of thing is good for viewer numbers. For the plot, you know?”

Skizz stares at Grian. Grian does not give him a real answer. He rolls his eyes. “Okay, yeah, sure dude. Whatever you say.”

He tries not to worry about it. Even Jevin’s allies don’t seem as worried as they should. Sending one of them out after their so-called friend seems logical, given how unafraid of their authority they’re acting. It really grinds Skizz’s gears, how Beef and Joe and Cleo are so clearly conspiring against the permit office! They’d all agreed to this. They’d agreed! And the higher-ups say so!

He rants about this to Doc. Doc seems mostly confused, but says something about the Ore Snatcher and revenge and expectations and—

Jevin is having conversations with the world border in the camera. His eyes track something Skizz thinks he can’t see. There’s—there’s nothing there, right?

“There’s nothing there,” Skizz mutters.

“Yeah, man, that’s the point of exile,” Cub says.

“Hey, do you think…”

Skizz trails off.

“What?”

“He just—he looks bad,” Skizz says. “Maybe—”

“Nah. He’s bounced back from worse. Hah. Bounced.”

Cub leaves. Skizz watches the cameras for a long time.

The next morning, when Scar berates him for turning them off, Skizz says: “He was taking a dump, man! I don’t wanna see that.”

“Gross,” Scar says.

Jevin waves hello to the something that moves beyond the world border. It casts a long shadow.

“I’m patrolling the shopping district,” Skizz says, shaking.

“Actual work you weren’t bribed into? You feeling okay, buddy?”

No.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Skizz says. “Just—whatever.”

The thing beyond the world border laughs. Skizz flees the room. He doesn’t think he’s fled the cameras. He patrols harder than he’s ever patrolled before. He has to do everything perfectly, he thinks. He has to make sure the higher-ups are happy with their numbers.

He’s starting to understand why exile is a punishment.

[outlawwhispers]

HC : Bruce is such a softy for his kids when they ask for something.

Absolutely! Here are some incorrect quotes where Bruce is being his usual grumpy, intimidating self with the Justice League—until one of his kids contacts him, and he turns into a total dad marshmallow to everyone’s shock:

[Justice League Briefing Room]

Bruce (glowering): We don’t have time for your theatrics, Hal. This mission is serious.

Hal: Geez, someone’s in a mood—

[Comm buzzes]

Damian (on comm): Father, I require more batarangs. I’ve used them all.

Bruce (softly): Of course, I’ll send a new set right away. And don’t forget to hydrate.

Diana: …I’m sorry. Hydrate?

Bruce (turning back): What?

Hal: YOU JUST SMILED.

⸻

Bruce (stoic): We go in, we hit hard, no mistakes.

Barry: Got it. But can we at least coordinate colors this time—

[Comm buzzes]

Dick (cheerfully): Hey B, can I borrow the keys to the Batmobile? I wanna take it for a spin!

Bruce (sighs but fond): If you scratch it, you’re buffing it by hand.

Clark: …Who are you right now?

Bruce: I’m still terrifying.

Barry: You just gave him car privileges! That’s parental trust!

⸻

Bruce (gruff): We’re dealing with an interplanetary threat. Focus.

Arthur: Always a pleasure talking to you, Bats.

[Comm buzzes]

Tim (sleep-deprived): Hey, um, I’ve been up for 48 hours and I forgot how food works.

Bruce (immediately): Go eat something. Now. Real food. I’ll track your vitals.

Diana (blinking): He tracks their vitals?

Hal: Do you think he loves us like that?

Bruce: Absolutely not.

⸻

Bruce (monotone): Emotions get people killed. Think with strategy, not sentiment.

Clark: Little harsh, don’t you think?

[Comm buzzes]

Jason (muttering): I may have blown up a warehouse.

Bruce (calmly): Are you okay? Any injuries?

Jason: Nah, just crispy.

Bruce: No unnecessary risks next time. You matter more than the mission.

Clark: …He just said Jason matters more than the mission.

Barry: Who is this man?

[pankowcrumbs]

Of course I manipulated you X Mattheo riddle

MasterList

Harry Potter Universe Masterlist

The first time I truly saw Mattheo Riddle not just the face in the corridor or the name that hung like a curse around Slytherin’s neck he was cursing a seventh-year under his breath for borrowing a book and not returning it.

Not exactly dark magic, but it told me something. He didn’t like being crossed. He didn’t like being ignored. And he had a hell of a temper.

Perfect.

Because I had been sent to break him.

“You’re the only one clever enough to get close that he might trust.” Potter had said, his brow furrowed with worry that he tried to hide. “We need to know what he knows. What his weaknesses are. Who he’s loyal to. And more importantly what he’s willing to betray.”

“And what if he’s like his father?” I asked.

“Let’s pray he's not.”

I was a Ravenclaw, after all. Cool, collected. A girl of logic and careful observation. I could do this. I could fake friendship. Charm someone. Make them believe in a lie long enough for me to slip under their skin.

It wouldn’t be the first time. But it would be the most dangerous.

Mattheo Riddle was guarded. He moved like someone always listening for footsteps behind him. His eyes tracked every movement in a room, his wand always within reach. The son of the Dark Lord hidden in plain sight.

So I started small.

Late comments in class. Forced pairing in Potions. Sitting just a little closer in the library. Watching his walls inch back, one suspicious glance at a time.

He was wary at first. Of course he was. But I was patient.

I laughed at his sarcasm. Brushed off his biting remarks. Matched his intellect in debates and challenged his theories when no one else dared.

“You’re insufferable,” he muttered once after I corrected his Latin translation in front of Slughorn.

“You’re welcome,” I replied sweetly.

But I caught the way his lip twitched.

He was amused.

He was cracking.

He started walking with me after class. Only halfway down the corridor, never too close. But it was something. I reported everything back to the Order, straight into the charmed parchment that would vanish once read.

He watches his left flank like he expects someone to attack him from it. He sleeps with his wand under his pillow. Keeps a silver ring on a chain around his neck. Don’t know what it means yet.

“Get him to trust you,” Lupin said one evening. “We don’t need a miracle, just enough to see what side he’ll take when the time comes.”

“And if I start to feel sorry for him?”

“You won’t. He’s his father’s son.”

I wish that had been true.

Because somewhere between the calculated conversations and the silent walks by the Black Lake… I stopped feeling like I was pretending.

It was in the way he asked, quietly, what my childhood was like. How he stared at me too long when he thought I wouldn’t notice. How his shoulders relaxed when I laughed, like it startled him every time.

And that night in the library, when he sat across from me and said, “You make it hard to hate you, you know that?”

Something inside me pulled. Tight and uninvited.

But I smiled coolly and said, “Good. That’s sort of the point.”

He smiled back. Not his usual smirk. A real smile.

I didn’t sleep that night.

The Order was thrilled.

He’s pulling away from the others, I wrote. Doesn’t attend the secret meetings anymore. I think he’s doubting them.

I never told them about the sketch he gave me. Just slipped it into my bag one day, a soft charcoal drawing of me in the courtyard, hair messy from the wind, lips curled like I’d just told a secret.

“You’re terrifying when you focus,” he said when I confronted him about it, cheeks faintly pink.

“I thought you didn’t like sentiment.”

“I don’t. But you make it… tolerable.”

My heart flipped.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

By spring, he started telling me things.

About his mother. About the way people stared at him, always expecting him to go dark, to explode. About the nightmares.

“I hate my name,” he confessed once, voice barely audible. “Riddle. It’s not even mine. Just a legacy of something I never asked for.”

And I said nothing. Just reached out and took his hand, letting the silence hold the weight for him.

I told myself I was doing my job.

I didn’t realise I’d started protecting him.

The last report I wrote was a lie.

Nothing new to note. His behaviour is consistent. No major developments.

But that same night, Mattheo kissed me.

We were in an empty corridor, moonlight spilling through the high windows. He’d just finished ranting about Slughorn’s blatant favouritism when I’d laughed too hard, bumped into him, and something in the air shifted.

He looked at me like he wasn’t sure if he should.

So I kissed him first.

And when he kissed me back, slow and reverent like he’d waited years, I knew I was in trouble.

Not the mission.

Me.

We didn’t speak of what we were. Not out loud. But everything in the way he looked at me said it for him.

He touched my hand like it was breakable. Waited for me outside Ravenclaw Tower like a secret he didn’t want to lose. He let me see him not just the hardened shell, but the boy inside it.

The one with questions. Regret. Hope.

I had no right to want him.

But I did.

And that was the beginning of the end.

The thing about lies is they get heavier the longer you carry them.

At first, it was easy. Just glimpses, whispers. A shared joke in class, a touch of his hand when no one was looking. I convinced myself I was only doing what the Order needed. That whatever I felt for Mattheo Riddle was irrelevant. Manageable.

But then he started trusting me.

Really trusting me.

And I couldn’t pretend it didn’t matter.

We were sitting beneath the astronomy tower one night, the sky ink-black above us, stars glittering in a way that made the world feel smaller. He leaned back on his elbows, gaze somewhere far beyond the castle walls.

“I used to have this dream,” he said, voice quieter than usual. “When I was a kid. That someone would take it all away. The name. The expectations. Everything. Just let me be… someone else.”

I didn’t say anything. Just let the silence stretch, waiting.

He turned to look at me.

“You don’t flinch when you say my name,” he said. “Most people do.”

“I don’t see your father when I look at you.”

“You should.”

Something cracked in his voice.

That’s when he told me.

“The plan is already in motion,” he said a week later, eyes dark and haunted. We were tucked away in the Restricted Section, our books long forgotten. “They’re going to kill Potter. Before the end of the term.”

My heart dropped.

The words seemed to freeze between us, dense and poisonous.

“What?” I whispered.

He nodded once, jaw tight. “They think it’ll send a message. Break the spirit of the ‘good side.’ That’s what he calls it. My father.”

“And what do you think?”

Mattheo’s eyes met mine. They weren’t cold. They were scared.

“I think… I don’t know. I think I hate him. But I can’t stop what’s coming. I’m not strong enough.”

“You are.”

“You don’t know what he’s capable of”

“I do,” I said, sharper than I meant to. “More than you think.”

His gaze narrowed. “Then why are you still here?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“Because I care about you.”

And I did.

God help me, I really did.

But the moment he said Harry’s name, I knew.

I had to report it.

The Order had been waiting for this kind of intel for months. Plans were vague, guesses and half-truths. This was real. Concrete. And I had to be the one to hand it over.

Even if it meant handing Mattheo over with it.

Especially if it meant that.

I wrote it down with shaking hands, the ink smudged by a tear I didn’t realise had fallen.

Mattheo told me tonight Voldemort plans to kill Harry before the term ends. He says the plan is already underway.

He begged me not to tell anyone.

I folded the parchment, charmed it to vanish, and sat there staring at the empty space where it had been.

He trusted me.

He trusted me.

Mattheo met me the next night in the courtyard. No one was around. He looked different tense, searching.

“I had a nightmare,” he admitted. “You were gone. Just… vanished. And I didn’t know if it was real or not.”

“It wasn’t,” I whispered. “I’m still here.”

He came closer, his hands brushing mine.

“If I asked you to run away with me, would you?”

I blinked. “What?”

“Leave all this. Him. The war. Everything. We could go. Disappear.”

My chest ached.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do. And don’t lie to me, Y/N I know something’s changed. You’ve been quiet. Distant.”

“I’ve just been thinking.”

“About betraying me?”

His voice cracked.

I looked up.

His eyes burning, wet, terrified were already begging for an answer.

And I didn’t give one.

I found him in the library three nights later. He was waiting.

He’d already found out.

He stood when I entered, a folded letter in his hand parchment, my handwriting, one of the earlier reports I’d written but failed to destroy completely.

He must’ve gone looking.

“Tell me it’s not true,” he said, his voice low and shaking.

I said nothing.

He held the letter like it was poison. “Tell me you didn’t lie to me.”

I forced myself to stand still. “Mattheo”

“Tell me you weren’t just some clever Ravenclaw mission girl sent to spy on me.”

I looked away.

That was enough.

He laughed bitterly, dropping the paper to the floor.

“Of course,” he said. “Of course I was stupid enough to believe someone like you could care.”

And then I did it.

I delivered the final blow.

My voice went cold, detached.

“Of course I was manipulating you.”

His breath caught. His eyes went glassy.

I wanted to scream. To take it back. To tell him that somewhere along the way, everything had become real and I didn’t know when the pretending stopped.

But I couldn’t.

I was the hero. The spy. The loyal Order girl.

I had to protect everyone else.

Even if it meant shattering the boy who never asked to be his father’s son.

Mattheo took a step back, his voice suddenly quiet.

“Don’t do that. Don’t… pretend you didn’t mean any of it.”

I swallowed hard. “It doesn’t matter what I meant.”

He stared at me for a long time, like he was trying to find the girl who used to laugh with him by the lake. The one who kissed him like she wanted forever.

But she was gone.

And he turned without another word.

Leaving me alone in a war I’d helped win… but lost him in the process.

The battlefield was chaos.

Smoke curled around shattered stones. Spells split through the air like lightning. Screams rang out some in pain, others in fury. Somewhere behind me, someone yelled my name, but I didn’t look back. I couldn’t.

Because he was there.

Mattheo.

Across the courtyard. Standing with the other side. His wand drawn. His face sharp with fire and fury. But when he saw me really saw me he froze.

I did too.

It had been months since the night I shattered him with the words I didn't mean. Months since I’d watched him walk away with the pieces of what we almost had.

And now we were standing on opposite ends of a war neither of us wanted to fight.

I didn’t move.

He didn’t either.

Then everything happened at once.

A blur of movement to my left. One of our own a Gryffindor, I think, driven by rage more than reason raised their wand, spell on their lips.

Aimed right at him.

“Avada...”

“NO!”

I lunged in front of Mattheo before I even realised I was moving, throwing up a shield so fast it cracked with the force of the curse.

The spell slammed into it, sparking green before fizzling out. My knees nearly gave from the impact.

There was a gasp behind me.

The caster faltered. “Y/N, what?”

But I didn’t answer.

I turned around to face Mattheo.

He was still standing where he had been, eyes wide, stunned. The shock was clear on his face. I’d protected him. Me.

The girl who betrayed him.

The girl who lied.

And yet, I was the one who just risked her life for him.

We stared at each other, unmoving, while the world burned around us.

In that moment, it was like there was nothing else.

Just us.

Then like he could hear the pounding of my heart from across the stone he gave a single, silent nod.

I understood immediately.

We slipped away from the fight, dodging spells and smoke and people who wouldn’t understand. We didn’t run we couldn’t draw attention but somehow, we found each other through it all.

There was a broken corridor on the edge of the battleground, half-collapsed, hidden from the chaos. He ducked through it first. I followed, lungs tight, blood roaring in my ears.

The moment we were safe from view, he turned to me, breathing hard.

“You protected me.”

“Yes.”

“After everything?”

I didn’t know what to say. My throat felt thick.

He stepped closer, eyes searching mine.

“I don’t understand.”

I swallowed. “Neither do I.”

Silence.

Then, quieter: “Why did you do it?”

“I don’t know. I just when I saw him aim at you, I didn’t think. I just… moved.”

His jaw clenched. “And now?”

“I’d do it again.”

He blinked. “Even if I still hate you?”

“Even if you kill me.”

“Don’t say that.”

His voice broke.

I looked away.

He reached out but stopped just short of touching me.

“I hated you,” he said. “I tried to hate you.”

“I tried too,” I whispered.

He laughed bitterly. “You did a better job.”

“No, Mattheo. I just did what I was told.”

“And you regret it?”

“I regret hurting you.”

The words hung between us like ash in the air.

His expression twisted. Torn.

“Do you still believe in your side?”

I hesitated. “Yes.”

“Then what are we doing here?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “But I needed to see you again. Just once. In case…”

“In case I die?”

“In case I do.”

A long pause.

Then, carefully, he reached forward, his hand brushing against mine.

His fingers were warm. Familiar.

And trembling.

“Do you still love me?” he asked.

I blinked.

“I don’t know if I ever stopped.”

He inhaled sharply, like the words hit him physically. His grip tightened on my hand.

“I hate that I still love you,” he admitted.

“I know.”

Another silence. One that didn’t feel like the end.

Finally, I asked, “What happens now?”

He looked toward the battlefield beyond the crumbled wall.

Then back at me.

“I don’t know. But I don’t want to fight you.”

“Then don’t.”

“Then come with me.”

My breath caught.

“Where?”

“Anywhere that isn’t here.”

For one insane, beautiful second, I considered it. Running away. Starting over. Escaping the war that had twisted us into weapons.

But I couldn’t.

“You know I can’t.”

His jaw tightened.

“I have to go back,” I said. “They need me.”

“They’re using you.”

“And your side isn’t using you?”

He didn’t answer that.

Instead, he stepped closer, leaned his forehead against mine.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he murmured.

“Same.”

Then, without a word, he kissed me.

Not like it was goodbye.

But like it was the last time he’d ever be brave enough to love me.

And when we pulled apart, he was already walking away.

Back into the war.

Back into the fire.

And I stood there, hand still tingling from his touch, knowing that even if we survived this battle…

The war between us was far from over.

The Dark Lord was dead.

I don’t know how long I stood there, frozen amidst the rubble and ruin, watching as the last curse green and blazing collided with his own. The sound was deafening. Like the very earth had split in two.

And then silence.

Just… silence.

No more screams. No more flashes of light. No more cries of grief or fury or revenge. The war was over.

The war was over.

Bodies were scattered across the grounds of Hogwarts. Smoke still curled lazily from the stones. I couldn’t feel my hands, even though they were clutching my wand so tightly it trembled.

But none of that mattered.

Because across the field, through the clearing dust and glowing dawn light, I saw him.

Mattheo.

Still alive.

Standing.

Looking around like he didn’t know what to do, where to go, what this all meant.

His eyes found mine.

And suddenly I was running.

I didn’t think I didn’t care if someone saw. If someone tried to stop me. My legs moved before my mind did, tearing through the grass and dirt, stumbling over cracked stone and fallen spells.

I ran until my lungs burned.

And then he was running too.

Toward me.

And the moment we crashed into each other, it was like the whole world aligned again. His arms wrapped around me so tightly I could barely breathe. My fingers clutched the back of his robe like he might vanish if I let go.

We said nothing at first.

Just held on.

Clinging to something real in the ruins of what had been.

When we finally pulled back, his eyes were shining. Not with tears. Not with fear. But with hope.

"Is it true?" he asked. "Is he really gone?"

I nodded, breathless. "Gone. It's over."

He exhaled like he'd been holding it for years. "I didn't think I'd live to see it."

"Neither did I."

"I thought I'd lost you."

"You didn’t."

He cupped my face, eyes roaming over every inch of me like he was memorising it. "They’re not going to come for me, are they? For who my father was?"

I shook my head. “You weren’t him. You never were. I won't let them.”

His lip quirked. “He would’ve hated that.”

“Good.”

He let out a laugh, hoarse and cracked, and leaned in so our foreheads touched.

"Do we get to have something now?" he whispered. "A life. Without sides. Without secrets."

"Yes."

"And you're sure?"

"Only about you."

That was all it took.

He kissed me again gentle at first, like he still couldn’t believe this was allowed. That this was real. Then deeper. Fiercer. Like the promise of a new beginning lived in my mouth.

I felt the war fall away.

The lies. The betrayal. The pain.

It was all gone.

He pulled back, his voice low. "You saved me.”

"You saved me."

"I don’t know what comes next."

I smiled. "We’ll figure it out."

"Together?"

"Always."

And in the quiet that followed the storm, Mattheo Riddle took my hand not as a weapon of war, not as a soldier, not as the son of the Dark Lord

But as a boy who had chosen love.

And I walked beside him, not as a spy, not as a Ravenclaw, not as a girl who once betrayed him

But as the one who would never leave his side again.

Not now.

Not ever.

[spearminthe]

behold. a rather in-depth and extensive series of yumeship questions. minors DNI.

got tired of looking for ask games that cater to a more mature audience, so I slapped this together :] have others submit asks for you via sending in an emoji and its corresponding number (ex. 🫰3, 🏡6, ⛓️‍💥1), or feel free to use these questions for personal writing. be sure to reblog to give others a chance to participate!

many of these questions feature multiple parts, so feel free to pick and choose what pieces to answer based on preference! if your ship utilizes an OC rather than a self insert, or if your ship is a polycule, you're more than welcome to change the wording!

🫰

What initially drew you to your f/o? Are you a longtime fan of the source they originate from, or did you primarily gravitate towards their source out of an interest in them?

How long have you and your f/o been in a relationship in real-time? Do you keep track of your anniversary, and if so, do you like to do anything special to commemorate it?

In what ways do you like to participate in your ship? Do you have a favorite piece of merch/art/writing featuring your f/o? Do you engage with your ship IRL by taking a token of them along on outings?

Do you have only one f/o, or a select elite team built up of several f/o's? If you have multiple, do they interact at all with each other?

What are some things you associate with your f/o? Certain objects, sounds, smells etc.? Are there specific symbolisms behind them? What associations does your f/o form regarding you?

What quote comes to mind when thinking of your f/o — Be it from their source, a poem/lyric/passage, or something original you authored for them? What quote would they choose for you?

If you were to build a mini playlist to associate with your f/o, what 3 songs would you include? What songs would your f/o think to use for you?

What are some common tropes you could use to label your ship at a glance?

💌

What's the setting that your relationship takes place in? Did you bend a bit of canon to work in favor of you and your f/o, or did you throw canon out the window altogether to create an entirely separate AU?

How did you and your f/o come to know each other prior to your relationship? Was it an extended slowburn or a near-immediate whirlwind affair?

Who was the one to pursue the relationship? Was it even reciprocated at first? Was it a big deal, or did you instead forgo a "confession" and one day just quietly acknowledge that you're basically a couple?

How did things change, if at all, between you and your f/o upon becoming "official"? Business as usual, or a complete overhaul of your relationship?

If either of you have prior romantic history, what were your respective reactions to this information? Are either of you each other's first instances of becoming this close to somebody?

Did either of you enter into your relationship expecting something short-lived and no strings attached, or were you intending for things to be serious from the start?

How did the usual exciting "firsts" occur between you and your f/o? First date? First kiss? First time being intimate with each other, if this applies?

What about those more unpleasant "firsts"? First argument? First time seeing the other cry? First time breaking up if y'all are messy?

Who was the first to say "I love you", and what were the circumstances? Did it happen innocuously, or was it terrifying for the one to say it (maybe even the one to hear it)? Was the sentiment mutual?

🏡

Do you and your f/o share a home together? To whose tastes is it catered more towards? If you live separately, how often do you see each other?

Out of you and your f/o, who's the breadwinner and who's the homemaker? Are these kinds of duties shared equally between the two of you? Do you prefer to live modestly or extravagantly?

Are there any other inhabitants that you and your f/o share a space with? Pets? Roommates? Your children? Other members of a polycule?

What does the average workday look like for you as a couple? Unemployed activities at 2pm on a weekday, or are you maybe lucky (or unlucky) enough to be employed at the same establishment?

How do you both like to relax after a long day? Are either of you still bogged down with at-home errands or responsibilities that you have to be pulled away from, just to enjoy some downtime together?

What are the sleeping arrangements like if sharing a bed? Who's the big or little spoon? Who runs hot or cold? Is there even any room for you both to sleep in between an excess of pillows or plushies?

What are some of your daily routines? ex. Getting ready for bed, waking up on weekdays VS weekends, preparing for work VS preparing for an outing together?

Do you have any significant interactions with each other's friends or family? What are their opinions on your relationship?

📋

What are some of the basic highlights of either of your favorite things? ex. Foods, colors, seasons, animals, pieces of media, etc.? Are any of your favorites your f/o's least favorites, or vice versa?

What kinds of hobbies or talents do you each have? Do you engage in activities together that connect any of them, or do you have difficulties finding common ground with each other?

Do the both of your personalities overlap fairly closely, or do you operate on completely opposite temperaments?

How do you or your f/o make each other smile? Laugh? Is it out of genuine funniness, or more out of a polite obligation?

What are some points of contention between the two of you? Are they as simple as habits you find annoying, or are they more substantial such as idealogical differences?

What are some other general differences between you and your f/o physically? Age? Size/height? Aesthetics?

Which of you has a sense of rhythm and which is left floundering if asked to dance? Who can hold a note and who's more prone to breaking glass with their lack (or excess) of pitch?

Are either of you klutzy and accident-prone? Does the other act as a steadying force, or are they just as much of a walking disaster?

🌹

What terms of endearment do you and your f/o use for each other? Are there any particular nick/petnames that get used depending on specific contexts?

Are either of you partial to grand gestures of affection (gifts, PDA, love letters etc.), or is it preferred that you both keep things more low-key?

Who's the shier one between you and your f/o? The more flirtatious? Who's more prone to flustering the other, and through that means? Is it intentional or done completely by accident?

What are your favorite physical features and/or personality quirks belonging to each other? Do either of you have any particular ways of showing appreciation for them?

What sorts of dates do you like to go on together? Are they sweet and chaste, or do they have a tendency of devolving into mischief?

What outfits do you or your f/o break out for special occasions? Are either of you always dressed to the nines, or are there particular ensembles that either of you save to really make an impression?

What circumstances are cause for celebration between you and your f/o? ex. Birthdates, anniversaries, holidays, accomplishments etc.? How do you like to celebrate these occasions?

Do you and your f/o enjoy kissing? What circumstances do you most often share a kiss? What spots do either of you like to kiss the most? If kisses are a no, how else do you two show affection?

❤️‍🔥

What kind of dynamics do you engage in when it comes to intimacy? How important is it to your relationship? Is it intense, or kept lighthearted and fun?

Who's the most likely to initiate intimacy between you and your f/o? In what ways do either of you go about suggesting it? How often do you find yourselves partaking in each other?

In what ways do either of you set the mood? Is it usually a big to-do with meticulous ambiance, or is it more than often a spur of the moment coupling wherever it occurs?

What are some quirks you each have when getting intimate? ex. Who's the louder of the two? The less experienced? The more upfront about what they want? The more expressive with their face/body?

How sensitive is your f/o, and how do they react to being treated in certain ways? What things are the most susceptible to riling them up, be it physical or mental?

Do you or your f/o have favorite positions, acts, or items of play to fall back on? Are either of you particularly adventurous, or are you fairly certain of your preferences?

What's the mood like after everything is said and done? Any special routines to calm down with? Are either of you prone to cuddling or do you find that you need space after?

💍

What opinions do you and your f/o have towards the idea of marriage? Is it something you're actively gunning for, or are you ambivalent/disinterested? Are you already married?

Who is the one to propose, and what are the circumstances in which it occurs? Is it readily accepted, or declined?

In the event of choosing to marry, what is the reasoning? Genuine love? Obligation? Political or financial gain? Just looking for a break on taxes?

If a wedding is involved, how small or grand of an affair is it? Was everything to your liking or did things go awry during the process? What sort of honeymoon followed?

If you and your f/o prefer not to get married, is it more out of an interest in maintaining a long partnership without the whole rigamarole of marriage, or is there an ulterior motive at play?

Do you and your f/o start a family together, married or not? Does it consist of children either of you had prior, or children borne of your relationship? Do you forgo children for a gaggle of pets instead?

Once you've married, does the union stay strong or does it ultimately end in divorce? If you do end up divorcing, is it a permanent end to the relationship or the start to the on-and-off mess of a lifetime?

⛓️‍💥

Are you and your f/o subject to difficulties in your relationship? Does this angst take the form of interpersonal problems, or bigger circumstances happening around the two of you?

Do you or your f/o suffer some form of bodily harm? Be it from engaging in battle, ending up in an accident, maybe dealing with chronic pain? Is the other good at nursing the injured party?

What are some mental trials that plague you or your f/o? How are either of you able to help the other overcome, or at least cope with these sorts of issues?

If the issues surrounding you are more down to earth, what sorts of problems are you dealing with? Jealousy? Bad communication? Deception?

Between you and your f/o, who's usually the rescuer and the one in need of rescuing? Is it interchangable? Is the rescuer successful in saving the one who needs their help?

If your f/o suffers a terrible fate in their source, did you nyx the angst altogether to give them a happy story? Does your f/o come from an otherwise normal story and you chose to pile on the angst voluntarily?

How are you and your f/o ultimately able to rise above the problems happening within or around your relationship, if at all? Is there a good ending in store for you both, or are you doomed by the narrative?

[obae-me]

The Devil's Desire

Nothing like trying to come back from a long hiatus with more Luci content. It's always him, I can't escape.

Warning: This fic contains a makeout scene but nothing explicit, so 16+.

Disclaimer: I am NOT bashing religion, nor am I calling out any specific faith, denomination, etc. It's written to be mostly generic on purpose, and is simply based on a real life experience I have had before. Don't take this seriously, please.

Word Count: 2.3k

With that out of the way, please enjoy some Luci romance!:

To lie with the devil is to wake up in hell. Tender lips stained with debauchery embrace nothing but lies. Tainted is the temporary vice. Lost is the lamb who leaves the flock. Damned is the devoured; the ones drowned in their own sins, plunged into the fires, entombed in brimstone. The cries of pleasure now ones of wailing. Of gnashing their own teeth. Made to suffer an eternity of eternities for shunning the light.

At least, that’s what they say.

And by they, right now you meant the very adamant woman standing in front of you, brandishing pamphlets like they were her very own Ten Commandments. If only 'Thou Shall Not Harass Unsuspecting People on the Street' were one of them. If you had your own rules, that would make it into the top five for sure.

Unfortunately, the lady slowly singling you out from the rest of the passers-by did not share your same sentiments. She was on a mission. Her mission? You. The goal? To wear you down and pester you long enough to join whatever group she was promoting. You’d seen these things enough before to see the danger signs in advance. A clipboard so they could take your name and number. A promotion selling tickets that you’d inevitably have to use your email to register for. All in an attempt to get your information so they could track you down in a less stalker-y sort of way.

“Oh, hello, dear. How are you today?” The hunter was closing in, two teens carrying signs at her side working on sequestering you- the weaker link- away from the pack.

“I’m good, how are you?” Damn your polite force of habit! Curse you, customer service default settings!

She grinned, knowing that if she played her cards right, she could probably keep you trapped here for a while longer. She spoke, and due to the survival instinct in your brain, you were capable of tuning her out for the most part. Something something, for the greater good, something something, special soul. They never meant what they said, or even if they believed their own words, it was undermined by their intentions. You’d been in this boat before. You kept waving your hand and nodding your head, explaining to her that you were busy and had someone you were meeting.

As you stepped backwards, she approached again. “Just one minute of your time! One minute could save your soul from Lucifer’s clutches!”

Without entirely meaning to, the drop of that name made you pause. Every once and a while, you forgot that the person you had come to know so well was such a prominent- albeit infamous- figure in the human world. Although, the way he tended to be described made him seem more like a boogeyman rather than a demon capable of Armageddon, scaring children across different nations and cultures into behaving. Perhaps you should be insulted on his behalf. Perhaps you should share some of the stuff you had seen. Tales of ivory wings and the blinding glow of a fallen angel whose twisted voice now told beings to Be Afraid. With a haunting beauty so enveloping, you openly fell further into the nightmare. That being said, you almost laughed in her face, wanting to tell her that the man she was so afraid of had been fretting over what kind of coat to wear this morning. Black was classy. But blue made his eyes pop more. But red was his color. Thirty minutes he pondered over this. “I’m not all that worried about it.”

Maybe you hadn’t contained your amusement as well as you thought you did, because for some reason, a righteous fire had lit under her sandy open-toed wedges. “You should be! Whatever promises the devil gives you, it will only bring you misery in the end! He cares nothing for you! Only HE can give you the joy you seek.” Her pointer finger raised up while she gazed to the clouds like she could peer into Heaven from down here. It was hard to tell if the dramatics were more for you or her. When she glanced at you again, she appeared spooked, clutching pearl hands at the ready.

An arm snaked around your waist, a hand settling on your hip. If the touch wasn’t so familiar, you would’ve jumped. “I don’t know. I think I bring plenty of joy, wouldn’t you say, love?”

Speak of the devil, in a quite literal sense.

Relief flooded your body, the tension you’d unknowingly built in your shoulders loosening. Even posing as a human, Lucifer was intimidating. At the very least, no one bothered to approach him out of the blue. This party buff seemed to extend to you as well. This lady seemed much less interested in trying to convince you of anything now. She cleared her throat and thought about potentially leaving you one last message of warning, but the man in your company wasn’t having it. He scoffed under his breath before he gestured to some of the other sign bearers in the group, tilting his head slightly to the side.

“Strange weather today, isn’t it? You might want to help retrieve your things,” Lucifer announced. Eyebrows raised. The weather was quite nice today, albeit a little cold. Curiosity got the better of her. Just as the woman turned around, a heavy gust of wind blew over you all, making pamphlets and signs fly upwards and into the streets. Subtle. People scrambled. The lady hiked up her skirt and ran to the edge of the sidewalk. Cars screeched to a halt and honked, people stopped to gawk at the calamity, all the while, you felt yourself being tugged away.

Lucifer’s hand remained on your waist for a few minutes until he was certain the annoyance was far behind you. How much of a mess was the scene now? You turned your head to look over your shoulder, but only saw darkness as a gloved hand covered your eyes. A slight huff sounded off to your side.

“Leave it. This hesitancy of yours is what got you caught in the first place.” The hand moved from your eyes to the top of your head, making you look up at him with a twist of his fingers. “I leave you be for a few moments, and you once again find yourself tangled up in nonsense.” His narrowed eyes flitted over your form as if checking for signs of distress or injury, like the woman was a master of combat with pamphlets as her weapon of choice. Always the worrier that one. He’d have still a similar reaction if you found yourself lost in a grocery store…

A frown crossed over your face. “I did try to leave. How many times do I have to say ‘no thank you’ before someone leaves me alone?”

He tisked, his posture straightening as he fixed the scarf around your neck. The plush fabric was rubbed against your jaws. “There’s your first issue. Manners are all well and good until someone takes advantage of it. At some point, you have to drop the politeness and just say ‘no’. With your entire chest.” All of a sudden, he took two pointer fingers and manipulated your cheeks and lips to mouth some words. “N. O. Just like that. Can you say it with me? Nnnn…ooo…”

You narrowed your eyes a bit at his teasing, batting his hands away. “Knock it off, Luce…”

“Hmm. Maybe I should go get one of those eccentrics and tell them we changed our minds and—“

“No!”

“Ah, see, you are capable of it.” Someone was mighty pleased with himself. Anytime he found himself in a place where he was free from his responsibilities, he always got shockingly more playful. It would be cute if it weren’t so frustrating right now. His hand started running over your head. “Good job.”

“That’s not funny. You heard how they were talking about you… I hate listening to it.”

At your words, his teasing smile faded. Rolling his eyes, he lowered his hands. “I would much rather you save that vexation for yourself and how they treated you. All the humans in the world could despise me and I would not bat an eye.” Suddenly, his finger tapped your chin, trying to regain your full attention. “I only care what one of them thinks about me.”

Something about the sudden sappiness in public snapped you out of things. You turned a bit on your feet and started walking. “Did you check us in already?”

“I took care of it. Did you want to head in now or wander around the town a while?” His partial pout at ignoring his romanticism could almost be felt physically as he matched his pace with yours.

“I think I’ve had my fun for now.”

A hum, and his hand found your own. Clasping it, guiding you to the hotel as you both walked. It was astonishing how such a move cast a level of camouflage over you two. Suddenly, it was as if you both were a normal couple following the regular flow of foot-traffic, keeping each other warm in the crisp air with the heat of each others close proximity.

If the devil was so callous, why were his hands so tender?…

The rest of the walk was a bit of a blur. The people, buildings, spoken words, all unimportant compared to the sensation of having him near. The elevator ride jostled, giving you some more awareness to your surroundings. A short walk, a brandished key card, and he opened the door for you, the very picture of a perfect gentleman.

If the devil cared not for you, why would he bother with chivalry?

The “room” was huge, with an entire kitchen, walled off bathroom, closed off bedroom, and separate living area. This was more an apartment than a simple hotel room. The luggage was already brought inside, Lucifer’s portion already opened and put away. “Leave it to Diavolo to save you the biggest, fanciest suite in the hotel. If the tub has jets, I’m never leaving.”

“Do you expect the Avatar of Pride, the right hand to royalty, to expect anything less?”

“You’re funny if you think Diavolo wouldn’t give you something like this regardless of your gilded titles. Careful, your sin is showing.” You rolled your eyes and gave him a playful nudge.

He swiveled on his feet and poked your ribs. “You dare push me?” His voice rumbled in amusement deep in his chest. “Rather bold to do to such a dangerous demon.”

“Oh? Is that a threat? Going to take my soul? Well, you’re going to have to get through me first.” Fake punches flew through the air, striking at his chest and face with no force. Although you knew real punches would have the same utterly useless, painless outcome for him.

The world tilted, some of the air leaving your lungs in a giggling gasp as he scooped you up over his shoulder. He twisted, spinning around occasionally to leave you somewhat disoriented until you were plopped down on top of the bed, the whole mattress bobbing. Lucifer hovered over you. “You cannot hope to win, human. You’re mine now.”

Something in your chest fluttered at that. “So you win then, is it? How would you like my soul? Grilled? Blended? Braised?”

One of his hands worked on removing the scarf from around your neck, the back of his index finger tracing the outline of your chin. Just a breath away from being in contact. “Let me see…” Adjusting, rubbing his nose against yours, he waited for that tell-tale sign of permission, of you closing some of the distance. Temptation struck you, flooding in your heart. The plunge was too alluring. You bit of the fruit, and the devil wrapped his clutches around you.

Watch out for the schemes of the devil, who prowls like a beast, waiting for the moment to strike and devour- lips whispering inner desires. Raise up your guard to save yourself from being pulled into darkness, into his embrace, limbs aching and craving. For his claws shall tear and shred in eagerness, unable to contain themselves as they remove the body of protective vestments. He will take the very breath from your lungs. Crush the bones with a heaving chest. Partake of your flesh.

Lucifer raised his head for a moment, letting you both catch your breath. Your thumb traced his bottom lip, puffy and scarlet where you’d nipped it. Red was always a good color for him. That’s why you picked the crimson coat for him today. It matched his cheeks, the end of his ears, his longing eyes.

“Authentically,” he said, answering your question you felt you asked two lifetimes ago. His mouth covered yours as his broad hands squeezed your shoulders. “Slowly…” You could almost feel his hum in the back of your throat as he spoke between kisses. “Bit by bit…” His teeth grazed you top lip. “Over the course of a lifetime…” His affection moved on, venturing out and exploring your cheeks and gently over your eyelids. “So you’ll be right here with me… exactly like this… for a very-“ a searing mark was placed right under your earlobe, against a tingling part of your neck, “…very long time.”

To lie with the devil is to wake up wrapped up in braids of limb and cloth. Tender lips stained with last night’s embrace whisper saccharine words. Cherished is the temporary stillness. Beloved is the lamb who measures the meter of the heartbeat of the wolf. Blessed is the enamored; the ones drowned in their own affection, plunged into the fires of passion, entombed in each other’s chests. The cries of pleasure echoed with ones of mirth. Of declarations and vows held tight between their own teeth. Made to persist an eternity of eternities for existing as the other’s light.

For it's his desire.

[oddlydescriptive]

Reset, Chapter One

Series Masterlist

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December 26, 2022. Milton Keynes, UK.

As bad things often do, it starts with wine and sentimentality-at least on your part. You’re not sure Max Verstappen is capable of something so pedestrian as sentiment.

You’ve shared… many things with Max. Loathing, mostly. But also a track, stuffy marketing events, opposite ends of long conference tables at the factory. A handful of tense, clipped conversations that ended in rolled eyes and barely concealed contempt. But loathing- yes, that’s the main thing.

And yet, here you are.

“Well?” His voice is low, rough around the edges. There’s entirely too little space between you, lips parted, eyes dark as sin. “What’s the verdict?”

The verdict?

For a moment, you can’t even remember what you were thinking before he spoke. Something important, probably. Something rational.

Oh. Right. 

How the fuck did this happen?

Wine. Loneliness. A sick desire for some version of Christmas that doesn’t completely fucking suck. Maybe that’s how this- the hot, consuming press of his mouth against yours, the breathless heat still lingering between you- combusted into existence. But that’s not how all of this started.

No. That started months ago, on a pit wall across the Atlantic. 

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Five Months Before, August 20, 2022. Worldwide Technology Raceway.

There’s a reason they call it competitive suicide.

Dale Coyne Racing is where talent goes to die- where decent drivers get ground down into nothing, where you get ground down into nothing. There’s no faith, no investment, no future here. You’re not their driver. Not really. You’re a placeholder, a warm body they can shove into a car when the boss’s son wrecks one too many chassis. A novelty they can parade around when they need to pretend they’re modern and progressive- a woman in their car, see? How inspiring.

Their car is a joke. A Frankenstein’s monster of outdated concepts and desperate engineering, held together with duct tape, stubbornness, and wishful thinking. It handles like a shopping cart with a broken wheel, understeers into corners, and then suddenly- violently- snaps into oversteer when you least expect it. The power delivery is shit. The brakes are worse.

The engineers know it. They all know it.

And still, every time you fight tooth and nail just to drag the thing across the line, they act like you’re the problem. Like it’s you who’s asking too much from the car. Like you should be grateful for the opportunity to pilot this rolling embarrassment.

The worst part? You are grateful. Because there aren’t many other options.

Not many teams are lining up to hire a woman. That’s the real fucking truth, the one nobody likes to say out loud. You could be better than half the grid, but when it comes down to it, you’re not one of the boys. You don’t have an automatic in with the old-guard team bosses, the ex-drivers turned management who only see their past selves in the drivers they choose. So you grit your teeth, push the useless fucking thing as fast as it’ll go, and tell yourself that points are points, even if they’re scraped out of misery one at a time.

You’d rather be anywhere else.

But instead, you’re here- sitting in the tight, suffocating cockpit of your Dale Coyne IndyCar, fighting a machine that doesn’t want to cooperate. The steering feels like shit, the setup feels like shit, and the tires are giving up on you way too soon. You’re fighting with every muscle in your body just to wrangle the damn thing around the track, squeezing every last bit of pace out of a car that has no business being on this grid.

And then- impact.

A split-second warning, a flicker of movement in your mirrors, and then your own goddamn teammate- fucking idiot- clips your rear tire, sending you into a spin. Your stomach lurches as the car snaps around, momentum carrying you straight into the wall. The sickening crunch of carbon fiber shattering around you barely registers before you slam to a stop.

Silence. Then static in your ear.

"You alright?" Your engineer, not sounding particularly concerned. Not like this is surprising. You don’t answer. Not yet. You’re too busy breathing, swallowing down the molten rage rising in your throat.

Then you key the radio. "Yeah." Your voice is clipped, devoid of anything but the raw edge of exhaustion. You climb out of the car, shaking out your hands, flexing stiff fingers against the uselessness of it all. The safety crew checks you over, but you barely hear them. It takes everything in you to walk back to the pits instead of finding your dumbass teammate and tearing him apart with your bare hands.

You should have seen today’s disaster coming. Your teammate- if you can even call him that- has wrecked you before. It’s almost routine at this point. The team never does anything about it. No real reprimands, no apologies, no accountability. Just another shrug, another "racing incident," another round of well, if you had just backed off, maybe that wouldn’t have happened.

Back off.

As if you have the luxury of backing off when your entire fucking career is balanced on a knife’s edge.

And now here you are, standing in the garage, helmet in hand, jaw clenched so tightly it might snap. The garage is silent when you step in. Or maybe you just can’t hear past the blood roaring in your ears. The team- if you can call this pile of underqualified morons a team- is already moving on, treating you like an afterthought.

No one’s looking at you. No one’s talking to you. No one gives a shit. Your wrecked car is being wheeled back, and they’re already moving on, like you didn’t just get speared into the wall by your own goddamn teammate. You snatch your phone from your pile of things on the bench and jam it into the waistband of your fireproofs- retreat to a corner of the garage to seethe.

If you were on fire in the middle of the pit lane, these people wouldn’t piss on you to put it out.

Your seat was always temporary.

Your teeth grind so hard your skull aches. You’re two seconds from lighting someone up just to make them react to something, fucking anything, when your phone buzzes.

You pay it little mind, ready to ignore whatever fresh bullshit is waiting for you. Another racing journalist already circling for a soundbite? A patronizing text from your team about “unfortunate circumstances”? PR telling you to keep your answers positive in post-race interviews?

But when you wipe the sweat from the screen and squint, your frustration flickers into confusion.

Incoming Call — Unknown Number (Europe)

You stare at it. A telemarketer? A wrong number? A scam? The incoming call window closes, and you’re staring at your home screen again. (1) Missed Calls. 

You almost let it go. Almost toss your phone onto the table and keep pacing, keep seething. But something in you, some quiet, persistent part of your brain that still believes in Santa and unicorns, tells you to call back.

You hit the button. The line rings twice.

"LeChriste?" It’s crisp, clipped, professional. Male. Not familiar. But there’s something there- something sharp, something important.

Your grip tightens around your phone. "Yeah? Who’s this?"

"Franz Tost, team principal of Scuderia AlphaTauri." For half a second, you think you’ve imagined it. AlphaTauri. Formula 1. Franz Tost. The words don’t compute, don’t settle. It doesn’t make sense. Because why the fuck would someone from F1- someone from Red Bull’s junior team- be calling you?

"Right," you manage, forcing your voice to stay even. "And you’re looking for me?"

"I wouldn’t be calling otherwise." Fair enough.

You take a step back, pressing your fingers to your temple. Your heartbeat has changed- it’s not just pounding with anger now. It’s something else. Something sharper. "How’d you even get this number?"

"Christian Horner gave it to me."

Your stomach drops. Christian Horner. The team principal of Red Bull Racing. The guy running the best car on the grid, the one responsible for Seb Vettel’s dominance, for king-killer Max Verstappen, the guy at the helm of one of the biggest single seater operations in the world. That Christian Horner. 

You inhale through your nose, trying to keep your pulse steady, gripping your phone like a lifeline. Professional. Stay professional. "What can I do for you, Mr. Tost?"

There’s a slight pause before he speaks, like he’s already bracing himself. "I assume you’ve heard of Yuki Tsunoda?"

You let out a sharp, incredulous laugh before you can stop yourself. It’s too loud, too immediate. You wince at the sound of it, clearing your throat quickly to mask the awkwardness. "Uh, yeah," you say, forcing your voice back to neutral. "I watch Formula 1. Believe it or not."

There’s a long pause. Too long. Franz doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t react at all, really.

Jesus. Tough crowd.

"Good," he says finally, completely unfazed, his tone so dry it could ignite a brush fire. "He’s just undergone an emergency appendectomy. And we have a race in less than a week."

You freeze. Your heart picks up speed, but you force yourself to stay still. Stay neutral. Don’t react yet. "Right." You shift your weight. "And?"

"And I don’t have a lot of faith in our current reserve driver." Your lips part slightly. That’s… blunt. You weren’t expecting that level of honesty.

"So, what, you want me to- " you make a vague motion with your free hand, "-be the backup for the backup?"

"I want to see if you can be the backup," Franz corrects. Something cracks in your ribs. Not pain, not panic, but something more profound. The kind of break that feels like a door swinging open.

"Okay." The word comes out steadier than you expect, though your pulse is doing its best impression of a hummingbird’s wings. You square your shoulders, trying to sound measured and professional, like you totally understand what’s happening here and aren’t still two steps away from a full-blown existential crisis. "So you’re just… bringing me in? Throwing me in the car?"

"No." Franz’s voice is firm, edged with something that makes it very clear that whatever delusions you may have had need to be checked immediately. "You are being given a chance to earn a seat for the weekend. You will be tested. Evaluated. We have a reserve driver already- Liam Lawson. I assume you’ve heard of him?"

Your stomach clenches. Of course, you’ve heard of Liam. Red Bull’s academy prospect, the next in line, the logical heir to a temporary seat exactly like the one you’re being offered a chance to fight for. He’s been groomed for this, has the full weight of the Red Bull machine behind him, the kind of backing you don’t.

"Yeah," you say, and suddenly your mouth is dry.

"Good," Franz continues, tone unwavering. "You’ll both be in FP1. If you perform well enough- if you can out-pace him- we’ll consider putting you in the car for the full weekend. If you don’t, you’ll be on the next flight home, and we’ll pretend none of this ever happened."

The words hit like a bucket of ice water. You’d been holding onto this flickering belief- this idea that maybe, maybe, they had already decided you were good enough. That you were stepping into a race seat outright, even if just for a weekend. That someone, somewhere, had already chosen you.

They haven’t.

This is a gamble.

And you still have to win.

"So, just to be clear," you say slowly, dragging a hand down your face, "if I suck, I don’t go into quali?"

"Correct."

"And if I don’t suck?"

"Then we’ll talk about Saturday and Sunday."

You exhale sharply, jaw tightening. "Right. No pressure, then."

"There is pressure," Franz corrects. "You’ll also need to take media duties, regardless of how you perform. There’s already interest in the fact that a woman might be stepping into an F1 car for the first time in years. If we’re going to capitalize on that, we need you to be professional, presentable, and cooperative with PR."

The word capitalize sticks in your brain like gum on a shoe. "Ah." You blink, trying to process what he’s really saying. "So I’m a diversity hire?"

"No," he says flatly, no hesitation. "You are a marketing opportunity."

A sharp laugh leaves you before you can stop it, humorless and exasperated all at once. You pinch the bridge of your nose. "Fantastic."

"Do you have a problem with that?"

"No, no," you say quickly, shaking your head. "I love being a prop.”

There’s a pause, and you definitely hear him sigh this time. Not annoyed- more like resigned, like he already knows exactly what he’s about to get himself into. "We can’t pay you much," he says, not like it’s an afterthought, but like it’s a formality, a line he already knows won’t matter.

The laugh that escapes you this time is real, sharp and immediate. "I don’t care about money." The words leave you fast, without hesitation, because they’re true.

There’s a small beat of silence, and when he speaks again, his voice is edged with something knowing, something wry.

"Figured," he says, almost to himself. "The ones that probably should care about money never do." You don’t know if that’s a compliment, an observation, or a warning, but it doesn’t matter. You don’t hesitate. Not now. Not when the door is cracked open and all you have to do is walk through it.

"Done."

"Pack your bags," Franz says, and there’s something final in his tone. Like a line has just been drawn in the sand. "We need you in Belgium as soon as possible."

You’re already moving, already grabbing your duffel, stuffing things inside with quick, frantic movements like this opportunity might vanish if you take too long.

"I can be at STL in thirty-five minutes."

Franz doesn’t reply, but the call clicks off.

That’s it.

No fanfare. No congratulations. Just a chance. Just the fight you’re about to throw yourself into. And fuck, you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

They don’t measure and weigh drivers by reaction times for nothing- you’re in motion before your phone has even gone back to the home screen. Every second you waste standing here is one more second someone else could be getting that call. That seat. That chance.

Your hands move on autopilot, shoving gear into your duffel with the frantic, uncoordinated speed of someone packing up their entire life in real-time. Fireproofs, helmet bag, travel essentials- you don’t stop to think, don’t stop to fold, don’t stop to make sense of what’s going where. It doesn’t matter. You need to go. You need to get on a fucking plane.

The zipper jams for half a second, and you nearly rip the damn thing off trying to get it closed.

Then you hear it. "Hey, 66! Reserve!" The voice echoes through the garage, sharp and accusatory. You don’t stop moving. "The fuck do you think you’re doing?"

Kevin.

Pit Boss. Team Manager. Professional asshole.

You should have expected this. Hell, you did expect this. You just thought you might have gotten out before he caught you. That was a mistake. You glance up, keeping your expression level, because no matter what comes out of his mouth next, you are not letting this guy see you rattled. "Packing."

His face is already turning red. It’s almost funny- like he’s been waiting for this exact moment just to finally unleash on you. The same man who never looked at you twice unless he needed something, unless the boss’s son had embarrassed himself one too many times and they needed you to come in and scrape together whatever dignity the team had left.

But now?

Now that you’re leaving?

Suddenly, you’re the most important fucking thing in the world.

"Packing? You think you can just fucking pack? Where the fuck do you think you’re going? We have a race happening, in case you forgot!"

You shoulder your bag, biting down hard on the instinct to snap back. You’re already halfway out the door. You do not need to burn every bridge on your way out. Racing is a small world. Even in a shithole like this, people talk.

"I appreciate the opportunity- "

"Appreciate the- " He lets out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. "You’re really doing this? You’re just fucking walking out?"

"Yes."

The word lands between you, clean and final.

And that is what sets him off.

"Unbelievable," Kevin snarls, stepping in closer, voice rising. "Do you have any fucking clue what you’re doing? You think anyone else is going to take you? Give me a fucking break, kid. You’re here because no one else wanted you. You’re nothing without us."

You should ignore him. You should just keep walking. But something about the way he says it- the pure audacity- stops you cold. Because it’s not just an insult. It’s what they’ve always thought.

They never saw you as a driver. Not really.

Dale Coyne Racing has never been a real team, not in the way the others were. Their entire philosophy was built around pay drivers, the rich boys who bought their way in, who treated their race seats like VIP experiences- something their daddy’s money entitled them to. And because of that, the whole team functioned like a luxury service in kissing ass. The staff were there to cater to them, to make them feel like real race car drivers, even if they were absolute fucking shit.

And you?

You were not a customer.

You were the help.

The help that wasn’t even part of the boys’ club. A placeholder. A seat filler. Someone to throw in when their sweet, precious nepo baby couldn’t hack it. And they never let you forget it.

Ever.

But now that you’re leaving?

Now that the only driver who’s managed to score any points, the only driver keeping them from looking like an absolute joke, is walking away? Now it’s an emergency. Now it’s an insult.

Kevin takes a step closer, voice dropping into something venomous. "You know what? Go ahead. Get the fuck out. But when you crash and burn- when whatever bullshit gig you think you’re getting falls through- you better not fucking come back here expecting a seat. Because this? Right here? Was the only shot you were ever going to get."

You stare at him for a second, pulse steady, unreadable. Then you shake your head, more to yourself than to him.

"Then I guess I have no fucking choice but to make it work."

You don’t wait for his reaction. You turn on your heel, bag slung over your shoulder, and walk out of the garage without looking back.

════════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════════════════

The fluorescent lights overhead hum with an unsettling buzz, casting an unforgiving glow over the airport bathroom. The mirror in front of you reflects the mess you already know is there- the damp strands of hair curling at your temples, the sheen of sweat still clinging to your skin, the streaks of dirt and grease smudged across your jaw where you wiped at your face with a gloved hand during the race. Your Dale Coyne racesuit, still zipped up to your collarbone, looks even worse in this lighting, the fabric stained with oil, rubber, and whatever remnants of the track had clung to you before you’d walked out of that godforsaken garage for the last time. The fireproofs underneath stick uncomfortably to your skin, trapping the warmth of a race that already feels a lifetime ago.

People have been staring since you walked into STL, their glances lingering just a little too long, their hushed whispers and quick double takes barely concealed. You saw a few curious expressions, some with the kind of recognition that comes from people who know just enough about motorsport to be intrigued. Others just saw something out of place- an exhausted driver in a sweaty, dirt-streaked racesuit wandering through an airport like she had nowhere better to be.

You don’t care.

You grip the sink, fingers pressing into the cold porcelain as you drop your head, squeezing your eyes shut. Your pulse is still high, not from exertion, not even from frustration anymore, but from the sheer weight of what you’ve just done. You tell yourself it was the right decision. That it was necessary. That this is the step you were meant to take. But right now, standing in this too-bright, too-sterile bathroom, still feeling the phantom grip of a steering wheel in your hands, all you can think is what the fuck did I just do?

This has to work.

It has to.

You’d felt the moment your parents got the news. You hadn’t needed to hear their voices to know. It was as if the air itself had thickened with their disappointment, their frustration, their fear for you. Their anger wasn’t loud, wasn’t furious- it never was. Your dad would sigh, rub a hand down his face, mutter something about you needing a goddamn plan for once in your life. Your mother’s voice would be quiet, measured, more pointed than anything your father could say.

"Honey, please tell me you didn’t just burn it all down for a gamble."

But you did. You gambled everything.

Dale Coyne might have been a dead end, a team you despised with every fiber of your being, but it was a seat. It was IndyCar. It was a career that your parents had spent their entire lives trying to give you. The penny-pinching, the loans, the sleepless nights, the sacrifices you could never repay- Indy was the shot it had all been for. And you just walked away from it.

You tighten your grip on the sink, forcing down the lump rising in your throat. This isn’t regret. It can’t be. You made your choice, and now you have to fucking own it.

No one is going to save you if this goes sideways. There is no safety net waiting to catch you. If you fail in Belgium, if you don’t perform, if you don’t impress them enough to keep you for the full weekend, you’ll be on the next flight home with nothing.

No seat. No team. No future.

But that’s not going to happen.

You lift your head, staring yourself down in the mirror, taking in every sharp, raw edge of your reflection. You see the exhaustion, the stubborn set of your jaw, the faint tremble in your fingers from too much adrenaline and too little certainty. But beneath all of that, beneath the chaos, there’s something else. Something that has always been there.

Determination.

This is going to work. You swear it to yourself.

You will learn faster. You will push harder. You will do whatever it takes to make sure that when Friday rolls around and you get in that car, you earn your place. You didn’t walk away from everything just to fail. You didn’t burn it all down just to stand in the ashes.

Your parents are pissed. Loving, always, but pissed.

They’ll forgive you when this works.

You push away from the sink, rolling your shoulders back, exhaling slow through your nose. You should change, should clean up, should at least try to look like someone worthy of an F1 seat. There’s a fresh set of clothes buried somewhere in your duffel- a t-shirt, a pair of jeans, something normal, something that wouldn’t make you stand out like a sore thumb walking through the airport. But the thought of peeling this racesuit off, of stripping away the evidence of where you’ve been before you’ve even arrived at where you’re going, feels… wrong.

The weight of the fabric clings to you, sweat and exhaustion pressing into the seams. The patches of oil, the streaks of dirt, the faint, acrid scent of burnt rubber still woven into the material- it all sticks, like a brand, like a mark of what you’re running from. This suit, this thing you’ve poured yourself into for the past year, isn’t just a uniform. It’s a living symbol of suffering. It’s the proof of every shit race, every pointless debrief, every time you sat in a meeting knowing you weren’t actually being heard, just humored. The soul-crushing effort you gave, the hours you spent studying data, giving feedback, clawing your way to mediocrity because that was all the car would ever allow you to be.

Dale Coyne Racing. The team that would never carry you, only use you. The team that wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire, that never let you forget you were just the help, a temporary piece they plugged in when their real drivers- their customers- floundered too much.

You should take the suit off. Should strip yourself of the dead weight. Be done with it.

But it doesn’t feel right.

Instead, it feels like penance. Like a burden you should carry for a little longer. Maybe it’s some twisted sense of self-punishment, or maybe it’s something deeper- something driving you. If you wear this suit through the airport, if you sit with it for just a few more hours, maybe it’ll push you harder. Maybe it’ll remind you that you can never be here again. That you won’t be.

That you will shed this skin.

That the next time you take off a racesuit, it won’t be this one.

That when you peel off the next set of fireproofs, they won’t carry the weight of failure, of stagnation, of being someone’s last-minute fill-in. They’ll belong to a respectable driver. To someone who fought and won. To someone who proved she deserved to take this one off.

You glance at yourself in the mirror one last time, the reflection of the Dale Coyne logos, the Honda badge, the grime-streaked collar sitting heavy on your skin. You meet your own gaze, holding it steady, knowing- knowing- this is the last time you’ll ever wear this thing.

You swear it.

You’ll take it off when you’ve earned the right to.

Then, without another second of hesitation, you turn on your heel and walk out of the bathroom, still wearing the evidence of the past, still carrying the weight of it. The stares continue as you weave through the terminal, but you don’t even flinch. You know where you’re going.

The next flight to Spa-Francorchamps.

And the start of the rest of your fucking life.

════════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════════════════

As hyped, as promised- here is the first chapter of Reset, my MV33 x reader fic that's been in the works for.... 9 months, more or less. A few things to understand:

1- This fic has been written in pieces, over the course of many months, in all sorts of mental states and writing skills. As I edit, I try to edit for consistency of tone and keeping the overarching themes, but I'm just one person. Constructive criticism is always welcomed but cut me some slack.

2- This will devolve into explicit content within a few chapters. For those who are here for that, please bear with me as we build up this sweet, sweet burn. I promise I'll make it worth the wait- we're going on a journey here, not just writing p0rn. For minors or those that don't wish to read that, it may be best not to get attached to a fic that will turn into something you don't want.

3- The reader is afab. I try to remain inclusive and ambiguous where I can, but the nature of the story sometimes is less so. I love all of my readers, and I hope you can find joy in this story regardless. <3 She also has a last name, but I try to keep references to it to a bare minimum.

[multiheadcanons]

IM STILL GOONING. FLIRT WITH THE MERCS. THE RED TEAM THIS TIME!

scout: of course you want to flirt with scout, scout is the sexiest, best living thing on earth. god’s literal gift to mankind. it would help if the guy was any good at returning it. you could tell him that you think he’s genuinely one of the coolest guys you’ve ever met and he’ll respond “yeah, you’re not ugly yourself!”. what the fuck, man. flirting with scout makes you not want to flirt with scout, because he is able to put together the most crass, disgusting sentence and expect you to respond favorably. punch him square in his jaw.

soldier: why are you trying to flirt with this man, first of all. you know he has a third grade reading level, right? man doesn’t understand anything past a catchy jingle. granted, it’s a little easier to flatter this soldier, as opposed to his counterpart. don’t get too flowery. call him handsome and keep it pushing. he likes compliments. he likes being told he’s handsome when he’s bloodied. he’ll even return the sentiment, if you keep at it enough. you should also slap his ass, though. that’ll get a gasp.

pyro: this pyro, unlike their counterpart, can play cool. for about a minute. if you give them a compliment, their first reaction is finger guns. and then they’re getting the fuck out of there. pyro is a crumpler under strong emotional reactions. their knees just give out. their body starts to shut down. they almost feel like they can’t breathe. so if you’d like to be kind, keep it short with pyro. they don’t need the whole paragraph unless they have a chair they can sit in.

demo: every member of the red team defense class is vulnerable to a good flirt. they are critically vulnerable to a pretty person with a smooth tongue. demo is in the middle of the pack to the defenses. demo is a dog in the best ways imaginable. demo can take a good amount of flirting until it gets obscene. and he is normally the one who takes it there! and then he’s got a one track mind and it’s not the one on his shoulders. really, waiting long enough to see demo’s course of action with you will play directly how you want it to. just make it sound like a good idea.

heavy: i don’t know about you but this man to me, when he is not heavy weapons guy or misha, is big sexy. that’s what i call him, that is his nickname to me. and every variant of it you can think of. handsome, sexy, gorgeous, he’ll take a beautiful if he’s real dressed up. misha is not often the one being chased. it all gets the same reaction. the very first time you call misha a name that is not his, not his class title, and not an insult, he’s going to turn to you and ask you what you just said. don’t back down now, you have poked the bear. dance with the bear. and watch his face begin to crawl with red. this can be used to full on flirt with him, it is also a useful technique in combination with subtler moves— quick interactions he can’t forcibly halt. but you can watch him blush as you gently push him out of your way by his hip. when you’re my size, that’s all you can reach. excuse me, big sexy!

engineer: not only the defense class member, but one of the two members the team in its entirety that flirting is an uphill battle with. dell is adept at talking himself out of a situation he doesn’t want to be in. it makes it difficult to use flattery or flirtation to get on his good side, instead it will make him question your motives. it’s always best to be very direct with him as to what you want. however, he won’t admit it, but he also won’t lie and say a pet name or two won’t soften him up a little. but if he’s made clearly aware of what you’re after, he’s more than willing to play ball. a friendly flirter, one could argue. in reality he is just polite, most of the time. and uses a lot of nicknames.

medic: the doctor is a chronic giggler if you’re flirting with him. in all honesty, the doctor doesn’t care. he’s not really interested, regardless, in a standard court. that bores him. show him something different. give him something good. your best method of standard flirting is dirty jokes. down to the utter crass. the first one will receive a gasp. and as you get worse he will outright screech at you. what a naughty thing you are! you can get him to the point where it’s not even a joke, you two are just swapping fantasies. and if you get him laughing hard enough, a joke can turn into a good idea quicker than either of you realize.

sniper: don’t flirt with sniper. sniper does not get that shit. sniper could be balls deep in you and ask if you actually like him. just reinforce that you do. the more you tell the man you like to be around him, you want to be around him, the more he will like and want to be around you. he likes to feel wanted! the closest thing you get to flirting with sniper is keeping an open line of communication. ask him how his day is, what his plans are, hell, take notes! he will appreciate it if you do. shows you actually care about what you’re asking. especially if you’re forgetful.

spy: the second of the two teammates of which flirting is an uphill battle with. spy is very much a man who reacts favorably to acts of service. he needs nothing else. while he has an iron grip on his responsibilities, people who are willing to take things— or force things— off of his plate are quietly appreciated. makes him want you around. sweet words and grand promises mean nothing to him. if anything, you’re just feeding his ego. reminding him that he is a walking gift to mankind. and then, not only are you not getting anywhere, you actually are moving your own goalpost further away from you. just cook the man a meal.

[seunghyunjigglers]

mama, a stray kid behind YOU ★ @seunghyunjigglers

ot8 skz members as brainrot memes!

author's note: we even included links for some of the less chronically online divas out there (generous much?)! a lot of thought and effort went into this and we hope you love and appreciate our firstborn child. tw: dark humor. betas, do not interact!

chan ★ "i'm the leader, i'm the alpha, i'm the one to trust"

unironically watches bad edits of himself and goes "ayeee" to hype himself up about being edited

comments under them on his secret account

his fyp is now most definitely infiltrated by alpha chan edits

let's be real the whole trend was probably what inspired wolfgang to be released

bites his lip bc he thinks it makes him look sexy and he just looks like he's eating his bottom lip

tries to do that thing where guys put their necklace between their lips and take pics to be sexy but the necklace falls down his throat and he starts choking

would deliberately start doing aegyo followed by serving face to show his 'duality' since apparently the fandom love it (poor guy doesn't understand irony still)

LOVES when stays talk about his gyatt and starts using it bc he thinks its just another normal word for ass and seungmin and felix almost throw up laughing at him

minho ★ "queen never cry"

genuinely thought 'lock in' was something to be taken seriously and does NOT take it lightly when chan tells everyone to lock in

his kinky ass also probably thought it was some kind of jail roleplay (jisung had to explain it to him)

has mewing competitions with himself in the mirror

makes 'minho never CRY 💜' the note on his alarm in the morning

thinks it’s funny when he recommends the ki sisters manga (where the meme comes from) to people as his favorite series and the poor author has to actually go on a talk show cause he blew it up with the internet

checks his notifications EVERY day hoping someone will edit him with that baby

accidentally comments “queen NEVER cry” under a sentimental skz edit on the official account and wakes up with several calls from his managers.. let’s just say it didn’t go over well

changbin ★ "gadagadegadagadao" (omega nugget)

he stumbled across this meme on felix's fyp one evening and thought it would make the best vocal warmup for his raps, didn't realise it was a joke and actually uses it before recording tracks

when he discovers its a meme he thinks its hilarious and makes it his whole personality

stops mid convo with people and makes the face and thinks he's so funny (everyone is tired of it)

orders mcdonald's for everyone and takes the time to draw the face on EVERY chicken nugget and couldn't be prouder of himself

genuinely thinks the song is an actual banger and has it saved as a sample for a potential title track

hyunjin ★ "donatella VERSACE"

only types like THIS 💜 and felix and seungmin are the only ones who get it

chan finds out and secretly changes his name in a groupchat with their managers and staff to "hwang HYUNJIN 💜"

he is tired but donatella is not

his gag christmas present for secret santa is boxers with ms versace herself covering his chocolate starfish and he has a wardrobe malfunction while wearing them at a show and EVERYONE sees

is actually really embarrassed when he has to explain what it means to her and she just nods and tries to smile with all her botox

after this she comments it on all her posts and he accepts that he’s never escaping it

jisung ★ "jiafei 'in my head' remix" (floptropica)

this man is always singing his lungs out in every skz code and somewhere along the way he saw an edit of him with jiafei's vocals in the bg

was actually impressed by her vocal skills and tried to hunt down her ig page, ends up on some fake floptropican fanpage but he doesn't know this because he has minimal survival skills

dms some loser message like "wow your voice is sooooo nice haha...i also like to sing lol...so do you like korean boys haha..."

owner of the jiafei fan account is a stay and thinks this is hilarious and catfishes the hell out of him for WEEKS, sends vocal edits and jisung unironically eats them up, he def sends back vms of him doing vocal covers to impress her

felix hears him singing a jiafei remix one day and almost shits himself laughing, jisung gets angry and defensive until felix reveals that jiafei is literally a meme

realises he's been catfished

blocks the account and gets sulky whenever any floptropican edit pops up on his fyp, but still sings the jiafei remixes quietly to himself (some habits are hard to break)

felix ★ "oi oi oi...baka" (freaky larvae)

recreates it and everyone takes it seriously and he has to make a video telling everyone it was not in fact a thirst trap

breaks up serious arguments like "we need to calm down...you're all being a bunch of...heh...bakas..."

searches it up one day to see if there's any other lore and accidentally discovers a yagami yato audio and gets traumatised

seungmin gets fed up by felix constantly repeating it so he comes up with a master plan and during one of their japan concerts says "oh, felix has been practicing his japanese lately...what's that thing you keep saying?"

i feel like he'd perfect that freaky expression and everyone is sick of him and changbin for randomly using them

picks larva on his turn to choose something for movie night and everyone comically (see what i did there) groans and gets up while he’s just there cracking up

seungmin ★ "saddam hussein hiding spot"

this guy saw a 'saddam hussein hiding spot' comment under jeongin's post and fell down the rabbithole (or rather, the entrance covered in bricks and rubble)

thinks its HILARIOUS because it's a historically accurate meme (nerd!)

definitely whispers it every single time he sees someone or something laying down and everyone is so fed up with it, also gets felix to do the voice since he can imitate it perfectly

uses it as an excuse to randomly start lying down during dance practices and when everyone complains he just says "why am i lowkey serving saddama hussein hiding spot?"

he'd take this shi so seriously like he'd be doing the math to figure out how much time to spend on each app each day so he can make his daily screen time average look like saddam hussein JUST to make the reference

jeongin ★ "that feeling when knee surgery is tomorrow"

someone makes a comment about how they tore their acl and have to get knee surgery and he goes "that feeling when knee surgery is tomorrow" and starts laughing

it wasn't very funny to said someone

probably has to make one of those formal instagram apology posts because of it (he sets the music as the bg for the original post but his manager makes him delete it and post again)

fake falls at practice and when everyone crowds around him all worried he says he feels like he might need knee surgery tomorrow and gets kicked out of the room

pays an insane amount of money to get everyone matching knee surgery knee pads for practice and absolutely loses it every time someone actually needs to use it and has no other choice

posts a fake hospital pic with “do NOT get your knee surgery from shein !!” on his secret account

asks for permission to change his pfp to the grinch and considers outing jyp when he gets told no