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arcadia-of-pluto · 10 months ago

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Casually calling them "daddy" LADS

Word count; 1,913

Themes; slightly barely there suggestive content, fluff, established relationship

Warnings; mention of "daddy" ofc, fluff

Notes; So these turned out more fluffy than I originally intended...honestly, thought they'd be more smutty, but I've learnt that it's really difficult for me to write smut. Or at least, smut with little to no context before it all goes down. I might eventually write some smuttier drabbles, but regardless of smut, I hope you enjoy this little thing I wrote!

You saw that there was an old trend about calling your boyfriend “daddy” and videoing their reaction so, obviously, you wanted to give it a try…

Xavier

It's been almost a year since you and Xavier started dating– and it was a wonderful eleven months! He told you everything about himself. What his future with you was like, all of his feelings throughout the centuries, and you listened. You wholeheartedly believed him, because it would be one hell of a lie if it wasn't true…and you didn't think Xavier had the time or energy to come up with a complex lie like that.

But even if you now know, time moves on. There's not much you can do about your future self, so you can't really change the future in that way though…Xavier's here now, in the past, and that's all that matters to you.

Anyway, today was just a normal day as any.

You were sitting at the counter, keeping a close eye on Xavier– who was attempting to follow, yet another, cooking tutorial. The man was desperate to cook a decent meal for you. His heart dead set on making you something edible for your upcoming year anniversary…and while that was cute, you also wanted to mess with him.

You push your cup just out of your reach and make a big show of trying to reach for it, before sighing loudly.

“Daddy, can you pass me my drink please?”

You can hear the clang of a spatula hitting the floor and you watch Xavier’s body comically whip around to face you.

“What?” His head cocks to the side as his wide eyes were set on your face. “Say that again..”

“Hmm? I said ‘Xav, can you pass me my drink, please’.” You copy his head tilt and he quickly shakes his head.

“No, no you didn't.” He takes a few steps toward you before grabbing your hand in-between both of his. “Say it again.”

You couldn't resist his sweet puppy dog eyes, so you hold back a smile as you meet his eyes. “I...called you daddy.”

“Really?” He seems unusually excited. “So are we…?” His gaze lowers to your stomach and you can’t help the giggle that slips from your lips.

Gosh, he was so cute.

“Baby– no, no. We're not pregnant.” You run your fingers through his hair with a smile on your lips. “Are...you disappointed?”

“Mmh..” Xavier hums thoughtfully for a moment before he shakes his head. “No. We can just make it a reality later. No need to rush.”

Zayne

You and Zayne have only been dating for six months, but it felt like much longer. Having known each other since you were little, you both had always been close– well, your definition of close and his were probably different. You always thought of him as a friend while he tried to keep a distance and thought you hated him. But time brought you both back together with him as your primary care physician.

The two of you had been flirting up until his birthday and finally made it official once he blew his candles out on the cake you made for him. It was a sweet time, but that was six months ago.

Now, though, you really want to fluster the man.

He always embarrasses you and makes you feel nervous, but you never get to see him that way. Sure, his ears will turn red and sometimes he won't meet your eyes when you get too intense with him, but you've never seen him absolutely shocked. And you just wanted to see one look of surprise from him.

So, what did you decide to do?

You decided to casually call him "daddy” as a joke.

That should definitely go over well.

Zayne is seated behind his desk at the hospital, sorting through papers as you longue on his sofa. Your eyes continuously glancing toward the windows to make sure the door was shut and the blinds were closed.

“If you keep staring at the door, you just might burn a hole through it.” Zayne says, though he didn't even look up from his paperwork. He was attentive like that and probably already knew you wanted something or you were ready to go home. And he was right.

“When are we going home…daddy?” You ask as you kick your feet in the air behind you. You were on your stomach, resting your cheek against your arms as you watched his expression…which didn't change at all.

"Just give me a few more minutes, angel, and I'll be done.” Zayne pushes his glasses up with his index finger and clicks his pen, jotting down a few notes.

“I–” You puff your cheeks out with a small sigh and decide to keep going with it. “I want to go home now, daddy.”

“Didn't I just tell you to be patient?” Now Zayne finally looks up at you with one of his brows raised. “I'll deal with you when we get home.”

Rafayel

It's been four months since Rafayel asked you out. Four months since you tugged Rafayel down into the bath with you, which set off a chain reaction of a steamy night, followed by him asking you out the next morning; he also complained that you both went out of order, but he wasn’t too upset when you continued where you left off…

Now, though, you moved out of your apartment and to Rafayel's home, ‘Mo Art Studio’ at Whitesand Bay.

It was definitely odd at first, but it was a good change of pace. Always being by the ocean, able to take your morning walks together on the beach and collect seashells. You had a whole collection on your desk at work. He'd always give you the most unique and prettiest shells, saying “only the best for his cutie”.

He was also so easy to fluster.

You immediately knew you had him wrapped around your finger every time his ears would turn red. That same crimson slowly made its way from his ears to his cheeks, all the way to his whole face. So you assumed your little ‘prank’ would also have the same effect.

You were sitting on a beach towel in the sand with an umbrella blocking your eyes from the bright sun. In front of you was Rafayel, painting your visage, with an easel. His hand deftly moves across the canvas as he sketches the outline for his new painting.

Lately, you are the only thing he can paint. Always asking you to stop what you're doing so he can run and get his sketch pad. You could be doing something so normal and mundane, but he'd be struck with the inspiration to record your very image.

As much as you loved it and thought this was very sweet, after almost two weeks of this…You wanted some form of payback.

“Hey, daddy, can we take a break for a second? It’s really hot out here.” You squint your eyes to try and see Rafayel's face, your hand fanning at your body because you, seriously, are hot out here.

“Huh?”

It's like Rafayel is frozen in time, or buffering. He's just blankly staring at you with a confused expression on his face until his pencil drops into the sand. That's when he quickly stands up and makes his way toward you.

“Again.”

Now, it's your turn to be confused.

“Raf, what–”

“Not that, say the other word again.” His ears were red as he crouched down in front of you, a look of determination in his eyes.

“No– you're making it weird!” You put your hands on his shoulders, trying to put some distance between him as your face turns red.

“Please, I really need to hear you say it again! I'm seriously going to die if you don't.” There's your overdramatic fishy.

“Fine, but just this once.” You grumble, turning your head to look away from him. “Daddy…” Though you say it as low as you can and Rafayel groans, tilting his head back.

“Louder.” He rests his forehead against yours. “Come on, cutie. If you don't…I might want to change that to my new nickname.”

Sylus

It's been about…a year? Yes, definitely a year since you and Sylus started dating. Well, you both have differing opinions on when exactly you started dating. Sylus claims it was the moment he laid eyes on you in the N109 Zone, while you claim it was only about six months ago– which is when you and Sylus made a bet.

It was a bet where if he came back safely from his mission, he'd leave you alone. He wouldn't bother you anymore, wouldn't talk to you, contact you, anything of the sort…and you won, but you didn't realize he'd actually do it. So whenever you seeked him out to make sure he was safe, and he ignored you, you realized that maybe you did want him in your life.

This led to you running across the street to him and jumping into his arms like this was a hallmark movie, and you claim this was when you officially started dating Sylus.

But between us, you just agree with Sylus when he says a year, because if you don't, he'll pout for the whole day.

...And today was one of those ‘pouty Sylus’ days.

You went on a mission that was probably way too dangerous, even though you told Sylus you were going to slow down on your Hunter's work. But you couldn't just ignore endangered civilians. If any of them would have died, that would've been too much for your sympathetic heart to handle.

And even if Sylus understands your reasoning, he's still upset that you left without telling him– having woken up to a cold bed without you by his side sent him spiraling into a panic.

So, when you got home, you noticed he was sulking in the kitchen as he made dinner.

“Sy…” You take your shoes off by the door, nervously fiddling with your fingers as you tentatively walk into the kitchen. Standing behind the counter, you sigh, “I'm reeaally sorry...”

“If you're reeaaally sorry, then help me make our dinner.” He says, not looking up at you and that doesn't make you feel any better.

“Okay..” You finally step past the counter and you look around. “So…what do you need?” You were trying to figure out something– anything that could make Sylus feel better when a thought comes to your mind.

Most guys probably like it when their girlfriend calls them daddy…right?

“In the cabinet, top shelf. I need a bottle of garlic powder.”

Okay, you got this.

You take a deep breath and open the cabinet, straining your arm to try and reach the seasoning bottle, but your fingertips barely brush it and knock it over. “Shit…” You swallow back your nervousness before continuing, “Daddy, can you grab it for me?”

The room fills with silence for a moment, but then you hear Sylus chuckle.

“Sure, kitten.”

Your back suddenly feels warm as a firm chest presses against it and Sylus reaches up from behind you to grab the bottle.

“I ask you to do one simple thing and you can't even do that.” Sylus chides, clicking his tongue as he pops the bottle open to pour some into the pan on the stove.

“Da–”

“If you think a few empty words will make me feel better, kitten…you've got to try a lot harder than that.”

I'd like to say, this is definitely one of my better drabbles– one of my favorites, in fact!

I have like...six more ideas for drabbles and then I'll need to come up with some more. Like these new cards and Rafayel's student photoshoot event really had me thinking of how seriously the LADS men would take roleplaying– and that spawned a whole different drabble idea, so you can definitely look forward to that!

I'm trying to come up with new ways to do my drabbles, so that's why I did a little prelude before I started writing for the guys. Please let me know any feedback yall have for me! Especially with the coloured dialogue, I'm not too sure if I like it, but it seems really pretty and probably makes it easier to tell who is talking apart. (I won't use it for my fic though, only the drabbles!)

Anyway, I have a small personal project I'm working on this weekend so I probably won't be able to write any chapters for my 'Divisa' fic, but I'm still going to post chapter nineteen of 'Twist of Fate' and try to write at least two more chapters since I'm only on twenty-three or so.

I hope you all enjoyed these drabbles and I hope yall have a great night/day! 🩷

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vmlnrzmp4 · 6 months ago

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𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘢𝘱𝘢 𝘶𝘱!

itoshi sae

when papa sae denied little natsuki—saying that she's too young for skincare—only makes her pout as she runs out of the bathroom.

"natsuki?" he halted when he saw his princess infront of your mirror, your beauty products scattered, even on the floor and when natsuki turns around, her papa's eyes go wide.

if not papa's skincare, then there's ma's makeup that would make her prettier than she already is.

"'m pretty now!" she says, holding up your lipstick, "papa i wanna make you look pretty too!"

"natsuki, come here," he says as he pulls a damp tissue, crouching down to her level as he starts wiping the makeup off of her face, completely unaware of what's going on in her mischievous little mind.

she smears the lipstick that she held on his cheek, "natsu—!"

"papa blushy blushy!" she giggles, "i wanna do more!"

he sighs. how can he say no to his princess? he really can't.

"what's..." they both froze, "...what's going on?"

little natsuki let's out a sheepish giggle while sae exhales, explaining everything.

you couldn't hold back your laugher, "you look good, sae," more laugher as your stomach start to hurt, making him glare at you.

"natsuki, you don't need makeup," you say as you hold your princess in your arms, "you're already so pretty," you look at sae, "but maybe we can help you if you wanna do skincare with papa so bad."

her eyes brightened, "yay!" she squealed.

later that day, sae ordered the best 3-4 step skincare that's child friendly.

itoshi rin

sakura rushed to her papa who was sitting on the couch who was scrolling through his phone, "papa," she calls.

he raises his eyebrow, seeing her hide something behind her back, "what is it, sakura?"

she giggles, giving him a smile(she doesn't even have all teeth yet she looks so adorable T_T), she reveals an eyeliner.

"sakura," he calls sternly, "what did ma tell you about touching her purse?"

she pouts, "jus wanna make papa pretty," she looks up at him with her pretty doe eyes, "pleaseeeee?" oh and who was rin to say no to her?

"there there..." sakura focuses, her tongue sticking out as she applies the eyeliner crookedly, "aaaaand there! all done! all pretty!" she shows him a little hand mirror, making him huff.

"papa do mine too! wanna look pretty too!"

rin clicks his tongue, telling his princess that she's already pretty. beautiful even, while applying eyeliner carefully.

click! click! click!

both rin and sakura look at the doorway where you stood, taking pictures of him.

"delete."

"no!"

rin had to pin you down after chasing you and even so, he didn't delete those pictures.

isagi yoichi

"papa hold still," yuki scolded, making you chuckle as her papa sheepishly says 'sorry princess.'

he waited patiently as yuki applies obnoxious amount of blush on his face while you record the whole process.

for a final touch, she picks up the brown eyeliner, tapping so many spots on his nose as cheeks as freckles.

"done!" she cheered.

then it was yoichi's time to put makeup on her, and sadly, he was very poor at it but you were there to guide and even if he messes up, yuki wouldn't mind one bit.

"there you go," yoichi leans back to look at her, "my princess."

"ok, one...two...three!" you click the picture of both of them smiling ear to ear and yoichi didn't mind you posting it on your socials.

#FrecklesAndFun

liked by bachirathecoolestxx and others...

kuronaaaaaaa: isagi isagi pretty pretty

hiori_yo_official: tutorial when?

bachirathecoolestxx: wowwwww 😍😍🔥🔥😝😝😝😻😻👍👍🤞🤞💥💥

michael kaiser

little anne was legit crying because her ma said that she couldn't get a red liner tattoo like her papa so obviously, her papa had to improvise somehow.

michael took anne's paintbrush, dipped it in water and the red colour as he applied it under her eyes.

"there. all done," he says and anne looks into the hand mirror to she her pretty little face.

"papa."

"yes princess?"

your mischievous daughter grins, taking another paintbrush, dipping it into the paint as she cheekily painted two round circles on her papa's cheeks and one big one on his nose.

he laughs, "what are you doing, princess?"

"making you look pretty!" she concentrates, "aaand finished!"

"do i look pretty?"

"...papa," she holds his hand as she says this, "you look like a clown."

the both of them hear laugher from the hallway. they turn to see as you stood there, arms crossed at you observed them.

"your papa already looks like a clown, he doesn't need makeup for that."

taglist: @anuverse @luciddre @kongkhoi @illyria2004 @passw-0-rd @x3nafix [open]

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trendywaifus · 1 month ago

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astra, miyabi, and caeser domestic fluff

2 hours before i close reqs!!! caesar’s part is the longest. myb. I love my king. cw: none. gn! reader, fluff, small hurt with comfort.

“ astra baby, eve’s calling for transport, we gotta get outta here in fifteen. i’ll apply that eyeliner for you. “

you offered, walking inside of the shared bathroom while the singer does her makeup for the meet n’ greet she’s has to be attend in thirty minutes. astra was supposed to already be at the event an hour early to coordinate with the directors but she overslept. given that astra had a busy schedule this week, you and evelyn allowed her to sleep in. that was probably a mistake because it was hard to get her awake. slobber running down her chin, black tresses ruffled, and she was out of it.

“ yes! “ your girlfriend celebrates, grinning jubilantly at you, “ alright, c’mon! “ she grasps your forearm excitedly, luring you next to her.

amused, you fumble around for her signature eyeliner amongst her makeup items messily strewn about across the bathroom counter. “ i don’t get why you’re always get so excited for me to do your makeup, sunshine. i only do this whenever we gotta get you ready quicker. “

“ oh that’s fine, i don’t care! i just love it when you do my makeup. actually, i’d prefer for you to be my makeup artist! “

you chuckled, finding the star liquid liner and pop it open with ease. “ let’s not go too far, honey. i only learn through tutorials and you to help out. unfortunately, eve had to be my training dummy until i got decent. “

poor evelyn, she volunteered and had to deal with your beginner mistakes. the amount of times you fucked up even under astra’s guide and evelyn’s face looked as if a kid drew on her was insane. astra didn’t even bother to hold back her wheezing laughter and snap just rolled on the floor laughing too—leaving you and evelyn sitting in embarrassment.

“ mm, still don’t care! you and eve are my one and onlys after all~! “

you roll your eyes, resisting to smile ear to ear at her affectionate words. yet, the shy expression on your face says it all. of course, astra notices, her shiny pearl earrings jingles as she tilts her head towards your face, the corner of loving eyes crinkling,

“ aww, flustered? you’re so cute, darling! “ she croons, “ i just wanna kiss you silly—c’mon, gimme a kiss! “

“ astraa, no. we’re on crunch time. now, stand still and close your eyes, i have to do your eyeliner. “

the adorable look of disappointment dawns on her face and she does as instructed. she closes her pretty eyes and straightens her posture. you hold her chin with careful fingers and tilt her head at an angle for you to manage. holding the pen a certain way, you let out a thoughtful hum, scanning her facial features.

“ gonna do the left eye first, ‘kay? “

“ okie. “

using your wrist, you apply the red liquid tip to close to the center of eye and applied the ink outwards, gliding it along her curled lashes in short strokes.

“ alllright. look at the mirror and see if i did it right. “

astra does with excitement.

“ yup! you did it perfectly! can i get a kiss now? “ she looks back at you with hopeful, sparkling eyes. you shake your head, holding her chin once again.

“ no baby, now i gotta do your other eye and we dip. snap is probably gonna come to get us if we take too long. “

“ just one kiss, just one kiss! pleaseee? “

“ no. remember last time you couldn’t hold still while i was trying to trim your bangs, you tried to kiss me and I ended up cutting half your bang, making it terribly uneven? “

“ that time was different! plus, my ‘uneven bang’ isn’t even that bad! i think it fits me! i’m asking for a kiss now instead of trying to do it during this time! “

“ except this time, we have to get your makeup done as quickly as possible so we can leave, astra. i know you want to kiss me but now isn’t the time. i also don’t want to smudge your lipstick. “ you sighed, trying your best to ignore the puppy eyes astra is currently giving you.

the singer argues back, “ but it’s a star product, the type of product that doesn’t smudge!—“

“ nope, close your eyes, astra. the longer you argue back the more late we are. “ you chimed firmly and she does so with a cute pout.

you did the same thing you’ve done earlier with her left eye with practiced ease. studying her closed lids, the liner looks perfect.

“ ok, i’m done. let’s—“

she puckers her lips out, eyes still closed.

“ fine. you better be right with the lipstick not smudging bit. “

you lean in to peck her lips. with lightning speed you didn’t know she had, her palms fly to the fat of your cheeks and she pulls you into a full blown kiss.

“ muwahhhh! “

“ mmhn?! “

poor snap walts in right in time just to see the scene.”

“ ethu na naaaaa! (oh my goshhh, where’s the cameraboo?! oh i am the cameraboo!)“

“ miyabi, break time! “

her fox ears perk up at the sound of your voice. she stops her training, relaxing her sword stance to advert her undivided attention over to you walking across the engawa, holding a melon and a decently sized plate in your hands. she finds herself staring at the captivating smile on your lips as you make your way towards the training area. although her expression doesn’t necessarily change, her heart was swooning. mountains of motivation adds on to the endless motivation that she has to become stronger. everyday you remind of the reason why she needs to.

“ okay. allow me to cut the melon, my love. “

you nod your head happily and tossed the fruit in the air and held out your plate. in a flash, she jumps after the melon to cut it into perfect, triangular pieces in several quick, precise slashes, and lands on the gravel gracefully. not a moment later, the slices of melon drops perfectly onto the plate.

“ 10/10! as expected, you’d be the perfect fruit ninja!”

miyabi flicks her blade to the side, skillfully wiping off the juices from the special metal and sheathes it. she adjusts her kimono, tilting her head to the side with pique interest.

“ fruit ninja? “

“ you know, that game where you slice fruit that’s tossed up in the air and you use your finger to cut them up on your phone. actually, it should be in the arcades now. “ you explained, beckoning her to follow you to sit down the wooden deck to eat the melon slices.

“ i see. that sounds helpful to my training. to obtain the perfect fruit ninja title, i simply have to cut down all of the fruits that are thrown? “

“ yup, that’s right! “ you hand miyabi a melon she gladly accepts. “ we can go there after this if you want. “

“ no, not today. i want stay in with you. we can go to the arcade after i skip my last meeting tomorrow.” miyabi replies blandly and bites into the slice. she releases a satisfied hum.

“ uhhh, let’s not skip your meeting? your meeting is more important than—“

“ it’s not. you’ll always be more important than a pointless meeting. you’re my priority. “

your eyes soften at the determined expression on her face as she casually finishes her melon and grabs another. you giggled, switching your gaze up at the cloudless, blue canvas. “ I don’t know if i should be flustered or worried. i’m going to be expecting a phone call from yanagi tomorrow about your disappearance. “

“ that’s fine. i can just tell her to take my place for me if she wishes. “

“ i’m definitely expecting a phone call. . “

“ caesar, you know you didn’t have to come all the way over to the city, “ you continue with a worried gaze, watching caesar lazily slip off her crop jacket and tossed it on the head of the lounge chair, “ lucy told me you’ve been busy with overlord duties today. i didn’t think you’d be at my doorstep. “

she then blinks at you with prized confusion, “ but lucy told me you’ve been itchin’ to see me so i came? don’t tell me she—“

“ yup. she set us up. “

caesar let out a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of her head with an awkward smile. “ ahhh, that lucy! i shoulda known when all she said was that you just wanted to see me without telling me when! i thought today! “

“ baby, that’s probably when you should’ve called me for more detes. i guess she also thought you’d come anyways without checking with me first. she read you like a book. “ you chuckled, coming up to her for a warm hug. she accepts with enthusiasm, bringing you into her strong arms.

“ well, i’m pretty much an open book. got nothin’ to hide. you know me, h-hehe. “ your overlord laughs shyly, growing rather shy in the warmth of your embrace, enjoying your signature scent she missed so dearly. she’s content with where she is right now regarding her position and life in the outer ring. but, she feels like something is missing, a spot by her side that she wants to be filled. you’re from the city and she would hate to ask of you to come join her in the outer ring because of course, you have your own life here. the last thing caesar wants is for you to move with her into a new lifestyle you don’t enjoy.

the sons of calydon never stay in one place—they are always on the move. a city folk like yourself can probably have a difficult time getting adjusted to the outer ring hustle.

caesar wants you in the gang (well, with her and the gang, because in her eyes, you’re already a member) so she can see you often. before today, she hasn’t seen you in over two weeks because of so many things had to take of as overlord. caesar hated the phone calls, video chats, she wanted to see her one and only in person. if you were riding by her side in the outer ring, she would see you everyday, introduce you to soo many things; her culture and traditions.

she would show you her freedom.

“ i missed you, (name). . “ she half-laughs, voice starting to crack a little. “ you have noo idea. .”

you pull back a bit to see her teary eyed and cheeks flushed. caesar looked like a sad puppy. you gently glide a tender thumb under her right eye to brush a tear away. “ well now i do, you’re crying. c’mon let’s get you to the couch. “

“ m-mhm. “

guiding her to the couch by the hand, you sat down first and patted your lap.

“ u-um, on your lap? y-you sure? “ caesar sniffles.

“ i’m always, pretty. let me cradle you like a princess in one of those mangas you love to read. “ you joked with a knowing smile.

she wet laughs, appearing more embarrassed, “ i’m cryin�� and you still wanna tease me. pretty mean move by my precious one. “

caesar reluctantly sits on your lap, wrapping her stern arms around your neck, legs stretched across the cushions. your hand slide up and down her back tenderly, she buries her nose into the side of your neck. she’s feel weird being held like this, so vulnerable, yet so loved. is this what feels like to be at the mercy of the person you love?

“ how long you’re staying, caesar? “ you asked softly before pressing a sweet kiss to her temple.

“ pr-probably not for long. i hafta to oversee some meet-up with rival gangs later. “ caesar responds in a uncharacteristically small voice, slowly calming down to her normal self.

“ ohhh, okay. “

momentary silence settles in before she speaks up again.

“ . . yo, babe. .”

“ yes, baby? “

“do you ever thought about riding with us in the outer ring? “ caesar inquires.

“ everyday. i’ll try to find a way to come over there a little more often. i hate that you ride such a long way for me. “ you muttered, idly playing with her pale green hair.

“ as long as i can see your face in person, I don’t mind how long i have to go. . .but i will admit that it’d be nice for you to be join us. the gang—i want you to be ridin’ the roads with us. “

“ it sounds like a fun experience but—“

“ i-i know, you probably can’t, “ she sputters, holding on to your neck a little tighter, “ it was just wishful thinkin’— “

“ caesar, hun, look at me. “

and she does tentatively, looking you in the eyes with a tearful gaze again. you plant a firm kiss on her lips and she wastes no time to reciprocate back. “ you didn’t let me finish. “ you whispered.

“ a-ah. m’sorry. .wh-what were y-you goin’ to say? “

“ i gotta try to see if i can take vacation for a month to see if your lifestyle is for me. if i like it well, i’ll join you and the gang. “

“ h-huh? really?! “ caesar’s face breaks into a toothy grin that stretches ear to ear.

“ yup! probably be in a month or two—woah! “

caesar cheers out of pure excitement, rubbing her cheek against yours. you two laugh wondrously, filling your home with laughter and hope for the upcoming future.

thank you, lucy.

#astra yao x reader #astra x reader #miyabi hoshimi x reader #miyabi x reader #caesar king x reader #caesar x reader #zzz x reader #zzz women x reader #zenless zone zero x reader

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lost-in-thoughts03 · 2 months ago

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Unchained Melody || Hwang Jun-ho

Summary: Your friends just want you to reconnect with nature again. They dragged you into the pottery studio, where you met your handsome tutor for the day.

Warnings: Au, light, tension, kissing, teasing, flirting

You didn’t even have time to argue. The four of them had already Venmo-ed the entrance fee before you could fake a cough or sprain an ankle.

“ Come on.” Jun-hee grinned.

“ It’s either clay or chiropractor. Pick your poison.” Hyun-ju added.

And now, here you are—walking through the rustic wooden archway into a peaceful little pottery haven that smells like earth, lavender, and faint judgment.

The four of you stop dead in your tracks.

“ Wait...we get to make those?” Sae-byeok’s eyes are wide as she points to a line of gorgeously crafted ceramic pieces. “ I thought we were just painting some mugs.”

Your friends are practically vibrating with excitement. You? Not so much. Still, you're here. You pay your fee, get a little welcome badge, and then—plot twist—you find out the place runs on a private tutorial system.

One person.

One room.

One-on-one.

You give your friends a look that clearly says traitors, but they only giggle and vanish behind their assigned doors like they’ve just walked into some spiritual clay utopia.

Your palms are sweating before you even knock.

Inside, the room is warm—sunlight slipping in through a window, a pottery wheel at the center, and your tutor wiping his hands on a cloth as he turns to face you.

“ Hey there.” He gives you a small smile and a little wave. “ I’m Hwang Jun-ho. I’ll be your guide into the world of ceramics today.”

He’s...wow. Tall. Built like a Korean drama action hero on his day off. He’s wearing a denim jumper rolled down to his waist, revealing a black tank top hugging his toned frame. Your brain freezes for a full two seconds.

You wave back with what you hope is not a trembling hand. “ Hi. I’m...uh, I’m here against my will.”

Jun-ho laughs, a low, easy sound. “ Claynapped by your friends?”

“ Exactly. I’m an accounting consultant. This is definitely not in my quarterly plan.”

“ Well, then.” He says, smirking a little as he pulls out a chair for you, “ Let’s make sure the trauma is minimal.”

You sit, trying not to visibly flinch when he takes his seat—right behind you.

Your back stiffens.

“ I’m going to guide your hands.” He says gently. “ Just follow my lead.”

Sure. Easy. Except it isn’t. The moment his warm hands cover yours, you swear your heart lurches into your throat.

He’s close. Like, close-close. You can feel the strength in his chest press lightly against your back, the warmth of his breath brushing your temple.

" Relax your shoulders.” He murmurs. " You're tensing up like I'm about to arrest you."

You laugh—awkward, high-pitched. “ Is that the cop part of your resume talking?”

“ Maybe.” He chuckles. “ But only if the clay misbehaves.”

He helps guide your fingers over the spinning mound of clay. It wobbles. You panic. The shape...well, it starts to resemble something not safe for work.

Jun-ho raises an eyebrow. “ Creative interpretation?”

You clear your throat, cheeks burning. “ Abstract modernism?”

He flicks his fingers beside your ear, and you jump.

“ Focus.” He teases, his tone soft but playful. “ Let’s try again.”

You nod, determined to not make an accidental ceramic scandal. His hands stay on top of yours, his touch firm but steady.

But every time his fingers curl slightly, or his breath tickles your cheek, your brain short-circuits again. This time, you manage to form something that actually resembles a bowl. Kind of. Maybe a squashed one.

He leans in, his lips brushing your ear. “ Much better. You’re starting to get it.”

And then his hands trail down your arms—slow, lingering—before he pulls away. “ You’ve got the hang of it now.”

But you’re barely breathing.

As you shape another lump of clay, you feel something: a finger tracing a slow, lazy circle on your arm.

Goosebumps.

“ You’re doing great.” Jun-ho says, his voice lower now.

“ Just...keep going.”

You’re trying. Really. But he leans in again, breathes warmly against your skin—and before you can stop him, his lips graze your neck.

You gasp.

Your hands falter. The pot flattens again. He chuckles near your ear.

“ Oops…” He says, with absolutely zero remorse.

“ Guess you’ll just have to make another.”

You look at him, flustered, trying not to melt into the chair. “ You’re doing that on purpose.”

He lifts one brow. “ Am I? Or are you just easily distracted?”

You try to come up with a snarky reply, but your brain has officially left the building.

And as he resets the wheel for another round, you can’t help but think—whether you came here willingly or not, this might just turn into the most memorable day you’ve had in a long, long time.

You’re supposed to be focusing on the clay.

That’s what you keep telling yourself, anyway, even as your mind spirals and your heart hammers against your ribs like it’s trying to escape.

The room suddenly feels smaller, warmer. The soft hum of the pottery wheel is the only sound between you and Jun-ho—until he speaks again, his voice smooth, low, and just a little amused.

" You’re quiet now."

You swallow. “ Trying to concentrate.”

“ Hmm…” He murmurs, stepping behind you again.

“ Funny. You were talking just fine until I got too close.”

And there it is. That teasing tone. You don’t need to see him to feel the smirk tugging at his lips.

He reaches around you once more, his hands lightly dusted with clay as they settle over yours. His touch is firmer this time—not instructing, exactly, but guiding, his body brushing against yours like it’s intentional now.

“ You’re tense again.” He whispers, closer than before. His breath dances against your jaw. “ Want to know a trick?”

You nod—wordlessly, because speaking might betray just how breathless you are.

“ Don’t think so much.” He says, guiding your fingers to dip into the clay, shaping its edges.

“ Just feel it.”

Easy for him to say.

You’re doing your best not to combust.

You focus on the spin of the wheel, on the texture between your fingers—but he leans closer, one arm sliding across your stomach to steady the bowl forming under your hands.

His palm presses lightly against your side, anchoring you, while the other stays atop your own.

You shiver.

“ You okay?” He asks, voice rougher now.

“ I—yeah.” You manage, barely.

But you’re not. Not when his thumb starts to make slow circles over your wrist, not when his nose grazes the curve of your neck like he’s testing the air, not when his voice drops another octave.

“ You’re doing so well.” He says. “ You learn fast.”

You feel the flush crawling up your neck, your chest.

“ It helps when the teacher is…very hands-on.”

He chuckles, a low, warm sound right by your ear. “ I could be more hands-on, if that’s what you need.”

Your breath catches.

The bowl starts to wobble again and he grabs your wrists gently, steadying them, steadying you. His hands are warm, fingers splayed over yours. He doesn’t pull away. Neither do you.

“ Careful.” He says, but he’s not talking about the clay anymore.

His fingers trail up your arm again, slower this time. Measured. Testing. You feel your skin light up under his touch, pulse fluttering everywhere at once.

“ I think we should start a new pot.” He murmurs, barely audible now. “ The first one got a little...distracted.”

You turn slightly, just enough to glance at him over your shoulder. He’s closer than ever, his eyes locked on yours, dark and unreadable. The air between you is thin, stretched tight like the edge of a wire.

“ And if I get distracted again?” You whisper.

Jun-ho’s lips curl into a smirk.

“ Then I guess we’ll just have to keep practicing.” He says.

“ Over and over…until it sticks.”

Your eyes flicker to his mouth—and just for a second, it feels like gravity shifts. Like the entire world narrows to the space between you.

His hand lifts, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear, fingers grazing your cheek.

The pottery wheel is still spinning, but neither of you moves.

Not yet.

…

It’s your third failed attempt.

The clay droops. Again. Limp and lifeless. It looks like something you'd be arrested for displaying in public. You groan in utter defeat, slumping forward.

Jun-ho laughs—open, full-bodied, dangerously charming.

Then you feel it.

His chin settles lightly on your shoulder, and his arms slip around you, caging you in without resistance. Solid, warm, and all muscle.

You’re trapped—but in the kind of way that makes your breath hitch and your brain short-circuit.

“ You know…” He murmurs against your ear, his voice rough with amusement.

“ You’re the only customer who’s ever made this job feel like chaos and comedy…all rolled into one.”

You tilt your head slightly, and your nose brushes his. The air crackles.

He doesn’t move.

Doesn’t release you.

Just stay there—close enough for you to feel the faintest brush of his breath.

“ I should probably let you go.” He says.

But he doesn’t.

And neither do you.

Your eyes meet. For a moment, everything softens. You scan his face—up close now—the slight crinkle at the edge of his eyes, the way his lashes lower as he watches you like he’s trying to memorize every detail.

His gaze drops.

You follow it.

He’s looking at your lips.

You feel the flicker of tension ripple down your spine the second his tongue slips out to wet his own bottom lip. Then he bites it—lightly, like he’s holding something back.

" You’re really tempting, you know that?" He says quietly.

You can’t speak.

You barely breathe.

His voice lowers, almost a growl now. “ Can I kiss you?”

You nod so fast it’s embarrassing.

He smiles—slow, hungry, and amused—and without wasting another second, he leans in and takes.

The kiss is immediate and all-consuming. Warm lips. Firm pressure. No hesitation. His hand moves to the small of your back, drawing you closer, and your fingers find their way to his shoulders—his neck—his hair.

Your body shifts before you can think about it. You turn in his lap, sliding your legs over his thighs, straddling him without breaking the kiss. His hands settle on your hips like he’s done this a hundred times, like your body just belongs there.

You wrap your arms around his neck, clinging to him as he deepens the kiss—messy, heated, slow but desperate like you’ve both been holding back for far too long.

The pottery wheel is still spinning somewhere in the background, utterly forgotten.

Then—

The door swings open.

Your friends: Sae-byeok, Jun-hee, and Hyun-ju, all standing there with their jaws on the floor.

You freeze.

Jun-ho doesn’t.

He catches you easily when you nearly slide off him in shock, his arm instinctively tightening around your waist. You duck behind him in a rush, cheeks on fire, while your friends howl.

“ Oh my GOD—”

“ Get it, girl!”

“ Is THIS the tutorial?!”

“ Do we get that kind of class too?!”

Jun-ho tilts his head back toward you, utterly unbothered, and winks.

“ Looks like you just earned extra credit.”

You smack his arm, mortified. He only grins, wide and unrepentant, then leans down like he’s about to kiss you again just to make your friends squeal louder.

And in that moment, even through your embarrassment and the teasing echoing through the room—you can’t help but laugh.

Because honestly? You’re so glad they dragged you here.

Clay-covered hands. Failed pots. A ridiculous amount of blushing. And a dangerously good-looking pottery instructor who just made you forget your own name.

Best “nature reconnection” ever.

#squid game #squid game 2 #fanfic #hwang junho x reader #hwang junho #hwang junho x y/n #hwang jun ho x y/n #hwang jun ho x you #hwang jun ho x reader #hwang jun ho #junho x reader #junho #jun ho squid game #jun ho x reader

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humanpurposes · 2 years ago

Text

Mine All Mine

Michael doesn't have a lot of friends, nor does he want them. Now he thinks he might have found his perfect match, and he has no intentions of letting her slip away

Main Masterlist

Michael Gavey x unnamed female character

Warnings: 18+, smut, Michael Gavey being a little shit (affectionately), possessive behaviour (yk the drill here)

Words: 7k

A/n: This ended up leaning into more of a cuter side, I definitely wanna do something creepier with him at some point! Also available to read on AO3.

He gets to the room early, before the tutor has even arrived. It’s his first tutorial of the year and his first ever at Oxford. He stands straight with his head up and his hands unmoving, a picture of neutrality. He has his problem sheet in his satchel and runs through the questions in his head, not because he needs to, not because he doubts himself, but simply because he can.

He doesn’t even like maths all that much, but he’s always been good at it. He had considered doing something a little less straightforward, physics or economics, but then what would be the point in getting into Oxford to be anything less than perfect?

He knows his tutor’s name from his schedule, Stephen Breyer. He arrives only a few minutes later and they go inside. The tutorial room is small, with three of the four walls covered in bookshelves. In the centre of the room there is a table, an armchair on one side and a small sofa on the other.

Michael takes the seat closest to the door. It puts him in a slightly more direct line of sight with Stephen. It also means his tutorial partner will inevitably have to climb over his legs to sit down and the thought amuses him.

“How are you finding it so far?” Stephen asks, unpacking a thermos flask and a notebook from his bag.

“It?” Michael repeats.

Stephen pauses and looks at him, slightly bewildered. “Well, the course, the college, Oxford. All of it.”

“Right,” Michael says. He takes his time taking out a pencil and his problem sheet before placing them on the table. He sits back against the sofa and rubs his lips together in thought.

He supposes it’s been exactly as he had expected. Lectures have been fairly straightforward, Lincoln college looks the same as it had in the prospectus, and so far, most of the people seem insufferable. So many of them have no sense of urgency, no drive to truly succeed because to them, Oxford is a rite of passage rather than an earned privilege. He’s met maybe one person he’d consider worthy of his time, and even then, Oliver Quick is only a literature student. He might as well get a degree in overthinking.

Stephen is looking at him like he is still expecting an answer. Michael stares back. He’s never been one to bother with smalltalk.

“Alright then,” Stephen says, then nods to the empty place on the sofa. “Do you know if–”

The door opens and a girl walks in, closing it gently behind her. “Sorry I’m late,” she says, eyes flickering around the room and settling on the space beside Michael.

He’s seen her before, in lectures, in the dining hall, walking around the college with her little group of friends. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were all Cheltenham girls by the way they talk and dress in the stupid outfits rich girls wear to make themselves seem like normal people.

He watches her as she walks towards him, the awkward little smile she gives him before she steps over his legs.

“Sorry,” she says again, falling onto the sofa. Michael almost winces at the sudden jolt of movement and the faint scent of a sweet perfume drifting from his left. “Had some trouble finding the room.”

“You’re right on time,” Stephen says, “we haven’t started yet.”

She’s better at the smalltalk than he is. She has a constant smile on her face and a bright look in her eyes, already having plenty of humorous anecdotes to share, despite the fact it’s only their second week.

As they go through the questions on the sheet, comparing calculations and answers, Michael is horrified to find that he’s a little nervous. His throat feels dry and he can feel his heart pulsing in his chest. It’s her fault, he thinks. Everything about her is distracting, the sound of her voice, the satisfied little hum she makes when she realises she’s got another question right. Her black tights, the way her skirt rides up her thigh when she crosses her legs.

He wants to think she’s vapid, a pretty face dressed up in black boots and a denim jacket, but to his dismay, all of their answers are the same, down to every detail in their calculations.

That is until they reach the last question. It’s terribly complex and he had almost struggled with it. Almost.

He steals a quick glance at her sheet and notices their answers are different. Because she’s missed a step, he realises. He feels a smile creeping across his lips.

He proudly goes through his working out, delighted at the surprised look on her face as she goes over her own sheet.

“I got something different,” she says with a shrug.

Stephen invites her to talk through her answer. Her voice is quieter and softer than it was before, but not as defeated as he’d like.

“She has you beat there, Mr Gavey,” Stephen says.

It’s like being punched in the gut. “What?”

“Overextend yourself a little,” he explains, drawing a line through the last few calculations on his paper. “Make sure to read what the question asks of you.”

His blood is boiling and his fists are clenched. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever been wrong. A dangerous impulse in the back of his mind wants to scream his throat raw and tear his paper to pieces.

Then he feels a warmth settle over his knuckles. She’s placed her hand over his.

“It’s a compliment, really,” she says to him.

He looks up at her, only more infuriated by the gentle expression on her face. But he knows better than to let anger get the better of him. It will only leave him feeling ashamed. So he forces a smile and nods. “Thank you.”

She smiles too, sweet and reassuring.

He can’t bear the humiliation. Once they’re dismissed he packs up quickly, practically storming out of the room before she even has a chance to stand up.

He spends the rest of the day in his dorm, looking over the same problem and pulling at his hair, because now his mistake seems glaringly obvious. How could he be so useless? So careless as to not even read the fucking question properly?

His room is on the second floor, overlooking the quad. There are always people around, walking between classes, sitting on the grass, their voices and the smell of cigarette smoke rising and drifting in through his window. He hates it. He hates the noise, the distraction.

But as he goes to close the open window he spots her. It’s only for a moment. She’s walking towards the library with her hands in the pocket of her jacket and her backpack slung over one shoulder. She’s not with any of her preppy friends, in fact she looks rather solemn.

He feels a slight twinge of guilt in his gut. Perhaps he had been a little unfair to her in their tutorial.

He keeps noticing her, especially at meal times and during lectures. Whenever he enters a room he finds himself searching for her, and if he cannot find her, he waits for her to appear. He plays guessing games with himself, waiting to see what outfit she’ll wear, the pretty mini skirt or a pair of faded blue baggy jeans. If she’ll be with her friends or if she’ll be alone.

He never approaches her. He waits for her to look at him, and once they’ve made eye contact she’ll smile at him.

He likes watching her, and comes to the conclusion that she is charming and polite, but not overbearing, and that’s what's so intriguing about her. She knows how to talk to people, even the most insufferable of their peers, but she’s not nearly entitled enough to truly be one of them.

It’s a Friday evening the next time they actually speak. The library tends to be quieter at this time and he has a textbook to look over before his next lecture. Only, when he goes to find the book, he discovers the last copy has been checked out a matter of minutes ago. Fucking typical.

He goes to stalk out of the library, debating whether or not he can be bothered to ask Oliver if he wants to grab a drink in The King’s Arms, when he sees her.

She’s alone, with her chin in her palm, writing in a notebook as she looks at the textbook open in front of her. He’s willing to bet that’s exactly the book he needs.

He approaches her slowly, waiting for her to look up and notice him, but she seems utterly absorbed in what she’s doing. Only when he puts a hand on the back of her chair and leans over her shoulder does she react to him.

He sees her jump when he gets too close. “Jesus Christ!” she hisses, clutching her hand over her chest.

“Sorry,” he mutters, still hovering over her. “Did I frighten you?”

She hums a laugh but composes herself quite quickly. She turns her head to look at him. “I’m guessing you want the book?” she says, her breath fluttering over his cheek.

He straightens his back so he can look down at her. “Will you have it for long? Only I think I’ll get through the reading quite quickly.”

“Oh yes of course, you’re a genius, right?” she says with a grin.

Irritation scratches under the surface of his skin, hot and restless. That’s how he usually introduces himself, but it’s the truth.

“We could just share,” she says, gesturing to the empty seat beside her, “that is, unless you don’t think I’ll be able to keep up.”

There’s something exciting about the way she holds his gaze, the hint of a smile on her lips.

She offers to go back a page so he can catch up and admittedly, he skims through, only writing down a few notes before he tells her to move on. He can find the book again if he really needs to.

He has to lean over his left arm rather significantly to read the book properly. She notices this, and pushing it closer to him, shuffling her chair over to follow. They’re close enough that he can smell her perfume again.

“None of your little friends around then?” he asks quietly, so as not to disturb the other students.

“What?”

“That group of girls,” he says, “I’ve seen you sitting with them in the dining hall.”

She brings her chin back to her palm but doesn’t look up from her notes. “They live on my floor. I don’t need to spend every waking moment with them.”

“Touchy subject?” he asks, perhaps a little too hopefully.

His heart leaps in triumph when she looks up at him. “No. I’m just not sure I’d count them as friends, necessarily.”

“Why not?” he asks.

“Not my kind of people,” she says.

“Why not?”

She frowns briefly. He thinks she might scold him for being so direct, for asking so many questions, for being too intrusive. But she doesn’t.

The textbook is forgotten. She tells him about the village where she grew up, a sad little place by the sounds of it. She spent most of her schooling surrounded by the same twenty or so kids.

“For a long time, I knew there was something people didn’t like about me,” she says. “I didn’t understand why. I was never rude or cruel, I just kept my head down and did my work. The other girls told me I was a freak, the boys used to tease me, pull my hair, tear pages out of my books. Mum said people hated me because I was clever. Dad said I should stop complaining. So I did.”

He can’t help but draw a comparison to himself. He can feel it when he meets someone new, the inherent distrust, the sense that there is something inherently unlikeable about him. In a way he likes that people are unnerved by him because at least it’s something he can control. He has never been one for friends or common ground, a consequence of being the smartest person in every room.

He watches her intently as she tells him about a private school a few miles outside of her village, a proper posh place, Victorian buildings and sprawling estates. For her, it was her one chance of escape, and while her parents worked hard to make ends meet, the only way she was going to get in was with a scholarship. So she worked for it, got all A*s in her GCSEs, started at the posh school, and from there, set her sights on Oxford.

“You’re rather deceptive,” he says.

She smiles at him. “It’s not like I lied. Were you expecting a daddy’s money brat?”

“There’s enough of them about,” he says.

She huffs a laugh and rolls her eyes. “Fucking tell me about it.”

They start to make a habit of studying together, at first it’s by coincidence, and then she gives him her number so they can organise themselves more effectively. They meet at the library every Friday to share a textbook or go over problem sheets, in preparation for their lectures. They even start to meet before their tutorials together, to compare answers and make sure neither of them are left out. Sometimes they go for coffee after their classes, and branch off to chat about things that aren’t maths.

He tells her about the grammar school he went to, that most of the boys there were rugby playing morons. He tells her about his family, his mum, his dad, the family cat that’s been around longer than he has. He tells her about his summer, running numbers for his uncle’s accountancy firm.

She tells him about the posh school, that starting at a boarding school was like being thrown into a different universe. Sure, she had been the odd one out and got the odd “povo” comment, but it was the first place where she had felt like she didn’t have to be ashamed of her own intelligence. She learnt how to fit in, to the point where he can’t tell if she actually likes her preppy friends or if she just puts up with them for the sake of it.

He starts to wonder if he could consider her a friend. He likes that she’s smart and sharp, the slight air of competition when they compare notes or go through a problem together. He likes challenging her, making her second guess herself, watching the way she squirms and tries to hide that she’s flustered. Just once, he thinks it would be fun to one-up her, but of course, she never slips up, and she never makes a mistake.

On Halloween she mentions a party at Magdalene College being hosted by one of her old school friends. Of course he’s sceptical. Hanging around a bunch of stuck up posh kids, who no doubt will all be in slutty costumes and getting off on each other’s egos, isn’t exactly his idea of fun. Although, part of him is intrigued to see her in a different setting.

So he agrees to meet her outside her dorm at 10pm exactly. He doesn’t bother with fancy dress, opting for jeans and a black jumper so that he can just fade into the background.

She appears with some of her preppy friends. They’re all in pastel dresses of differing colours, matching wings strung on their backs, glitter on their cheeks, a little pack of fairies. She’s in white mini dress that floats around her thighs as she moves, more like an angel.

She introduces him enthusiastically to the girls, already giddy from their pre-drinks, pink gin and rosé. None of them seem that interested by his presence and he grunts in response.

She links her arm through his as they walk over the cobbles, through the maze of ancient buildings to the dorm where the party is being held. She talks about everything and nothing. She tells him who’s going to be there, who’s been uninvited but might show up just to stir shit, how many girls are going to be there and that they’re all going to be trying to get into Felix Catton’s Calvin Kleins.

“Are you going to get with anyone?” she asks.

He makes a sound of disgust.

“Come on, Michael, live a little!”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think– I don’t know–”

She puts her hands on his shoulders and turns him to face her. “Have you kissed anyone before?”

He swallows thickly. It’s not something he’s ever been ashamed of before, now it feels like a weight crushing down on his chest. “No,” he says, simply, determined to remain indifferent.

“Get with someone tonight!” she says excitedly, “just for the fun of it, we’ll find you someone good.”

He hates the idea, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell her. Perhaps it seems like fun to her, but to him it seems like an impossibility, and he thinks he’d rather have the consistency of being unwanted.

The party itself is loud and sparsely lit by neon lights. He starts off on bottles of beer to ease himself into it, but seeing everyone else is doing pills and white lines, he thinks he might need something stronger to get through the night, especially when she keeps getting distracted. The angel is quite the social butterfly and insists on saying hello to everyone, even the people she’s never met.

He finds himself in a common room and reaches for a bottle of whisky and a cup when he spots her. She’s leaning against a wall, wings discarded on the floor beside her. A tall boy, wearing nothing but jeans, a pair of feathery costume wings and a horrible Carpe Diem tattoo on his forearm, has his hands on her waist. She’s smiling and giggling into his neck every time he goes in to kiss her. Of all the girls Felix could go after.

His skin feels tight. He fears if he keeps having to watch this little display he’ll retch his guts up, and yet he’s utterly hypnotised by it, the way she had her arms around his shoulders, the way her fingertips trace the base of his neck. And fuck, he’s never seen her look so beautiful.

He ends up downing the rest of the whisky straight from the bottle and most of the night becomes a blur after that. At some point he thinks he starts trying to talk to one of her pastel fairy friends. He doesn’t catch her name, and he wouldn’t care to remember it anyway. She plays with his glasses, tries them on and giggles hysterically. He thinks she must be completely off her face, considering the look of utter disgust she had given him at the start of the night.

Somewhere in the noise of the party she throws her arms around his neck and they sway clumsily to the overwhelming bass of the music. He thinks he feels her lips graze his cheek, his jaw, his neck, but where he can help it, he keeps his eyes on his angel. Felix has one of her legs around his waist and his hands halfway up her skirt.

Fuck this.

He pushes the nameless girl off him and storms over to put an end to the scene before him. He grips Felix by his shoulders to pull him off her, grabs her by the arm and drags her out of the dorm. He doesn’t look back to see if Felix protests, he’ll probably find some other throat to stick his tongue down.

She tries to shout over the music. “Where are we–”

“I’m tired,” he snaps, bringing his face in close to hers. He gets closer than he means to, pressing his nose and his forehead against hers. He’s breathing fiercely, he realises, desperate to contain the full extent of his anger, his jealousy. “I want to leave.”

She stares back at him with parted lips, and nods.

He feels better the moment they’re outside, away from the disorientation of the party. He takes deep breaths of the night air, cold and sharp in his lungs. He snatches off his glasses, runs his hands over his face and his hair to find himself drenched in sweat.

His angel tucks herself in against him, under his arm, huddling her arms around herself and shivering.

“Do you want my jumper?” he says. His voice and the words on his tongue feel strange. His limbs feel weightless as he pulls it off and helps her into it.

“Hmm, thank you,” she says dreamily, clinging onto his arm as they stumble back to Lincoln College. He burns where she touches him, her fingertips digging into his skin. He loves it, and hates that her hands were on someone else before him.

“You were getting rather cozy with Miranda,” she says.

“Who?”

“Lilac fairy costume,” she says, playfully hitting his arm. “Did you kiss her?”

His heart sinks. He presses his lips together but she doesn’t seem to pick up on his annoyance. “No,” he says with a tight jaw.

“Oh no,” she says, looking up at him with a comically sad pout.

“It’s not important,” he says.

“It’s your first kiss! Or should have been your first kiss. It’s important. Did you at least have a good time before you got tired?”

“No,” he says, “your friends are all imbeciles.”

They walk the rest of the way back to her dorm in silence. He makes sure she has her keys, holds her face between his hands and tells her to drink a whole glass of water before she falls asleep.

She leans into his touch with a sleepy smile. “Yes, yes, I will,” she whines.

The sound stirs a wanting in his stomach. Suddenly his heart is beating faster than it ever has before.

“And call me if you need anything–”

“Would you want to kiss me?” she asks.

His eyes flicker down to her lips. His hands are still cupping her cheeks. “What?”

Her eyes are wide and alert. “I just mean, I could be your first kiss, if you wanted to.” She places her hands on his wrists, tracing her fingertips over his skin, along his forearms. It’s such a simple touch, and yet he can feel it driving him slowly insane.

He imagines her hands running over the rest of his body, down his chest, his stomach, teasing over the growing hardness in his jeans.

“You’re drunk,” he whispers, terrified of how desperate his voice might sound.

She rises onto her toes, inching her face closer to his, drawing her nose over his cheek. “So?” she says, lips brushing over his skin, “I promise it’ll feel good.”

Their lips find each other in a simple movement. It’s easier than he thought it would be, following the movements of her mouth, letting his hands fall from her face and rest on her waist. He can feel her breathing, the little hums she makes as she kisses him and runs her hands through his hair.

He decides, in that moment, that she is perfect. She is bright and beautiful, passionate and kind, soft and sharp, everything he wants for himself, the only person he has ever felt a need for. That need burns through his bloodstream, goes straight to his head and makes his mind hazy. It tightens in his gut and only makes that wanting feeling in his chest feel emptier. His heart races, his trembling hands graze over the thin, silky material of her dress.

His glasses come askew. He feels her smile against his lips and it feels good. Really fucking good.

His hands clench into a firmer grip on her waist. He needs to keep her close, to touch her, feel her, know she wants this as much as he does.

Only she’s slipping away.

Her hands come away from his neck and the cold night air stings his skin in her absence. She pulls her head away, not abruptly, but that’s the pain of it. He leans forward to chase her lips but he has no choice but to let her go in the end.

She looks up at him with a vague smile. “See? It’s nice, isn’t it?”

Nice in the moment. Pure torture that he’ll have to spend the rest of the night clinging onto the memory, only able to imagine how good it felt.

After that night he cannot escape the thought of her, when he’s in his lectures, when he’s in the library, when he’s walking between classes, when he’s in the dining hall. If he’s with her he cannot help but notice every little detail about her, her clothes, her hands, the colour of her nail polish, every micro expression, every word, every laugh, every sigh.

And when he’s alone, he can’t help but picture her in that white dress, the sound of her voice, the feel of her lips. He can’t help but imagine what it would be like to run his hands over every inch of her skin and make her a breathless, whining mess. When he’s in his dorm, it’s inevitable that his hand will end up dipping into his boxers, stroking himself until he spills over his knuckles with a grunt or a whisper of her name.

He’s never known himself to be so distracted.

Worst of all is the rage that comes with the wanting. He hates walking into the lecture hall to see her chatting to someone else, seeing her with her preppy friends around the college or drinking with that old school friend in the King’s Arms. None of them deserve her. None of them. Does she even realise it? How long before she loses herself, before she decides she doesn’t need him?

He knows he’s not a sentimental person. He doesn’t have a lot of friends nor does he want them. People have come in and out of his life, but this girl is different. He feels a draw to her, a hunger that he can’t satiate with his own imagination. She is everything he wants for himself, and he has no intentions of letting her slip away.

As Michaelmas terms comes to an end, the colleges and libraries are covered with garlands and wreaths. Despite the lingering worry in the back of his mind, Michael is rather happy with his collection of outcasts, though poor Oliver Quick seems rather unhappy at being a designated Norman-No Mates.

He finds it easier to get her attention as the term and the workload progresses. They’ve had tutorials and summative assignments, and she’s finally starting to struggle.

And then there was the incident about the scholarship. One of the preppy friends let slip that she wasn’t paying for her tuition fees or her accommodation, likely done out of jealousy after she’d gotten close to Felix at the Halloween party. He was there for her with a perfectly good shoulder to cry on when half the girls in her dorm started teasing her for it.

He tells her that she doesn’t have time to get distracted with parties or friends who won’t help her succeed.

He’s sitting at a table in the library, ready for one of their Friday evening study dates. She’s late but soon hurries in, pulling off the thick red scarf she has wrapped around her neck and shrugging off her denim jacket.

He has the textbook open at the right page and places a Crunchie in front of her when she sits down.

“Did you know there was a college Christmas party tonight?” Michael asks as she takes down her notes. “We’re NFI, apparently. Not fucking invited.” He’d checked his pigeonhole, and Oliver’s for good measure.

In the corner of his eye, he sees her look up from her notebook.

“As if we’d actually want to hang out with those vapid cunts,” he says, laughing to himself. He turns his head to check if she’s laughing too.

She doesn’t look very amused. “Actually, I was going to ask if you wanted to come with me,” she says.

He pauses, hovering his pencil over his worksheet. “You got an invitation?” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” she says, “I was chatting with some of the literature guys the other day, you know Farleigh Start–”

“What the fuck were you talking to him for?” He asks in a voice like ice.

She stares at him with wide, almost accusing eyes. “What, am I not allowed to talk to anyone besides you?”

“They’re not worth your time so stop acting like a fucking bootlicker” he hisses. “They’re all self-obsessed and cruel, and I don’t know why you’re so desperate for their approval.”

“Desperate,” she echoes.

The silence of the library is screaming at him. He has an awful feeling in his stomach, like he’s done something wrong, like he’s pushed a little too far.

It’s Halloween all over again. He can feel her slipping away, and he can’t reach out for her, can’t hold onto her and make her stay where he wants her. He curls his fists as he feels his body start to tremble.

“I guess I won’t waste any more of your precious time then,” she says sharply as she starts to pack up her things.

“No,” Michael utters. He reaches his hand up as if to stop her but she stands up, out of his reach. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

She throws on her jacket, wraps her scarf around her neck and turns around, glaring down at him with sad, glassy eyes. “I need to get ready,” she says. “Enjoy the rest of your night.” Then she sweeps out of the hall with a cold rush of air and a slam of the doors.

Michael groans and lets his head fall into his hands. How had he managed to fuck up that badly?

He can’t think about the problems on the sheet in front of him, or think about the reading from the textbook. All he can picture is her in some skimpy dress, letting some sick trust fund baby put his hands all over her. It makes him want to tear his hair out.

He stays there until the evening has turned to night, until any other stragglers have left the library, to attend this stupid Christmas party or to make their own fun.

He can’t understand why she keeps trying to befriend the people who would abandon her the moment they got bored of her, the very same people who shamed her for her scholarship.

He’d never leave her, never let her feel anything less than worshipped.

When he finally packs up his bag he finds himself walking to her dorm. A few girls are leaving as he arrives at the building and he easily slips in while they’re busy chatting. He knows which floor she’s on, and then all he has to do is find her name on one of the doors… and there it is, under the number 205. Perfect.

He glances up and down the hall. It’s deathly quiet. He wonders how many students have already cleared out of their rooms, how many will be at this party, at the pub with their friends.

He can hear music on the other side of the door, a voice singing softly to a song he doesn’t know.

He brings his knuckles up and taps four times against the wood.

She seems happy when she opens the door, but her face falls when she realises it’s him.

He buries his hands in his pockets, keeps his chin down as he looks up at her. “I need to talk to you,” he says.

She sighs and purses her lips, but steps aside enough for him to come into her room.

It’s not as neat as he imagined, but it’s cosy. There are photos and posters all over the walls, clothes strewn everywhere, an opened makeup bag on the floor by the mirror, pieces of paper and used mugs on the desk. His eyes are drawn to her bed, to the colourful comforter tossed carelessly over the duvet and the pile of mismatched pillows. It smells like her perfume, and something else that is distinctly her.

A red dress hangs on the front of her wardrobe, her outfit for the party, he guesses. For now she’s dressed in her favourite pair of baggy jeans and a tank top, her hair slightly damp and her skin dewy.

She sits on the edge of her bed with her legs crossed. She doesn’t prompt him, but he knows what she wants to hear.

He stands in front of her, his knees almost touching the bed. He tries not to look at the cut of her tank top, the way it clings to her torso and teases the swell of her breasts.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “You were right, I was being unfair.”

She looks up at him, furrowing her brows and catching her lip between her teeth, like she always does when she’s thinking. It makes his stomach drop.

“You can be cruel too, you know that?” she says, “and so full of yourself, but you hold it against everyone else you meet.”

“But I’d never lie to you,” he says, “and I’ve never pretended to be someone I’m not.”

She keeps frowning. “Neither have I.”

He hums a laugh. He can’t help but reach for her, taking her chin between his fingers. She doesn’t flinch away, doesn’t question it when he gently strokes his index finger over her cheek. “Silly girl,” he says, “you care too much about what people think of you. You’re smarter than that, but you’re happy to hide it.”

Her breath hitches as tilts her head further back and lets his thumb drag over her lower lip.

“Michael,” she utters, pressing her palms against his chest, but not enough to push him away. Her hands grip at the collar of his jumper and she nudges her nose against his.

He doesn’t know where the sudden recklessness comes from. Perhaps it’s in the way she said his name, the way her eyes are gazing up at him, but every part of him feels hollow.

He leans in closer. “Why bother? Why do you want to dumb yourself down when I could just fuck you stupid?”

She leans in to kiss him and he indulges her, letting his hand settle against her cheek as they clash together in a mess of lips and tongues. It’s more frantic than the night of the Halloween party, wetter, clumsier.

She comes up onto her knees, snaking one of her hands down to the hem of his jumper.

“Have you fucked a girl before, Gavey?” she says between their kisses. He can feel her smiling.

“No,” he says, practically tearing his jumper and his shirt off, “but I’ve thought about it a lot.”

“Anyone in particular?” she says, palming over the bulge in his jeans.

“Who do you fucking think?”

His hands are on the buttons of her jeans, ripping them open, dragging them down her legs before she’s on her knees again. He slips his hand between her legs, against her clothed centre and she ruts against him like a bitch in heat.

With his other hand he grabs at her waist, impatiently pulling her tank top over her head to reveal a lacy black bra underneath. He can’t stop himself, planting firm, desperate kisses over the flesh of her chest as he undoes the clasp.

He tosses her bra aside and takes one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking and circling his tongue over the sensitive bud. He loves how she whines for him, how she runs her fingers through his hair and pulls when it feels good.

And then her phone rings.

She sighs in frustration before she shoves Michael away and crawls over to the table by her bed.

Michael groans at the loss, wanting nothing more than to grab her and pull her back across the bed. “Who is it?” he asks, adjusting his glasses.

“Could be Farleigh, or one of the girls, I said I’d meet them before the party–”

That’s all he needs to hear. In an instant he’s on top of her, pinning her wrist to the mattress so she can’t reach her phone, legs on either side of her body as he presses her down.

She writhes underneath him, unintentionally grinding her rear into his crotch. She tries to turn her head over her shoulder, but it’s hard when she’s caged in underneath him. “Michael! What the fuck are you–”

“When are you going to get it into that pretty little head that you don’t need them?” he says, letting his lips brush against the shell of her ear. He feels her shudder, feels her heartbeat racing against his chest.

“I know I don’t need them,” she says.

“Hmm,” he says, leaning back to undo his jeans enough to free his hard and eager cock. I’m not convinced.”

He takes his time pulling her panties down her legs, kneads at her thighs and her ass, pulls her hips up and parts her legs so he can get a look at her slick, glistening cunt. He’s almost fascinated by it, drawing his thumb through her folds, noticing how she reacts to his touch, the sounds she makes, the way she fists the bedsheets when he gets close to her clit, but just enough to keep her on edge.

“I could be so good to you,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to her shoulder, “so fucking good, so why do you act like you don’t need me?”

“I do,” she breathes, interrupting herself with a light moan when he presses firmly against her clit. “I do need you.”

“There you go, you’re starting to get it,” he coos, circling over her most sensitive spot with the pads of his fingers. He may not have the practice but he has the knowledge, and he needs this to feel good for her.

She responds beautifully, sighing and rocking her hips against him, and she just melts when he presses the tip of his cock against her entrance.

He has to push harder than he expects, pausing when she gives a little yelp of what sounds like pain, but she assures him she’s fine.

He grabs her hip for leverage, hissing through his teeth as he pushes in deeper. She’s so tight, so wet, so warm.

“You can move,” she says, letting her head fall against her arm. “Please, I need it.”

He starts slowly, focuses on the drag of his cock through her, the way she stretches around him, but he can’t hold back for long. Once he finds a rhythm he gets a little more reckless, snapping his hips against her rear, keeping his harsh grasp on her flesh as he fucks her into the mattress.

Her moans are heavenly and obscene. She’s given up struggling but she’s trying to look at him, trying to touch him but she can’t. She calls his name and it sounds so pathetic but so endearing.

He chuckles lowly to himself. “Silly little slut, didn’t know what she was missing, did she?”

“No,” she whines. He can feel her clenching around him and he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to last. “Fuck, Michael, it feels so good…”

He pulls out of her, only to turn her back and slam back in. Suddenly she’s all over him, running her hands down his torso, wrapping her arms around his neck. She has her face buried into the crook of his neck, grazing her lips, tongue and teeth over his skin.

It feels good to have her close, but he’s still not entirely satisfied.

He pulls away to hold her down again, one hand on her throat, the other on her stomach. “Mine.” he huffs as he picks up the pace of his thrusts. “All mine. Fucking say it.”

She places her hands over his, urging him to hold her tighter, press harder. “Yours,” she utters, “all yours.”

“Good fucking girl,” he groans, and feels her respond to his voice, cunt fluttering, back arching, another whine sounding in her throat— maybe she likes that. “My clever little girl.”

He feels her come undone around him, back arching as he lets out a breathless moan, practically squeezing him to his own release.

He pulls out and with a few strokes of his hand, paints her belly and her thighs with his spend.

She’s trembling, smiling, reaching out to touch him again, grabbing at his wrists and pulling herself up. She guides him to lay back in the bed and straddles him, tracing her finger over his lips, his jaw, along his nose to push his glasses up for him. He can hardly see through them, the lenses fogged up and smeared with sweat.

“That was fun, wasn’t it?” she says.

“Yeah,” he breathes, pawing at her hips, watching his cum as it drips down her body. He can feel a sense of pride swelling in his chest, the arousal in his gut starting to tighten again.

He gasps when she drags her wet cunt over his already hardening cock. “You.. want to go again?”

She tilts her head, looking down at him with that familiar excited look in her eyes as her mouth spreads into an eager grin. “You’re adorable,” she says, tracing her fingertips over his chest, down the lines of his abs, to the trail of thin hair on his navel.

She leans down, reaching between them to take his cock in her hand, moving with agonisingly slow strokes. When he tries to protest she silences him with little more than a peck on his lips, before she trails down to his throat. “I stand by what I said, Gavey, and you’re not leaving this bed until we’ve taken that ego of yours down a notch.”

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cxvii666 · 4 months ago

Text

“93 'Til Infinity”

a mha college au feat. denki k. & hanta s.

“gettin' weeded makes it feel like maui, now we feel the good vibrations, so many females, so much inspiration.”

wc: 2.6k

starting track...

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

....

"it was definitely for me."

"dude, are you fucking kidding? it was definitely for me-"

"what the hell are you talking 'bout? i was the one that spoke to her."

"yeah, but you didn't see the look she gave me."

it was about two days later. early evening still, and hanta sero had the brilliant idea of going to the park to watch the sunset. he and denki kaminari had missed class that day. it was a friday, and, in denki's words, why should we waste a perfectly good friday being stuck in some pointless lit tutorial.

but yeah, hanta had been on his reconnecting with nature bullshit again.

as in, he'd been offline, no minecraft or running duos on valorant, deleted all his social media, his screen time was at an all time low, and instead of sparking up and jerking off, he's slap his headphones on and go smoke and skate in the park.

at first denki had been sick of it. hanta does this all time, it only lasts for about three months, then he gets bored, re-downloads instagram and the cycle repeats itself.

but right now, he can see the appeal.

the sunset is beautiful, the sky painted in hues of pink and orange. the air is still, the park is basically deserted, they're far enough out from any main roads, so all they can hear is the rustle of the trees and the occasional chirping of birds mixed in with their own music.

denki doesn't even know the genre, some sort of underground nameless hiphop, lofi, rap, shit that hanta listens to, with the bass turned up so high, that if he concentrates denki can feel the thrum of the baseline vibrating through his body. they have a joint, a can of beer and a vape to share between them.

they're debating the interaction they had with you right now though, what had happened, and which of them you had left your number for.

"what look?" denki coughs out in between drags.

the snickers hanta lets out, when denki passes him the joint back so he can take a couple hits of the vape to soothe his poor sensitive baby lungs, is mean and teasing.

the dark haired boy takes a long pull, inhales, shapes his lips, and blows thick rings of smoke right into his friends face, ignoring denki's shriek of complaint and the subsequent whack to the shoulder he receives.

"y'know," hanta says contemplatively, "the look girls give when they want you, it's like-"

he turns to face denki, careful of where the ash drops. his eyes slowly flit from one amber eye to the other, he drops his gaze to the blonde's pink lips for half a second, then back up so he's making square eye contact with him, and finishes off with a slow smile.

".....that is pure bullshit."

hanta scoffs and takes a swig of the beer, "no it's not." he burps out, "you just don't understand women like i do."

"you understand women?" the blonde replies incredulously accompanied by a raise of his eyebrow.

"yeah, well... more than you at least- AH, OW FUCK-"

hanta swears under his breath as he tries to brush off the imprint of the bottom of denki's sneaker from the side of his acid washed jeans, "these are new, fucking jackass."

"dude, shut up. y'know what, i'm gonna text her."

"yeah for sure," hanta snarks, "and say what, 'yo it's that blonde idiot from the other day—" another kick to the thigh. "what did i just say? would you stop that."

the blonde shushes him and pulls his phone out.

"are you actually texting her?" hanta takes another drag and blows the smoke out upwards, "i'm telling you, she left her number for me."

"we'll see won't we," denki grins and sticks his tongue out fingers tapping hastily away, "ok, how's this, "hey it's the blonde guy from your lit class.""

hanta rolls his eyes as denki slips his phone back into his pocket and makes grabby hand's towards the zoot.

"whatever, i bet she won't reply—" a ping from denki's phone. "no, fucking, way."

the laugh denki lets out is diabolical as he gets his phone back out with a smirk, "and you said i didn't understand women- damn, it's just mina— oh shit."

"what's she done now?"

"no, dude," denki taps hanta once to call his attention, eyes alight as he reads the text message out loud, ""why are you texting my friend you freak, lying bout being in her lit class"."

they both pause and stare at each other, "wow... small world huh."

"does that mean she's off-limits now?"

"no, what? you can't assume that, women have like autonomy and allat shit, tell mina to mind her own business."

"are you sure 'cos—" another ping from denki's phone. ""i don't take lit.""

hanta scrambles to see the screen, "no way she messaged back, let me seeee."

"nuh uh," denki replies childishly and raises his phone high above his head as he scoots back, "you don't get see this, not after you doubted me." regardless of denki's reasoning, hanta snatches the phone off of him.

"ok, okay, crying emoji, we can work with this," he passes the phone back to his disgruntled friend who scoffs at him and then hanta points to the device, "say 'are you free tonight? you wanna go over the class notes with me' umm, 'me and my friend'."

denki just blinks at him and exhales through his nose, "i am not typing that shit out, are you crazy?"

"don't even. you were the one talkin' 'bout golden opportunities," he does a poor mockery of denki's voice, "and whatnot."

"is that not a bit forward?"

"uh no? its a suggestion, she can say no, no harm no foul."

"you're fucking stupid, fine, are you free tonight-"

hanta switches off his speaker and watches as denki types out the rest of the message.

"and now, we wait."

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

“how do you do that?”

“do what?”

it’s just gone ten pm, and the glow from denki’s string lights flickers gently, casting a warm halo over everything. the mellow hum of hip-hop floats through the air, soft and steady, like the pulse of the night. the three of you are fucking chilling.

you're sprawled on the couch, sharing a joint with hanta, who’s stretched out like he owns the place. his long legs are spread across the cushions, body languid, and his eyes—those dark, heavy-lidded eyes—have been locked on the snacks for at least ten minutes. he’s making zero effort to hide the fact that he’s thinking about them, his pretty mouth set in a slight pout like he’s debating whether to reach for them or stay cool.

he doesn’t need to do much to seem effortlessly attractive, becuit’s everything about him—the way his long lashes frame his eyes when he looks at you, the way his messy hair seems so perfect in its disarray, the way his lips are full and soft. you hate how natural it all is.

denki, on the other hand, is bouncing around the room, as always. he's got this energy that’s impossible to ignore—like a sunbeam you can’t escape. his high cheekbones catch the low light as he flips through his playlist, searching for the next song. when he looks over at you, his amber eyes sparkle with that warm mischief, the same way his smile does when it flashes your way. it's the kind of smile that makes you feel like you're the only one in the room. effortless, real, the sort of charm that feels like home.

you gesture at hanta, who’s exhaling perfect smoke rings into the dim light, the air thick with it. "how do you do that?"

“oh, how do i blow o’s? it’s actually super easy.” hanta’s voice is low, smooth, and the way he talks, the way he looks at you while he says it, makes it hard to concentrate.

he does it again, blowing another perfect ring, and god, you hate pretty boys.

everything they do, every movement is a little bit artful. the way hanta inhales and exhales, eyes dark and steady on you as he does, his lips curling just enough to make you want to stare forever. the way his long lashes hang just so, like they’re trying to hide the fact that he’s been watching you for longer than he should.

denki’s the same. if not worse. he talks to you like it’s second nature, like he’s known you forever. the ease in his voice, in the way he leans back, taking up space beside you, curling into the couch like he belongs there, makes you feel like you’ve known him all your life. there’s nothing forced about him. and when he laughs, it’s infectious, that slow spread of warmth in his voice, the gentle glow of his amber eyes lighting up the room as he looks at you.

“you want me to teach you?” he asks, his voice almost teasing but open, welcoming. like there’s nothing more natural than inviting you into his world.

it was a bad idea coming here.

but not because of them.

you talked to mina before you showed up. she told you, both of them were idiots, no filter, no shame, completely unapologetic, but... she also said they were decent guys, totally respectful, and fun as hell. so, no, it wasn’t them.

it was you. you know the type of person you are. a sucker for pretty boys. the ones with the perfect eyes, the pretty hair, the full lips that get you caught in a gaze for a second too long. the ones who smell good and look like they belong in magazines. you knew walking in that this night might be a problem. but with the way hanta’s eyes linger on you, that half-lidded gaze, with the smirk playing on his lips like he knows exactly what he’s doing—it's almost impossible to care.

you sigh, rolling your eyes, but it’s hard not to smile. “sure, show me how.”

you take the joint from him, weakly attempt to copy the moves his been pulling for the past half hour. when you cough the first time, neither comment. denki just passes you a cold bottle of sprite as he chuckles lightly, and hanta grins, taking the joint from you, that quiet smirk turning into something a little more playful. his voice is low when he speaks again, and you have to focus to hear it over the hazy fog of the room. "watch me do it first, then try to copy."

you watch, rapt, as he takes another drag, his lips forming a perfect “o” and then releasing the smoke in smooth, clean rings. and god, the way he makes it look so effortless, like it’s all part of the rhythm of him, like his body and his breath are just... synchronized. it’s hard to look away, even if you want to.

denki’s eyes catch yours, and for a moment, it’s like time stops. the dim lighting plays on your skin, making everything look like it’s coated in a soft glow. you feel the air between you and denki warm up just a little more, like you’ve crossed a line from casual to something more, even if it’s only for a second. and hanta’s still watching you, his gaze steady and intense, like he’s trying to figure you out, trying to find the parts of you you haven’t shown him yet.

denki shares a look with hanta, and without a word, they both know. you’re the one.

denki queues up another track, his fingers tapping rhythmically on his phone as he sends the song into the air. he looks at you like you’re the most interesting person he’s ever met, that easy, genuine smile of his never leaving his face.

"holy shit," you say, when the intro to the next track plays. "i love this song."

denki’s grin widens, eyes practically glowing with excitement. “shut up,” he gasps, turning toward you with an expression of pure joy. “you know Souls of Mischief?”

“of course i do,” you smile softly, genuinely glad to find common ground.

he calls your name, and when he says, “i didn’t know you was cool like that,” it’s not just a compliment—it’s a declaration.

“what does this even mean?” hanta interjects, his mouth full of chocolate, but his eyes are low as they shift between the two of you. "‘93 till?”

you glance away from where you’d been staring at the stars on denki’s ceiling, feeling his warmth next to you as he leans in close, and you answer smoothly, “it’s like chilling, rolling up, and just enjoying the moment... from now till... forever.”

“exactly.” denki’s grin softens, and he passes you the joint again, his fingers brushing against yours. "i feel like... this life we live, it’s ours, y’know? we can do whatever we want, and we can enjoy it from now till forever-"

you nod, feeling the weight of his words sink in, but then he suddenly stops, mid-thought, pulling a vape out of his pocket.

“… like?”

“oh, no. i’m done.”

“that’s some really profound shit, denks.” hanta calls out from your other side.

it’s not that funny, but it’s the weed, and the moment is too good to not laugh at. you let out a laugh, and denki’s laughter is contagious. when he laughs, it’s all in—his whole body shaking with it. you can’t help but laugh with him, and when he slaps hanta’s shoulder, you’re both lost in the moment, caught up in the sheer joy of it all.

"soooo," the blonde rolls the word around once he's composed himself, and calls your name out in his playful drawl, you mumble in reply, "we have a proposition for you."

"wait," hanta interrupts, leaning back in his spot, still casually holding the blunt between his fingers as he exhales, thick clouds floating upward. “ask her the question first.”

“what questi—oh, OH, the question,” denki turns to face you, suddenly all serious, as if what he’s about to ask is going to change the entire mood. “we’ve been debating this amongst our friend group.”

you raise an eyebrow. “right…”

“and, hmm,” denki tilts his head, scanning your expression as if weighing the way you’ll respond. “i guess your answer might be different ‘cause you're a girl, but would you rather, have a threesome with two guys or two girls?"

you blink, processing the unexpected shift. then, with a smirk, you deadpan, “that is definitely a question.” hanta snickers from where he’s sprawled beside denki, his face half-lit by the flickering light.

“is that the only two options?” you ask casually, exhaling smoke and looking between them both.

“what do you mean?” denki asks, his brow furrowed, genuinely curious.

“as in like, is this tmi?” you shrug, “actually, I don’t care. I’ve had a threeway with two other girls—”

“really?” denki’s voice holds genuine surprise, his eyes widening slightly.

“yeah,” you nod, your tone light, almost playful. “and that was actually pretty fun.”

“i can imagine—” denki starts, but hanta slaps the back of his neck, cutting him off. you let out a short laugh, “f'cking joke, dude.”

denki grins, rubbing the spot where hanta slapped him. “but no, this is a particular scenario,” he continues, regaining his composure. “like, technically, i'm pronoun-fluid, but in this hypothetical, it’s either two guys and one girl or two girls and one guy.”

as hanta passes you the blunt, you take a moment to think. The smoke curls lazily around you, and the room feels a bit hazy, just the right amount of weight in the air.

denki gives his own opinion as an example. “like, i said two guys, because i feel like I’d run out of stamina. i wouldn’t want to leave either girl unsatisfied just ‘cos i can’t keep up.”

“you know what,” hanta calls out, drawing denki’s attention as he turns to face him, “that is actually a pretty decent point.”

“exactly! and y’all were clowning me earlier, but I’m thinking logically.” denki looks pleased with himself, leaning back and stretching out a little more.

you take a slow drag, exhaling thoughtfully, “are the two guys doing stuff with each other or—”

“well, i dunno. denki, you wanna get it on with me?” hanta shoots back, his voice smooth, the playful edge in his voice underpinned by something raw.

“hundred percent I’d get it on with you—I’m receiving though,” denki says with a wink.

“y’know it,” hanta grins, his eyes glinting with amusement.

but you cut in before the banter goes further, “or, are they ‘sharing’ the girl?”

“well, when you put it like that,” denki scrunches his face in mock distaste, “it sounds kinda asshole-ish, but... I mean, sharing is caring.”

you and hanta snort at the same time, exchanging a glance. then you lean in, eyes narrowing playfully, “wait, why are you even asking me this?”

“oh yeah,” hanta remembers, suddenly deadpan, “we were gonna ask you if you wanted to bang us.” his words come out blunt, but not unkind, as he leans down onto the table, casually ashing the joint.

maybe it’s the weed kicking in, or the way denki has his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer in that effortless, warm way. but you feel a strange calm settle over you, and you just mock gasp. “no, fucking way.”

“yes, fucking way,” denki chimes in, that grin returning, full of mischief.

but it’s hanta who catches your eye, his gaze steady, more thoughtful. he speaks quietly, carefully, “it doesn’t have to be right now.”

denki gives a lazy nod of agreement. “think it over. the offer’s on the table.”

you roll your eyes, still trying to figure out if this is all some strange, blurry dream. "oh yeah?”

hanta, noticing the subtle shift in your expression, tilts his head slightly. “i finish work early next saturday,” you say, voice smooth, a playful challenge in the words. you can feel the tension in the room, and your pulse quickens slightly at the thought of their presence lingering longer.

“hanta—” denki starts, but sero interrupts.

already on his phone, opening his work schedule, he says, “hold on, i'm checking— it's my one free sa turday this month... let’s fucking go.”

"let’s fucking gooo,” denki cheers, his grin brightening even more.

you snicker, shaking your head. “no way we just scheduled a threesome.”

“yeah, babe,” denki says, the pet name slipping so naturally from his lips. his easy, laid-back vibe pulls you in even more, and the way he leans back into the couch, content, like nothing in the world could faze him. “that’s how we roll.”

“Is it really?” you ask, half-sarcastic, raising an eyebrow.

“he’s joking,” hanta says, dismissing denki with a casual wave of his hand. “ignore him. his body count’s like... two.”

"two and a half,” denki corrects, matter-of-factly.

“oh, yeah, my bad gang,” hanta says with a dramatic exhale, tone dripping with sarcasm. “two point five.”

“how can you have half a body?”

"oh, you're gonna love this story..."

...end of playback

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

prev track ▷ hoe cakes

next track ▷ nokia

#sero hanta x reader #denki kaminari x reader #mha #my hero academia #sero hanta #denki kaminari #denki kaminari x black reader #denki x reader #sero hanta x black reader #hanta sero x reader #hanta sero #sero nation #this one is for you guys #bnha x black reader #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia #bnha #Spotify

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kwimii999 · 9 months ago

Text

Tutorial : How to make roads with car parking space

When I first started using the create a world tool, I immediatly wanted to make roads with car parking space. The only world where I had seen these types of roads were in Boroughsburg by potato-ballad-sims. So, I searched up the internet as one would do when you don't know how to do something and nothing until I found this post by krrank on their forum. I already knew how to make roads at that time. In fact, it was only when I saw her showcase of dirt roads, that I saw how there was a way to make roads larger to then add cars parked on the side. Now, because I haven't found a proper tutorial on how to actually do that, I decided to make my own tutorial and share how I managed to do it. It's not as perfect as Boroughsburg in term of sidewalk intersections (because I'm not the best at texture editing) but enough to have the look of parked cars, which can make a town look so much more lively.

What I'm assuming before this tutorial :

You're familiar with the CAW tool

you know how to place roads

you know how to create roads using textures provided by EA or CC road textures

You know how to add custom content for CAW (only applicable if you don't own the university EP)

The downside

The only downside with these roads is that sims will walk/run through the cars when going somewhere because we're basically using the sidewalk as parking space. To balance that out, I suggest using hybrid roads in your world : normal roads with normal sidewalks and roads with parking space.

On the left we have a road with car parking space

On the right a normal road with sidewalks

Step 1 : Choosing your road textures

Example of what it should look like :

Possible question #1

" Okay but there's no sidewalk now, what do I do ? " : Simple ! Place independent sidewalks on the side. A bit like this (ignore the fact that this is not completly aligned to the grid) :

Step 2 : Placing cars on the road

I highly suggest using cars that are meant for decoration and aren't high poly. If you're using super CAW do not use the drivable cars that can be bought in game. In my case, I used the debug cars from the university EP meant for decoration and lowered them until it hid the parking curb. If you don't have the university EP, the world CC from Boroughsburg includes deco cars used for the purpose of parked deco cars !

Do not put too many cars on the roads (I only do it because I do not care since I'm making my own personal world, but if you intend to share the world you're making, limit the cars that you put on the streets)

How to hide the parking curb (for university cars) :

Lower your car's position (Y axis, green line) to : 15,4 - (Good enough height to hide the concrete curb and only hides a tiny bit of the car's wheels)

Don't forget to rotate (Y axis) the cars to the right direction. In fact, to be 100% accurate in the rotation placement of your cars, you can write the exact degree in the board that appears when you select an object. So, basically : 90 / -90 OR 180 / -180

Possible question #2

"In what direction should I rotate the cars ?" : Here's a reminder of traffic directions in game :

And that's about it. Hope this will be useful to anyone who was wondering how to make larger roads and add cars parked directly on the street :)

#ts3 #sims 3 #the sims 3 #sims 3 tutorial #ts3 tutorial #sims 3 caw tutorial #sims 3 caw roads #sims 3 caw road tutorial #sims 3 parked cars #sims 3 cars #sims 3 how to #ts3 how to #sims 3 blog #sims 3 simblr #simblr #sims caw #ts3 caw #sims 3 create a world #ts3 create a world

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ne0mile · 2 months ago

Text

hand in hand

jo x f!reader

word count: 3,6k

warnings: fluff, Jo is very shy obvi, and that's all they're just cute! You know the drill: English isn't my first language... Sorry for any mistakes, I tried to proofread this!

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🍡🍧🎡.𖥔 ݁ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖🍡🍧🎡.𖥔 ݁ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖🍡🍧🎡.𖥔 ݁ ˖

The lecture hall buzzed with the rustle of notebooks and conversations as class ended, the summer heat making the lecture hall feel stifling despite the humming air conditioning. You were slipping your stuff into your bag when a hesitant voice spoke beside you. "Yn?"

You turned around to find Jo standing there, his fingers gripping the strap of his messenger bag too tightly. He seemed even shier than usual—lips slightly parted as if he'd rehearsed this moment a dozen times but still wasn't sure of the words.

You smiled, tipping your head back to meet his eyes. "Hey, Jo." He took a shallow breath. “I was– Um…” The words wouldn’t come out of his mouth. He shook his head and took a deep breath to continue. "If you're free this weekend... and if you want..." His gaze flickered to the window, where sunlight streamed through the trees. "Maybe… we could go to the summer festival together?"

The question hung between you. His words had tumbled out in a rush like he’d been holding them through the ninety-minute lecture. "I mean," he hurried to add, shoulders hunching slightly, ears pink, "only if you're not busy. And if you'dwant to go… With me."

You gave him a smile which made his shoulders relax a bit. “I’d love to.”

Jo's eyes widened almost imperceptibly as if he hadn't actually expected you to say yes. A faint pink dusted his cheeks."Really?" He asked, just to be sure.

"Really." You bumped his arm lightly with yours as you both walked toward the exit. "Should I meet you there, or...?"

"I—I can pick you up," he blurted, then immediately looked horrified at his own forwardness. "If that's okay..." The way his voice softened at the end sent a warm flutter through your chest. "That sounds perfect." You interrupted before he could hesitate longer. “You’ll text me the time?”

Jo nodded so vigorously that his bangs flopped into his eyes.

.☘︎ ݁˖ .☘︎ ݁˖ .☘︎ ݁˖

Jo’s dorm room was a battlefield of indecision, his bed engulfed in fabric. There was no way he could choose between the indigo yukata he borrowed from his father and a slate grey one he bought last minute after hours of online review.

A loud crunch came from the doorway. "Damn." Nicholas leaned against the doorframe, eating out of a bag of chips with a single-minded focus. His sharp eyes swept over the chaos - the discarded obi belts, the open laptop playing Traditional Yukata Tying Tutorial, and the several different pairs of tabi socks Jo had laid out just in case.

Jo didn't look up from where he was attempting, and failing, to fold the indigo yukata properly. "Go away." He mumbled, not really in the mood to put up with Nicholas’ teasing.

Nicholas strolled in and plopped onto Jo's bed, acting as if he didn’t hear him. "So… Nervous?"

Jo ignores his roommate's smirk and stays focused on the task at hand. "I'm preparing."

"Uh-huh." Nicholas snatched the grey yukata before Jo could stop him, holding it up critically. "This one makes you look like a ghost." Jo yanked it back. "It's elegant."

"It's boring." Nicholas pointed his chip at the indigo fabric. "That one's the winner. Matches your whole..." He gestured vaguely at Jo. "Tortured romantic poet thing you've got going on."

Jo's ears burned. "I don't- That's not-"

"Relax, Shakespeare." Nicholas grinned. "She already said yes. Which, by the way-" He paused to dramatically clutch his chest. "-hurts. I asked her to that festival first, you know."

Jo froze. "You what?"

Nicholas' laughter echoed off the walls. "Kidding! God, your face." He lobbed a chip at Jo's head. "But seriously. Wear the blue. Stop stressing. And for fuck's sake-" He gestured to Jo's hair, which Jo had been unconsciously running his hands through for the past hour. "-leave your hair alone."

Jo scowled, but his fingers stilled. "What if I... forget how to talk?"

"Oh you definitely will," Nicholas chirped. "But lucky for you, girls think that's cute." He stood, stretching. "Now put the damn yukata on."

As Nicholas sauntered out, he paused at the door. "Oh, and Jo?" Jo looked up. "If you don't kiss her tonight, I'm revoking your man card." The door slammed shut before Jo could throw a pillow at him.

When Nicholas barged back in, now wearing his own yukata perfectly tied, Jo was turning sideways in front of the mirror, grimacing at the uneven bow tied around his waist. It took one look at Jo’s face for Nicholas to burst out laughing. Jo made a strangled noise.“This is not funny! I can’t tie it properly…”

Nicholas rolled his eyes and moved behind him. “I’ll do it for you before you give yourself an aneurysm.” So Jo stood stiff as a board while he expertly retied the yukata, his fingers quick and sure, a sharp contrast to his clumsy ones.

“See? Wasn’t that hard.” Nicholas pats Jo’s shoulders affectionately. “Now, put on some cologne-not too much! And comb your hair.”

"Done," Jo gritted out after a while of trying to style his hair, forcing a rebellious lock down with what was probably too much gel. Nicholas raised his eyes from where he was on the bed, texting the whole group chat about Jo’s shenanigans.

“Wow. You actually look… decent.” Nicholas whistled.

Jo flipped him off, but his reflection did look... okay. More than okay. The indigo fabric brought out the warmth in his skin, and the silver-threaded obi added a little something without being too flashy.

His phone buzzed.

Yn: “Heading out soon! You’re still picking me up?”

Jo's hands shook so badly that he almost dropped his phone. Nicholas snatched it and typed back: “Yeah :) Can't wait”

“Uh-” Jo’s mouth opened to protest but Nicholas was faster. "Sent." He grinned. "Take some notes. That is how you flirt."

Jo stood still, frozen. With the clock ticking and now your text, the moment was dangerously close and he couldn’t help but wonder why he even invited you in the first place. There was no way he wouldn’t embarrass himself during the night and where you were nice enough to acknowledge his existence before, you would never want to be seen in public with him after that.

A sharp clap on his back tore Jo from his spiralling thoughts. “You’ve got everything: your wallet, your phone. You smell good, you look nice… You’re ready to go. Go get ‘em!”

“I can’t do this,” Jo whispered, his voice barely above his breath.

Nicholas sighed and grabbed his friend by his shoulders to shake him up. “Dude. You like her, and she likes you-otherwise she would’ve turned you down. So tonight’s gonna be great.” He paused. “Unless you bail… Then you’re dead to me.”

His last words were firm and didn’t allow Jo to complain again. So he exhaled, nodded and stepped out in the warm summer evening in the direction of your side of the halls.

.☘︎ ݁˖ .☘︎ ݁˖ .☘︎ ݁˖

Jo's footsteps slowed as he turned the corner to your dorm, his pulse hammering loud enough to drown out the cicadas'evening song. The golden hour light painted the sidewalk in warm hues, and there you were.

Waiting for him under a tree, your silhouette framed by strands of hanging lantern lights someone had strung along the pathway. Your yukata was a soft shade of pink, the fabric fluttering slightly in the summer breeze. When you turned at the sound of his approach, the setting sun caught in your eyes and for a moment, Jo almost forgot how to breathe.

“Hey.” You smiled. His mouth went dry. All the practiced greetings, the casual compliments he'd rehearsed in the mirror:gone. The only thing his brain could think about was how pretty you looked.

"Hi," he managed after a moment too long, his voice coming out strangled. You tilted your head, eyebrows furrowing."You okay?" Jo swallowed hard and left an awkward beat pass. His fingers flexed at his sides, suddenly unsure what to do with his long arms.

"You look..." He started, then stopped. The words nice or good felt criminally inadequate. His gaze dropped to the delicate embroidery along your belt—tiny flowers he wanted to trace with his fingers—then snapped back up to your face."...Really beautiful."

The way your cheeks flushed made something warm unfurl in his belly. "Thanks," you said softly, smoothing a hand down your sleeve. "You too. The indigo suits you." Jo stood there, his ears burning and his heart pounding so loud he worried you might hear it.

"Ready?" you asked, smiling up at him. He nodded, falling into step beside you as you headed toward the festival grounds. Close enough that your sleeves brushed with every other step but not close enough to touch.

.☘︎ ݁˖ .☘︎ ݁˖ .☘︎ ݁˖

The festival grounds pulsed with energy. Lanterns swayed with the gentle breeze, the air smelled like grilled yakitoris, and children’s laughter echoed through the crowd. Jo walked stiffly beside you, hands shoved deep in his sleeves, as he thought again and again of a way to start a conversation.

It was when you reached the main thoroughfare that the crowd thickened abruptly. A group of rowdy college students pushed past, knocking you off balance.

Jo’s arm shot out instinctively, his hand finding yours in the chaos. Your fingers tangled together, palm to palm and for a second, neither of you moved as your eyes caught his.

He didn’t want to let go, but his skin burned where it met yours and the panicked voice in his head was screaming for him to. It felt forbidden to hold on, so he released his grip slowly.

The noise of the festival faded to a dull roar in his ears, his entire world narrowing to where your hands were still connected. You squeezed his fingers gently.

Jo exhaled shakily. “We should—” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “It’s crowded.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, thumb brushing lightly over his knuckles. “Better stick together.”

Jo’s breath hitched. He adjusted his grip carefully, fingers slotting between yours awkwardly. Neither of you mentioned the way his pulse raced under your touch, but you noticed and suppressed a smile.

The warm press of your hand in his sent Jo’s thoughts scattering like startled birds. He never held someone’s hand like that, fingers intertwined, palms aligned, let alone someone he liked as much as he did you. The sensation was foreign and intoxicating and his mind wandered to what it could feel like to feel more of your skin.

The crowd ebbed and flowed around you both, but Jo barely noticed as you moved around the festival.

“I think I want some takoyaki,” you said, nodding toward a bustling stall up ahead, its steam rising and the smell reaching your nostrils. Jo blinked. “Oh. Right. Food.”

He made no move to release your hand and you bit back a smile. “Do you… want to get some?”

Jo’s ears burned and you led him to the stall. He should let go. It was the practical thing to do. “We can—I mean, we don’thave to—” He stammered, gesturing vaguely with his free hand.

Your laughter was warm, and understanding. “We can try one-handed.” Jo’s grip instinctively tightened.

The takoyaki vendor raised an eyebrow as you approached, still linked together. Jo fumbled with his wallet, his fingers clumsy as he tried to extract his money without breaking contact.

“One order, please,” you said, squeezing Jo’s hand in silent reassurance. The vendor smirked but said nothing, handing over a paper boat of golden-brown spheres drizzled with sauce and dancing with fish flakes.

Jo stared at the takoyaki, then at your joined hands, then back at the food. A puzzle with no solution.

You plucked one up with your free hand and blew on it gently before holding it out to him. “Open.”

Jo’s breath caught in his throat. The intimacy of the gesture sent heat crawling up his neck. He leaned in, letting you pop it into his mouth, his lips barely grazing your fingertips.

“Good?” you asked. Jo couldn’t speak around the sudden lump in his throat. He nodded, chewing slowly, buying time to compose himself.

You barely let him time to swallow before you leaned in and opened your mouth. “My turn!”

He reached for a piece, his hand trembling as he lifted it to your lips. Your eyes never left his as you took the bite, your tongue darting out to catch a stray drop of sauce, making his stomach turn.

The sauce was still sweet on your tongue when a familiar voice cut through the festival noise. "Well, well, well..." You turned just in time to see Nicholas elbowing Maki violently in the ribs, while he pointed dramatically at your still-linked fingers.

Jo froze like a deer in headlights.

Nicholas’ grin was downright predatory as they approached the both of you. "Look who's holding hands." You could feel the panic radiating off Jo as he tightened his grip on your hand.

“So when were you gonna tell us you two were–”

A sudden boom cut Maki off. All of you looked up as the first firework exploded overhead, painting the sky in shining colours.

Maki opened his mouth again, most likely to make another joke, but Nicholas grabbed his sleeve and yanked him backwards with a knowing smirk. "We’re leaving. The fireworks just started."

Jo exhaled shakily as his friends departed. “Sorry about them…”

You smiled, tracing your thumb over his knuckles in reassurance. “I don’t mind. I think it was fun.”

Another firework burst, closer this time. The sound vibrated through your chest, and Jo’s fingers twitched against yours.“Hum… We should–”

“Yeah, let’s go by the beach!” You didn't wait for Jo's response, just tugged him forward, weaving through the crowd with your fingers still locked together. The festival noise faded behind you as you reached the narrow path leading down to the shore, the sand cool beneath your sandals.

The beach was surprisingly empty. Just a few scattered couples were watching the fireworks reflect across the dark water. You led Jo to a flat stretch of sand, the waves lapping gently a few meters away.

You sat down on the sand and another firework burst overhead. This one was a shimmering blue that painted Jo's face in ethereal light. His eyes were wide, lips slightly parted as he stared up at the sky. You couldn’t look away.

“Pretty” He murmured.

“Yeah…” You agreed, softly. “Pretty.”

Jo turned his head slightly, catching your gaze, only to realize with a jolt that you weren’t looking at the fireworks at all. His eyes widened. He whipped his head back around so fast his bangs flopped into his eyes, his shoulders hunching up to his ears.

You couldn’t help it; you laughed, the sound bright and clear over the waves. Jo groaned, covering his face with his free hand. "Don’t laugh," he mumbled, though there was no real protest in it.

"You know," you mused, swinging your joined hands lightly between you, "since you held my hand the entire night, I thought you’d be less shy about eye contact."

Jo made a strangled noise. "I'm— That's not—" Then a frustrated sigh, his left hand dragging down his flushed face."You're mean..."

You grinned, leaning closer until your shoulder pressed fully against his. "I'm just speaking my mind."

Another firework. "Besides, I like it. The way you get all flustered. I think it’s cute."

You rest your head against his shoulder, your temple brushing the curve of his neck and Jo stops breathing for a second. His entire body goes rigid. He wished he could answer to you telling him he’s cute, return the compliment at least. But the words wouldn’t go past his lips. So, slowly, so slowly, he relaxes into your contact, his shoulder dipping slightly to accommodate you better. That’s all he could do for now.

"Is this okay?" you murmured, your words nearly lost under the next firework’s boom. Jo’s fingers flexed around yours."Y-Yeah," he breathed. "More than… more than okay."

You smiled against the fabric of his yukata, inhaling the faint scent of laundry and something unique to him: warm and comforting. He was so stiff you were worried about moving yourself.

"You’re nervous," you observed, tilting your head to peer up at him.

Jo swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing under your gaze. "I’m not—" The lie died on his lips when you squeezed his hand. He breathed shakily before admitting: "...A little."

"Why?" You nudged his knee with yours. "It’s just me."

His hand tensed slightly, and then suddenly he let go. You barely had time to register the loss of contact before his hand lifted, trembling, hovering near your hair like he wanted to touch but didn’t quite dare. His fingers twitched, suspended in the air for a breathless moment before he exhaled sharply and let his arm drop back to his side, fingers curling into the sand instead.

"Sorry," he muttered, his eyes glued to the glittering sky. Before you could ask, Jo spoke again, so quiet the words nearly dissolved into the crash of waves. "Because it’s you."

Your breath caught. Then, his pinky finger stretched out, brushing against yours where they rested in the cool sand. You smiled and hooked your finger around his, making his shoulders relax.

His bangs had fallen into his eyes again, obscuring his expression. Without thinking, you reached up and gently pushed them aside with your other hand, your fingertips lingering against his temple.

Jo froze, then leaned into your touch, just slightly, his eyes fluttering shut. Above you, the fireworks painted the sky in bursts of gold, but neither of you looked up.

"I—" A deafening firework exploded overhead, drowning out Jo's voice completely. The sky flashed crimson, illuminating the way his throat moved as he swallowed hard, his pinky still hooked stubbornly around yours in the sand.

You leaned in closer, tilting your head as you asked: "What?"

Jo's eyes darted everywhere but your face. It went from the ocean to his lap, to the distant festival lights, before finally settling on your intertwined fingers. His voice came out barely above a whisper.

"I... I like you."

There was a moment of silence. Then, realizing how painfully inadequate that sounded after months of stolen glances and trembling hands, he rushed to add: "Not—not just as a friend. Have for... a while." His free hand fidgeted with the hem of his yukata. "And tonight... I just..."

You waited, watching the way the fireworks reflected in his wide, earnest eyes. Jo took a shaky breath. "I didn't want it to end."

The admission hung between you, fragile and honest. You turned your hand palm up in the sand, a silent invitation for him to reconnect your hands. "Why would it have to end?"

Jo's breath hitched as his fingers instinctively laced with yours. "I just thought... that after tonight..." His voice trailed off as another firework burst, painting his nervous expression in pink light.

You leaned closer, your eyes searching for his. "I like spending time with you, Jo. Not just tonight."

His thumb brushed over your knuckles and he whispered, "Do you?" The quiet hope in his voice made your chest tighten."Of course I do," you answered earnestly.

Jo exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for hours. When he turned to face you properly, his eyes were brighter than the fireworks. "Can I... would you let me take you out? Like this? Again..?"

The question hung between you, trembling in the salt-tinged air. You didn't answer. Instead, you leaned in slowly, making sure you were giving him every chance to pull away. But Jo didn't move. His breath hitched as your noses brushed together, his gaze dropping to your lips for one endless, heart-stopping moment. You could see the flutter of his lashes,and feel the warm puff of his nervous exhale against your mouth.

Then you closed the distance.

The first press of your lips was feather-light, barely more than a whisper of contact. Jo froze completely, before melting into you with a quiet, desperate sound. His hands rose to cradle your face, trembling fingers tracing your jaw like you might disappear if he held on too tight.

When you pulled back, just enough to see his face, Jo's eyes stayed closed for a second longer, his lips still slightly parted. The fireworks reflected in the damp sheen of his lashes as he finally blinked them open, his expression so openly awestruck it made your chest flutter.

"Was that...?" His voice came out rough, his thumbs still stroking your cheeks like he couldn't quite believe what just happened. You smiled, brushing his bangs aside. "A yes."

Jo's breath left him in a rush. Then he was kissing you again, with no hesitation this time, just warm, sweet certainty. His fingers tangled gently in your hair as he tilted his head, his other arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer. Somewhere over your heads, the fireworks reached their crescendo in bursts of gold and crimson, but all you could focus on was the way Jo's heart raced against yours, the soft noise he made when you bit playfully at his bottom lip.

When you finally parted, both breathless, Jo kept his forehead pressed to yours, his eyes still closed. "So... tomorrow?" he whispered, voice wrecked.

You laughed, curling your fingers into his yukata. "Tomorrow." Then, because you couldn't resist - "And the day after that."

fireworks series masterlist.𖥔 ݁ ˖

#&team x reader #&team imagines #&team fluff #jo x reader #jo fluff #&team #jo #asakura jo #andteam x reader #andteam fluff #andteam imagines

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luckykiwiii101 · 6 months ago

Text

“SPOTTED: ANONYMOUS F*CKERS LOSING SOMETHING NOBODY KNEW THEY EVEN HAD…THEIR COMMON SENSE.”

ﾟ blah blah blahhhh ࿐

Hey Upper East Siders.

Pardon me for the time I took to write this, but I wasn’t sure whether to write a gossip post, or a eulogy, for some people’s common sense, that is.

Want to hear a story? Once upon a time, Mary had a little lamb, then the lamb grew up, gave birth, and that explains some people on this app. They follow each other, like sheep, one by one.

and that’s exactly what some of you are doing.

But when there’s so much smoke, who cares if there’s fire? Liars, Liars, Liars. I’m running out of fingers here, there’s too many to count!

But who’s talking? Oh wait, the lack of belief some people have in themselves. Like the great gossip girl I am, I decided to open my inbox to answer some pending success stories that have been sent to me. Instead, one anon said “slit your wrists”. I don’t usually like being told how to do things but if you’re going to tell me to do something, at least give me a physical demonstration. Maybe a…tutorial? Funny that you give me advice in a field you’re so specialised in…at least we have one thing in common. Someone give this one a pay rise. Since everything else in their life seems to be at an all time low.

As usual, it doesn’t end there. Another desperate lower east sider sent me: “You write things to yourself in your anonymous messages, come on, they're already realizing it.” Darling, just because you would, doesn’t mean I would. My blog runs on authenticity, not so-called tumblr “fame”. But of course, that’s just one concept your head’s too thick to wrap around.

Anyway, let’s move onto the bigger picture here. But…you might want to wear a gas mask. I’m afraid there are too many pants on fire! Allegedly. I’m sorry, that wasn’t clear? Let me say it again. Allegedly. Maybe if you listened as much as you’d spoke, you’d hear me, and I wouldn’t have to say it again.

It’s funny to say, but usually I’M the one gossiping, not the one gossiped about. But somehow, people have magically found a way to drag me through the dirt. No that’s not a tear in my eye, it’s disappointment. Disappointment that Mary’s little lamb turned out to be the mother of such…fuckers. Motherfuckers.

But back to the point, just found it flying right over your head. Listen closely so it doesn’t happen again. SPOTTED: A few lower east siders attempting to create their own little success story debunking club. They’re running in…circles? If there’s two things we know about circles, it’s that one, they are pointless (literally), and two, running in them, gets you nowhere (also literally).

Unluckily for them, a conclusion is something they’ll never come to, but to picture proof? They might just.

Picking and choosing which success stories are fake, and then asking them to send picture proof when you don’t believe? Please, there’s only so much laughs the upper east side can hold. Since your common sense seems to be searching for the divorce papers, i’ll break it down for you. Nobody owes you picture proof of their manifestations. But just like the many previous and countless times, people would just find a way to accuse them of getting their photos/videos on Pinterest, or the good old photoshop. Well I know a shop where you can’t buy photos, and it’s called your imagination, and when you use it, not only do you find your common sense in there, but you also get exactly what you want. Not such a difficult concept to grasp is it? Keep talking and i’ll see your head peeking over the empire state building soon enough.

Now once again, onto the next idiotic attempted claim. “These success stories have such similar desires”. Oh i’m sorry? But we live in a generation full of trends. And with trends come followers. And we call those followers sheep. I’ve counted sheep so many times so far, I might just fall asleep. This might sound crazy but…people get inspired…wait for it…by other people’s…don’t scream just yet…IDEAS! I know, it’s hard to believe. Crazy right.

But in my lovely consideration of not hurting your ego, I do acknowledge the rare valid points some of you’ve made. Like bloggers suddenly having each others accounts. Like bloggers saying they’ve manifested their dream lives, yet still staying on tumblr to argue with anons who call them liars. That doesn’t really make sense, honestly, even to me. But what gets me is the idea of picking and choosing certain success stories that have common desires, similar “typing” styles, and not enough enthusiasm. Apparently that’s the criteria you need to meet, in order to have a “fake success story”…Who the actual fuck are you to decide what’s not enthusiastic enough? So just because someone’s success story doesn’t sound like how you imagine your own to turn out, therefore it’s fake? If someone isn’t freaking out and smashing their keyboard whilst writing their success story then it’s fake? Are you fucking dumb? Let me answer that for you, first of all yes, you are fucking dumb. Second of all, you look for YOUR idea of success in THEIR success stories, so when you don’t see your ideal version of success, and your ideal reaction to success, you immediately assume it’s fake, because you cannot relate to it because “it’s not how you would react or what you would manifest”. Because your dumb fucking arse cannot comprehend the world beyond your own perception. Why? Because you’re a fucking dumbarse.

Call me crazy, but if one word comes to mind, it’s projection. And yes there are liars here and there, but the struggle to believe in others successes is just the struggle to believe in yourself. If you were reading those success stories from your mansion, with your desired appearance, in your desired city, with everything you could possibly want, reading other people’s success stories wouldn’t be so difficult would it. Why? Because humans learn from experience. But some of them are just too ignorant to consider, that with every person, comes a different experience. “Oh I didn’t succeed, therefore there’s no way they could have, they’re lying!!!!” Poor babies, may I ask where this desire to look for inconsistencies in success stories came from? I think we ALL know…it’s pretty easy to disbelieve in something that you believe you can never have. What was that word again…projection.

Yet again, I can’t believe I have to remind you that it’s not you against the world. Nobody is out to get you. Loablr is not some plot to make you believe in something that isn’t real. I don’t know what level of delusion that takes but usually it’s enough to put you in a straight jacket. Get off the app and touch grass. No one will notice if you leave, trust me. But in all fairness, I’ve read a few success stories that have seemed ingenuine to me. But do I have proof of that? No. So do I make a blog “calling them out” when I have no way of 100% knowing that, or do I move on with my life and focus on my own successes instead of their alleged fake ones? You think it hasn’t occurred to people that other people could be lying? If you think otherwise, boy have I got news for you. And most IMPORTANTLY, like I said before, YOU cannot define what ingenuine is, because YOU cannot predict other people’s reactions, nor can you see them from behind their screens. And since some of you are so obsessed with “real life” proof, you still decide to ignore success stories OUTSIDE of tumblr. Especially, Celebrity success stories. So CLEARLY there’s not much we can do for you here. You claim to believe in the law of assumption, then go and fucking apply it, instead of thinking you have some valid point to “prove”. You’re not as “woke” as you think you are. I don’t care if you can’t control your suspicions of others, i’m not telling you to stop feeling suspicious, but it’s the way you go about it that matters. And the way some of you do it, is disgusting.

If there’s anyone who is currently reading this who has lied about any successes whatsoever, you’re pathetic. And I hope you feel ashamed. And yes, no one actually knows who you are, but that’s not where the consequence lies honey, the consequence lies in the fact that you don’t have anything you want. Think about that for a second. Bitch. Instead of louboutin red bottoms, you literally have a red bottom. Don’t break your knuckles trying to get the extinguisher out.

Anyway. There’s so much more I could say about how unfathomably stupid some of you are but if I were to, then I’d be here all day. So i’ll leave it at that. And keep in mind, when I don’t reply to you, or when I block you, it’s not because i’ve got nothing to say or that i’m “defeated”, it just means that you are not worth my time and that i’ve probably already made a point that yet again flew over your head that you therefore missed.

As if some of you haven’t embarrassed yourselves enough already, you’ve decided to dig your holes even deeper. Maybe a little too deep. I think i’m starting to feel the earth’s core, maybe the heat wasn’t coming from the liars fiery pants after all…

I guess success is just harder for you to believe when your self concept is buried almost as low as you, when you debunk, insult, and argue yourself to death. Ofcourse someone who’s so used to failing sees nothing but failure. Can I even blame you? You know who you are. Pathetic.

- gossip girl

#void state #void #law of assumption #loa tumblr #loassumption #loa blog #loablr #manifestation #loa #the void state #law of assumption blog #loa manifestation #law of manifestation

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sirbonesly · 2 months ago

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John's Competent Wife pt. 2 (of the remake)

@anonmousegosqueak @writer-fennec @ihaventgotaclue-really

Jon comes home after exactly 33 days, dropping his stuff off in his room and showering before he passes out. The next day, he takes notice of his truck missing from the driveway and your car in its place. Huffing to himself about having to drive the small vehicle, he heads over to your home on the other side of the city, shoulders cramping from the tight fit and the toll of the mission he just got back from.

Pulling into your driveway, he smiles at the sight of his truck before realising that the back is open and you’re already walking out dressed for a day of manual labour. His brow raises as he parks your car and steps out, hands already on his hips and stalking over to you. The moment you see him, the toolbox in your hand, his toolbox, is set on the ground so you can run over to him and wrap your arms around him, face buried into his neck. Strong arms wrap around your waist, a scratchy and overgrown beard rubbing against your neck, bumped nose brushing along your jawline.

“Missed you, dove. Missed you so much.”

“You’re home, that’s all I care about, Jon.”

Your hug is interrupted by Anise, her hands filled with a box of paint swatches and flooring samples, her kind voice gasping with surprise at the sight of your husband. The small box is put in the truck as you finally let go of Jon, you’re friend rushing over to finally meet him.

“Hi, I’m Anise Bellick! I’m your neighbour, well, the neighbour of the house your wife has been fixing up. It’s so nice to finally meet you! She’s told me so much about you, all good things, I assure.”

Jon’s eyes flicker to you before he shakes the offered hand, clearly unbalanced by the cheerful and downright bubbly older woman. It doesn’t take long for Anise to begin ranting (bragging) about all of the progress you’ve made on the house, only some of it with her help. You feel the heat rise to your face, can see the proud, but confused look in Jon’s eyes, bordering on doubtful. You won’t lie and say that it doesn’t sting, but you also know that this is a huge project that you’ve seeming done without help.

“You should come look at it with us, we were just about to go and start looking at the paint samples.”

“You don’t think it might be a bit early for painting, dove? The house wasn’t exactly in the best condition when I left.”

Whatever doubt your husband has in your skills is promptly abandoned when he actually sees the inside of the house. Still unfurnished for the most part, the house is sectioned off with sticky notes, stuck to the floor or the walls, each with a piece of furniture written on it. Jon takes in the sight of the house with calculating eyes, seeing the new air conditioning and heating system on the wall of the foyer, the new facet on the kitchen sink. You lead him through the house talking about things you didn’t even know about a month ago, talking about how you had to replace the ventilation covers, replace the baseboards in the upstairs bedroom, even how you and Anise managed to fix the ladder into the attic. Jon listens to you talk and talk and talk, hearts in his eyes as he realises that you keep looking back at him for approval of your work.

“Where’d you learn to do all of this, dove? Last I checked, you used to ask me to fix the sink when it leaked.”

The colour of your cheeks when you blush is Jon’s favourite colour, and he gently tilts your head up to meet his eyes, thumbs brushing over the heated skin. He feels home with you in his hands, surrounded by your hard work.

“A lot of it was tutorial videos, and a bunch of help from Anise. She’s been teaching me a lot about the mundane things, like fixing a leaky skin.”

You laugh a little at your own joke, Jon’s eyes crinkling with a smile. He asks questions after that; makes you explain how you got so much done in such a short amount of time. He’s a little surprised to hear that you’ve been making appointments with just a little help from Anise, but he’s proud nonetheless, proud that you’ve done so much without him. He always knew you were more independent than his last wife, that you loved having a job and being able to fend for yourself. But seeing you like this, in one of his old shirts with your hair pulled back, using his tools. It makes him fall in love with you even more.

#john price #john price x reader #call of duty

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dr-spectre · 11 months ago

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So.... This game is 2 years old now huh?

Honestly... I don't think i have a TON to say about this game. It's just a great ass fucking video game that has given me a lot of fun and great memories!

This game came out during my final year of school, which is kinda funny considering that Splatoon 3 acts like a "finale" to a trilogy. It's interesting how those kinds of things work out eh? Splatoon 2 came out at the start of my secondary education, and Splatoon 3 came out at the tail end of my final year.

I remember thinking before the game came out, "why do we need a Splatoon 3? This is pointless, it's just more Splatoon 2." And then my mind was quickly changed once i got to play the Splatfest test fire and the actual game itself.....

I completed ROTM in such a short amount of time and i documented my reactions to my friends. Although i was spoiled in that Deep Cut had boss fights and Mr. Grizz was the final boss, ROTM still gave me a giant smile to my face all the way through. It was so fun, so charming and just a really good single player experience.

One of the things that i LOVE about Splatoon 3 is the vibe. I just love the location of Splatsville, i love the aesthetics, the lighting, the model improvements from Splatoon 2, the music, it's my favourite art style/aesthetic out of any of the Splatoon games by far. It just feels so polished, i don't know how to exactly describe it.

Also the fact that this game won best multiplayer game of 2022 over CALL OF DUTY! OVERWATCH 2 AND MULTIVERSUS MAKES ME SO GIDDY AND HAPPY!

PEOPLE GOT MAD ABOUT THIS AND THAT MAKES ME WANNA EVIL LAUGH! All of those fucking depressed and sad Call of Duty players who whine and complain about how "wahh modern gaming sucks!! There's no good games anymore wahhh!! It's all microtransactions wahhh!!" BITCH! SPLATOON 3 IS LITERALLY THE GAME YOU'VE BEEN ASKING FOR!! Yet you won't play it because it's on Nintendo huh? Yeah... You're a fucking PUSSY!! YOU'RE WEAK!! You're SCARED to be seen as less of a manly man!! You only wanna play games with oily dirty buff men.... Yet you call others who play games like Splatoon gay? Hmm..... Sounds like you're a wittle insecureeeeee!!!!

Have fun rotting in microtransaction hell you LOSERS!! GAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anyways.... uh.... sorry....

I also fucking love Deep Cut too. I thought i wasn't gonna like these guys and i remember thinking when i first saw them "oh... okayyyy..."

But now? I love these bastards.

I love their dynamic and how they are bandits but they actually wanna help the people back in Splatsville. That is such a cool and unique take to have for Idol characters. The Squid Sisters are very cutesy and so are Off the Hook, but Deep Cut aren't. They are loud, messy, chaotic, in your face, rude, etc. They are about contrast and the character designers did a phenomenal job at conveying that theme via their backgrounds and looks.

Another thing that i love about Splatoon 3 is that it also acts as a celebration of things that have come before, Inkopolis Plaza and Square return as hubs, old colour combos from previous games act as loading screens, most of the music returns in the jukebox, it rewards long time fans for sticking around and for a long running franchise IT'S SUPER IMPORTANT to have that stuff!!!

Seeing the improvements in the model quality from Splatoon 1 to 3 genuinely makes me kinda emotional, it shows how far we've come in just a little under 10 years...

It really homes in on the point that... These characters, have grown up with us.... The Squid Sisters are about to reach their mid 20s, Pearl is nearly 30 fucking years old!!!

And the last thing i wanna bring up before i talk about the Grand Fest...

...Is Side Order.

This fucking DLC... My god... Being able to experience it by myself and just enjoy the stuff i was seeing, being able to SCREAM AND CRY AS MUCH I WANT WAS SO IMPORTANT TO ME DUDE!

When i got to the 10th floor in the tutorial and i saw Marina Agitando staring me down.... I did the loudest gasp a human could possibly do and my jaw was hung to the floor for a solid MINUTE!

Marina's first fucking dev diary made me cry and scream, THAT IS NOT A JOKE!!!! THESE CHARACTERS ARE THAT IMPORTANT TO ME!

And the final boss.... Made me cry, it broke me down, i was singing along to Ebb and Flow as best as i could, it felt like i was brought back to 2018, being in my room, listening to that song on repeat... I feel like a kid again....

I love this song... i love it so much... Like it's not the most hype finale song ever, but, the emotion behind it, the build up from Splatoon 2... The power this song has in it's meaning... It's some good shit man...

youtube

So yeah! I love Splatoon 3!!! It's my favourite game out of the series and anyone who is gonna jump into this game now is gonna have a LOT to chew on.

And... It's both sweet and sad that we're at the end. This is it... The moment we've been waiting for. The final Splatfest to end them all. The event 9 years in the making.

The Grand Festival...

I am extremely excited and so FUCKING NERVOUS for this Splatfest!!!! I know i am going to cry and be so overwhelmed with joy. Seeing the Squid Sisters and Off the Hook perform their old songs again after all of these years is gonna make me sob so loudly it's not even funny.

These characters genuinely mean the world to me and it's gonna be so fucking hard for me to watch their final major appearance and say goodbye. Cause after this, we don't know what's gonna happen. I know they will come back, they have to but... In what capacity? That's what I'm scared about...

So yeah, let's savior this moment when it eventually arrives, take all the time you need to be engulfed in the Grand Fest.

Thank you Splatoon 3, you have given me so much.... It's not time to say goodbye just yet but, i wanna watch you as you walk into the sunset with your head held high....

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smutmind · 3 months ago

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"Only Once"

Sana was always known for her bubbly personality and stunning looks in TWICE, but she had a hidden side. One night, after scrolling through social media, she stumbled upon the world of online fandoms and adult content. Curiosity piqued, she decided to dip her toes into this unknown territory.

At first, she created an anonymous account, carefully masking her identity. She felt a thrill course through her as she uploaded the first video. It was a playful dance routine, nothing overtly suggestive, but her curves were undeniable, especially in the tight, sparkly crop top. A silent smile stretched across her lips. This was different. This was... fun.

As her followers grew, so did the messages.

"Damn, that body," a comment popped up. Sana's fingers hovered over the reply box. Should I respond? Or just keep it moving?

Internal debate raged: Is this okay? Am I crossing a line? Is it too much? A mischievous glint appeared in her eyes. Maybe not too much... yet. A comment about how "she's a goddess" made her chuckle. They think I'm some kind of goddess. She typed a simple, playful reply: "Just trying to have fun."

Her phone buzzed. A direct message. "Wanna do something more... intimate?" Sana froze. What the hell? This wasn't what I envisioned! Her fingers trembled as she looked at the message again. Is this a bad idea? Should I just ignore it?

Another comment: "That little ass shake... pure fire." The thrill was back. Is it just the validation? Or am I enjoying this too much? She typed back, a playful smirk gracing her lips: "Just warming up."

-----

[Her first 1000]

Sana stared at the screen, a mischievous smile spreading across her face. She had just hit the fantastic milestone of 1,000 followers on her channel, and the excitement bubbled inside her. Time to celebrate with a playful routine!

Setting up her camera in the bathroom, she adjusted the lighting to highlight the fun atmosphere. With a quick glance at her reflection, she picked up her toothbrush. Let’s see how far I can take this.

As the camera rolled, she leaned in close, her playful smile contagious. "Hey, everyone! Thanks for 1,000 followers! You’re all amazing!" The excitement in her voice was palpable.

With a giggle, she began brushing her teeth, exaggerating every movement. "Let’s spice things up today," she said, a teasing glint in her eyes. "Sometimes, you just gotta make the most of what you've got… and this toothbrush?" She wiggled it playfully. "Let’s just say it could be something a bit… naughtier."

The comment section erupted: 😍“Wow, she’s really turning that toothbrush into a whole mood!” 😍“Is this a tutorial on how to blow someone away? Because I’m here for it!” 😍“Who knew brushing teeth could be so steamy?”

Suddenly, a gag caught her off guard, and she let out a light giggle, her cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and excitement. A bit of toothpaste foamed over, streaking down her chin and gliding onto her tank top, drawing attention to her enticing cleavage.

😍 "I can’t even focus on the brushing with you looking like that!"

“Looks like we have a bit of a situation here,” she teased, running her fingers along the damp fabric. She smiled at the camera, knowing her audience was hanging on her every word.

“Who knew brushing my teeth could turn into such a... wet and wild moment?” she said playfully, her voice dripping with seduction. She glanced at the chat, where comments were pouring in.

💬 "Wow, that’s so sexy! 😍" 💬 "You’re making me blush over here!" 💬 "Can you please show us more? 🙈"

With a cheeky grin, she took a step back, letting the tank top fall slightly lower, revealing more of her skin. “I guess I should give you a little tease now, huh?” she said, biting her lip and giving a playful shimmy that caused the damp fabric to cling even closer to her curves.

As she playfully brushed her teeth, her phone pinged with another private message. She glanced down, and her heart skipped a beat when she read it: "I know what you're doing. See you soon."

The playful atmosphere vanished in an instant, replaced by a cold wash of fear. Who could know her true self? How much did they really know?

She stood just outside the frame of her recording, her playful smile fading as anxiety gripped her. The world that felt so safe and fun moments before suddenly seemed dark and threatening. Her hands trembled slightly as she gripped her phone tightly.

“No, no, no…” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head as her mind raced with questions.

The camera still recorded, capturing the tension in the air, but she couldn’t continue. She needed to think. She turned away from the mirror, her pulse quickening with every second that passed.

In one swift motion, she reached out and pressed the stop button, the red dot at the top of the screen blinking off.

“I can’t do this right now,” she whispered, her breath quickening as she clenched her fists.

to be continued

#sana smut #sana twice #kpop smut

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 2 years ago

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Counting the Minutes

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Dirty talk, masturbation, phone sex. Word count: ~1k

Summary: Separated for the Christmas break, her and Michael have to get creative.

Author's note: A little addition to The Golden Ratio, though can also be read as a standalone piece. Day twelve of the Smuffmas prompts - "promise and phone sex". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She nestles beneath the duvet, clicking through the contacts on her Nokia until she reaches Michael’s name. A faint smile tugs at her lips as her finger hovers over the call button, she can’t wait to speak to him.

They have been inseparable since the night that Oliver ditched him. They brought out the best in each other. Michael lit a fire underneath her that made her want to study harder, to strive for perfection in all things. In turn, she softened him up and taught him not to see the world through such a harsh lens.

Their relationship had become serious enough that they had both chosen to spend their reading week together, instead of going home like the vast majority of people at their college had.

Now the term was over, and Christmas had beckoned them both home; Michael back to his mum, and her back to her dad. It’s odd not to see him every day, and though they’d stayed in touch on MSN Messenger, nothing compares to sitting with their legs entwined as they discuss their notes for their upcoming tutorials.

It’s only been a week and she misses the way he rests his chin against his hand when he’s deep in thought, how the intensity of his unblinking, blue eyed stare causes her skin to grow hot, and the smell of Imperial Leather soap and old books that she inhales when she rests her face in the crook of his neck.

Holding the phone to her ear, it rings once, twice, three times before he answers.

“Hello, you.”

His voice gives her butterflies. It’s the sound she’d attribute to how it feels to run your fingertips against plush velvet.

“Hi,” she says back with a coy smile. God, she wishes she could see him.

“How long can you talk for?” He asks.

“I put credit on my phone yesterday, ten pounds, so should be good for a while.”

“One hundred and sixty six point seven hours.”

She huffs a laugh. Of course his mind wanders to the maths of it.

“You think we could talk for that long?”

“Hmm,” he muses, “I’m sure we could find a way to pass the time.”

“Like we did during reading week?” She asks softly, her fingers drawing lazy circles against the cotton of her bedsheets.

“Can’t really do that over the phone.”

“Have you ever had phone sex before?”

She hears him suck in a harsh breath before he replies. “What do you think?”

It causes her to giggle. Of course he hasn’t.

“Would you like to try it?” She holds the phone tighter to her ear, a lazy grin upon her lips.

“What does it entail?”

“Well,” she begins, switching her mobile from one ear to the other, and snuggling further down into the bed. “We describe what we’d like to do to each other while we touch ourselves.”

“One thousand, two hundred and fifty.”

“What?”

“On average, I can make you orgasm in about eight minutes. If we run through all of your phone credit then that’s how many times I could make you come.”

“Michael!” She gasps, feeling her insides flutter at the thought. “I don’t think that would be physically possible. I’ll settle for just the one today.”

He huffs a soft laugh, the sound breathy through the receiver. “Yes, I suppose that’s a bit impractical. Alright then, you start.”

“I wish you here right now,” she purrs seductively. “I want to push my hand up your t-shirt and run my fingers against that little trail of hair that leads all the way down your stomach, before I wrap them around your cock.”

His breathing grows heavier and she can hear the faint rustle of clothing in the background. She bites her lip, her own hand snaking beneath the duvet and into the waistband of her knickers.

“I miss the way you feel,” he tells her, voice shaky, “how tightly you grip me when I first push inside of you. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that sensation. You’re so wet, so warm…”

She can hear the slick sound of his hand pumping over his cock, the sound sends arousal pooling between her legs and she circles her pearl in earnest, the added wetness aiding her ministrations. She hadn’t expected him to focus on the sensation of physical touch quite so much, but Michael is pragmatic after all, and his innovative approach excites her.

“Mmmm,” she moans quietly, “I want you to do that thing where you grab my hips to pull me back against you as you fuck me, it feels so good.”

A broken whimper escapes him, and there’s a brief moment of just his ragged breathing before he speaks again.

“The way your thighs tighten against my waist drives me mad. I swear I can still feel you there when I close my eyes, see the way your tits bounce– fuck!”

She whines, circling her bud faster, the coil in her gut tightening. “Wanna slide my hands down to your arse, push you in as deep as you’ll go, watch how your eyes screw shut as you come inside me.”

He grunts. “Wish I could come inside of you so badly. I need to feel you clenching around me, hear the pretty sounds you make as I fill you up.”

Her hips jerk involuntarily against her hand, and she knows she’s close. It’s been a week since he’s touched her and his filthy words have sent her unravelling much faster than she anticipated.

“I’m close,” she pants.

“M–me too,” he huffs back. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard the moment we get back to college.”

“Oh god–” Her response is cut off by her pleasured cry, as she falls apart, her walls spasming around emptiness as her thighs tremble.

A grunt and heavy breathing on the other end of the line lets her know that Michael has reached his end too. There’s nothing but the sound of their shared gasps for air, as they both recover.

“Do you promise?” She finally asks. “To fuck me hard when we get back to college?”

“Tell you what, let’s go back a day early and we can spend an entire day doing just that.”

She giggles excitedly, rolling onto her side. “I’ll be counting the minutes until then.”

Part two || Series masterlist

#michael gavey x you #ewan mitchell #michael gavey smut #michael gavey x y/n #michael gavey #michael gavey saltburn #michael gavey imagine #saltburn michael gavey #michael gavey x reader #michael gavey fan fiction #michael gavey fanfiction #michael gavey fanfic #michael gavey fan fic #saltburn #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn fan fiction #saltburn fan fic #saltburn fanfic

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kvysvdilla · 6 months ago

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𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑾𝑬𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑺𝑻 𝑩𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑲

--- Oneshot ---

Mark Lee-senior uni student x Y/N-junior uni student

Summary:

Y/N, a medical student, is hard at work on her presentation slides in the midst of a busy college schedule. While her boyfriend Mark Lee, a senior in electrical engineering and a basketball player, has a busy day of his own, but he still makes the effort to spend time with Y/N. What starts as a simple walk to her dorm turns into a cozy, intimate afternoon. Mark’s unexpected affection and caring gestures soften the stress Y/N’s been feeling. They enjoy quiet moments together in her dorm, where Mark even offers to cuddle, understanding the importance of balance between love and work. Y/N finds herself realizing just how much she’s missed these moments with him, making plans to prioritize their time together despite her busy schedule as a medical students.

GENRE: Romance | Fluff | College life | Slice of life | Student au.

The small classroom buzzed softly with chatter, the muted sounds of pens scratching against paper filling the air as Y/N and her friend, Hana, worked through the tutorial assigned by their lecturer. Y/N was halfway through labeling diagrams on her notebook, her mind partially tuned into Hana’s rambling about weekend plans.

“Seriously, Y/N,” Hana laughed, “you need to stop burying yourself in these anatomy books. You’re going to end up dreaming about nervous systems.”

Y/N grinned, spinning her pen between her fingers. “Hey, it’s my life. Welcome to medical course.”

“Yeah, yeah. We get it. Future pediatrician extraordinaire,” Hana teased.

Y/N glanced at her watch and noticed there were only five minutes left until the class ended. “Almost time,” she murmured, beginning to gather her pens.

Hana groaned, leaning back in her seat. “I can’t walk back to the dorms with you today. My aunt’s in the hospital, and I promised my mom I’d stop by to visit her.”

Y/N smiled understandingly. “It’s fine, Hana. The dorm’s just a 15-minute walk. I’ll enjoy the fresh air, and I’ve got my AirPods for some good music.”

Hana frowned. “You sure? You could ask Mark to come get you. He wouldn’t mind.”

Y/N shook her head quickly. “Mark has class when ours finishes. I don’t want to bother him over something this small. It’s still daylight, Hana. I’ll be fine.”

Their conversation was cut short by their lecturer clapping his hands. “Class dismissed! Don’t forget to prepare for your presentations next week.”

Hana scrambled to pack her things, muttering under her breath about buses and traffic. Meanwhile, Y/N calmly closed her notebook and slipped it into her bag.

“I have to run,” Hana said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Let me know when you get to the dorm, okay? Stay safe!”

“I will. Don’t worry,” Y/N reassured her.

With a quick wave, Hana dashed out of the room, leaving Y/N alone. She zipped up her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and walked toward the door.

But just as she stepped outside, a sudden force nudged her backward, making her stumble back into the classroom. Before she could react, her body was pressed gently against the wall beside the door.

A warm hand steadied her waist, and before she could say a word, soft lips brushed against hers in a quick, feather-light kiss.

Y/N blinked, her brain struggling to catch up. “M-Mark?!”

Standing in front of her was her boyfriend, Mark Lee. With his casual sweatshirt, and glasses resting on his nose, he looked every bit the charming senior she’d fallen for. Mark was in his third year of electrical engineering, a course that perfectly suited his meticulous and problem-solving nature.

He wasn’t just known for his brains, though—Mark was one of the most popular guys on campus. With his easygoing personality, boyish grin, and talent for making everyone feel comfortable, it was no surprise he had a long line of admirers. But despite the attention, he always made it clear that he only had eyes for her.

She’d first met Mark through Hana’s boyfriend, Haechan. It was a casual introduction during a group study session, and at first, she hadn’t thought much of it. But after a few encounters—where Mark’s subtle humor, thoughtfulness, and that shy little laugh of his shone through—she started seeing him in a different light.

The moment they became a couple was still vivid in her mind. It had been after weeks of late-night texts, study dates, and stolen moments of laughter. He had confessed in the most Mark way possible—straightforward and sincere.

“Hey, I just want to say that I like you. Like, really like you. You don't have to say it back if you don't want to. I just need let it out and just to let you know that I like you. But... Actually, it would be really nice if.. You know, if you like me back. Because I think we’d be great together. What do you say?”

And, well, how could she say no?

Back in the present, Mark’s chuckle pulled her from her thoughts. “You okay, baby?” he asked, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

She blinked a few times, her cheeks flushing. She slapped his chest lightly, glaring at him. “You almost gave me a heart attack, Mark!” she hissed in a whispered shout.

Mark laughed, his eyes crinkling. “Sorry, sorry. You were too hot to resist. With your messy bun hair, the glasses. Gosh.. Babe you're driving me crazy.”

She chuckled shortly before she realized something, “Wait- why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” she asked, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

Mark slid his hand down to hers, intertwining their fingers and walk hand in hand, “My class got canceled last minute. So, I figured I’d come to see my princess. But I’m starving, so how about we grab something to eat at the cafeteria?”

Y/N’s heart softened, and she couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at her lips. “Sure baby, let's fill up your stomach.”

His gaze suddenly darted around. “Wait, where’s Hana? You’re not walking back alone, are you?”

“She had to visit her aunt at the hospital,” Y/N explained as he led her down the hallway.

Mark frowned slightly but squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Good thing I came, then. There's no way I’m letting you walk back alone.”

Moments later, Y/N and Mark were seated at a small corner table in the university cafeteria. The air buzzed with conversation, clinking cutlery, and the occasional sound of laughter. Mark had already unwrapped the sandwich for her and he continue to open his.

“You’ve been working way too hard, baby,” Mark said taking a big bite of his sandwich. “Assignments, presentations, all that med school stress… You need to slow down a little.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled. “It’s not like I have a choice. Medical students don’t exactly get a lot of free time, you know. And besides, I’m handling it.”

“Handling it?” Mark gave her a knowing look. “Your dark circles tell a different story. Good thing I’m here to make sure you don’t turn into a zombie.”

She chuckled, shaking her head as she took a bite of her sandwich. “You’re ridiculous, Mark.”

“And you’re adorable,” he shot back with a grin.

As Y/N leaned forward to sip her drink, her glasses slid down the bridge of her nose. Mark instinctively reached out, gently pushing them back up.

“Careful, Doc,” he teased, referring to her dream of becoming a doctor. “Can’t have you losing your vision now. Who’s going to save lives if you can’t see straight?”

Y/N swatted his hand away, laughing. “I can handle my own glasses, thank you very much.”

“Sure you can,” he teased with a smirk.

Mark leaned back in his chair and took another bite of his sandwich before casually mentioning, “By the way, I’ve got basketball practice this afternoon. It’s at 4, but I was kinda hoping you’d come with me. Jeno told me his girl is gonna be there too.”

Y/N glanced at him, her expression apologetic. “Mark, you know I’d love to, but I really can’t. I still have to settle those presentation slides, write the patient case summary, and prep for tomorrow’s anatomy quiz. Everything is due this week, and I’m already behind.”

Mark’s shoulders slumped a little, and he gave her his signature puppy-dog eyes. “But I miss you,” he pouted.

She sighed softly, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. “I miss you too. But it’s not like I can just skip out on work.”

“I know, I know,” he mumbled, though the disappointment was clear in his tone.

Feeling bad, Y/N smiled and said, “How about this—you can hang out in my dorm until practice. Hana’s visiting her aunt at the hospital, so she won’t be back until dinner. You can nap or chill there while I work on my slides. Deal?”

Mark’s face lit up immediately. “Wait, really? You’re sure I won’t be a distraction?”

Y/N gave him a pointed look. “You will be a distraction, but as long as you keep it quiet and let me focus, I think I can handle it.”

He grinned, already looking much happier. “Deal. I’ll just be your supportive boyfriend quietly lounging on your bed.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably in love with you,” he quipped, winking.

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips. As the two of them chatted, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the occasional glances being thrown their way. Or, more accurately, being thrown Mark’s way.

A group of girls sitting a few tables away seemed especially fixated on him. One of them whispered something to her friend, who giggled, while another blatantly stared, her eyes practically glued to Mark’s profile.

Y/N sighed softly, trying not to let it get to her. This wasn’t exactly new—Mark had always attracted attention. With his boy-next-door charm, easy smile, and that effortless cool vibe he carried, he was bound to catch people’s eyes wherever he went.

Mark seemed oblivious to it all, completely focused on Y/N as he asked, “So, what’s the plan after this? Straight to your dorm to tackle those slides?”

“Yeah,” Y/N replied, trying to ignore the stares. “I’ll have to power through the slides, case summary, and my notes for tomorrow’s quiz. No breaks for me today.”

Mark frowned, his concern evident. “You’ve got too much on your plate, babe. Don’t forget to take care of yourself.”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him.

“Well, at least you’ll have me there to make sure you don’t overwork yourself,” he said with a grin.

Y/N laughed. “As long as you don’t mess with my focus, you’re welcome to stay.”

"I’m just reminding you, I know my girlfriend,” he teased, reaching over to brush a crumb off her cheek.

The simple, affectionate gesture didn’t go unnoticed by the girls. One of them visibly pouted, and Y/N caught another one giving her a quick once-over.

“You okay?” Mark asked, tilting his head at her sudden silence.

Y/N hesitated before shaking her head with a small smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What’s wrong? You’re not getting sick, are you?”

“No, nothing like that,” she replied, resting her chin on her palm. “It’s just…” She trailed off, glancing briefly in the direction of the girls.

Mark followed her gaze, quickly catching on. He leaned back in his seat, his lips quirking up in a lopsided grin. “Ah, I see.”

“What?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous,” he teased, his voice dropping to a playful whisper.

Y/N’s face heated up. “I’m not jealous. It’s just… annoying.”

Mark chuckled, reaching across the table to grab her hand. “Hey, let them look all they want. I’m not interested in anyone else but you.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the sincerity in his tone. His thumb brushed against her knuckles, grounding her.

“And besides,” he added with a smirk, “you’re way cuter than they are. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the blush on her cheeks betrayed her. “You’re lucky you’re charming, Mark Lee.”

“I know,” he said, winking at her.

As they continued their meal, the stares and whispers faded into the background. Mark had a way of making her feel like she was the only person in the room, and for now, that was all that mattered.

And with that, they finished their meal, ready to tackle the rest of their day together, no matter how hectic it got.

Once they arrived at Y/N’s dorm, Mark immediately made himself at home. As soon as they stepped inside, he threw his backpack on the floor, grinning mischievously before leaping onto her bed. He pulled out his phone, scrolling through it aimlessly as he laid back with his hands behind his head.

Y/N, on the other hand, was focused. She pulled her bag over to the desk and started taking out her iPad, notebook, and a few textbooks, arranging them neatly on the table. As she walked past him, she paused by her bed and leaned down, giving Mark a deep, lingering kiss on the lips.

“Stay put,” she whispered, brushing his hair from his face. “I’m going to be a while finishing all this work.”

Mark is kinda shock by her bold move but he just smiled up at her, nodding. “Woah.. I'm not gonna lie, that's kinda hot. But don't worry baby. I won’t disturb you, promise.” He winked, his voice soft with affection and give a quick peck on her lips.

Y/N smiled back and settled into her chair, opening her iPad to get to work. Mark, as promised, remained quiet, occasionally glancing up at her while scrolling on his phone. His presence was comforting, but he didn’t push her to spend time with him, allowing her to focus. He hummed softly to himself, clearly content but still stealing occasional glances at her.

Minutes passed, and as Y/N was deeply immersed in her work, she suddenly felt a soft kiss on the side of her neck. Startled, she gasped and looked up, only to find Mark standing behind her chair. She take her left hand to his head, playing with his hair while she's still focus on doing her tasks. He had removed his glasses, his tousled hair making him look even more handsome and effortlessly cool. He placed his hands beside her, trapping her gently between him and the desk.

“I’m kinda sleepy,” he murmured in a deep, sleepy voice, his breath warm on her neck as he continued kissing her jaw and behind her ear. “I was thinking… maybe we can take a quick nap? Just a short one? We could cuddle for a bit.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered at his words, but she knew she had to finish her work. “You go ahead and sleep, Mark,” she replied softly as she remove her hand from his hair, “I’ll be done soon. You can rest first.”

Mark sighed, looking slightly disappointed but understanding. “Okay, baby. I got it.” He placed one last kiss on her neck before walking back to the bed, settling down with a soft exhale.

Y/N stared at him for a moment, guilt creeping in as she saw how comfortable he looked, how relaxed he was, waiting for her. She bit her lip and glanced at the work on her desk, but after a few more minutes of feeling the weight of rejection, she closed her iPad and packed her books away.

Without another thought, Y/N walked over to the bed, climbing in next to him. Mark stirred as he felt the mattress shift, and Y/N jumped next to him. She pushed his messy hair back from his forehead and leaned down to place a soft kiss on his forehead.

Mark stirred again, feeling the gentle touch. He smirked, his arms immediately wrapping around her waist, pulling her close. “Now you feel bad, huh?” he teased, his voice low and playful.

Y/N smiled, nodding sheepishly. “I didn’t want to keep rejecting you.” She laid her head on his chest, wrapping her arms around him as they cuddled together.

Mark sighed contentedly, his hand gently stroking her back. “I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured. “I don’t care if you’ve got work to do, as long as you’re with me, everything feels right.”

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other’s arms. The outside world faded as the two of them enjoyed the quiet moment, with Mark’s steady breathing lulling Y/N into a peaceful sleep.

Mark’s phone alarm blared loudly, pulling him out of his peaceful nap. He groaned softly as he stretched, his muscles sore from the long day of studying and practicing. He glanced at the time on his phone—3:30 PM. His basketball practice was in just a few minutes. He pushed his messy hair back, running a hand through it before he turned to look at Y/N.

She was still sound asleep, laying comfortably in his arms, her breathing steady and peaceful. He smiled softly, watching her for a moment before carefully brushing the stray strands of hair from her face. He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, then a soft peck on her cheek, being careful not to wake her up. She deserved this rest, he thought.

“How did I became so lucky? How can this beautiful thing ended up being my girlfriend?” Mark thought to himself with a small smile before slowly slipping out of the bed. He walked quietly to the bathroom to wash his face and freshen up, not wanting to disturb her.

Meanwhile, Y/N stirred slightly from the sound of running water. She opened her half-closed eyes and looked at the clock on her study table. It was already 3:53 PM. No wonder—Mark’s basketball practice was coming up. She sat up slowly, her eyes still a bit sleepy, but she kept glancing at the bathroom door, waiting for him to come out.

Mark walked out of the bathroom a few moments later, a bit startled to see Y/N sitting on the edge of the bed. He quickly apologized. “Oh- Hey baby. Did I woke you up,” he ask, closing the bathroom door.

Y/N smiled softly, shaking her head. “No, you're not,” she whispered. She sat up fully, stretching slightly.

He grabbed and wears his glasses, getting ready to leave. “So, I’m heading to practice now,” he said casually, glancing over at her.

Y/N frowned just a little, her eyes half-closed in confusion. “Why didn’t you wake me earlier?” she asked softly, a hint of playful frustration in her voice.

Mark was taken aback for a moment, but then walks towards her as he cupped her face in his hands, gently caressing her cheeks. “I didn’t want to disturb you. You were sleeping so soundly, and I would feel bad waking you up,” he said sincerely.

Y/N thought for a moment, then smiled softly as she place her hand on top of his that is still cupping her face. “I actually wanted to come with you to practice,” she admitted looking at Mark who is standing in front of her.

Mark blinked in surprise, pausing his actions for a moment. She continued, “I realized we haven’t really spent much time together lately. But I also need to finish my assignments and presentation slides. They’re due soon.”

A smile spread across Mark’s face as his eyes lit up. “You want to come with me?” he asked, his voice filled with excitement.

Y/N smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been busy with everything, and I miss hanging out with you.”

Without a word, Mark pulled her by her neck into a deep, lingering kiss. The warmth of his lips and the passion behind the kiss made Y/N feel a little dizzy, but she smiled against his lips.

She pulled away for a second, whispering, “I need to get ready though…”

Mark raised an eyebrow playfully. “Get ready for what? You look perfect as you are. You’re already dressed for class, and you look amazing.” He gave her a mischievous grin.

Y/N giggled, a little surprised at his comment. “Is that so?” she teased.

“Absolutely, 201%,” Mark responded with a confident nod, his smile never fading.

Y/N laughed softly, feeling the warmth of his affection. “Well, in that case, maybe I’ll just go with you as I am.”

Mark’s eyes softened, his smile growing even more. “Good decision,” he whispered, pulling her back into his arms for one more kiss before they left for the practice together.

The end.

Author's note:

Hey lovely readers,

First of all, thank you so much for taking the time to read the Mark Lee oneshot! It truly means a lot to me, and I’m so grateful for your support and feedback. Writing this has been such a fun and rewarding experience, and I’m glad to have you along for the journey.

Thank you again for your love and support—you’re amazing! Stay tuned and take care!

With love,

kvys. 🖤

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