#we've reached a low peak too

[addcests]

a family is you, and you, and :: ch6 - ao3 mirror

pairing the addcest is there if you believe

words 3565

rating [T]

summary "Hey, Dominator, where's Psyker?" It's an innocent question, at first. And then it rings, rings, rings through Dominator's mind constantly, like an incessant nagging that he doesn't want to quite acknowledge presently. Not yet. So he doesn't. "He's out." It's not a complete lie, anyway. --- If you'd ask each Add what family meant, they'd have similarly different answers. A contradiction in and of itself—a testament to the very conception of their existence. Yet, there lies one thing wholly similar; a conviction all three share: they'd fight for their family. And now they must.

note woo boy that sure was a ride when i said things wouldn't happen ig i kind of lied sorry! LMAO but! at least i made up for this chapter with this whoping 5.4k words! anyway, the first scene was really fun to write... ! <3 i love giving dom hope also can't wait to snatch it from him! <333 and trouble in paradise... if it's not one thing with these adds it's another smh :/ but! all will be well! eventually, maybe, hopefully! thanks for reading <3

Dominator calculated the delusional low possibility but, much like the flawed past he once yearned for, he did not expect the reality of today to actually happen.

“You're… here, welcome back, dear Esper.”

“I missed you.”

Normally, that type of reply might warm Dominator’s cold heart; it might also make him want to tease his younger counterpart. But hearing a tinge of desperation that he hadn't felt since he last saw him—bordering worry, was it?—tugged at the scientist’s heart in a way he could not articulate presently.

So he doesn’t.

What he does instead is offer his weary traveler a smile, gesturing for him to approach with wide, welcoming arms held out towards him. “And I you, it has been…” Sixty-three days, eighteen hours, seven minutes and twenty-two seconds. “... some time now, hasn't it?”

Again, he expects Esper to finally tease him, to poke at him for this or that. He prepares himself for it.

Instead, he finds himself half catching, half holding Esper who flings himself into his arms instead rather suddenly, arms wounding tight around his form. 

Dominator did not expect to wake up to his ex-absent visitor. He didn't expect such a gesture—a hug—from the Diabolic Esper. 

(But not as a lack of or absence of something on Esper’s behalf, rather he attributed it to himself; the same ugly, gut wrenching feeling that left him numb when he allowed himself to feel and accept too much.)

And yet, as he draws Esper closer, his traitorous heart yearns for the touch and the comfort; he welcomes it. “Come now, it hasn't been that long, now has it? Tell me, what have you been up to? Not causing any trouble for my younger self have you?”

That does the trick. “I don't go out of my way looking for trouble,” he grumbles like a petulant child, as if recalling a particularly undesirable, unsavory memory that darkens his expression.

Objectively and subjectively, they both know that to not be true. But as always, prying anything substantial from the time traveler is a challenge in itself, so he leaves him to his cryptic reply. (After all, he's not been particularly forthcoming himself either.)

Whether Esper was doing his own deflecting or was earnestly intrigued, he releases Dominator (which the scientist tries to put it out of his mind, to ignore the ache to snatch him back and not let go) and he steps close to the display holding a pair of familiar mini Dynamo replicas. “Hmm, Mastermind was just creating these before I hopped over here for a visit.”

“Oh?” Distracted himself, Dominator locks his work rather frantically to see what has captured the time hopper’s attention. “Ah, yes, I believe someone called it elementary.”

Elementary is what Esper had called it back then during its creation and with the easy opportunity to throw it back in his face, Dominator waits patiently. He doesn't tease back; he watches Esper because he's intensely focused on the replicas, particularly his own at first. Again, Esper isn’t following the set script preplayed in Dominator’s head. 

“I did quite a splendid job with these, wouldn't you agree?”

Once more, he doesn't answer and now Dominator is beginning to get fidgety himself. Especially when sharp and calculating eyes lock onto Psyker’s replica. A wave of panic catches him, and now he wonders if his younger double had explained in detail what they actually were for… but, knowing himself… 

Very suddenly he understands the interest in this old device and he feels like he’s going to be next on Esper’s mental chopping block. He can already sense the gears turning, filling in some of the blanks. Quite abruptly, Dominator unlocks and then turns off his work, screens going black then fading to complete transparency. 

What he wants to do is snatch the replicas from Esper's prying eyes but that would only make him more curious at best and annoyingly suspicious at worst. And given how he is working meticulously away at his own little plans, Esper discovering the why behind the device, behind everything, is the last thing Dominator needs right now.

So he tries to lead Esper away, by guiding him by the shoulder to a makeshift station turned dining table, amidst many reports and tools, a bowl with some mystery meal Dominator had yet to finish sitting there still. “Well, enough of that silly old thing, can I get you something or would you like a snack before you go? The trip was long and it’s best to restore your energy.”

Esper whirls on Dominator frantically. “I just got here!”

“Well,” Dominator starts, startled at Esper’s rather abrupt outburst, “yes, but knowing me, the whole origins of the replicas and…” Dominator hesitates then shrugs. If he must throw himself, specifically his younger self, under the bus, to ease some of the heat of himself presently then so be it. “I did create them with the express purpose to be alerted if you were nearby or not. In that case then, don't you think you'll worry them by leaving so suddenly? You know how Mastermind is.”

“Then who will worry about you?”

Dominator pauses so hard and so long, he’s unsure of how much time passes. In reality, he knows it to be seconds but for him it drags. The words alone feel as if he’s been struck. Hell, Esper might as well have hit him—at least, that's how it feels. Any words are lodged in his throat and a mental fog makes his thoughts halt. Struggling, he composes himself and starts again as if rebooting, “Well… That is to say—You, of course. But, I will always be here.” Dominator makes a wide gesture, both arms outstretched. “My work and Apocalypse keep me busy enough. You… you just happen to catch me at such a time where I can't… quite entertain.” Dominator tries to put on a winning smile. “Old habits, dear Esper, I'd not want to neglect my favorite, now would I?”

Esper is fixated with the mimi Dynamos. He did not seem to want to budge and more than that he once again did not seem convinced, not partaking in their usual easy back and forth banter at all. Finally, he turns his matching magenta hues onto the older man. The way his eyes peer into his shakes Dominator to his core, like he sees beyond this surface level.

Nervously, Dominator averts his gaze, afraid that might be the case and then smiles syrupy sweet to appease Esper. He reaches to pat his hair, “How's this then? You shall come back soon, and I will be free, then we will go on a little shopping trip together. I am running low on some things.”

Esper seems unconvinced still, but regards Dominator now as if considering his tempting offer.

Dominator sweetens it for him, literally, “We can shop for those cat-shaped milk chocolates from that particular store you like.” Surely he wouldn't be able to resist. He doesn't flinch when Esper narrows his eyes even more. He's no actor by any means, but he hopes his performance comes across as genuine enough.

But it must. Finally, the younger relents, an appeased smile lazing its way onto his lips and he slips closer to Dominator, he reaches up and smooths out the wrinkles in his suit, swipes off imaginary dust as if to tease. He smiles impishly, then counteroffers, “A whole pack of them and we have a deal.”

“Truly, I wonder who spoiled you rotten,” Dominator faux complains as if he weren't talking about himself, his smile sweet with affection as he rubs the top of Esper’s head again, savoring the contact and warmth once more.

And Esper welcomes the touch, stepping into Dominator’s space, grin growing larger for it. “Mmm, Dominator,” Esper calls, voice tinged with sleepiness as his eyes flutter with waves of drowsiness. “Wanted to ask…”

Though Esper fights sleep, Dominator takes note of that persistent tone. There was something more Esper wanted to breach and the scientist could only be so grateful by the sudden sleep spell that grips the other relentlessly. Humming, he regards Esper who goes from merely sleepy to struggling to stand and helps upright him at least. “You are quite drained,” he comments, mostly to himself as if he's detached suddenly, making clinical observations rather than seeking to comfort the other.

“Mmm… was a problem before, I— ” A rather loud yawn completes the tail end of his sentence, any lingering words lost as Esper begins to doze in a matter of seconds.

Dominator watches as the time traveler all but melts into his hold, sleep having claimed him. For a moment, he does nothing except simply regarding Esper as he sleeps. After a few moments and a couple of soft snores, he turns his gaze not to the room on his immediate left that holds the infamous napping spot, leading to his bed but rather he looks farther towards some of his holographic screens that wake from sleep and light up.

“Dynamo,” he calls.

Answering his summons, a few whirl over and make some high pitched beeping sounds, as if confused.

“Yes, we will proceed with the scan once more, I will return shortly for the results.”

Once Esper is bodily scanned, he makes quick strides for the bedroom and gently deposits him. He hurriedly brushes some hair back, takes one look, and, unlike before where he stayed, rushes back the way he came, greeting Dynamo again.

“Initially,” he calls for either Dynamo to come closer so he can read the data fed to him, “it was my horrible habit to hoard info, and I am glad I kept the numbers from the last time I saw him. I thought, perhaps there is no direct side effect… and perhaps, I was making lucky assumptions, but,” and Dominator pauses, opening a file dated for Esper’s last visit and the scan from today, side by side, “his mana levels are significantly lower, maybe even dangerously lower than before…”

He sits at his main workstation, “Originally, I assumed it was his space and time travels, but his mana decrease has direct correlations with,” and he turns his attention to the screen that shows the slightly larger Force Field he still has generating around the house, “this.”

There was no way Dominator could remove the Force Field. Though his unknown assailants never returned, he was now paranoid to leave the estate unguarded. And there was no simple way to explain any of this convoluted mess to Esper. Too many secrets, too much pain, for something that he wasn't even involved in and yet some part of him argued fiercely that, now that he was being affected negatively, he owed him that at least.

It seems as if he gradually recovered over time from the effects, however…

Dominator laughs dryly.

Here he was, doing everything he could to move forward, to cement his perfect present, to protect himself and what was left of their home and yet… he was still causing indirect harm to someone that he cares for deeply, that he finally let in, once more.

Dominator laughs again, a tired, exhausted thing that tapers off into weak little chuckles. The weariness of everything sinks deep to his bones, to his core, and he drops his head to folded arms on his desk.

A screen whirls to his side, displaying a dozing Esper, sound asleep.

With a resigned sigh, he lifts his head from his arms and watches.

“Dynamo, we have our work cut out for us. We must get this Force Field out of its infancy and into its final, perfected form. As it is now, it is inexcusable, weak, and…” His eyes narrow at the sleeping, presumably drained Esper. “Inefficient.”

He will not compromise, his plans must go on. And at the same time, he refuses to let this hurt Esper anymore than it has. He never meant to use Esper in this way, and it makes his skin crawl. But with these notions in mind, perhaps now he can be pushed to perfect this and bend it better to his will and then, maybe even start the early stages for the Zone… Already feeling inspiration, he turns his attention to some scattered files and data he’d nudged aside to some smaller window.

Sitting up now, with a thoughtful hand to his chin, he resists a sigh. “I should try to send you back in better straits,” he comments as if Esper can hear him with his back turned, through the holographic screens, “else he will lose his sanity, I suppose… That is, if he hasn't already torn his hair out over you.”

But when Dominator turns back to the screen, Esper is already gone.

===== → loading … :\\ destination found: 100% =====

This could not be happening, and yet it was, and Mastermind was losing his mind.

“Esper is gone!”

Mastermind should have seen this coming but he didn't. 

Because, really, what hope was there to contain the Diabolic Esper from doing as he pleased?

Finally, Psyker strolls in the kitchen without a sense of urgency that only serves to further aggravate Mastermind. “Wha'?” He asks, confusion plain on his face, an eyebrow arched high as he asks, “what do you mean?”

“He's not here,” Mastermind explains, panic seeping into his voice, not a shred of patience as if he were explaining to a clueless child. 

“Are you sure he didn't just… go out?”

“Well—no—but!” Mastermind huffs, clearly up in arms about this but Psyker looks calm as ever. “Did he say anything before leaving?”

Psyker pauses, not in a suspicious way, but in a way that makes Mastermind want to press. “Nah, he didn't.” Again, he pauses, not as if hiding something but rather because he's pondering something himself and he elects not to share. “He doesn't have to check in with us, ya know. We're not his babysitters. And if he ain't start before, why now?”

What Mastermind wants to do is stomp his foot like a child, turn and scoff because the one time Psyker is being soundly logical about something he doesn't want him to be! “I know that,” he hisses, “but given the past week, I thought… !”

“I said it once and I'll say it again, if Esper had anything to share, he'd do it.”

Now it's Mastermind's turn to pause, regarding the brawler shaking his head at him. “Why do you keep saying that. Unless,” he pauses once more, like he's weighing the invisible options in mind, “you really do know something and you're keeping it from me.”

Psyker looks outright offended and makes an undignified snort in response, a hand on his hip.

“Or you're just as clueless as me.”

“And you call me the idiot,” Psyker sighs, running a hand through those spiky locks of his. “If I knew anything, I wouldn't be sitting on my ass and doing nothing about it and you know it.” There's a beat of silence and then Psyker tacks on, against his better judgment, “Give me some credit, it's like ya don't trust me anymore.”

Mastermind had a whole lot to say until Psyker had said that.

“What? Nothin’ to say for once? That's rich.”

In the face of being direct, Mastermind finds silence the easier option but in the line of fire, of Psyker openly fighting with him, well, that's just not something Mastermind will ever take without retaliation. “What is the issue here? When did I ever say that?”

“You didn't need to say it,” Psyker practically sneers.

Now Mastermind is the one that's offended. A little too charged and heated, he demands, “And what does that mean?”

“I mean, Mastermind,” and Psyker invades the other’s space, visibly angry now, stepping closer and caging him. Psyker forces him back until he has nowhere to go, trapped between him and the kitchen counter, “stop insulting us both. You know better! You know we're in the same boat, on the same team, both worried for Esper, so stop insinuatin’ shit!”

For a moment, neither of them or say anything, the air between them is tense, stiff and heavy from Psyker’s lingering words.

Mastermind, for once, finds himself in a stunned stupor, truly speechless as he is unable to hide the flashes of emotions passing over his face: anger, frustration, hesitation, fear and then finally, pain warped by sadness.

All too quickly, the anger seems to drain from Psyker, and realizing how he’s crowded Mastermind, he relents finally. The emotions of everything makes him recoil back from further Mastermind. He awkwardly takes another step back. He rubs at his nape anxiously as he bows his head, refusing to look at Mastermind. “... I didn't mean t’—”

Mastermind, visibly shaken, lies, “It's fine.”

“Listen, Mastermind, I—”

An insistent beep disrupts Psyker’s thoughts and shakes Mastermind out of his daze.

The scientist fishes the tracking device from his pocket, holding it in his palm to see it light up. “Esper… ?!” And rather than see it, they hear Esper’s portal open outside the kitchen, then a loud thump. 

Without saying anything else to Psyker, he rushes and slams open the back kitchen door and finds the man of the hour, nothing out of place other than looking utterly drained and struggling to take a few shaky steps, nearly toppling over as his Dynamo struggles, flailing about to steady him. 

“Esper!”

Exhausted, Esper only manages a, “Your… lab…” to Mastermind before his lids fall shut, and he all but collapses on his Dynamo.

“Esper!?”

“He's… fine,” Psyker observes, “take him and go.”

Mastermind hesitates. Their fight? Whatever that was is still lingering heavy on his mind. But after seeing Psyker’s insistent stare, he knows now is not the time for that. After all, he supposes, they can fight later, if they must. That thought unsettles him. He tries now to show it since more pressing matters are at hand. He looks at the seemingly okay but exhausted Esper. “O-Okay… will you be joining as well?”

“I'll catch up, go on.”

Mastermind doesn't linger any more than he needs, and with Dynamo’s help, is off with Esper in tow.

As soon as the two are out of sight, Psyker waits a few moments to ensure both are truly gone. He clenches and unfurls his fists. Clenches and unfurls, clenches and unfurls. Then with a wail of frustration, he rapidly punches the wall of the house once, twice, and a third and final time before he relents and yells, a noise of pure raw aggravation. “Damnit!” He lets loose a fury of punches, again and again until he feels his knuckles bruise. When he feels the rush of anger finally leaving his body, he sees the gaping hole about fist-sized he left in their wall.

Great, as if he needed something else to take care of right now. As if he didn't already have a million things on his mind. 

As if he didn't ache for Mastermind. 

As if he didn't feel powerless to help Esper.

He takes a step back, hands on his hips, and he sighs. He pushes all those fears and worries to the backburner; his little repair project will have to wait too. Psyker has something more important to tend to now, after all.

===== → loading … loading … loading … :\\ destination … standby … … … =====

After all the tests are said and done, and Mastermind finally stops hovering over Esper, some hours have passed. Finally, Psyker enters the makeshift room beside the lab where Esper is resting.

“It ain't Mastermind, ‘s just me,” Psyker announces.

Or, well, pretend resting now that Esper knows it’s Psyker and not Mastermind back to nag at him again.

“He's been poking and prodding me all day,” Esper faux whines, clearly fine now.

“Yeah, well, you know what it's gonna take to ease his worries and satisfy him.” Psyker takes a seat at the stool near Esper’s bedside and folds his arms to his chest and sighs. Then, rather solemnly he adds, “He wasn't exactly here last time we ran our own tests, ya know.”

Esper says nothing to that.

But that's not what he's here for, so Psyker decides to cut right to it.

“You know why you're fainting and passing out, don't you?”

Esper especially says nothing to that. His silence is loud.

He doesn’t miss the way Esper’s hand’s clench the sheets between his legs either, his fists shaking and turning his knuckles white. Heaving another sigh, Psyker grumbles out, “I ain't gonna force you. I don't know what you're up to but I guess you're figuring it out and just don't have all the puzzle pieces yet. But don't risk yourself for it, we're here too you know. Just…” Psyker fishes for the words, brows knitted for a second before he sighs out his suggestion, “just clue us in real soon, okay?”

“Psyker…” 

With something of a pout, Psyker reaches over and yanks at his ear, not to hurt but more to annoy than anything. “Ya better keep that promise, gotcha?”

Esper’s fake pained whines turn into pleased ones upon feeling Psyker’s fingers carding softly through his hair, moving to then gently pat his head.

Psyker glows inwardly to see Esper whole, well, and in one piece.

He just hopes that next he sees him that it will remain that way as well.

[lenneygirl4ever]

PREVIEW

a sneak peak at part one of THE ALCHEMY

pairing: will lenney x fem!reader

warnings & tags: friends to lovers. slowish burn. idiots with tension. also idiots in denial. lots of nerdy football talk + a side of willne.

summary: The two times you were recruited to play in the Sidemen charity match, and the one time you score.

a/n: hello!!! here’s a brief view of a two/three (?) part series i have in the works. it’s not perfect, but i’m much too excited to wait to publish the whole thing. please enjoy <3

…⚽️

The buzz that interrupted your sleep wasn’t what concerned you, it’s the fact that after you had hung up the first and second time, there was a third call. Begrudgingly, you toss your sheets aside and sit up eyeing the phone on the bedside table. To no surprise, it was Simon.

You were no stranger when it came to working with the Sidemen. Starting off as a crew member who was good with a camera, slowly you were incorporated into videos, and eventually had the confidence to create your own platform. After leaving the Sidemen to focus on building your solo career, most of your audience didn't know where you gained your footing, becoming a bigger public figure outside of their work.

Getting a phone call from Simon wasn't uncommon, needless to say. You were always ready to film, to bring in new ideas for them, to be on set. After all, you had been friends with the lads for years.

"Hello?" you croak, trying to smooth down the hair that was knotted in the back of your head.

"Y/n! How are you, mate?" Simon's voice was overly chipper and sweet, too sweet. You eye your phone for a moment before pressing it back up to your ear. It was too early in the morning for either of you to be awake.

"Christ, Simon, I know you aren't just calling me at seven in the morning to ask how I am," you replied. Simon sighs briefly before letting out an airy chuckle.

"Alright, I need to ask you for a favor." That's what you were expecting. His voice hesitant and low, it made you wonder what this could really be about.

"Okay, go on then," you yawn. You weren't sure why Simon was being so ominous; you had done the lad loads of favors in the past. Bringing in extra camera crew, reaching out to other influencers, helping plan out events-

"Would you sub in for Andres for the charity match next week? I know it's last minute, but he had other conflicts, and you're one of my best mates. You-" Simon rambles before you swiftly interject.

"Simon, what are you waffling on about? You can't be serious," you say seriously. The grogginess from waking up immediately disappears, and you begin to regret picking up the phone.

"I know it's mad, but we've tossed around a ball quite a bit before-"

"I haven't seriously played footy since I was in high school! I can't imagine the shit I'd get if I were to even step foot into that stadium."

"I know-"

"And I'm the only girl! That's like a misogynist's nightmare, a woman who can think and compete!" Getting on your feet, you pace around your room like a madman. Your free hand finds its way into your hair, coarsing through it multiple times, stressfully.

"Would you let me finish? Then you can decide if it's bollocks or not," Simon asked finally. You heave out a breath of air and then hum in response. The least you could do is give him time to try to convince you.

"Look, it's the first time a lot of them have played football, and some of them play like it's the first time. It's really about having a good time, " he explains, which admittedly puts some of your worries at ease- and gets a small laugh out of you.

"Also.." he says hesitantly, hitching his breath as he trails off. You roll your eyes and groan. Of course, there's more to it; there always is. You sit back onto the edge of the bed, foot impatiently tapping on the wood floor.

"I may have called Will, and he may have told me to ask you; he promised me that with enough begging.. you'd say yes," he says, almost like a question. There's a small hint of teasing when he says it, and you can practically see the prat smiling through the screen.

Your end of the call goes silent. A flush starting at the tips of your ears and growing at the bulbs of your cheeks.

..

In 2018, the day before the charity match, you met Will in person for the first time. You knew of him through brief passing and mentions of him from Cal and the other Sidemen. Yet you never spoke to him until you were messing around with your camera during practice, getting ready to film the match the next day.

"This is who I was telling you about, Will," Cal smiles, grabbing your attention from the camera. You peer over your shoulder to see a younger lad with dark hair standing beside him. You politely set the camera down on the bench and extend your hand out to him.

"Hi, I'm y/n, I've heard good things about you!" you smile, and he leans down, weakly taking your hand and shaking it.

"Hello," he responds, his once loud chatter with Cal made you assume he'd be much more talkative. But now he is quiet and fidgety, and it makes you wonder if you've already made a bad first impression.

"Y/n is our best camerawomen. I ought to get you familiar with her; maybe you can get some good screen time." Cal smirked. Will shoves him lightly with a chuckle.

"I'm not all bad, I reckon," he insists, and you put your hands up defensively.

"Hey, we'll just have to see on the field, won't we?" you express, grabbing the large equipment and getting ready to move it inside. You stand up, getting a better look at his face. He's tall, his hair short and freshly cut, his jawline is carved out sharply, making it hard to go unnoticed.

"Cheeky," Will commented, crossing his arms over each other. And unknowingly, a grin had worked its way onto your face, your tongue pressing against the inside of your cheek. You shrug,

"I gotta get going, it was nice meeting you Will,"

..

Since then, you and Will have kept in contact frequently. He interacted with you on social media, had you come to feature in his videos, and texted you almost every day. Seeing one another once every few months had become every weekend when you moved closer to London. And you can bet that this didn't go unnoticed by anyone. Sharing clothes, traveling together, posting each other, seeing each other more than your own family— you can only assume why everyone has their presumptions.

Yet, you were great at denying, avoiding, and more importantly ignoring these blistering questions on if they or won’t they.

"So.. you called Will first, before calling me?" you ask slowly, processing it yourself. The pads of your fingers rub against your temple, then smoothing your palm across your cheek hoping it would brush away the pink that dusted your face.

"Yeah," Simon says quickly. "Is it more convincing now? "

"Fuck off,"

"I know it is," he insists. You mutter profanities under your breath before letting it go silent.

Because it is much more convincing knowing that Will had that kind of faith and trust in you. It's more convincing knowing the person closest to you would be right by your side. You weigh out the options in your head. If you do play, you'll get to say you played in front of 30,000 people, raised money for charity, and more importantly, were able to help out some of your closest friends.

"Simon, I don't know.." You mutter hesitantly, biting the nail on your thumb. Sure, you had played footy competitively in high school and tossed a ball around here and there with the lads, but other than that, you hadn't really played in a few years now.

"C'mon, you don't have to be any good, it's for charity y/n! You have to! There will be loads of fans happy that you're playing!" Simon coaxed. You shake your head instantly, knowing that half the boys lived and breathed football.

“You can’t say I don’t have to be any good when you’re probably one of the best players out there.” Countering his argument, you can tell you're at the breaking point. He's cracked you down efficiently, being nice, complimenting you, bringing Will into it- It's working so well you almost hate him for it.

“I’ve exhausted my options, y/n, please, this one time, and I’ll never ask again.” Simon protests. You huff, exasperated, and without letting another beat pass,

"Alright,"

"Alright?" he repeats, the surprise evident in his tone. You gnaw at your bottom lip, and squeezed your eyes shut before speaking again.

"Yeah, okay, put me in." You decide finally. You can hear movement on the other end and a few other voices shout in delight. Of course, he couldn't be alone when he made the phone call.

"Oh my god, this will be legendary, thank you, thank you, thank you," Simon begins excitedly, which brings a smile to your face. Simon, even though he always was teetering on the edge of your limit, was charming and kind and that's what makes it hard to deny him.

"You're playing center, by the way. See you in a week mate!" and the phone call clicks. There, you're left to stare at your phone screen, watching as you get added to a group chat and texts start to roll in.

One week, seven days, to magically get good at football again. Right, well, it’s much too late to turn back now.

"Cheers," muttering to yourself. You fall back onto the bed, checking your messages to see a new one from Will.

"wanna show this novice the ropes?"

Word obviously spreads fast, is the first thing you think. And then you snort, with a quick eye roll, the pads of your fingers drumming against the screen.

"fuck off" you begin to type but instead you text back,

“pitch at 6 sharp"

And almost immediately Will texts back,

“wouldn’t miss it :)”

[thirteenheavens]

Congrats on 800 🥳🥳🥳 Love reading your works! Get well soon!

Can i ask for something w scoups & hongjoong 🫣

Lets make it a hit||KHJ xReader x CSC

Notes: wow just wow what a collab of the century now let’s make it happen fr

You find yourself between two incredibly attractive men - Hongjoong and Seungcheol. The air is thick with tension as they both look at you hungrily, their eyes roaming over your body.

Hongjoong moves closer, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw. "She's perfect," he murmurs to Seungcheol, his voice low and seductive. Seungcheol nods in agreement, stepping behind you and pressing his chest against your back. "Let's make her feel good," he suggests, his hands sliding down to grip your hips.

Hongjoong captures your lips in a deep kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth as Seungcheol nibbles on your earlobe. Their hands work in tandem, undressing you with practiced ease. Seungcheol's warm breath tickles your neck as he whispers, "You're ours now." His fingers play with your nipples, teasing them into hard peaks as Hongjoong breaks the kiss to admire your naked form.

Seungcheol and Hongjoong had been discussing your attraction to both of them when they stumbled upon each other at a music festival after-party. Both being natural leaders, they recognized the tension between you and them. After several drinks and hours of conversation, they realized they both wanted you. Rather than competing, they decided to come up with a creative solution - share you.

So they approached you together one evening, explaining their arrangement and asking if you were interested in being their "main vocalist" - their shared lover. The thought of being with both handsome men was too tempting to resist, and you eagerly agreed. As they sandwich you between their bodies, their hands and mouths explore every inch of your exposed skin. Seungcheol kneads your breasts while Hongjoong leaves a trail of kisses down your spine.

"We've been dreaming about this moment," Seungcheol growls against your neck, his erection pressing against your lower back. "Imagining all the ways we'd make you scream." Hongjoong slides his fingers between your legs, finding you already wet and ready for them. "She's so wet for us," he says with a smirk, teasing your clit. "Are you going to be a good girl and take both of us?" You moan at their touch, feeling overwhelmed by their combined attention. Seungcheol turns your face to capture your lips in a passionate kiss while Hongjoong continues his skilled teasing below.

Seungcheol pulls away from the kiss, his eyes dark with desire. "Let's move to the bed," he suggests, guiding you towards it. "We want to see every expression you make when we make you ours." Hongjoong gently pushes you onto the bed, climbing on top of you while Seungcheol positions himself behind you. Their hands intertwine as they hold you in place, their bodies forming a protective cocoon around you.

"Ready for the best night of your life?" Hongjoong whispers, his cock pressing against your entrance as Seungcheol prepares to take you from behind. Without waiting for a response, both men slowly push into you, filling you completely. The stretch is intense but pleasurable, and you gasp at the feeling of being so deliciously full.

"Fuck, she's tight," Seungcheol groans, his fingers digging into your hips as he begins to move. "Just as perfect as we imagined." Hongjoong captures your mouth in another heated kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as he thrusts in sync with Seungcheol's movements. The sound of their combined moans and the wet slapping of skin fills the room.

"She's taking us so well," Hongjoong praises, reaching down to rub your clit again. "Are you going to cum for us, baby? Cum on our cocks?" Your whines turn into incoherent moans as they continue their relentless pace, hitting all the right spots inside you. Seungcheol's deep thrusts from behind push you further onto Hongjoong's cock, creating an unbreakable rhythm.

"She's close," Seungcheol grunts, his hips snapping faster. "I can feel her tightening around us." Hongjoong smirks at your helpless sounds, his fingers working your clit with expert precision. "Let go, beautiful. We want to feel you come undone between us." The pressure builds in your core until it becomes too much to bear. Your body trembles as your third orgasm crashes through you, walls fluttering around their cocks as they continue to fuck you through it.

"Good girl," they both groan in unison, not slowing their pace despite your intense orgasm. Their smiles grow wider as they watch you come apart, knowing they're the ones responsible for your pleasure. Seungcheol leans down to bite your shoulder, his thrusts becoming erratic as he approaches his own peak. "She's perfect for us," he says to Hongjoong, his voice rough with need. "So perfect for our group."

Hongjoong nods in agreement, his fingers leaving your clit to intertwine with Seungcheol's on your hips. "She's ours now," he growls possessively, claiming your lips in another heated kiss. The double stimulation from both ends becomes almost unbearable, and you feel them both getting closer to their limits. "We're going to fill you up," Seungcheol warns, his breath hot against your ear. "Get you nice and full with our cum."

Hongjoong laughs breathlessly, his movements becoming more frantic. "Looks like we're making beautiful music together," he jokes, winking at Seungcheol. The combined pleasure and intimacy of the moment create a symphony of sounds and sensations. The room is filled with the sound of their moans, the wetness of your combined bodies, and the creaking of the bed beneath you.

"Ready to finish this collab?" Seungcheol asks, his thrusts becoming more forceful as he nears his climax. "Let's make it a hit." Hongjoong grips your hips tightly, pulling you back onto his cock with each thrust. "Cum with us again," he demands through gritted teeth. "One last time." Seungcheol's body tenses as he reaches his peak, his hot cum spilling deep inside you with a loud groan. The sensation of being filled triggers your fourth orgasm, your walls clenching around him as you scream in pleasure.

"Fuck, that's hot," Hongjoong curses, watching your bodies shake with ecstasy. His pace doesn't slow, determined to push you both further into bliss. Seungcheol carefully pulls out, rolling onto his side to catch his breath while watching Hongjoong continue to pound into you. His cum leaks from your entrance, making you even more slippery for Hongjoong's cock.

Hongjoong grins at the sight of Seungcheol's cum dripping out of you, his hands moving to squeeze your breasts as he maintains his hard pace. "Look at how dirty she is," he growls possessively. His fingers pinch your nipples roughly, using them as leverage to fuck you deeper. "You're covered in our cum now," he whispers in your ear. "Completely ours."

Seungcheol watches with hooded eyes, still recovering from his intense orgasm but enjoying the show. "She's ours to share and mark as we please," he agrees, stroking his sensitive cock while watching you writhe under Hongjoong's touch. Hongjoong continues his assault on your body, his rhythm becoming increasingly erratic as he nears his own release. His breathing becomes labored, and sweat drips down his toned chest.

"I'm close," he warns through gritted teeth, his grip on your breasts tightening. "Where do you want it, beautiful? Inside or on you?" Seungcheol sits up beside you, running a hand through your hair. "She wants it all," he says with a smirk. "Fill her up again."

"Inside," you manage to gasp out, feeling exhausted but desperate for his cum to join Seungcheol's. Hongjoong's control snaps at your words, his hips slamming into you one final time as he releases deep inside. His hot seed mixes with Seungcheol's, creating an erotic sensation that makes you shiver.

"That's it," he groans, collapsing onto your back and pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "Took both our loads so well." Seungcheol leans over to capture your lips in a gentle kiss, his fingers tracing the curves of your body as Hongjoong catches his breath on top of you.

"We should do this more often," Hongjoong suggests, finally rolling off and onto his back. "This collaboration is amazing." Seungcheol chuckles, pulling you into his arms and running a hand over your stomach. "We'll have to make time in our busy schedules," he agrees. "For both music and this kind of inspiration."

The three of you lay there in comfortable silence, basking in the afterglow and the knowledge that this intimate moment has created something special between you all. The room is filled with the scent of sweat and sex, a testament to the passion shared between you.

[millyondollarbaby]

Could you make yandere pervert, yandere creep catching reader touching themselves and moaning their name?

I’m trying to figure out how this would work because most normal people only touch themselves in the privacy of their home and what are the chances you invite this guy in your house? And it’s not like you invite someone over to go masturbate- anyway I feed you heathens. Not proofread

YAN! Creep x Reader

For the purposes of this lets say he was really embodying that inner creep and managed to bug your bedroom. Maybe he snuck in one day and planted it or by divine grace was invited to your home(Do not invite him). Regardless of when or how he did and now he has access to endless possibilities. Today just so happened to be his lucky day.

We've had a long day, whether it was studying or going to work our tension and stress meter has hit its peak and we are looking for a release. What better way than to literally drain the stress out. We make our way to our bed after stripping off our clothes, it would be better to take a shower first but we are in no rush for practicality right now. We take a deep breath and lean down to our bed-end chest unlocking it to reveal our menagerie. Wrapped in silk we have our... personal tools. (You can choose your weapon). We then make our way onto the bed. Taking another deep breath we make contact. A whirling feeling of sensation enters our body and we can feel the tension begin to slip away.

Our imagination begins to swirl like the pleasure between our legs and before we can muster up a more appropriate fantasy- he enters our mind. That creepy motherfucker always lurking around... but it's kinda sexy how much he wants us- no god! We can't help it, it's like all our subconscious thoughts are coming to the service. Would he be a good lover? Would he be feral? he's so tall and lean I wonder how big his cock- he's so creepy and he's always there its like he's planted himself inside of our brain.

It starts low in a whisper, "(his name)," and works its way up into a command, "(his name) right there!" through this fantasy, we reach a release not knowing who's on the other end.

He's listening and he can't believe what he's hearing. It's too good to be true. You're calling for him. Cumming to him- for him( At least in his head). His nerves are vibrating, his heart is pulsing, he's throbbing. The voices in his head are thrumming and the beast of his love and obsession is clawing at his soul with its talons. his eyes are rolling back in his head and his hand is in his pants before he knows what he's doing.

[unconventional-lawnchair]

We'll heal together: Chapter One

Little Talks Of Monsters and Men

Harry Potter x Reader (Platonic) / Remus Lupin x Reader (Ambiguous)

Masterlist

Summary: Harry Potter sees a familiar face on the train, from the mirror of Erised. Remus Lupin and harry talk about his mother, along with {Y/N} {L/N}. (This is a lot of rehashed scenes. Next chapter will be from {Y/N}'s Perspective.}

Cw: Use of {Y/N}, Dementor attack, grief, sassy Harry, depressed bish Remus (please reach out if I missed something}

Wc- 2180

“I didn't mean to blow her up! It just sort of... happened!” 

Harry once again found himself explaining the same things he explained moments ago. It wasn't that he felt guilty... not exactly, he probably should, all things considered. But that old hag's shrill voice echoed in his head, and he could only find himself having a bit of pride at the moment. 

“Brilliant.” Ron snickered, the smile in his voice very prominent. Harry could almost see it with his back to the red head.

“Honestly Ron, that's not funny. Harry was lucky not to be expelled!” Hermione huffed out as she shoved her way past him to catch up with Harry’s long strides.

“I think I was lucky not to be arrested.” Harry mumbled, slowly smirking to himself. Doing his best to avoid Hermione’s judgmental eyes.

“I still think it was brilliant.” Ron chuckled as he followed them down the hall. Harry paused as he noticed the only half empty room, with a sleeping figure. His eyes narrowed, why did his presence seem so familiar? It reminded him of that night, walking back to the dorms between flickering moonlight. That comfort he felt before, returning as he once again, saw the moon through the glass windows.

“Come on, everywhere else is full.” Hermione muttered after a moment of pause, watching Harry's confused and curious expression.

“Who's that, then?” Ron mumbled as he sat down on the seat closest to the window. 

“Professor R. J. Lupin.” Hermione’s self-satisfied tone filled the now packed compartment. Harry pursed his lips. Never heard that name before. 

Still, he found himself sitting beside the sleeping figure, across from Hermione, as both her and Ron’s voices faded out. Harry found himself staring at the lump of clothes that covered the professor. 

“Do you know everything? How is it that she knows everything?”

“It's on his suitcase, Ronald.” She snarked and he muttered a soft ‘oh.’

Harry snapped out of his daze and leaned back, frowning at the sleeping figure. “Do you think he's really asleep?”

“Yes, I do think so.” She remarked calmly. “Why?”

“I have something to tell you.” Harry declared and slid the door closed.

~~

“Let me get this straight. Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban, to come after you?” Ron asked in a scandalized tone, eyebrows raised as he struggled to keep Scrabbers calm in his hand. Tutting before he slipped him away into his damaged cage and held his hand over the broken door he escaped from before.

“Yeah.” Harry mumbled.

“But they'll catch Black, won't they? I mean, everyone is looking for him.” Hermione declared, looking between the two with reassurance and determination in her eyes.

“Sure- Of course, but no one's ever broken out of Azkaban before and he's a raving, murderous lunatic…” Ron mumbled out in a bitter tone and Harry gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“Thanks, Ron.”

Then there was a sharp piercing sound of metal grinding against the iron of the train tracks, the engine falling to nothing but a murmur from within the box. 

“Why are we stopping? We aren't there yet.” Hermoine mumbled and watched as Harry stood and peaked out the door.

“What's happened?” Ron asked as the train rocked and Harry was flown back to his seat by the sheer force.

“Dunno... Maybe we've broken down?”

The lights cut out.

There was a choking silence, so low and painful Harry’s ears almost began to ring. Then the cold came, voices could be heard outside the train. They were haunting and drawn like they were in too much anguish to utter a full statement, making Harry swallowed thick, trying to clear the back of his throat. 

“ ... die. One by one. Until all is... “

“I think someone is coming aboard.” Ron croaked in dread. The entire train wobbled once more, the door swinging open before slamming shut. The haunting voices now fill the halls. They were like whispers, but somehow right against Harry’s ear.

There was a moment of peace before Ron’s breath hitched as he watched black tendrils float their way down the hall in front of their door. Like a floating cloth that tangled in the very air, thick with weary and terrified silence between the three.

Ron began to bunch himself onto the bench, giving a high-pitched inhale as the creature waved its hand in a gesture like motion, willing the door of their compartment to open without once touching it.

Everyone was silent, and Harry felt his hands begin to clam up. He shuffled back into his seat as best he could, as the creature lurked into the closed space, eyes locked on the raven-haired boy. Crookshanks hissed, and Scabbers began to freak out within the cage.

The creature suddenly leaned closer to Harry, and he felt his breath hitch, his entire body lurching forward in a silent but painful gasp. Harry grew dizzy, body growing weaker and his eyes slowly rolling back. 

As if on cue, summoned awake by Harry’s loss of control, the sleeping professor snapped to his feet. Waving his wand as a blip of bright blue light filled the entire train car, just as Harry slipped under and fell to the floor.

~~

“Harry? Harry, please wake up.” Hermione’s pleading voice came, slowly rubbing his arm. His thoughts were split, As the shrill and horrible tone of screams that filled his dreams slipped into Hermione’s soft and caring voice. It brought him comfort. 

Harry’s eyes snapped open wide, slowly he huffed and sat up, looking over at Hermione as she handed him his glasses, muttering a thanks as he slipped them back on his face.

“Here, eat this. It’ll help.” The professor called out to him in a stern but lively tone, holding out an unwrapped bar of chocolate. Harry didn't quite meet his eyes.

“What was that?” He mumbled out and ate the candy the stranger provided.

“A Dementor. One of the guards of Azkaban. It's gone now. It was searching the train.” He remarked before Hermione spoke up.

“For Sirius Black.” She rubbed his shoulder again and encouraged Harry as he munched the treat in his hand. Muggle candy, he would die on the hill of it being the best.

“I need to have a word with the driver. Excuse me.” Lupin mumbled and stood, Harry finally looking up at him to watch him go. When Lupin turned to nod to the trio, closing the door before him and wandering off, Harry’s face filled with shock and his jaw went slack.

“What is it, Harry? Don't tell us you've gone mad.” Ron snarked and Harry snapped out of it, looking over to Ron and Hermione, still stunned. “I... I've seen him before.”

“What? You have?” Ron pried.

“The Mirror of Erised.” Harry breathed and tried to shoot to his feet. That night, he saw his face. That man stood beside his father and who he now knew to be Sirius Black, along with another woman and the rest of his immediate family. “I saw him, he was with my parents. And... and Sirius!”

He quickly stumbled before he could even get to his feet, Hermione quickly getting him up right to sit. “You stay put; I know you're curious, but you were attacked by a dementor! You’ll see him at Hogwarts, I'm sure of it.” She tutted. Harry groaned and covered his face. He was too weak to argue.

“Well, what a fun first day.” Ron piped up with a nervous smile, eating at Harry's abandoned chocolate from his perch on the window ciel. Hermione rolled her eyes, and Ron ran his lip over his now brown stained face. “What?”

~~~

The next time Harry saw Professor Lupin outside of the classroom was when he faced his Boggart, once again, he saved him as he did on the train. He had been moping about, not allowed to go to the Hogsmeade trip, he spent his time wandering the grounds. Eventually, he ran into Lupin once more. Without a word to each other they fell into an easy and silent step beside each other, hands in their pockets as they made it out of the courtyard and onto the precarious bridge.

“Professor Lupin, can I ask you something?”

“Is this about me stopping that Boggart? I assure you; it was not out of a lack of belief in your ability to stop it. I assumed the worst, that it would take the form of Lord Voldamort.”

Harry nodded faintly before he thinned his lips in thought. “I thought of him first, yes, but... Then I remembered that night on the train.” He mumbled and Lupin nodded thoughtfully. He was so much like James, he thought, it looked like when the unruly kid he once knew was being scolded by Professor McGonagall. It brought a small sad smile to his face.

“That's quite impressive.” 

Harry scoffed and gave him a weary smile. “Is it?”

“I'm being truthful.” Lupin patted him on the shoulder before leaning forward on the railing of the bridge, overlooking the lake. “It takes bravery, for one's fear to be fear itself. It’s wise of you.”

Harry slowly nodded and looked off into the distance as well, Lupin peeking at him for a moment before Harry spoke up once more. “Before I fainted... I heard something. A woman. Screaming.”

“Dementors force us to relive the worst memories of our lives. Our pain becomes their power.”

Harry took a deep breath before he spoke his next words, he wanted to give Lupin the chance to speak on his relationship with his parents first, before he pried. He wanted, no, needed to know. But he wanted to give him the choice to come forward first. “... i think it was my mother.” He admitted and Lupin took a deep breath before he sighed.

“The first time I saw you, Harry, I recognized you immediately.” He spoke carefully. “Not by your scar,” He leaned in. “As ever famous it may be.” He mused a bit of a playful tone, giving Harry a small smile and he nodded, encouraging Lupin to continue.

“It was your eyes.” He spoke next in a much more Solemn tone. “They were your mother, Lily’s.” He spoke carefully as to not provoke the frog that tore apart the lower base of his throat, begging for a sob of relief. “I knew her. I knew her better than I knew myself most days.”

He allowed himself to reminisce, thinking back on the days he spent at school, walking down the halls with Lily and her. He had known and allowed himself love, the brotherly kind that fills you with adrenaline and makes you make stupid decisions. The kind that would get you into trouble every other term for the risk of thrill with every new prank idea presented to them. He knew wild, fun, free love.

It wasn't until he met Lily Evans and {Y/n} {L/N} when he learned what gentle and quiet love could do. How powerful silence could be, how much a simple touch could mean, and how the looks shared between flickering eyes could be filled with so much more care and empathy than he ever knew. From silent study sessions to moments comforting him after a full moon, the two girls made him feel peace he had never known he could have, something he never thought he deserved. Knowing their love was the worst possible outcome, losing their love was the second. “Your mother. Your mother and... An old friend of mine, they were there for me when no one else was. I have never known kindness and power, until I met your mother. I had never known forgiveness and wisdom until she introduced me to {Y/n}.”

“{Y/N}?” Harry mumbled out the new name and looked to the professor as Lupin nodded. “Lily Evans and {Y/N} {L/N}. They were inseverable, if you spoke of one of them. the other wasn't far behind. Even their names chased each other through the halls. Much like me and... well, your father. There was no Lily Evans without {Y/N} {L/N}, and the reverse was also true. They had a way about them, a way and a sight that saw something no one else could see in someone. They saw wonders and lights in the darkest rooms, they gave forgiveness and compassion to those who deserve nothing close to it. And they saw a wizard in a monster.” Lupin muttered the last part and hung his head before he looked up at Harry’s wide curious eyes.

“A monster, sir?”

“A story for another time.” Lupin mused and sat up straighter. “Your father on the other hand, now he had a talent for trouble.” He nudged Harry before he put his hands back into his pockets. “Rumor has it he's passed it onto you.”

Harry couldn't help the small smile that grew onto his face at the remark. So, his father was a lot like him, it seemed. That made him feel warm. 

He wished he could talk to Lupin all day.

[koiiiji]

pls do a one shot for wooin or a long story with a lot of smut ( of course it's wooin we are talking abt ) when his down bad for you that he's willing to change his ways and lifestyle up to living your lives peacefully.

PLSSSSS, FOR MY UPCOMING BIRTHDAY 🥹🥹🥹

happy upcoming birthday hun🪄✨🫶🏻🕯️🦢🎧🐚🫧🎐

hope i made it in time

porn without plot straight under the line

mdni, ageless and empty blogs dni

you found yourself in a rather compromising position on your boyfriend's lap while he mercilessly plunged two fingers into your tight hole. of course, you knew that sometimes Wooin got too carried away with games, but now, after so many dirty words and promises were whispered in your ear, you have already lost track of time. how many minutes have passed since you returned to your shared apartment? 20? 30? for about 40 minutes, Wooin kept slapping your ass, fucking you with one finger, then adding two more, at a fast pace, slowly, almost painfully, at your peak, deprived you of all pleasure, and just slowly, almost weightlessly, teased the entrance while you drooled on his knee.

"oh sweetheart, we've just started, don't you really want to get your first present for birthday completely, mm?" - he whispered teasingly, hot breath tickling your neck.

"come on baby, i can't read minds" - the forked tongue touched the ear, biting the lobe.

you could literally feel that nasty little smile on his lips, and of course you couldn't resist him. whimpering something indistinct into the fabric of his pants, you finally felt his hands on your ass again. after stroking and persistently massaging your ass, Wooin slapped you again, this time a little harder than usual. noticing how you squeaked in surprise, and again paying attention to your butt, he noticed a reddening trace in the shape of his palm. he grinned, apologetically stroking and kissing your ass cheek, gently pulling you off his lap.

groaning from a mixture of pain and pleasure, you rolled onto your back, throwing your head back in anticipation of your boyfriend, who was currently throwing off his clothes by the bed, simultaneously rummaging through the shelf of the bedside table in search of a condom.

when he was on top of you again, with his hands on either side of your head, leaving you no way to escape. It's not that you want to run away. for a few moments you just stared at each other, the distant lamplight casting shadows on your faces, but you still recognized your native facial features. reaching out his hand to your cheek, he abruptly clung to your lips, leaning all his weight on you. however, the kiss was not rough or harsh or sloppy, no, it was passionate, slow, you both put feelings into this moment when your tongues intertwined together, when you both playfully bit each other's lips, smiling and laughing into the kiss. your arms wrapped around his neck and reached higher, burrowing into the shock of black hair, ruffling and pulling back a little as his palm slid lower, to your neck and collarbones, wrapping more gently than usual.

when you finally broke away from each other, breathing fitfully into each other's lips, pressing your foreheads, you were still foolishly laughing and smiling at each other. Wooin was the first to break away from you, showering kisses on your face, going down to your neck, shoulders, running a wet path between your breasts, and grabbing a swollen nipple in his mouth while the other hand stroked your thigh, rising higher, squeezing your waist, passing along your ribs and finally groping the second breast, squeezing it harder. he kneaded the soft, supple skin, squeezing harder, then releasing, switching only to the nipple. pinching and pulling, Wooin teased the other nipple with his tongue and lips in parallel, pulling sweet moans out of you over and over again while you gave in to him forward, arching your back.

letting out a low groan, he slid lower, kissing your belly, feeling and squeezing your thighs, impatiently clinging to the fabric of your skirt, pulling it down along with panties. rising above you and not breaking eye contact, he grabbed your ankles and finally took off your clothes, throwing it somewhere on the floor. giving you one of his smug grins, Wooin pressed his cheek against your leg and gently stroking it began to go lower and lower, becoming more and more insistent through every centimeter of your skin. light kisses turned into playful nipping, sucking the skin until it turned red, leaving increasingly brighter marks closer he get to your sweet, wet pussy.

"ow cupcake, already so wet for me?" - Wooin mischievously murmured into your thigh, running his finger teasingly along your slit, never taking his eyes off your face, watching your every emotion.

inhaling noisily, he leaned forward, nuzzling your warmth, teasingly touching your hole with his tongue, slowly penetrating inside.

it seems that someone was waiting for a long night full of birthday gifts.

[patrixjia]

Heat of The Moment

Plot Overview

You’re an independent songwriter tasked with writing a collaborative track for Stray Kids. What should have been your dream gig turns into a nightmare thanks to last-minute deadlines and your strained creative energy. You clash immediately with Bang Chan—too confident for his own good and infuriatingly talented. He insists on late-night studio sessions, constantly pushes back on your ideas, and doesn’t seem to know how to take no for an answer.

One night, when tension reaches its peak, an explosive argument in the recording studio leads to unexpected sparks. With tempers flaring and boundaries slipping, the heat between you boils over into something far more primal. The lines between frustration and desire blur, leaving you both vulnerable to feelings that neither of you wanted—or planned for.

Disclaimer:

This is a work of fanfiction created for entertainment purposes only. I do not own or claim any affiliation with Bang Chan, Stray Kids, or their management. The events and characters depicted in this story are entirely fictional and do not reflect real-life personalities, actions, or relationships.

This story contains mature themes and is intended for audiences 18 and older. Reader discretion is advised.

━━━━━━━━━━━☾✧✦✧☽━━━━━━━━━━━

The studio air was thick with frustration. It wasn't the equipment, the hours, or even the looming deadline - it was him.

Bang Chan sat sprawled in his chair like a king, his dark eyes fixed on you with infuriating calmness. You could practically feel the smugness radiating off him as he leaned back, one arm lazily draped over the chair's edge, his lips twitching upward in what could only be described as a challenge.

"Again", he said, his voice low and maddeningly smooth.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, trembling with restrained fury. "We've already gone over this again five times! The hook works, the track flows, and it's done. You just want me to sit here all night because you've decided sleep is optional."

He didn't even flinch. If anything, that smirk grew sharper. "It's not about sleep. It's about getting it right. This?" He gesture at the speakers like he was dismissing a bad meal. "This isn't right."

You turned, fully intending to argue, but the look on his face stopped you. It wasn't disdain or boredom - it was focus. Relentless, unshakable focus.

You hated that he looked good while being such a pain. His hair was a little messy, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that you were doing your best not to notice, and he had that maddening way of looking at you like he was already one step ahead.

But this wasn't about how good he looked. It was about the fact that he was driving you insane.

"Why don't you just write it yourself?" you snapped.

Chan shrugged, the movement deliberate. "Because i want to see what you've got. You're suppose to be the best, right? Prove it."

The arrogance in his voice set something off in you. Your hands slammed against the desk, the sound echoing in the studio. "You don't think I'm good enough?!"

"I think," he said, standing and crossing the room toward you, his footsteps slow and deliberate, "you're holding back. And I'm not interested in 'good enough'. I want something that hits harder."

By the time he stopped in front of you, the air felt charged. He wasn't touching you, but he didn't need to. His presence was overwhelming, his eyes locked on yours with a heat that send your pulse racing.

"Well," you said, refusing to back down, "maybe you should stop breathing down my neck and let me work."

Chan tilted his head, his smirk turning into something more dangerous. "Maybe you like it."

Your breath hitched, but you didn't flinch. "Don't flatter yourself."

The hours stretched on, the tension between you crackling like static. You were at the piano, furiously reworking the melody, while Chan sat behind you, watching. Always watching.

"Play the last part again," he said, his voice softer now but no less insistent.

You obeyed - if only to avoid another argument. Your fingers stumbled lightly, the fatigue of the night finally catching up with you.

"That's not it," he murmured, standing and moving to your side. "Here, let me."

You bristled but scooted over just enough for him to sit. His hands brushed against yours as he reached for the keys, and the warmth of his skin sent a jolt up your arm.

"That's not-"

"Relax," he said, his voice so close that you felt it more than heard it. His hands moved confidently over the keys, the melody shifting under his touch, morphing into something richer, heavier. "See?"

You hated that it sounded better. You hated him. And yet, you couldn't pull your eyes away.

"Show-off," you muttered, hoping to break the spell.

Chan laughed softly, his voice low and teasing. "You're cute when you're mad."

Your head whipped toward him. "What did you just said?"

He turned to face you fully, his face so close that your noses almost brushed. His smile was infuriatingly calm. "I said, you're cute when you're mad. What are you gonna do about it?"

Your jaw tightened, but before you could retort, his gaze dropped to your lips, lingering just enough to set your skin on fire.

It happened all at once. One second, you were glaring at him, and the next, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was fire and frustration, a tangle of heat and tension that exploded in the small studio. Your back hit the piano as he leaned into you, his hands framing your face, tilting it up to deepen the kiss.

You gasped, and his tongue slid against yours, sending a shiver down your spine. His hands moved to your waist, gripping you firmly, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

“This,” you managed to gasp between kisses, “is a terrible idea.”

“Probably,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with want. “But you started it.”

You shoved at his chest, though your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. “You kissed me!”

His laugh was low and wicked as he nipped at your jawline, his hands slipping under your shirt to skim along your sides. “And you didn’t stop me.”

Chan’s mouth was on yours again, hot and demanding, as he pressed you back against the piano. The weight of him, the way his hands gripped your waist, sent your pulse skyrocketing.

“You’re infuriating,” you gasped, your fingers curling into his shirt, tugging him closer.

“And you’re impossible,” he shot back, his voice rough, lips brushing against your jaw before moving lower.

His mouth left a scorching trail along your neck, and you felt yourself arch into him as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin there.

Your hands slipped under his shirt, fingers tracing along the ridges of his muscles, eliciting a low sound from him that made heat pool in your stomach.

“Touchy,” you teased, though your voice was breathless.

His response was a low chuckle, muffled as his mouth moved lower, his hands now sliding under your shirt to rest on your bare skin.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice dark and rough, though his fingers lingered teasingly along the edge of your waistband.

You didn’t answer—didn’t want him to stop—so instead, you grabbed the hem of his shirt and yanked it over his head.

The sight of him—flushed skin, wild hair, and that insufferable grin—shouldn’t have made your knees weak, but it did.

“You’re staring,” he said, voice teasing, though his eyes were anything but playful.

“You’re in my way,” you shot back, pulling him to you again, crashing your mouth against his.

This time, it was frantic, all pretense stripped away as hands wandered and clothes were pulled at—shirts discarded onto the studio floor, his jeans pressing into your thighs as he lifted you onto the piano bench.

The sound of the piano keys clanging beneath you should have been comical, but it only fueled the tension as his mouth found yours again, his hands sliding to grip your hips and pull you closer—until there was nothing between you but thin fabric and the weight of all the things you couldn’t say aloud.

With a swift motion, Chan flipped you back, his body now hovering over you, the heat radiating off him almost overwhelming. “You think you can just take charge?” he challenged, his voice low and teasing.

You smirked, feeling a rush of adrenaline. “Maybe I can show you how it’s done.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh, really?”

You leaned in, capturing his mouth again, your bodies pressed together, the warmth between you palpable. His hands slid up your thighs, fingers brushing the edge of your shorts, teasing but not crossing the line.

“Is this what you wanted?” you breathed against his lips, your own pulse racing with the thrill of being in control. “Something that hits harder?”

He chuckled, the sound low and inviting, “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

With a swift motion, he flipped you back again, his body now solidly over yours, the weight of him deliciously grounding. “But I’m going to show you.”

His mouth found yours again, but this time, it was urgent, a claim that sent shivers down your spine. You gasped as his hands explored further, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shorts, teasingly inching toward the waistband.

"Chan,” you breathed, the thrill of anticipation mixing with the heat of his touch. “You’re insatiable.”

“And you love it,” he replied, voice thick with desire, as he pressed his body against yours, the piano creaking beneath the weight of your shared urgency.

“Maybe,” you admitted, a grin breaking through as he captured your mouth again, the world around you fading into a blur.

His hands slipped under your shorts, fingers brushing against your skin, and you moaned softly, arching into his touch. The sensation was electric, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear, igniting a fire deep within you.

“I want you,” you gasped, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I want all of you.”

His eyes darkened with desire, and in that moment, you knew there was no turning back. He kissed you fiercely, and as the world around you faded, you surrendered to the overwhelming need that had built between you.

Chan's lips were relentless against yours, each kiss igniting a fire that spread through your entire body. His hands moved with purpose, exploring every inch of you as if memorizing your shape. The world outside the studio faded into nothingness; it was just you and him, lost in the heat of the moment.

“Are you sure?” he murmured, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and searching. “I don’t want to rush you.”

You felt your heart race at the sincerity in his voice, but the urgency of the moment drowned out any hesitation. “I’m sure,” you replied, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions within you. “I want this.”

His smirk returned, a mixture of satisfaction and wickedness, and he leaned in again, capturing your mouth as if sealing the promise of what was to come. You could feel the muscles in his arms flex as he held you against the piano, the heat radiating from his body enveloping you.

With a swift motion, he pulled you closer, his hands gripping your thighs as he shifted, positioning you to straddle him fully. The sensation sent another wave of heat through you, the feel of him beneath you amplifying the tension that had been building all night.

"Chan,” you gasped, feeling the rush of exhilaration mixed with a hint of nervousness. “Please...”

“Just wait,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. “I’m just getting started.”

As if to prove his point, his hands moved back to your waist, guiding you as you began to grind against him. The friction was intoxicating, and you let out a soft moan, the sound echoing in the dimly lit studio.

“Like that?” he teased, watching you with an intensity that made your cheeks burn.

“More,” you urged, craving the connection, the way he made you feel alive and desired.

He obliged, his grip tightening as he helped you find a rhythm, the two of you moving together in a way that felt both primal and electrifying. You lost yourself in the sensation, every touch, every kiss igniting something deeper within you.

“God, you’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. The praise sent a thrill through you, pushing you to go faster, to feel more.

You leaned forward, locking eyes with him as you whispered, “Show me how incredible I can be.”

His response was a low growl, and in an instant, he flipped you back, pinning you beneath him once more. The shift was exhilarating, and you reveled in the feeling of being completely at his mercy. He leaned down, capturing your mouth again, and the kiss was fierce and demanding, filled with all the pent-up frustration and heat that had been building between you.

His hands roamed freely, exploring every inch of your body, his fingers igniting fire wherever they touched. You gasped as he slipped a hand beneath your shorts again, teasingly brushing against your most sensitive spots, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you.

“Chan, please,” you pleaded, the urgency in your voice echoing the frantic beating of your heart.

“Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you,” he responded, his voice low and gravelly, the promise laced within it making your breath hitch.

You could hardly think straight, the need for him overwhelming. “I want you inside me,” you confessed, the words spilling out with a desperation you couldn’t hide.

His eyes darkened with desire at your admission, and he nodded, his expression turning serious. “Okay. But we’re doing this right.”

He took a moment to rummage through his bag, pulling out a small packet. You watched, breathless and eager, as he prepared, the anticipation building to a fever pitch.

"Strip for me, sweet girl," he said as he returned to you, helping you take off your clothes, taking a second to admire you. "Even more beautiful than i imagined."

You looked at him, with big, vulnerable eyes. "You imagine this?"

His gaze soften for a moment, "From the day you walked in this studio from the first time."

His hands found your waist again, fingers digging in as he positioned himself at your entrance. “Ready?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

“More than ready,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, and with that, he pushed inside you.

The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and fullness that made you arch against him, gasping at the intensity of it all. He filled you completely, stretching you in a way that left you breathless.

“Just like that,” he urged, his voice thick with desire as he began to move, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you. You felt every inch of him, the way he filled you up, and it was almost too much to bear.

“Chan,” you moaned, your body responding instinctively to his rhythm, the heat between you growing with every movement.

He leaned down, capturing your lips again, the kiss deepening as he lost himself in you. You could feel the way he filled you, the way your bodies moved together, and it felt absolutely electric.

“Faster,” you urged, urging him on, your nails digging into his shoulders as you pulled him closer.

He obliged, his pace quickening, the sounds of your bodies moving together filling the studio as you both succumbed to the pleasure building between you. Each thrust sent you spiraling closer to the edge, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until you thought you might burst.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned, his voice hoarse with need. “I’m not going to last long at this rate.”

“Neither am I,” you gasped, the pleasure reaching a crescendo. “Just a little more.”

With a few more powerful thrusts, the tension snapped, and you came undone, the waves of ecstasy crashing over you as your body quaked beneath him.

“Yeah, just like that,” he breathed, his own release following closely behind, the feeling of him filling you driving you to new heights as you clung to each other, lost in the moment.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, you both collapsed against each other, breaths mingling in the stillness of the studio. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you, tangled together in the aftermath of your shared passion.

The room was quiet except for the sound of your uneven breathing and the faint hum of the studio equipment. You sat slumped against Chan, your heart still pounding as you tried to collect yourself.

“Well,” he finally said, his voice a low rasp, “that was… productive.”

You swatted weakly at his chest, though you couldn’t stop the small, satisfied smile tugging at your lips. “Shut up.”

He tilted his head back with a quiet laugh, his fingers tracing lazy circles along your skin. “You’re not gonna fight me on the hook anymore, are you?”

“Don’t push your luck,” you muttered, though the bite in your voice was gone.

Chan looked down at you, his expression softer now. “Guess I finally got your best work out of you, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, but when his hand slid back to your waist, tugging you closer, you didn’t resist.

“Maybe you’re not entirely useless after all,” you teased, brushing your lips against his again.

His laugh rumbled against your mouth as he kissed you back, slow and unhurried this time—like you had all the time in the world.

“Careful,” he murmured. “You’re starting to like me.”

You pulled away just enough to meet his gaze, arching an eyebrow. “Don’t let it go to your head, Bang Chan.”

But the smirk on his face told you it was already too late.

[dreamsky-sapphi]

Listen to me yap about this song being Mahiru core (i dont like twt word limit)

I'm not sure what the show it was made for is about but I've been a fan of Kohana Lam for a while now and this song was also composed and written by Scop (notably made Irony, Crier, and recently Suresure for Project Sekai)

I'm not good at analyzing so I might just sounds like I'm making super obvious comments but this means so much to me

The main thing about Mahiru is her low self esteem, and here I also think about how she never managed to place number one in previous competitions (if I remember correctly)

She knows very well that life is unfair and it's not just her being the victim of it, but she still holds on the hope that she might get what she wants eventually

I initially thought of the word "expectation" here as the weight of wanting to make her family proud and the fact that she is the oldest sister, so the one who needs to be a model for her siblings, and thus putting a lot of pressure on her shoulders. But it can also be the expectancy of her wish becoming true, and I'm thinking about her wanting to perform Starlight with Karen as co-stars. She knows that Karen isn't really motivated (before Hikari arrives) and that Maya and Claudine would get the lead roles again, so she might have tried to shake off that thought, but we've seen in the first episode that she still thinks about it and didn't lose hope

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Mahiru often gets blinded by her insecurity and the fact that she believes she isn't as good as others to the point she straight up thinks she doesn't even deserve to be where she is right now

But in the end she was always lifted back up by someone who reached out to her and helped her remember the reason why she even stands on that stage, her first reason being her grandma and then later Karen

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I was heavily brainrotting here because they explicitely use terms for acting on the stage. Even if Mahiru's worries are easy to see, she still tries her best to hide it and if she feels like she needs to cry she does it where no one can see

I know I'm pretty literal here but you get it

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Mahiru was already comparing herself to others before, but staying with Karen probably toned it down and distracted her enough to not think too much about it

But once Hikari came and Karen started to change, she was left to overthink on her own again, accepting that she is weak and can only compare herself to her friends

She wouldn't want her friends to worry about her in any way, but Karen spending more time with Hikari when she was used to being her partner probably left her to feel lonely, and my take would be that it could end up to a point she'd wish someone would see that she isn't feeling well

And no matter how hard she could try to not think about it, she just can't

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This chorus is kind of similar to the first one but I like the last line a lot and this is mostly just how I perceive Mahiru about this

Despite feeling hurt about a certain situation, she might believe that she shouldn't feel sad. She has a loving and supportive family, great friends, attending a good school, and people looked up to her. I think that she could believe it's too selfish of her to feel sad about wanting something (be Karen's co star) when she has a lot, despite her low self esteem

Again, this isn't exactly canon but I think this could fit this way

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This, this is just episode 5 to me

This part of the song is the first where it sounds different, and rushed. A part where Mahiru's feelings reach a peak, and also the moment before slowly accepting things and especially herself

This song is so perfect already with the lines "Afraid of the shining light (Hikari), even the flower (Karen) that bloomed so beautifully"

Hikari came in their lives and Mahiru was absolutely horrified by the possibility of losing Karen, and Hikari was shining starting the moment she arrived. But despite that fear, Karen became more radiant. She wasn't lazy anymore and only started blooming and Mahiru can't deny that she was indeed beautiful

"The passing days won't stop. Even when I reach out, I can't get there. I can't remember with who I am now"

Mahiru's feelings are a mess and these lyrics display that despair so perfectly. She wished she could go back to when she felt like she had something and she can't stop time from passing by

For "Even when I reach out, I can't get there" I think about both how she can't have Karen for herself anymore, but also her goal to be the one at the center stage, since she never had reached top 1 before. But in her context, being center stage would be the equivalent of being with Karen

And that despair and dependence on Karen truly made her forget about her own shine

(unrelated she looks so cute)

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Starting here, Mahiru learned to accept herself as she is

She didn't fully change of course, she can't fully get rid of her inferiority complex and she will still have times she will cry, but she knows this is just how she is and she can't do much but still try her best

"The light shines on the back of my singing life" I like to think this can either be interpreted as having moved on from her past with Hikari, but also as her knowing she has her own brilliance

"I want to be someone who can extend a hand" Now her goal is to become the sun, pretty much an exact way of showing her new goal

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And finally, the last lines only reinforcing her acceptance and that she works hard to be able to reach her goal and become the one who shines the brightest

She isn't afraid to admit she is weak and it isn't a problem as long as she continues to stay kind which includes having to push your friend several meters off the ground

I like that "The flower that bloomed so beautifully" comes back, because even if she moved on after episode 5, she's still very much in love with Karen and I really like the detail of thinking about her again

And well, the last three lines only add up to how she continues to work hard, both on her low self esteem and to stand brightly on the stage

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I know I might have said too obvious things bc the song is pretty direct and fits Mahiru so perfectly

I really like that it matches so well with the different steps in Mahiru's life in Seisho, from the moment she managed to get in, the moment Hikari came to Seisho, Revue of Jealousy and finally the movie/post movie

I've known this song for a bit and I already associated it with Mahiru before but thinking about it made me brainrot so bad I just wanted to make a whole post about it

I love Mahiru so much and this meant so much to me (i can't deny that some parts might have been self projection)

Don't have much else to say, I love Mahiru

[aishangotome]

[Kuzuha: Sweet Ending] Adult SEXY SUMMER ~Connecting Morning, Noon, and Night~ Story Event (R18+)

Chapter 2

Kuzuha: How long are you going to think about it? It’s hot, so make up your mind quickly, okay?

Kuzuha: Come on. Three, two, one—

Yumeka: Ah… Tonight, I want to stay home.

I answered in a hurry, and Kuzuha smirked.

Kuzuha: Well, let's do that then.

Having decided to stay home, Kuzuha and I were walking through the park again on our way back from the shopping mall.

Yumeka: The wind feels nice when it gets dark…

Kuzuha: Yeah. It seems like we can manage even without air conditioning.

As we walked leisurely, chatting about trivial things, a rustling sound came from the bushes.

Yumeka: Ah!

(That startled me… Was it just the wind, shaking the trees?)

As I looked at the hedge, Kuzuha, walking beside me, grinned.

Kuzuha: Doesn't that remind you of the horror movie we saw today? The one where they get dragged into the hedge.

Yumeka: N-No, stop it… Can we go home quickly?

Just as I reached for Kuzuha's arm, the trees shook even more violently than before, rustling loudly.

Yumeka: Hmph…!

My body stiffened with fear, and my feet stumbled. Then, Kuzuha put his arm around my waist, supporting me.

Kuzuha: Whoa, are you okay?

Yumeka: S-Sorry. Thank you.

I forced a wry smile, trying to hide my cold sweat, and Kuzuha's hand tightened around me.

Kuzuha: Want me to make you forget the scary part again?

Yumeka: Eh…?

No sooner had he spoken than Kuzuha's hand reached for my chest.

Yumeka: N-No…!

Yumeka: Kuzuha, not here again… Mmm…!

(Since he left me half-touched at the movie theater, I'm getting sensitive so easily…!)

The flush that bloomed deep in my chest spread through my entire body in an instant, and I trembled with the pleasure he gave me.

Kuzuha: This spot, isn’t it already hard even through your clothes? You actually like being touched outside, don't you?

As he toyed with the peak of my breast, another moan almost escaped.

Yumeka: Mmm…!

Kuzuha: It’s fine to hold back your voice, but don’t forget to walk, okay?

Kuzuha said playfully, and began to walk, all the while caressing my chest.

Yumeka: No… Let go of my hand. It’s embarrassing…

Kuzuha: That's what you like about it, isn't it?

Kuzuha’s fingers left my chest and began to slip lower and lower. He suddenly teased my sensitive spot with his finger, and I stopped walking.

Yumeka: Ah, ahh… N-no!

My inner thighs trembled tightly.

(O-Oh no… I…)

With a sensation like flickering lights before my eyes, I knew I had lightly climaxed.

Kuzuha: Is it spasming here?

Kuzuha: You were acting shy just now, but you secretly don't mind at all, do you?

I felt heat rise to my cheeks at Kuzuha's words and lowered my face.

Suddenly, something came out of a nearby bush with a rustling sound.

Yumeka: Eek!

Kuzuha: It's just a trash bag.

Yumeka: Huh…?

Kuzuha moved away from me, slowly approached it, picked it up, and showed it to me.

Yumeka: O-Oh, you're right… I was so startled…

Kuzuha: Haha.

Kuzuha tossed it into a trash can, then came back and immediately shrugged.

Kuzuha: There's a limit to how much we can fool around in the park.

Kuzuha: Shall we continue at home? We've got a nice souvenir, too, don't we?

His low, sweet voice whispered in my ear made my body tremble as I imagined what was to come.

...

Even on a tropical night without air conditioning, the room had cooled down somewhat as night fell.

I changed into the lingerie I'd bought earlier in the dressing room, then stood before Kuzuha, who was sitting on the bed.

Yumeka: I put it on… How is it?

Kuzuha: Oh. Wow, it really suits you.

Kuzuha looked at me so directly, and I felt happy, a smile gracing my lips.

Kuzuha: Come closer?

Yumeka: Okay…

I approached Kuzuha as he asked.

Then, Kuzuha reached out a finger and began to tease my sensitive spot, which was already hot from having climaxed once.

Kuzuha: Haha, you’re so lewd. Can you tell it’s already damp?

Kuzuha: Because you were teased in the park… and even at the movie theater.

Kuzuha: But we had plenty of time until we got home, right? Does that mean you were anticipating this the whole time?

Kuzuha: You imagined what would happen while wearing this, and you got wet, didn't you?

Yumeka: Ah, th-that’s… right. But it’s all your fault, Kuzuha.

Kuzuha laughed out loud at my voice, which was accusing.

Kuzuha: Haha, you’re so honest. So, that means this part is swollen too, huh?

Kuzuha’s finger pinched the peak of my sensitive spot through the lingerie. My body twitched at the sudden increase in stimulation.

Yumeka: Mmm…!

A wet, suggestive sound echoed in the moonlit room.

Kuzuha: You're really feeling it… You've become truly lewd, haven't you?

Kuzuha: Could that also be my fault?

Yumeka: It… it is.

That’s obvious. There’s no other reason. I bit my lip, trying to suppress the pleasure as I answered, standing directly in front of Kuzuha…

Then, his hand smoothly withdrew.

Kuzuha: Straddle me.

Yumeka: O-Okay…

I obeyed Kuzuha and straddled his lap as he sat on the bed. Feeling Kuzuha’s body heat and gazing into his eyes, my lips were then sealed by his.

Yumeka: Hmph… Nnngh.

Kuzuha wrapped his arm around my back and began to gently stroke my bottom. The light caresses weren't enough, and my hips naturally swayed, rubbing Kuzuha against myself.

Kuzuha: Your movements are so naughty. What kind of face are you making?

Yumeka: Ah! Don't tease me… Ah!

I tried to hide my face instinctively, but Kuzuha grabbed my hands, preventing me from doing so.

Kuzuha: Show me.

Yumeka: I’m definitely making a weird face…

Kuzuha: No way. You’re cute.

(…Eh?)

I turned my face towards Kuzuha at his unexpected words, and he gave me a sweet kiss.

Kuzuha: Mmm… You’re so cute, I just wanted to kiss you.

Yumeka: Nnngh… Kuzuha…

The stimulation of our tongues intertwining and the surging pleasure from our joined intimate parts made the back of my head feel like it was burning up from the heat.

(But I want to feel Kuzuha more…!)

Kuzuha: Lift your hips.

Yumeka: Okay…

As Kuzuha, who seemed to sense my wish, told me to, I lifted my hips. Kuzuha’s fingers then moved aside my already soaked lingerie.

Kuzuha: Haha, it’s not just you; I’m drenched in sweat too.

Kuzuha laughed and immediately grabbed my hips, lowering me onto himself.

Yumeka: Haa… Nngh���Ahh!

Kuzuha: Ngh… Haa.

We fell back onto the bed, kissing with entangled saliva…

Kuzuha: Haa… This heat is making me crazy.

I writhed in agony from the sensation of Kuzuha’s heat piercing me to my depths, and he continued to make love to me until the tropical night broke.

.

.

.

.

.

Mugenro Masterlist

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[jmtofp]

In response to this post:

I think it's because it has the best story progression and build up.

Everyone appreciates a story with rising action, climax, and resolution. You need the "lows" in order for the "highs" to stand out, and vice versa. A small problem some other chapters had was the use of too much "high", tense moments, which results in feeling like the player was just thrown into the climax of a story.

One thing Xkour also does with its "low"s is set up a growing sense of unease, teasing the player with mystery.

Xkour starts with a friendly tutorial into the game, the player feels welcomed as no imminent threat is found. However, that changes as the tutorial goes slightly haywire and with the newly learnt fact that dying actually has consequences. This unease steadily grows until the third quest where it reaches its peak. So, what does the summoner do? Flee this "peace" and "fun" to find out the dangerous truth behind it all. One exposition later, and we've reached the first climax and subsequent resolution. Beautiful.

But of course, the story isn't done. After the first resolution, we get another moment of "low"s getting "higher" as the guardian trials start, but similarly with that unease that something is wrong back at main and even here. This time, instead of reaching its peak when the exposition drops, the story suddenly goes into a relative "low" with the reveal that the threat, the creator, wasn't here all along. But of course, it almost immediately shifts back into a "high" once another similar truth is revealed. So then we have the big climax of the whole two chapters, and then the story somewhat manages with its resolution.

Another thing would be the story's relatability.

What I mean is that players can easily connect with the characters that appear since everyone is a player here. (Also, who doesn't like the idea of a VR parkour game?) So this connection makes the stakes hit harder.

The ultimate threat of this chapter is the imprisonment and brainwashing of the players. And I assume it's easier to understand the dread of being trapped forever as opposed to other fantastical threats.

The story also uses Cyto as a way to personalise the danger of being potentially stuck in a game forever. Something about feeling more for one person's story rather than a general populace's. Although that may be the case, the story kind of fails to deliver on his anguish and thus people, us, are going to rewrite that sh** because it's too good to give up on.

(Luna's emotional anguish with herself as a program rather than a real being was also a treat.)

Another neat thing about Xkour is that it's the only chapter to have a clear connection to Luni that isn't about the swords of corruption.

There are a plethora of other minor things about this story that compile up to make this my favourite two chapters in Gacha World, some of which may differ from individuals.

tldr:

The Xkour storyline applies story writing 101 (the hill) well enough and is quite relatable, allowing the player to easily get invested into the story.

Cyto is an underrated character with almost as much emotional baggage as DJ X, and that's something this small community likes to see.

(I say that with a straight face as I continue typing out my currently 2600 word count analysis on Vale in canon and her despair with being trapped under C!Kilios' rule.)

Goodness, I love Xkour.

[katyspersonal]

Thinking about this preset again 🤔 Dark Souls 3 presets don't have hair and eyes lore; absolutely all of them have black hair and green eyes, even Astoran ones, so the only lore here is how skin color and features change!

Basically, we don't know what hair or eyes color were common for people from Irithyll, all characters born there are dead or mutated into infinity or both! But the only Old Gods with bleach white skin we've seen are Gwyndolin and Velka! The two were doing the same job within the pantheon. Velka had darkness affinity, that's for sure, however she had power to manipulate time (erase someone's transgressions from history) which is the power of light. And Gwyndolin had strong moonlight affinity but also a bit of darkness (his darkmoon blade miracle is purple which is darkness and his other miracle, ring and associated "Statue of Goddess" is in Catacombs). However, light too; his pale yellow illusory magic is what Oolacile people use and what animated stone forest guardians.

So, I think there is a third affinity within disparity. We have Light, which is also fire, life and time. We have Dark, which is also cold, death and devolution/entropy (or other things defying time as first flame created it). But there seems to be a Night affinity, that sort of bridges the gap between the two or exists between them? Think of moon and stars that are also light, but they only exist in the darkness. Gods like this can dab in both dark and light, whether they "side" with only one extreme depends entirely on what they do.

So, it seems like cold colors are a consistent thing! White Night-affiliated person with have literally bleach white skin, but brown and black Night-affiliated people will have very cold and desaturated skin tones that might look grey (like Rosaria's), blueish or even purple on low saturation. The hair I am not sure about... Velka has black hair and Rosaria has dark grey. Maybe hair will also always remain cold. Like, "blond" hair of Night person will be very pale yellow, like moon that didn't reach its peak yet (like Ciaran's hair), when Night "redheads" would have pale red hair which, again, is a color moon can take under certain lighting such as lunar eclipse. 🤔

I guess the reason why "features of Old Gods" only refer to Night people for now is because such Gods are pretty much the only ones who remained alive or even just remembered at the DS3 times

[profoundbondfanfic]

Hey, I was wondering if you had any reverse fics, with Dean as an angel and Cas as the hunter ?

(also, you are doing God's work and I love your blog so so much ❤️❤️)

Hello there, thank you so much! And here are a few fics we've enjoyed:

Calming the Weather by seidenapfel [Explicit, 35k words]

Rescued from the Empty, Cas is fully human, and miserable. So, rather than acknowledge what happened in the dungeon, Dean searches for a way to change that. He finds it in a simple spell. The spell gives ordinary humans a limited dose of angelic powers. Too afraid it might harm Cas, Dean tests it on himself. But it backfires. Thanks to a piece of Grace bound to his soul, Dean wakes up fully powered, wings and all. With their roles reversed, it is up to Castiel to teach Dean how to wield angelic powers, and for Dean to share the peaks and lows of humanity with Castiel. Misconceptions come to light as they learn from each other. Meanwhile, a storm is brewing. In order to stop it, Dean not only has to get a hold on his emotions, but he must face a revelation about himself, one he had repressed all his life.

Castiel's Angel by Valinde (Valyria) [Explicit, 5k words]

The angel took a deep breath and looked down at his hands. He was fidgeting Cas noticed. Usually he was so bizarrely at ease in his human form, lounging around and tossing winks and smirks at anyone with a pulse. That more than anything had Cas straightening on his stool and wishing he was a little less tipsy. “Ineedyoutogroommywings,” Dean muttered in one long, almost unintelligible, string. He was blushing.

Grace the Gun by chevrolangels [Explicit, 169k words]

He’s got a shotgun in his hand and his mother’s broken rosary around his neck. His eye is cut open and dripping, and he’s got forty years of Hell fresh in his mind. Do not. Fuck with him. It's been four months since he died, when Castiel wakes up, six feet below the ground, alive. Alive without an explanation, with a mysterious itch under his skin and rumors of a whisper, a whisper of something so powerful, that demons themselves are running scared. Then he meets the thing that pulled him out—a spitfire angel named Dean, who turns out to be nothing to run from. With his sister Anna at his side, Gabriel at his back, and three angels in their corner, they're gonna take the fight to them. And they're gonna show God just exactly how they feel about his plan for fate and destiny.

Hunting for Faith by perunamuusa, riseofthefallenone [Explicit, 270k words]

It starts a few days earlier. Castiel first notices it in the middle of the night when the dreams of fire and screams have kept him awake. He’s kneeling before the altar, praying, when the glass in the windows start to shake, the very air vibrating around him. Castiel is on his feet and reaching for the gun tucked into the back of his pants as the shutters over the windows start to rattle.

My Roots Take Flight by KismetJeska [Mature, 125k words]

After forty years in Hell, Dean’s more than willing to accept the offer: become a guardian angel and earn his freedom. But his new ward seems destined to hunt alongside Sam, and there are secrets in Heaven that the angels don’t want found out. Dean’s going to have to choose between his duty and the people he loves- and to work out just where Castiel fits in.

Obey His Word by K_K_TiBal [Teen and Up, 33k words]

When Castiel was ten years old, he was cursed to always be obedient. Now he’s a hunter—not the best one at his job, admittedly, since he’s always forced to comply with the monsters that beg for their life. Everything changes on one such hunt, when an angel named Dean saves his life, and tells Castiel that he’s searching for his missing brother, Sam. His naive callousness about humans and give-em-Hell attitude is off-putting, but Dean ends up being exactly what Castiel didn’t know he needed. As he grows closer to Dean, he tries to keep the secret of the curse close to his chest—but the past always has a way of exposing the truth. Curses are hard—but trust is harder.

the rapture of distress by ozonecologne [Mature, 16k words]

Castiel swung his legs around the edge of the bed and leaned forward, setting the eggs aside. He briefly entertained the notion of patting Dean’s knee, so close to his own now, before deciding against it. Holding hands in your sleep is weird enough. "Whatever it is, I'm sure it isn't the end of the world," he consoled, wiping some grease from his mouth. Dean looked up then, and he remained guiltily silent. Castiel’s eyebrows shot up, up, up, along with his heart rate. His breakfast stuck like glue in his throat. "The end of the world?" Dean winced. "I'm working on it." A reverse!verse AU in which Castiel is a hunter and he’s visited by an angel.

To Hold In Your Hands by saltnhalo [Teen and Up, 6k words]

Castiel has never wanted an angel. He does just fine on his own, has for a long time—since he was old enough to hold a shotgun and make a salt circle. He’s proud of what he’s been able to achieve without angelic help, and the longer he can keep hunting solo, the better. But judging by the summons he’s just received to the Men of Letters’ bunker, his time is up. He can’t avoid his future angel partner any longer. (aka. five times that Dean saves Castiel's life, and five times that Castiel slowly learns angels aren't as bad as he'd thought)

[meowcats734]

(prompt response) A girl grows up thinking that all doors are automatic, but it's actually the work of a polite ghost.

I'd thought the four of us had gotten to know each other pretty well at the Silent Academy. At the very least, Lucet, Meloai, and I hung out together for pretty much every waking moment we had, and it was a rare week that didn't see Sansen and I sipping slurry and brandy together in his comfortable, hand-built home. 

But as it turned out, hanging out together in the controlled environment of school was one thing. Trekking across the country and sleeping in the same camp for weeks was an entirely different level of intimacy that I didn't expect. In the first week alone, I learned that Lucet snored, Sansen liked staying up late humming to himself, and Meloai just flat-out didn't sleep at all, instead electing to keep watch for us as we rested. 

I learned other things, too. As the food supplies we'd brought with us from the Peaks ran low and I had to fall back on the foraging skills I'd learned as a child, I found out that Lucet was a surprisingly picky eater. I, personally, saw nothing wrong with the meat slurries that were a staple food of the Redlands, and the only thing Meloai ate was a couple soul fragments harvested from the gremsquirrels we hunted, but for some reason, Lucet didn't seem to be a big fan of the ground-up meat powder that I'd grown up on.

Explaining that the meat grinder was a metaphor for the constant violence in the Redlands didn't seem to do much for her appetite, either.

Things got even weirder when we started reaching villages. The first one we found—Hatebroke, according to the lonely entrance sign—was entirely abandoned, and stripped clean of anything remotely perishable. I was just getting comfortable with the empty village when a door suddenly swung open as Meloai walked past.

"Rifts!" I swore.

"Where?" Meloai asked, gaze swiveling.

"What? No, it's an expression—the door, Meloai. Did—you have to have to have seen that, right?"

"Uh, sure? But don't all doors do that?" Meloai asked, taking a step towards the abandoned cabin. The wooden door swung open with impeccable precision, and I could have sworn the hinges even oiled themselves as they moved.

"...No, Meloai," I said. "Doors do not normally open themselves as people pass."

"Really?" Meloai frowned. "They did all the time when I grew up."

"No offense, Meloai, but you grew up in a dead nobleman's creepy-ass extradimensional basement," I said. "I'm pretty sure that your definition of 'normal' is pretty different from human standard."

Lucet kicked me in the shin. "Hey. Be nice, Cienne."

"Sorry, sorry, I'm just a little bit stressed from... I dunno... getting chased out of the only home I had left by a fucking eldritch abomination? If this is Iola messing with us..." I took a step forwards and shut the door; it didn't open again.

"I don't think this is Iola," Sansen said, frowning at the door. "This... I think it's a different soulspace entity. And if my guess is right, it's one that probably decided to follow Meloai around ever since she left the Plane of Elemental Insecurity."

"Wait, so we've been stalked by some invisible soulspace entity for months now? How come we haven't noticed?" Lucet said.

"Say the part about it being invisible again," I said, "but slowly."

Lucet flicked my forehead. Ow, but I guess I deserved that. "You know what I mean. Meloai, does this door-opening thing happen all the time?"

"Yes," Meloai said, grumbling. "Not like it mattered much at the Silent Academy, since there were always so many people moving around that the doors were always open anyway. Look, I obviously turned out okay, and I spent twenty years with this kind of thing happening. Don't we have more important things to worry about? Like, uh, getting enough food for you guys to eat?"

"Well, hang on, maybe one of those problems can be a solution to the other." Sansen, by virtue of being older than Meloai, Lucet, and I combined, was the de facto leader of our little group of adventurers. "I've seen people come and go in my time, and I've even encountered the soulspace entities they've left behind. If this soulspace entity is formed from the soul fragments of who I think it is, then he's not going to be hostile."

"Didn't you just say it was something from Lord Tanryn's vault?" I asked. 

"Yes, but I don't think it's that puffed-up nobleman himself. He wouldn't stoop so low as to open doors for some commoner."

"Then... who is it?" I turned to Sansen, frowning. The old man had forgotten more than I'd ever know, and I trusted his judgement.

A faint smile spread across Sansen's face. "I think it's his old butler." He cleared his throat. "Meloai. Did the soulspace entity ever set tables for you?"

Meloai gave him an uncertain nod. "I... think? That's the thing where all the silverware flies into place, and the tablecloth straightens itself out with a whoomph, right?"

"...In this context, sure," Sansen said. "Did he—did the entity do the little thing with the three types of forks? The one with two little tines on the left, the bigger one in the middle, and that delicate, long, pointy one on the right?"

Meloai nodded enthusiastically. "See? It is normal for tables to do that."

"Oi," I muttered. "Well, I guess it's not the weirdest thing we consider normal nowadays."

"Yeah, that's ol' Mairel alright." Sansen's old gaze stared into the distance as he remembered. "He was my first crush, back in the day. If there's still enough of him left to remember how to wait tables and grease doors... well. Indulge an old man for a moment, will you?"

The three of us traded looks, then nodded at once. We may have been an eccentric little group, but we were tight-knit. We trusted each other. "Whatcha need, Sansen?" I asked.

His requests were fairly simple. We cleared out the front yard of the abandoned shack, smoothing over the dirt with our feet and hands—and as we did, something... else... joined us. Something that barely remembered how to speak or think, but still knew how to set a dance floor. Within minutes, we'd cleared a square of land, with Sansen standing in the middle.

And the old man began to dance.

Wordlessly at first, the waltz was an invitation. He took the lead, and empty air followed. And then, all at once, the air wasn't empty anymore. There was no flash of light, no thunderous miracles, but Sansen's steps became more sure, his weight more freely shifted, as he leaned on a partner who wasn't there but had been, once, long ago.

Meloai began to hum to herself, a wordless childhood lullaby that she must have heard when she was growing up, and the cadence of the tune matched the waltz to perfection.

The old man and the ghost finished their dance, and I felt a whisper of wind rustle around the impromptu dance floor.

Then the miracle was over, and suddenly, Sansen was holding nothing but empty air. He let out a long, contented sigh, memory coursing through him.

Then he opened his eyes, smiling.

"You wanted food, kids?" He stepped forwards, opening the door to the abandoned shack. Behind it, impossibly, incongruously, was a fully-set banquet table, resplendent with rich foods from an era long past, with three delicate forks set precisely by each setting. "Seems like there's something left of Mairel after all."

And the four of us ate gratefully, sustained by the memory of a ghost of an old man's friend.

A.N.

Soulmage is a serial written in response to writing prompts. Stick around for more episodes, or join my Discord to chat about it!

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[driftward]

The Stranger Woman: A Desertwalkers Story (thanks to @saesama for helping clean it up)

-*-

It's a quiet day in Stonewood. Uncommon enough, but welcome all the same. The saloon has the low hum of a decent crowd, not peak, not empty. The Saltlick, well, it's just business, and Klynt's very good at minding that. And that's what she's doing when the doors swing open, and the stranger walks in. Every day a newcomer, and Klynt doesn't mind this one over much other than to look her up and down.

Elf of some sort, taller than many of her kind but not so tall to Klynt's eye for all that. A dress, somehow not wholly impractical. Solid boots with ornate heels. Pants that'll be good out in the brush. Gloves that might round out the outfit, if the overall effect weren't marred by the entirely too many bags for good sense. Glasses and straight raven-black long hair that trails down her back give her a bit of a severe look. Blank, gormless expression as she looks around, approaching the bar.

The saloon buzzes. Newcomers aren't rare, but this one's prettier than most, Klynt has to admit. Or at least looks like she knows what a shower is and where her money's at.

“Excuse me,” she asks. "I am given to understand that this is the sort of place that one might find out information. Would you happen to know the owner?"

"That's me," says Klynt, leaning on the bar. "Owner and currently barkeep. You want to talk, save it for later. You want a drink, I can get you that now."

"Ah, but of course. I am rather tired from my journey at the moment. A cup of boiling hot water, if you please."

Klynt turns, and came back with the requested cup. Odd request, but hell if she cared. This one is polite. Too polite by half, she’ll be lucky to last the sennight. Or at least, that's what Klynt wants to think, but something is tickling in the back of her mind, and she can't figure out what.

The woman smiles and thanks her, before digging around in some of her bags, and producing a little metal steeper and stuffing it with small delicate tea leaves.

"We've got mate, if you want something that'll keep you awake," offers Klynt casually.

"Oh yes! I have heard of it. I am quite interested in the local food and drink, but… perhaps later. For now, I think I wish for the comfort of the familiar.”

"Suit yourself," says Klynt, retreating down the bar. She isn't about to charge for hot water, but she isn't going to entertain for free, either.

The woman pulls out some notebooks and maps, and begins to read over both, flipping pages and scribbling spirits-knew-what. It doesn't take long for one of her other customers to grow bold enough to approach the woman, letting out a low whistle as he draws close.

"Well aren't you a pretty thing. Wouldn't mind showin' you a thing or two.”

The woman does not look up from her notebooks. "I wish to be left alone right this moment, thank you."

The man - Jonesy, Klynt notes. Local idiot, runs his mouth too much and didn't know when to leave well enough alone. Jonesy decides to help himself to a seat next to the woman.

"Well, now, just makin' conversation. Say, that's a nice dress. Pants are a bit much for a woman like you though, don't you think?"

The woman stops what she’s doing, and turns to stare at him. She has a bit of an unnerving look to her, if you asked Klynt.

"Please leave me alone," she says.

Jonesy, being an idiot, isn't deterred, as he leans into her personal space, causing her in turn to lean away from him.

"Now come on. I know I heard you ask Mz Gohtawyn 'bout information. I can teach you everything you might need to know."

"Please leave me alone," she repeats.

"I'd listen to her if I were you, Jonesy,” says Klynt warningly, starting to reach under the counter for her shotgun. Jonesy always paid his tab, but damn if putting up with him just isn't worth the coin some days, and this was shaping up to be one of them. The woman continues to stare at him as he swings around to face Klynt.

"Now, now, don't be jealous just because I've found nicer prospects than payin' one of your ladies," he says.

That’s it. Klynt is going to - well, Klynt is going to do nothing, as Jonesy starts screaming. And the reason he is screaming was because the woman has pinned his hand to the bar top with an impressive looking hunting knife while he was turned away.

Klynt blinks. The woman had moved awful fast.

Jonesy, gasping between breaths, grabs at the knife to pull it out, but the woman slaps her hand over its hilt, and grabs his face with the other hand. "No. Not like that. Pay attention to me. Look! Listen! Pay ATTENTION." Her voice suddenly has an odd and powerful command to it, seeming to be underlined with ice. "Do not pull that knife out. You will bleed heavily, get that blood all over the place, possibly pass out, and will certainly be risking an infection. Here. Like this," she says, as she grasps his hand with the knife still in it, and pulls him free of the countertop.

He begins swearing a blue storm as she lets go of his face, and uses her now free hand to pull out bandages to wrap the knife to his hand. "You will find the local chirurgeon, and you will get their help in getting that knife out of your hand. Now go," she says, shoving him off his stool and towards the saloon entrance.

Klynt begins howling with laughter as he runs for it. "You pyschotic bitch of a whore!" he yells.

"Please ask the doctor to make sure I get my knife back," calls the woman after him.

"Hot damn,” says Klynt. "I think I like you."

"Thank you?" says the woman, seeming to be confused. And then, after a moment, “my apologies for the inconvenience,” before returning to her tea and notes. For the next few moments, the bar is a ruckus of hooting and hollering and shouts. The woman seems uninterested, somehow completely ignoring the noise, and a few looks from Klynt is enough to get the crowd to calm down. Gradually, things begin to return to something like normal.

She -should- kick her out. But fuck Jonesy, Klynt decides.

“What’s your name, stranger?” She asks.

The stranger pauses. “Zoissette Vauban,” she says.

“Klynt Gohtawyn. Mz Gohtawyn, if you kindly. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Pleasure is mine,” says the woman, Zoissette, not looking up. Klynt decides to leave the matter there.

It’s less than half a bell later when Mathye shows up, angry as a bobcat.

"Who the hell's going around stabbing people in my town!?" he demands.

The woman turns as he enters, and looks at the knife he is waving around in his hand. "Oh! That is mine," she says. Mathye begins swearing as he approaches, spitting mad. Klynt starts cackling again. She'd sort that out in a moment, but in the meanwhile, this is the funniest shit that has happened in the Saltlick in a while.

Yeah, she decides. Yeah, she likes this awkward swan of a woman.

[dbriley]

Digital Well-Being: Because Apparently We Need an App to Tell Us to Breathe

Listen up, fellow digital hostages. We're living in an era where our phones have become such helicopter parents that they now remind us to do basic human functions. That's right – we've reached peak civilization: an app that tells you to breathe. Take that, evolution!

The Mindfulness Industrial Complex

Remember when finding inner peace didn't require a subscription plan? Now we've got meditation apps that are about as zen as a caffeinated squirrel doing taxes. They promise to transform you from a stress-ball of anxiety into a floating cloud of tranquility – all for the low, low price of your sanity and half of your car payment.

These digital gurus are basically the equivalent of having a really pushy friend who won't shut up about their chakras, except now they live in your pocket and send you notifications about "finding your center" while you're trying to watch the newest Tik Tok dance trends.

Your Wrist is Probably Judging You

We live in an era where your watch knows more about your health than you do. These little wrist-mounted dictators track everything from your steps to your sleep patterns, basically turning your life into a game of "Numbers That Make You Feel Bad About Yourself."

It's like having a tiny personal trainer strapped to your arm, except instead of yelling "ONE MORE REP!" it passive-aggressively vibrates and beeps when you've been sitting for too long. "Stand up!" it demands, usually right in the middle of your Netflix binge. Thanks, watch, I totally needed that guilt trip while I was seven episodes deep into a show about vampire gymnasts.

Digital Detox (The Irony is Not Lost on Us)

In a plot twist that would make M. Night Shyamalan proud, we now need apps to help us stop using apps. It's like using alcohol to cure alcoholism, except somehow Silicon Valley convinced us this makes perfect sense. These apps essentially guilt-trip you into not using your phone by showing you virtual trees dying or sad puppies or whatever psychological warfare they've cooked up this week.

Social Media: Now With 30% Less Soul-Crushing Anxiety!

Social media platforms are finally pretending to care about our mental health – kind of like how your ex says they want to "stay friends." They're rolling out features to make you feel less terrible about yourself, which is like putting a Band-Aid on a shark bite, but hey, at least they're trying.

The Future is... Well, Something

Look, here's the deal: we're trying to use technology to solve problems that technology created in the first place. It's like setting your house on fire and then inventing a really complicated way to put it out involving blockchain and machine learning, when maybe we could have just... not set the house on fire?

But since we're all too far gone to turn back now, here's what the future looks like: Your smartwatch will tell your meditation app that you're stressed, which will tell your digital detox app to lock you out of your phone, which will notify your social media accounts to post an automatic "Taking a mental health break!" status, complete with a serene beach photo you've never actually visited.

The Bottom Line 

We're basically living in a world where we need machines to remind us how to be human. It's like we're all participating in a massive technological experiment that future generations will probably study in their "What Were They Thinking?" portions of history classes.

But hey, if you need me, I'll be using my mindfulness app to calm down from the stress of my fitness tracker telling me I didn't sleep well, while my digital wellness app counts down the minutes until I can look at social media again. Because that, my friends, is what we call progress.

Now excuse me while I go download an app that reminds me to drink water. Because apparently, that's where we're at as a species.

[dracocheesecake]

Constitution Of A Yak

Warnings: Some mild gross elements regarding sickness, mostly dealing with copious amounts of snot.

Kai didn't get sick- or at least, that was what he always claimed. He seemed to believe that he was either immortal or immune, that sickness couldn't touch him- but Oogway knew better; it was touching him now.

Of course, you couldn't tell his co-general that. Kai had a philosophy surrounding illness that seemed to boil down to 'if I just ignore it, it can't get to me'. He would soldier through and lead their troops, no matter what ailed him.

But Oogway couldn't withstand it anymore. It was obstinance that bordered towards self-destruction, and as his friend, he couldn't sit by and let it happen; also, the coughing and sneezing that broke through the air like peals of thunder during his meditation was starting to drive him insane.

He opened his eyes, watching Kai from his side of their shared tent. His co-general was sitting behind a low desk, eyes glued to a bunch of maps as he attempted to plan their next campaign. Tiny wooden figures representing battalions of their warriors dotted the map, and an abacus was beside him, the beads constantly moving as he made calculations on supplies.

He let out another earth-shaking cough, and all of the items on his desk were knocked freshly askew. Cursing, he reached forward, trying to rearrange all the figures and the abacus the way he had it. Oogway smiled a little.

"So I take it we're either planning for a storm to wreck our regiments, or the gods are going to rain their fury down upon us."

Kai glared at him. There were flaky bits of pale green crust around his nostrils, and his eyes were red and watery. He breathed in a strange, congested way, so that if they had been on a stealth mission, they would have all been dead. His tongue came out occasionally to clean his nose and wet his dry lips. He turned back to his maps and figures.

Oogway tried to smile again as if nothing was wrong, but now his friend's condition was wearing on him.

He cleared his throat. Kai looked at him again. Oogway had to be careful with this, and none too conspicuous.

"...Speaking of the god's wrath- maybe we've displeased them already. I've heard that a cold has been going around the camp," he said. "We might want to be careful. Don't want to catch it."

Kai straightened and glared down at him. "I don't get sick," he said. He had been trying to be intimidating, but the effect was ruined by his constant sniffing; but even if he had been at his peak health, Oogway still wouldn't have been cowed. He dropped all pretense.

"Kai, you're sick."

Kai made a few congested noises. "...No I'm not."

"Why are you breathing like that, then?"

"Mind your own business." He then started coughing.

Oogway watched with an arch look. "Oh, so if I felt your forehead right now, you wouldn't have a fever?"

"No."

"Come here, then," Oogway got up and approached him, hand outstretched. Kai scooted back, glaring at him.

"Take my word for it."

"No."

And with no other warning than that, he lunged straight for him. Kai only had just enough time to let out a cry of surprise and fall to the side. Oogway flipped, landing on his feet, and faced him again, prepared to make another pass.

"Come here!"

Kai snorted stubbornly and crouched down. "No! Leave me alone!"

Then he tossed the table at him and rushed out of the entrance flap. Oogway scoffed and followed.

"Kai! You're being a-"

He paused, eyes wide as Kai lunged at him on all fours. Oogway jumped out of the way and grabbed one of the bull's horns, swinging onto his back. Then he gripped his mane for something to hold onto; he was too close to Kai's head- if he just managed to reach out...

But Kai knew it, too. He stood suddenly and then fell, crushing Oogway under his weight; not entirely, thanks to the tortoise's shell, but the impact hurt the ribs and spine embedded into it nonetheless, and Oogway winced.

It seemed the impact had hurt Kai, too. Oogway was shaped like a boulder, and falling on such a thing spine-first wasn't exactly a massage. Kai groaned and rolled off of him, coughing. Oogway rose, rubbing his chest.

"You're fighting more like a lame lamb than a bull, 'Jade Slayer'," Oogway taunted. "You must be even more sick than I thought."

Kai snorted, snot as well as steam shooting out of his nostrils. However, despite the fearsome display he maintained, he swayed on his feet. The illness that had infected him was starting to get to his head, making his movements as thick and heavy as the substance that ran out of his nose. Oogway was not afraid to forgo honor and take advantage of this; it was, after all, only for his own good.

He rushed at him, but Kai was not so slowed that he didn't anticipate the move: he threw his arms up to block Oogway's next blow, but then Oogway grabbed both of his wrists and held them, then pulled Kai down to his level. Kai gritted his teeth.

"You want to feel my forehead so badly? Fine!"

Then Kai's forehead collided with his, and Oogway felt even in that brief instant how warm it was. His brain felt like it was rattling in his skull, but he fought off the dizziness enough to grab Kai's horns and hold him there, their foreheads pressed together. Kai paused suddenly in confusion.

Their eyes met. Oogway tsked. "Burning hot with fever."

There was a move that Kai couldn't process, (probably a sample of that 'kung fu' he was developing), and then Kai was on his back, sending ripples of aches throughout every muscle. Oogway straddled his waist and looked down at him in that same arch manner. Kai didn't struggle anymore. He was tired, too tired, and Oogway felt strangely heavy. Dizziness was starting to drown out his senses. He coughed again.

"Fine! Fine..."

Oogway gave him another arch look. "You yield? You'll see a doctor?"

Kai grumbled something in response. Oogway took it as the acquiesce it was. He reached up to pat Kai's cheek and then slid off of him.

"Alright, then. I'll fetch him- but no running off. I'll find you and drag you straight to the medicine tent myself if I have to."

And both of them knew that it was true. Kai snorted and crossed his arms over his chest, but didn't get up.

"Just go get him before I kick your ass."

"That's something, coming from someone who's ass was just kicked."

Kai snorted in response- with amusement this time. "Just go get him- but Oogway, if I die during treatment..."

Oogway rolled his eyes. "You're not going to die."

Kai sniffed and glared at him in defiance. "...If I die, Oogway..."

Oogway smiled obligingly. Kai narrowed his eyes.

"...Kill the doctor."

Oogway laughed. "Will do, Kai."