#will play with anyone who can consistently show

[thehippiejediblog]

Being so desperate to have a D&d party that you play a game with ghost that you can only hear by having your wife relay everything they say to you is the most relatable thing I’ve seen on tv in a very long time.

[gibbearish]

am finally back home and can say without a doubt that i am just fundamentally not built for long distance travel however the train was much nicer than planes

[sheisoverhere]

Peeta Mellark is an integral member of the four D12 victors. He is literally the sunset on the reaping! How is this not clear? I’ve never wanted to report people for bad literary analysis more and I’m only half joking. It has forced me to commit a cardinal sin: analyze in anger!

1. Him being chosen by absolute accident is the point. Not only does he represent every single other tribute who simply gets chosen because they live in a messed up country but he represents how even with some odds being in your favor (older siblings, merchant family, being white, being popular, etc.) you are still very likely to be victimized by the oppressive structure of Panem.

2. When Haymitch says, “But she was smarter than me, or luckier” - the luck is all the people around Katniss who created the circumstances for her to lead a successful revolution (her father teaching her to hunt, the arena having woods, Rue healing her with leaves, Thresh not killing her, Haymitch consistently giving her support, her mother teaching her aspects of medicine, on and on and on) and Peeta is the number one, most important part of her luck in the first book. She has someone in the games actively putting her life before his… are you kidding? There is legitimately no better luck than that.

3. Even if we take Katniss out of it, Peeta is so impactful as a victor because most of his scenes would not be cut/doctored. What’s there to edit out? Instead, the viewers get a full view of him loving a girl so selflessly, using trickery and strategy instead of violence, keeping himself alive through art, joking on literal death’s door, and sharing so much of himself with the audience it becomes harder for them not to see him as a real human boy. How rare do you think that is for the games? Haymitch and LGB are caricatures of themselves in the games, playing roles that flatten them down. Even Katniss becomes one dimensional on screen without Peeta (and Rue, of course). It is also heavily implied that he does not kill anyone during the games (in a straightforward way) and even if you count Cato or the girl from 8 or even foxface, it’s never him hunting them or seeking out a kill - again how rare do you think that is to see on screen for Games viewers?

4. I didn’t think this needed to be said but: Katniss dies without Peeta in the first games. a) she goes for the bow and dies in the bloodbath; b) she is hunted and killed by Careers; c) she is killed by game makers because there’s no love story angle to keep them from just burning her entirely; d) she dies from tracker jacker stings or Cato because Peeta doesn’t defend her or tell her to run… I could go on…

5. But even if she does win and wins alone - the victory means as much (I would argue less than) any other rebellious victor winning, certainly less than Haymitch’s win. The biggest rebellion for their games is that two of them win! This is legit the only thing that distinguishes them from any other sympathetic, kind child who would have won the games. Like if Haymitch or Finnick or Wiress winning isn’t jarring enough for the Games to end… why do you think Katniss killing Peeta and winning solo would be? It would not.

6. And finally, I cannot stress this enough: There is no peaceful end to the rebellion or the trilogy without Peeta. “Peeta’s a whiz with fires” (HG) for a reason! Collins, over and over, shows us how fire can get out of control and destroy even those who are innocent and who you love (Gale, Beete, Peeta’s family, Haymitch’s family). If everyone really burns, there’s no one to clean the ashes. The reason not everyone burns is because of people like Peeta who can coax the flames in a way that is nurturing and consistent. I mean…. “Peeta fashioned some kind of incubator” is such an obvious detail. Those goslings don’t hatch without Peeta, life does not go on in peace and joy without Peeta.

It is no coincidence that when Maysilee says Lenore Dove got the “jump on us all” (in being a rebel), she is referring to LD using orange paint to make protest art!

We must stop pushing Peeta Mellark out of the narrative! He is literally the sunset on the reaping!

[girl-lostconnection]

Concept of a concept time:

Reader who goes through the whole relationship with Ghoap or the whole 141 believing that they would always come second place, because of course Simon would burn the world down if Soap was taken out of it. Of course, Price would do everything and anything to save Simon. Of course, Simon would turn into monster if it meant keeping his family safe, keeping his TaskForce safe.

Of course, Kyle would go mad with grief if he was to lose Johnny. Of course, Kyle would become a shell of himself if he lost Price.

Of course they would all shatter without each other alive and well. It was obvious. It was a fact.

Reader who sees it and places themselves on the outside of it, because these men were already something before they came along. These men were already tight knit and close to each other.

These men were already family when Reader got dropped into their laps. It’s only natural they don’t really slot fully. There’s just no more space.

Reader who takes every bit and crumb of an affection they are given. Reader who gives away everything. All of them. Every kiss and confession, every hug, every bit of love and care they have. They give it all, because yeah, maybe they will never be a part of these 4. But they can be near and maybe…maybe that’s enough?

Reader, who dies. Not instead of Soap, not instead of anyone. They just don’t come back from the job one day, their foot locker was supposed to be shipped out to the family. But there is no family.

So 141 takes it. Who, if not them, right?

Reader, who dies and haunts the narrative from that point on. Reader who leaves a hole the size of a person and no one can fill it. It’s impossible.

Reader, whose warmth was seeping through them all for so long, the absence of it feels like a whiplash. The absence of it feels in their bones and it’s cold-cold-cold now. Their hearth dies and there is nothing to do about it but keep going.

Soldiers die every day, this one shouldn’t have been special. But they were.

Kyle who takes their personal things before someone else can come and toss them out, sleeping with their T-shirts and hoodies. Part of him dies with Reader. Part of him is getting buried with them. He’s sitting at their funeral until Price leads him away.

Simon who takes their photos and books, hiding them, keeping them safe. He needs to have it, because memory is traitorous and one day he might not be able to put a face to the name and he’s terrified of it to the point of feeling sick.

Soap who takes mementoes — keychains and magnets from all of the deployments, he takes every knick knack they found in the foot locker and Reader’s room, he stores them next to his. There are new keychains on every set of his keys. He’s fumbling with them every time he feels like there’s knot in his throat and he can’t speak.

Price gets the notebooks. Just a few of those were in a footlocker, filled with scribbles and meal plans and random quotes and games Reader played with Kyle during boring briefings. But it feels like them. It smells like them. Reader never wrote a consistent diary, too little time and too much going on, but they notated the places and times and that Soap coughs like a sick Victorian child and that Kyle has the most perfect beauty marks on his thighs and that Price sneezes like dad and that Simon sleeps with lamp on.

It is everything there was of them. Everything there’s left of their love and John isn’t sure he’d be able to part with it. It isn’t fair that it happened like that. It isn’t fair that he feels like destroying his whole office when he reads the “im not sure i fit in. on the bright side I reckon if something was to happen to me, no one would mourn too long. they have each other, I should be happy it is like that. I should be grateful” because it’s not fair-not fair-not fair-not fair.

John doesn’t show these diaries to anyone. John guards them like his most prized possession, reading it over and over because you, silly perfect thing, why haven’t you said anything. Why haven’t they noticed anything.

John doesn’t show it to anyone because he’s not sure if they won’t crumble under the notion. He’s not sure they won’t shatter when the rest find out that Reader died thinking they weren’t part of the family.

John sobs so hard, bile rises to his throat, world swimming in his eyes and it hurts, and he’s so fucking angry and it’s so unfair. Because it’s not true, because of course you were part of them, of course you matter, of course they mourn.

Because you die never finding out how much you were loved. Because there’s nothing he can do.

And it’s not fair.

Continuation

[elms-art-gallery]

hypothetical godtier abilities for dirk for combat! thinking about doing these for all the kids when i have time hehe

EXPLANATIONS FOR EACH POWER UNDER THE CUT

Soul Lightning: the very basic power that dirk canonically has and shows repeatedly in the comic itself. from what we know, he can produce a sort of lightning that tears souls out of their bodies and tears it apart (assumedly. dirk doesnt actually get to kill anyone with this power. sad!). for the rest of his hypothetical powers, i used this one as the basis: association with lightning and physical action (use of hands) and being really direct with its application. very little metaphorical bullshit hes just Doing It.

Soul Weapons: a play off of that original idea of electricity being able to sever the soul from the body, and dirk's consistent action to treat his body/self as a tool to accomplish his goals (see unite synchronization and half of the shit dirk does LOL). its an overt reference to revolutionary girl utena and the raiden shogun from genshin impact, both overtly about self weaponization, dehumanization, etc. A lot of his powers i based off of famous anime references because of his 'otaku nature'.

Sheer Presence: THIS is another anime reference! the trope when anime protagonists/antagonists gain a menace aura, but this time the aura actively attacks the soul of those in the aura. this one specifically goes from the angle of a prince "destroying through aspect" specifically. in contrast to soul weapons which physically damages his enemies with his soul while emotionally damaging his sense of self esteem/respect, it is purely his identity (or, sheer presence) that is damaging others. he is the center of gravity here, overbearing every other being with himself.

Flatline: probably one of the weakest in this set LOL but i wanted to play with the idea of being able to collapse what connects your 'self' with your 'body' into one connection and severing the line, trapping your soul outside of your body. its plays into dirk's perception of "self", being awake on derse simultaneously as his actual body probably fucked with how he connects his body with his "self". so another prince of heart who believes the self is inherent with the body wouldnt have this power, but because of dirk's perception he does.

Gunhearted: this is a sub power under soul weapons! its a reference to yuyu hakusho (+all other anime derivations from the og soul gun power LOL) and undertale. not a lot of deep thoughts on this one, its more so practicality (long ranged weapon would be useful generally) and cultural knowledge (dirk probably watched as much anime as he possibly could).

[bodhiscurls]

now that we don't talk. ( clark kent )

clark kent has to prove himself that he's loyal, that despite his consistent wandering absences and emergency leave, he can be trusted to be chief editor at the daily planet. and that means having to ask the one person in the world who hates him more than anything to play pretend as his date (his wife) at the next gala. to show the world clark kent is loyal, the picture of stability and did not ruin his only serious relationship he's ever had.

clark kent x nurse fem! ex! reader

themes: slight enemies to almost lovers (i dont think you ever stopped being lovers), angst, angst x2, confrontation about breakup, neighbours setting, fake relationship/marriage, partial resolved ending.

masterlist. (queued!)

its ironic as he stands there now. the door is shut, looks exactly as it always has- looks exactly as his right opposite but this door? this door could very well be the door to hell.

he stares at it under microscopic view, inspecting dirt and the dents and maybe- just maybe if he focused hard enough he could detect if there's ever been anyone else's fingerprint marked at the handles other than yours. anyone else who's had access to early morning breakfast in beds, movie nights and terrible deadlines where clark would have your feet in his lap, sleeping soundly on your sofa as he typed his soul away. he lingers on the memory- not because he misses you, of course but in case you've met someone who could spoil this utterly stupid plan of his.

his teeth sink into his lip forming a little bruise and he's sure he can taste the blood but his mind is millions of miles away, trying to silence the roar of his blood through his veins that pulses with pure panic. he shouldn't be here right now, or ever really, it was a promise he made to you to give you your space and call it what it was- the end of a doomed relationship. just knock on the door, clark, he psyches himself up, just do it, just-

"what the fuck are you doing here?" and he freezes.

it's comical really, his hand mid raised to a knock lingers in the air; the skin never meeting the wood, his heart not beating in sync to yours, an imbalance of some sort.

"oh gosh," he breaths, caught in a trap he's clearly made himself, it didn't occur to him that you might've not been home already and he decides that suddenly this feels way worse than you not answering at all "hey!" and he doesn't know what possesses him but he crosses the distance like you're an old friend, awkwardly wrapping in stiff hug as you feel his palms pat your back gently. it catches you for a moment, to be in his vicinity again after months of pretending like he doesn't exist that you're sure your hallucinating. until the awkward patting becomes a little bit more awkward, bordering into a heimlich smack.

"clark, what the fuck? i will call the cops" and you weasle out of his death grip. your brows are furrowed in what clark remembers as a silent rage- and he holds up his hands in surrender.

"sorry, shit," he swears, "i didn't mean to do that, please wait," and he winces at how your intimidating stare does not waver once.

"what are you doing here?" you repeat with more urgence and the weight of your backbone, letting you know that you should probably absoltuely call law enforcement to deal with him. then again, he's fucking superman and you roll your eyes in annoyance- he can't even let you have a single win. "you're ruining my routine," you stress, fingers coming up to your temple, massaging the growing headache landing.

"routine?" he quizzes, awkwardly crossing his arms across his chest- perhaps if he tucks them in tightly, he'd be less inclined to do something stupid and hug his ex-girlfriend after months of ignoring each other.

"yes routine- where we live our separate lives? where we pretend like we didn't know each other intimately for a year? you know, the one where i have to do my laundry on mondays and you took thursdays even though you know i get off late at the start of the week and honestly, now that you're here i can tell you that that fucks up my schedule clark," you huff in annoyance and he can't focus on a single thing youre saying though he watches your lips move religiously.

"hello?" you wave a hand in his face and he's moulded his feet into the earth outside your front door. he watches how your lips have slowed, how the bottom one juts out in a curious pout as you watch him with like one would watch a snotty child. he suddenly feels the weight of your stare and shrugs awkwardly, mumbling a faint "sorry, i'll take mondays?" and you narrow your gaze.

"what are you actually doing here?" you ask for the third time and clark hears the subtle fatigue and exhaustion laced in your voice that he feels like the worst person alive for a moment- bringing such intensity to you on a rogue tuesday evening after months of ghosting.

"may i come inside?" he asks, "please?" the addition is small and something very dangerously similar to concern builds up in your system that you find yourself nodding, offering no other words and letting the rattle of your doorknob and clunk of your key fill the heavy silence. he notices your work bag the same one he used to carry for you slumped on your shoulder and you're dressed in your scrubs- shit, you've just come off work and he thinks just maybe, that you're worn out from the day you may possibly be more inclined to hear out his silly proposal.

you don't wait to close the door behind him, but rather leave him in the hallway to which clark then locks the door himself. you've dropped your things to the floor and for a second, clark remembers how much it used to annoy him that you couldn't just hang your things up properly- the first of many nitpicked arguements that sent you down a long way of calling it quits. he stands awkwardly, towering over your space where random books are left out, a coffee mug from possibly this morning is littered on your table and random pieces of clothing left all over.

he tries not to focus on the lacy bra that hangs out of your laundry basket on your kitchen table and the burn it scorches his heart with. thats new, he thinks. he would've remembered the purple against your skin and how it felt under his-

"you still flying around or whatever?" you call from the kitchen sink and he pops his head through the little arch and into the space. his brows crease in annoyance at your dismissal and he frowns.

"have you not been seeing me on the news?" he quizzes, surely you couldn't have written him off completely? clark kent may have been a bad boyfriend to you, but superman! he's a man of the people!

"i don't really keep up with you clark if you haven't noticed- and besides, work takes up my time anyways," you shrug and slide him a mug over. it's warm and fragrant with lemon and honey- clark remembers it as your favourite and when you used to drink it, your voice used to dip a lower octave, soothed and a lot smoother at entering his heart and playing house in it.

"so are you finally going to tell me whats going on?" you echo and he immediately drops his gaze to his lap. its his guilty face- the face that you've had to kiss in forgiveness when he missed dinner with you, when he poured his whole heart out into his work and forgot that it was your anniversary, when he apologised at you having to pick up extra hours at the hospital whilst he took breaks from work to play superhero for the day.

"oh no," a small smile plays on your lips and it's so petty but the thought of clark kent having done something wrong makes you feel a little bit better about yourself, "come on superman," you tease, "fess up," and the jokes suddenly not funny anymore- the smile from your face wiped clean when he clears his throat and meets you with earnest swimming in those dangerous ocean eyes.

"i told perry we were still together," and at his admission you pause, the earlier laughter hidden and lurking in your tea as it steams a few milimetres from you.

"what?"

"before i tell you the whole story, i need you to know that i'm sorry, i'm really sorry and i hate how this has turned out-"

"clark, this is nothing new i'm hearing, you realise that?" you roll your eyes, "tell me something different, like why your boss thinks we're together- i've probably met him once at that stupid gala you dragged me to last year," and he lets out an awkward laugh. he remembers you returning home that night, drunk in his big arms as he carried you bridal style back to his place. it wasn't a secret you found journalists boring, slower paced than your nursing duties in the emergency department that you vowed you'd never go there again.

"oh no," you whisper, "if you think i'm going to that shitty dance again, clark you have another thing coming for you, bud," you scoff and he winces. bud. its a new one. it's not darling, or sweetheart, or love of my life but then again for someone who despised him enough to dodge him every single time he's left his apartment to the point that this is the first time he's seen you in months, god he'll take bud anyday. he hopes that when he dies and reaches the gates of heaven- it'll be bud he hears.

"please?" is all he can get out.

"clark," you sigh, "you ruin our five month truce to invite me back to some lame dinner with a bunch of newspaper nerds- one of those newspaper nerds who made me feel like shit for half our relationship mind you," and he lets the digs come, cut him, slice him open and he bares himself bloodied and bruised if thats would it would mean for you to agree to this silly idea. "why?" and its the million dollar question on his mind too.

"perry doesn't think i'm comitted," he releases with a stroke of bitterness.

"perry should win a nobel prize for that revelation but he should also check his ratings," you scoff back and he murmurs in defeat, a little burst of pride swelling at your words.

"yeah well, ratings don't just give you promotions and god, i really want that editor title," he whispers to himself, "and so when he questioned my comittments and random periods of absences- i told him my wife just hasn't been well lately, i am comitted," and he winces as the words leave his mouth.

"wife?" you shout, the outrage bouncing off the walls, echoing a drum of disbelief as you run your hands through your hair in stress. "clark, you better not have-"

"he immediately assumed it was you from last year and i couldn't-"

"you didn't correct him?"

"i couldn't!" and its the raise of his voice that lifts your jaw from the ground and wires it shut. he's been calm this entire time, a nervous resolve and its the first inkling you've seen that he's actually way in over his head and he needs you desperately.

he needs you, your heart calls out, toying dangerously with the strings and you bite down your lip, hard.

"please?" he begs quietly, "i wouldn't have come to you and burdened you with this crap but gosh, i just, i'm in too deep,"

"yeah," you breathe, "too deep," and its a dumb repeat but you just can't wrap your head around it, how fate has a funny way of bringing the two of you back together.

"just one night, i just need you for one night and then we can go our separate ways, i will take the mondays for laundry i will damn well move apartment blocks if you decide you hate me so much more after this, but i am begging you. i don't know what to do," comes his heavy, uneven breaths, "please."

and your lips press firmly into thin lines before you come to his side, awkwardly placing your hand on his shoulder in comfort. it's a fleeting touch and in a different dimension, you probably wouldve chosen his firm chest- his pulsing heartbeat to feel for and let it linger longer than a second, but you don't.

its gone as soon as you start but clark feels it nonetheless.

"fine," you whisper and his eyes light up a dangerous electric blue. "what's in it for me?" you ask, pretending to inspect some dirt under your fingernails and fake nonchalance, like you haven't just opened the door to many bad memories and offered them free residence.

"i'll get you those orchestra tickets you've been after," and for a second, clark thinks he has you. he remembers the tickets just by chance; you always planned to go together but the timing was never right plus they're pricey as hell and only perform once in a blue moon but if thats what it takes for you to agree, then clark kent will bend the world to his will if he has to. he'll probably have to cash in a favour as superman and his credit card but this could be his job on the line.

"you get one night and that's it," you swear and clark thinks he could break out into a full sob of relief, the pride he's swallowed down to stand in the home he used to share with you and beg for a night where he hopes you'll hate him less and make this all alright, god this is only just the beginning.

. . .

he picks you up at eight and this time he does knock on the door.

there's a faint muffle, a shuffle and a violent curse that he recognises as your voice that brings a tiny smile to his face. the door opens with the same puff and urgency and the wind knocks completely from clark's lungs.

"i can't get the zipper up," your flushed cheeks and wide eyes panic as you blow out some air that lifts a few tendrils that escape your updo style. they bounce back on your sweating forehead, taunting. your arm holds the dress up, clutched firmly to your chest as you turn around expectantly, waiting as the chill of the landing bites at your skin.

he ushers you back inside, unwanting to share you with the entire apartment block and he's met with your whine, "clark, don't just stand there, do something!"

"okay, okay," he soothes, fingers finding the metal zipper and making work of it. he drags it out intentionally slow, savouring the way his fingertips dance lightly on your back and it takes him back to all those nights ago where he was blessed to whisper sweet nothings into your skin. you tense underneath him and at the stutter, he retract his hands, tucking them into his sides neatly as you turn around.

"how do i look?" you ask hopeful, steadying your hands on your hips and facing him with that familiar glint in your eyes. he lets out a breath, or what he hopes sounds like one rather than a guttural noise of pure misery because fuck, you look incredible and he was such an idiot to let you go.

"clark, it'd be real great if you could use some words right now, aren't you a journalist- shouldn't you know like lots of them? " you narrow your brows and he stands there speechless. "fine," you mutter, heading in the direction of your kitchen table, reaching for your clutch. the contents including some finishing powder, a travel size perfume, lip gloss and a shit ton of hope to get you through the night.

he still hasn't moved when you return and make your way to walk past him. the trance is broken the second he catches your arm and pulls you back into him. its a stumble where you have to place your hands onto his chest to steady yourself and the intensity of sudden closeness causes you to swallow.

"you look great ," and it's such a lame compliment but the way its lands; dripping with such pure honesty that you momentarily forget all the times you wished clark kent didn't exist. you nod, bashful under his attention and it warms your skin in a way that makes you feel very much unsettled.

"should get you a thesaurus or something," you mumble offhandedly, pretending that he's had no effect on you- like the admission hadn't just burned something new in you and you clear your throat, making your way down the stairs.

its so gentleman-like how clark takes your hand and leads you down each step safely as he glares daggers into the heels that he knows you're going to abandon as soon as the night is over. he walks you to the car, opens the door, even gets so damn close that you still and break free from the trance once you hear the faint click of the seatbelt.

he drives and drives and then you see his workplace come into view and groan. you aren't even given the chance to wallow in your pity, beg him to take you back home because clark is already at your door, opening it and helping you back up. a faint wobble of the heel traps onto some gravel and you almost send yourself flying back, steadying yourself on the roof of the car.

"i think you shouldve chosen something more comfortable," he mutters and you shoot him a look.

"my apologies, i was trying to go for hot wife who's husband disappears from work all the time to take care of her or whatever sob story you gave," you scoff, walking just ahead of him once again and clark stops, which in turn you stop. you mustve miscalculated how close he was behind you, the faint towering of his frame over yours and you almost ramming into his chest.

"hey!" he hisses, looking around cautiously to see if anyones in view, hearing your conversation. its funny how from a distance, you two must look like you're in a lovers quarrell.

"look, you're going to have to act like you like me," he groans, "or this is never going to work."

"this isn't going to work clark, and who's fault is that?" you pull back.

"listen you liked me once before just do it again!" he gets out exasperated.

"was that before or after you dumped me the day before our anniversary?" and its lethal the cutting edge of your words in the air and he lets out a bitter laugh, kicking the gravel under his feet as he takes a few steps away from you to give himself some space.

"clark," you sigh and call out, "fine, i'll behave myself but don't act like this isn't fucking weird," you get out, "i don't know what to do with myself." it's unspoken territory, unfamiliar in so many ways that you don't know what lines can or can't be crossed.

"i'm sorry," he whispers, staring at the floor and then meeting your gaze, "i really am-"

"let's not do this," you squirm and let out a sigh of defeat, "come on, husband," and you hold your hand out for him to take, "let's get this shit over with," and when he interlocks his hand in yours, both your hearts skip a beat in pure delusion.

"how romantic, mrs. kent," he deadpans and you don't know which version is easier- pretending you hate him or pretending like you haven't waited months to find someone so easy to be with again.

"come on big guy, i hope you're prepared for me to lie all night," you promise him, the least you could do is try and entertain yourself, seeing how long you can storytell to a group of people who value the truth more than anything- its so damn ironic.

"oh please do," he agrees, thinking you're feeding into this fake relationship but the grin that spreads across your face, god, clark should've known he was in trouble.

...

"oh my god, it was so romantic!" you gush, "one moment i'm sitting across him eating my pasta, the next moment he's holding up tickets to go to italy and i'm thinking baby what?" you shoot him the most dazzling smile known to man and clark kent thinks what fucking sunshine are you made out of to be this blinding and bright, "and he says its our honeymoon, like its nothing and what did i say baby?" you turn to him, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

he turns to the crowd sheepish, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as the other is wrapped firmly around your waist, tucking it into his side. "oh i don't know honey," he rumbles into your ear, "i think you tell this story best," but you bite back a laughter and groan.

"oh he's just embarrassed- i said he was insane, like normal people ask- not my clark," and you place a hand on his chest, almost gripping him protectively as you sense the wandering eyes, "he was on his knees, begging," you emphasise. "me to marry him! no- more like demanding i marry him-"

"oh baby, i think you're exaggerating it just a touch," he rolls his eyes playfully before pulling you closer to him, his breath hot on the shell of your ear and his voice dangerously low, "dial it down a bit, doll."

defiance builds in your system at the low timbres sending shivers down your spine and you fake a sigh, "clark has never been one to take no for an answer- it was his third time proposing so naturally i just felt sorry and had to say yes," and you receive an ovation of giggles, coo'ing and coworkers who give clark a look of pure respect. it's weird how all of a sudden you tell someone you're married and that's it- you're part of some new unlocked level of life. clark can't help but feel awful and think he should've done this sooner.

"oh no doll," he draws in a smooth lie, "i think you forget you were the one who asked to marry me first; the proposal needed some serious work on it so i very graciously took over," he confirms, giving himself a lot more credit than the whipped persona you were creating for him.

"is that so? well do you remember the time where you got so nervous you almost pe-"

"excuse me guys," he interrupts you swiftly, "gotta give the wife one more spin before the nights over," and he all but drags you in the opposite direction.

"wait-" and it's perry white who shoots you a curious look. "your ring?" and his gaze flits to your bare hand. clark tightens his hold on it protectively, bringing it up to his lips with a kiss brushing against your knuckles.

"having it cleaned," you melt at the contact, slumping into clark's side like a lovesick fool and he bares your weight. secretly, you regret your shoe choice of the evening, it already swelling up your ankles slightly and clark doesn't miss a beat at holding you up against him. perry nods at you with a smile then salutes clark, who sweats a little under his stare before leading you to the dance floor.

"how long before we make a break?" you ask and clark's surprised you've lasted all but an hour before planning an escape.

"maybe an hour more?"

"clark i don't think i have an hour more," you tell him seriously, "maybe a minute more," and he suddenly laughs so loud, pecking your cheek and you feel the dimpled smile against it. the air melts as he sways you in sync with the music softly.

"what are you doing?" you hiss and his hands travel dangerously low at the small of your back.

"picture," he murmurs into your hair, pretending to move a stray piece behind your ear tenderly "smile," and he spins you just in time for the camera to catch a blur of your grin. clark makes a mental note to steal that photo later, purely for journalistic purposes, obviously.

"you're doing a great job," he speaks low enough for you to hear only. you don't grace him a reply, your smile from earlier slipping off as soon as you hear his adjective use, "uh oh," he raises his brows like you're a toddler throwing a tantrum, "what is it now?"

"nothing," you shrug in indifference but theres a little bit of bark behind your bite, "everythings great," you echo, "just great."

"i get the feeling everything is not great,"

"what would make you say that?" you gasp, he gives you a look- the stare which holds a thousand words, one you know best as "really?" and you decide to give the sarcasm a miss for the night.

"i shaved my legs," you nod slowly as you start to sway in a dance, "i wore the dress, i have doused myself in perfume, and i get a "great"" you press your lips in a thin line, "if we were actually married, that would've been reason enough for divorce," you narrow your eyes.

"honey, i don't think we would've gotten through our vows," he returns just as quick.

"clark, i didn't even know you could read vows nevermind write them- you'd probably bore the audience into some spiel about font sizes and line spacing," you deadpan.

"what do you think i do?" he whips his head in confusion.

"you get bullied by microsoft word and do interviews with yourself," you scoff, "that tells me plenty,"

"and you stab needles into poor innocent kids and steal their blood," he bites back and its a poor attempt to undermine your work as a nurse but you do the unthinkable and burst out a laugh, a pure genuine laugh where you knock your head back, clutching your chest lightly where the amber lit lamps highlight the glint in your eyes. and suddenly clark is taken back to the night where he first realised he was in love with you and the feeling of maybe, that after all this time he never really had fallen out of love with you, he's just not had the chance to show it.

"ah" you breathe out, "that was good," and he settles into the softened atmosphere where he doesn't have to try to be anyone but himself with you. "so what you gonna do about that superman?" you tease.

you don't notice that the music has stopped and pairs are leaving to take a seat for dinner until clark moves his jands from your waist to hold both your hands infront of him instead. you notice him leaning in slowly and you hate yourself for anticipating it, for closing your eyes just an inch waiting to feel his lips on yours but they never come, they settle on your forehead in a sweet tender kiss and you try and hide the frown.

"camera," he whispers again and you nod, the lump in your throat rising as you swallow.

the rest of the night carries on in a blur and its easier to pretend like you're not falling apart when there's people to crowd you at every corner. you laugh, you smile and look at clark kent with all the love you've kept buried deep inside of your soul before you finish up for the night- some half baked excuse about having too much to drink and you let clark lead you out to where he's parked the car.

before he leaves, perry kisses your cheek goodbye and claps clark on the back in approval, which clark in turn beams like a damn headlight, guiding you to a past life where all you ever felt for him was pure radiant happiness.

...

"thank you," he whispers as the car rolls to a stop and you smile- soft and small but its there.

"you're welcome," you try instead because you're all out retorts and you don't know how long you can keep up the walls you've built on sarcasm and locked away hurt. "it was easy being with you," you add, playing with your fingers in your lap as clark kent plays with your heart.

his own drum on the steering wheel as he sits in thought, "its silly," he sighs, "but it just reminded me of how we worked so well," and your heartbeat slows, mind cries out in desperation that you blink away the water that starts to build.

"we didn't," you offer instead, the voice of rationality ending his delusion "and that's why we ended," your words are meant to land with a finality but clark looks over, raw and earnest stretched into the small lines and crooks of his face.

"i don't believe that," he softens, "the way it felt-"

"it was pretend," you cut him off immediately, "you asked me to play a part and i did, you do not get to do this clark, don't make it into something it isnt," you warn.

"i think you're scared," he breathes with a shake of his head, the black curls tousling and blending in the darkness of the night "and it's okay because i'm scared to," his lungs pound as they beg for air but its so still and stagnant in the car that he has to unlock his seatbelt, reach across the controls and shift inwards to face you, to grab hold of your hands and take you to a world where things ended differently.

"i'm not scared," you get out in defiance, "i'm tired," and your words land firm, "we didn't just end clark- you broke up with before our anniversary, so clearly we didn't work that well," you scoff.

"baby," and you shoot him a death glare at the endearment, "i was in a bad place," he excuses, "it was hard balancing superman and clark and it was hurting you-"

"that would've been my choice to stay!" you get out, "i followed you to hell, clark," you grit, the emotion thick in your voice.

"and i got tired of taking you there so often!" he shouts, riled up from the months of miscommunication and resentment, he lowers his tone but you're still on the edge of your seat, "it wasn't fair to make you live through that and i knew you were too kind to not leave," he heaves, "so i made the choice for us,"

"no clark, you're wrong," the tears fall and you let them, "i loved you too much to not leave and you made that choice yourself, so don't come crying nostalgia to me now," you stand firm and tall on your walls though they crumble beneath you, "you did this,"

"yeah," he hangs his head low.

"was it worth it?" your question small as you relax back into the seat, exhaustion taking over.

"i think you know the answer to that," he smiles sadly.

"i think i need to hear it," you press, the words mixing in with the saltiness of your tears as they leave your lips.

"not in the slightest," you sit in the silence before unclicking your seatbelt and unlocking the car door. it takes clark longer than a second to get up and help you out except when you take his arm again, the touch feels like a washed out mellow flame of heat, like its barely hanging on as the sensation tethers between you two.

he helps you up the stairs, at a small distance but his hand still firmly gripped in yours and when he arrives at your door you unlock it, take a step in before turning to him. you surprise him and kiss his cheek lethally soft and gentle, like a sweet caress and he leans into the touch ever so slightly.

"you look beautiful," he breathes, the words he couldn't get out earlier and you smile sadly, lips twisting to the side as if holding back words you need to get off your chest. its what you wanted to hear at the start of the evening, a little bit of a boost to your system- to let clark know he's not the only one who made it out of this alive. but hearing it now, it feels like you're standing at the shore and waiting for the tide to swallow you whole.

"take care of yourself, clark," you whisper before the door shuts on him again.

he wishes he knew how to, and wishes more than anything he'd be able to take care of you too.

riya saying hi: hi !! if this finds you then i'm not on the app right now but i hope you enjoy this as my little parting gift whilst im away for a few days teehee this is not a complete like reconciliation - i did want to do an angst to fluff kind of thing, but i fear this needs a second part to build up to that fluff so let me know if you would like to see that ?? second part would obvs be grovelling clark, i didnt want reader to just forgive him and possibly more fake dating as he figures out how to keep you close to him long enough to make this right. anyways bye love u see ya later babygators 🥺💘💋

[devdozes]

Miss Manager?!

writin after 4 months. sorry gang ill try to be consistent now :( manager reader with saja boys!!

Contracts are annoying.

Especially the ones scribbled in infernal ink, sealed in divine blood, and slid across the table with a glittery Hello Kitty pen by five suspiciously pretty boys who claim they’re “gonna kill you if you dont sign it” but also argue about ramen flavors like sleep-deprived university students. You stare at them blankly as the last of your signature is scrawled across the binding clause, and boom. You are the manager of Saja boys, a group of five annoyingly handsome, idiotic men who don't even know what phones are.

♥ ♥ ♥ Who knew a human could be so terrifying?

You ran rehearsals like clockwork, knew their lyrics by heart, and still found time to slap glitter on their cheekbones before music show stages.

They gave you a nickname—“Manager-nim From Hell.” Ironic.

And despite your clipped tone and unsettling calm, they all kind of… loved you. Abby started showing you his abs and biceps first. You never complimented him, just handed him a protein bar and said, “Try doing legs next time.” He beamed anyway as you gave him his favourite protein bar flavour.

Romance flirted with you constantly, even though you never responded. He once said, “Manager-nim, if I die, it better be from your glare.” You replied, “Bold of you to assume you'd survive.”

Mystery hovered. Silent nd observing. The most introverted member, he lingered by your side often during busy events, like a shadow. He said almost nothing, but when you handed him his warmed-up tea without being asked, his ears turned red.

Baby, despite acting like he couldn’t care less, followed you everywhere like a bratty cat. He once sat on your desk and said, “You’re so boring, I like it,” then refused to move for three hours.

And Jinu—leader, ever-composed, pathetic loser boy, Jinu was the only one who pretended not to care and failed. He kept asking if you had enough sleep. He made excuses to sit near you during practice. He even updated the team calendar with “Manager-nim coffee break (DO NOT DISTURB)” in all caps.

anyways, they are ALL IDIOTS.

They’re all four hundred years old. At least. Probably older. They’ve fought wars. Seen kingdoms fall. Been summoned and sealed more times than anyone can count.

But ask them to microwave popcorn?

Silence. Blank stares. Romance whispers, “Is that like magic?”

You’re the only one with a braincell. Unfortunately, it’s the same one holding everything together with a fraying thread, a half-empty coffee cup, and two hours of sleep. You write their schedules, plan their meals, dodge assassination attempts from HUNTR/X and keep track of their skincare. But then they really crossed the line

You were at rehearsals. The boys had been annoying all day, and Romance—of course—pushed it too far.

“Manager-nim,” he purred, sliding closer with that irritating smirk, “if we’re both off the clock, does that make it a personal relationship?”

You didn’t speak. You just punched him. Square in the jaw.

He flew back five feet, crashing into Abby, who was mid-flex. Abby crumpled too, groaning.

Silence.

Even Baby dropped his lollipop.

Jinu stared at you, eyes wide. “You… You hit a demon.”

Mystery took off his sunglasses for the first time in weeks. “That’s against the contract.”

Romance groaned from the floor. “I felt that. What the hell—?”

You dusted off your knuckles, the faintest smirk playing at your lips. “Boys,” you said, voice calm, almost amused, “this contract was forged between a human and a demon.” "Not demon to another demon," You said, smile sharpening waitinf for their reactions "YOU'RE A DEMON?!" ♥ ♥ ♥

BONUS!! AFTER THE REVEAL :3 One night, you were all in the dorm living room, blankets everywhere, a movie playing that none of you were really watching. Romance was doing his dumb “stretch and yawn” trick to get closer to you on the couch until you smacked him with a throw pillow. Abby was trying to balance popcorn on his abs. Mystery was humming along with the background music. Baby had completely passed out using your thigh as a pillow. Jinu had fallen asleep sitting upright, neck bent at an angle that would give lesser men scoliosis.

And You were just sitting there, warm, buried under a weighted blanket and a bratty maknae, sipping your lemon tea and watching the show playing. Well, atleast they are a little more respectful of you now

[prokopetz]

I think a lot of folks in indie RPG spaces misunderstand what's going on when people who've only ever played Dungeons & Dragons claim that indie RPGs are categorically "too complicated". Yes, it's sometimes the case that they're making the unjustified assumption that all games are as complicated as Dungeons & Dragons and shying away from the possibility of having to brave a steep learning cure a second time, but that's not the whole picture.

A big part of it is that there's a substantial chunk of the D&D fandom – not a majority by any means, but certainly a very significant minority – who are into D&D because they like its vibes or they enjoy its default setting or whatever, but they have no interest in actually playing the kind of game that D&D is... so they don't.

Oh, they'll show up at your table, and if you're very lucky they might even provide their own character sheet (though whether it adheres to the character creation guidelines is anyone's guess!), but their actual engagement with the process of play consists of dicking around until the GM tells them to roll some dice, then reporting what number they rolled and letting the GM figure out what that means.

Basically, they're putting the GM in the position of acting as their personal assistant, onto whom they can offload any parts of the process of play that they're not interested in – and for some players, that's essentially everything except the physical act of rolling the dice, made possible by the fact most of D&D's mechanics are either GM-facing or amenable to being treated as such.*

Now, let's take this player and present them with a game whose design is informed by a culture of play where mechanics are strongly player facing, often to the extent that the GM doesn't need to familiarise themselves with the players' character sheets and never rolls any dice, and... well, you can see where the wires get crossed, right?

And the worst part is that it's not these players' fault – not really. Heck, it's not even a problem with D&D as a system. The problem is D&D's marketing-decreed position as a universal entry-level game means that neither the text nor the culture of play are ever allowed to admit that it might be a bad fit for any player, so total disengagement from the processes of play has to be framed as a personal preference and not a sign of basic incompatibility between the kind of game a player wants to be playing and the kind of game they're actually playing.

(Of course, from the GM's perspective, having even one player who expects you to do all the work represents a huge increase to the GM's workload, let alone a whole group full of them – but we can't admit that, either, so we're left with a culture of play whose received wisdom holds that it's just normal for GMs to be constantly riding the ragged edge of creative burnout. Fun!)

* Which, to be clear, is not a flaw in itself; a rules-heavy game ideally needs a mechanism for introducing its processes of play gradually.

[kajibunny]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ we're just friends! (or are we?) w/ the wind breaker boys ✧⋆⭒˚｡

✿ featuring: hajime umemiya, jo togame, haruka sakura, hayato suo, ren kaji ✿ fluff, mutual pining, hidden feelings (aaaa), suggestive for suo, a lil angst (with comfort) for kaji ✿ a/n: i guess by now everyone can tell that i’m very into the friends to lovers trope ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა~♡ it’s def my fav!!! and these wb bois are all perfect friend material, and ofc boyfriend material too! enjoy, cuties! ✿ wc: 2.3k

— you have a closely intimate friendship to the point that everyone around you thinks you two are dating, though you know you're not lovers (yet), but are definitely more than just friends.

ʚɞ umemiya 

— sharing hello and goodbye kisses with each other.

ꕤ you and umemiya are the definition of 'affectionate', as your love languages both consist of physical touch. but maybe with each other, a little bit too much for just friends.

ꕤ the word "boundaries" did not exist to the both of you once you were within arm's reach of each other. you and umemiya give each other hello and goodbye hugs, sometimes cheek and forehead kisses, as a greeting, right? to be friendly. though he doesn't seem to do that as often to other people, or at all, even. just to you. only to you. 

ꕤ he also loves cuddling up to you whenever he takes a nap on the rooftop, inviting you to join him in picking out some veggies that you two could make a meal together with.

ꕤ while you two were cooking together, you definitely gave off a 'married couple' vibe with the way you held the ladle up for umemiya to taste, the way he had pressed his palm to your back whenever he needed to pass through, the way he fed you with his own spoon and giggling while complimenting how delicious your cooking was, the way he wrapped his arms around you and hummed while he helped you wash the dishes. anyone who saw would have immediately bid their congratulations and would think you two are newlyweds.

ꕤ hiragi took one look at the both of you appearing all lovey-dovey, and the confusion of whether you two were dating or not made his stomach scrunch up in pain. 

ꕤ umemiya calls you such adorable names when referring to you in conversation, too. his tiny bean, his ray of sunshine, his cherry blossom, it was always "his", as if you belonged to him. he was openly affectionate with you and was not afraid to show it.

ꕤ many guys also took a liking to you, but never attempted to even make a move or confess, because they were already under the assumption that you were umemiya's, seeing you two playing with each other's fingers and comparing hand sizes like you were made for each other. but how could that be, you and umemiya were just friends, weren't you?

ʚɞ suo 

— you get a special seat (on his lap).

ꕤ suo just can't seem to keep his eyes and his hands off of you. you always have to be within his vicinity, or he's not sure how he'll be able to stand it. 

ꕤ he sees you at the corner of his eye, after you have made your way back from the restroom. you and the other bofurin first years were at an izakaya, and the moment you returned, all of their eyes were glued to you and suo, as if they already knew something was going to ensue. you two have been friends for a long time, but the way you acted towards each other felt like you two have been lovers for a long time.

ꕤ suo was always up in your space, whether its pulling random pranks on you, inviting you to go out then paying for everything even though you tried to stop him (nothing can stop suo), visiting your home and leaving an endless supply of tea enough to last you a whole year - his excuse being it's there for whenever he comes over, and multiple instances which all prove that suo was no doubt a very clingy friend. not that you minded, anyway. you were used to suo and his antics.

ꕤ he had his ways of persuading you too (he is the master of negotiation, after all), and you just couldn't resist him, as you loved being around suo just as much. 

ꕤ this time, he took advantage of your short absence and made himself comfortable in your chair, and wouldn't even move an inch. "hayato, that's my seat!" you exclaimed. "hm?" suo tilts his head. "you can just sit on my lap, then." he smiles, with that damn mischievous smile you know all too well. you tried to get him to move by gently pushing him back and forth but suo seemed to not have a care in the world. 

ꕤ you can't tell whether suo is serious or joking sometimes, but nirei and sakura seems to have their doubts that you two are "just friends" as you both claim.  "are you sure the two of you aren't dating?" nirei asks you. sakura blushes and lets you know his thoughts, too. "y-yeah...! you two are unusually close!" you always reply to them with an astounding "no!" but suo just laughs and does not affirm nor deny any of their claims. 

ꕤ suo pulls you in close, making you sit on his lap regardless of your little outburst, and you weren't sure if it was hot in the izakaya, or if it's just you, but you certainly felt warmth overcome your body while it was pressed flush against his, his arms wrapped around your waist nonchalantly. "hayato!" you protested, trying to squirm your way out of his grasp, and pushing away all intrusive thoughts about his and your bottom halves being so close together, only separated by thin pieces of clothing.

ꕤ nirei, the most observant of the bunch (next to suo), points out that you even call suo by his first name, and that's another one of the reasons why you two seem like you're dating. 

ꕤ with suo, everything seems to be a mystery. but in suo's perspective, it's all clear. he loves you, whether it's as a friend or as a lover, that's for him to know and for you to find out. 

ʚɞ togame 

— leaves everyone on read except you.

ꕤ togame just doesn't understand why people need to type out what they want to say, aren't calls more personalized? he didn't understand at all, until he met you.

ꕤ you were, to put it directly, a chatterbox in all forms. you loved to talk, regardless if it's chats, calls, or in person, you just yapped your heart out to him everytime, and he lives for it. he wouldn't miss a second of you opening your mouth and giving him a taste of your innermost thoughts. he absolutely adored talking to you, because it was you, and you were special to him.

ꕤ the shishitoren guys thought it was so funny and adorable whenever togame picks up his phone so quickly because he thought it was you calling, then scowls when he realizes it isn't, and immediately silences it and shoves it back in his pocket. this caused him to set a different ringtone just for you, so he could pick up on the very first ring.

ꕤ you were also the first reply he ever sent via sms, a simple "ok" to your long message talking about how you thought it was amazing that he won the town's annual eating contest for many consecutive years in a row and that you were totally ready to challenge him next year by stuffing your face with okonomiyaki and invited togame to join you and have some with you so you could keep an eye on the competition. he found your personality totally amusing, his face immediately lighting up with a gentle smile whenever you sent him messages.

ꕤ anyone who sees how happy he is while he rereads your texts over and over would interpret that as togame being totally, irrevocably, head over heels in love with you.

ꕤ he doesn't actually reply to anyone at all ever, but he wanted to share all his firsts with you, he just couldn't help it. you were captivating, witty in your words, and very very charismatic, bombarding him with the cutest and funniest messages everyday. of course, he doesn't mind at all and is always looking forward to them.

ꕤ you two stay on calls for longer than eight hours at a time talking about how each other's day went, and yet you wonder why people always think you two are dating. normal friends don't stay up until the break of dawn chattering for hours on end, expressing all the things they like about each other, do they? at least togame knows he wouldn't do it with anyone that wasn't you, as he valued his precious sleep time dearly, but as time went on, you became more precious and more dear to him than his sleep time ever could.

ʚɞ kaji 

— play fighting like an old married couple.

ꕤ kaji is the type to never go down without a fight. needless to say, that also applies to you. but your fights with him were different, more banter adjacent, more affectionate and playful. only lasting for a few minutes.

ꕤ kaji had a huge soft spot for you, as even though you did irritate the heck out of him sometimes, somehow he still could not stay angry or annoyed at you for more than one second. he just couldn't resist the way you crossed your arms and huffed with your cute little frown. he thought you were the most adorable angry little thing he's ever seen and wanted to pinch your cheeks out of cuteness aggression and frustration, but he would never say it to your face.

ꕤ one time, you two had a heated argument because he said he could hear you just fine but wouldn't bother to take off his headphones. you argued that it was impolite and that you won't talk to him at all anymore if he does that again, and you two were at each other's throats, giving one another a piece of your mind, until kaji mutters a 'sorry', and you began to sob uncontrollably and let him hold you in his arms while he stroked your hair to comfort you because you two couldn't stand the intensity and tension of being angry at each other for long.

ꕤ you had your less serious fights too, like when you made him a bento box for lunch and you two had a picnic together with his vice captains. you fed him the food with your chopsticks, kaji teasing you by saying "it's bland." and you reasoning out that kaji was 'as salty as his tastebuds'. kaji then asked you if you wanted to have 'a taste of his fists', which ended up with kusumi and enomoto snickering in the background wishing that the both of you would just date each other already.

ꕤ whenever you two argued, your faces were so close to one another's that you were just a few centimeters shy from kissing, the tip of your noses touching. kaji had to hold himself back, a lot. like an insane amount. friends didn't want to kiss and make out with their friends, right? but kaji did. and you did too.

ꕤ his way of apologizing is by suddenly leaving a lollipop with you. he puts them in your bag, or places them in your pocket while you weren't looking. it was his little peace offering, one that you treasured and collected, accumulating dozens of them by your bedside table. kaji would gladly give up his last lollipop for you, and no one could argue otherwise.

ʚɞ sakura 

— blushing wildly whenever you two are around each other.

ꕤ you and sakura always looked like you two were having a blushing competition. the littlest touches and the most minimal contact had both of your cheeks heating up in response.

ꕤ it was like sakura's blushing was contagious. ever since you two became good friends (if you could call it that, though it seemed to be more than that at times), being around him triggered a whole bunch of embarrassing and hilarious but sweet situations.

ꕤ you once dragged sakura off to his very first cherry blossom viewing in the park, and needless to say, with both of you being a chaotic (but cute) duo, it kind of felt like you were on a wild rollercoaster ride with him. 

ꕤ you took a stolen photo of sakura while he was mesmerized by the falling pink petals. you thought he looked adorable, but sakura thought otherwise. he was a blushing mess and told you to delete them, but you said they were cute and that you were going to make it your wallpaper. 

ꕤ sakura chased after you, and tripped over a stray cherry blossom branch, leaving you two in quite a suggestive position, sakura on top of you, pinning your wrist down with his hand. your cheeks were as pink as the cherry blossoms, and tried as you might, you couldn't keep your eyes off his lips. friends don't observe their friends with wanting eyes, do they? 

ꕤ suo and nirei instantly noticed how huge of a klutz you were around sakura. they also noticed how curious sakura was about you, always (not so subtly) asking nirei how much he knew about you, or your likes and dislikes, then asked him not to tell you that he asked about you. but suo told you instead, because they were your biggest supporters and cheerleaders (and biggest shippers, of course) after all. 

ꕤ on sakura's birthday, they made you hold the cake and surprise him, which was a huge mistake, because before it could even reach him, you slipped and fell over him. luckily, sakura had good reflexes and was able to catch you before you completely toppled over. some of the smushed cake ended up on his and your face, which you tried to wipe off as you apologized, but sakura dipped his finger onto the icing that got on your cheek and licked his finger. "t-the cake's not bad, i guess..." he looked away from your smiling face as you greeted him happy birthday in a sing-song tune.

ꕤ suo, being a menace, greeted sakura happy birthday as well as gave him a 'best wishes to the happy couple' greeting card, that sakura threw back at him like it had a virus on it. 

ꕤ sakura definitely had a memorable birthday that year, but now that he thought about it, all of his memories that were memorable to him had one thing in common: you were in all of them. you, the greatest gift he could ever ask for on any and every occasion. 

© kajibunny 2024 / all rights reserved

[elodieunderglass]

How do you do so much with three children? I have one (admittedly very, very young) child and I feel like I'm caring for him actively at all times and scrambling to do anything else. What is your secret??

There are a few!

Some are my deepest secrets, so please be kind, okay?

1. You're in the trenches - don't judge yourself right now. Caring for your first very young kid is a massive expansion of capacity/capability and represents a learning curve in which you are scrambling to level up while the game constantly changes parameters. It's tiring. However, you ARE levelling up - and as you do so, your kid will be levelling up too. You can and will be clever and energetic again. I wanted you to know this. The secret: you have to level up fast and hard when your first kid is very young.

2. I do a lot of things, but you don't always know the quality to which I do them! While people on the internet DEFINITELY expect EVERYTHING that YOU do must be of the ABSOLUTE HIGHEST STANDARD, most people on the internet are very unclear about the standards to which they hold themselves! I recently finished a quilt for a child - it is a delightful quilt that makes the child happy, but no two edges are square! I'm a poor-quality quilter. Sure, I am a working parent who finished a quilt - but it doesn't mean it's a show-quality quilt. The Secret: most people don’t share the quality of their endeavours - anyone can appear to do a lot of things if they do them all badly! - so don't judge yourself by standards of people who aren’t sharing theirs. The converse of this is: If you are overwhelmed, you can usually drop quantity or quality.

3. Okay, so some things are stacked against me: my spouse is disabled, I don’t live on the same continent as my birth family, my in-laws are in their 80s, and I never have any bloody money. But i do have a decent serious day job and some support networks. I can often ask local people for in-person help that I need, like walking my kids to school, and I have just enough money to pay for things that help me, like #4. Secret: money and friendship can tape over a lot of small cracks that would otherwise lead to big cracks. Most people NEVER admit to having EITHER… but most parents have one or the other.

4. We do have various avenues of help, ranging from paid childcare to flexible working, and even paying professionals for things around the home and garden, even if I can technically do a lot of things myself. Even though I'm strong and skilled and physically able, I don't spend all my days chopping wood and carrying water. I own a robot vacuum and an air fryer. The secret: Where possible, we spend money to buy free time.

5. People who are legitimately entitled to my attention never feel they get quite enough of it. Probably the only ones who do are Dr Glass (for whom I stay up late every night so he feels he gets time with me; see 6) and Mouse (for whom I get up early, ditto.) my older children would definitely love it if I spent more time attentively lying on the floor playing Playmobil with them. Work would quite like me to consistently Exceed Expectations. EVERYONE IN THE FUCKING WORLD WISHES I WAS MORE RESPONSIVE TO MESSAGES (take a number! No, literally, please take a number.) secret: I am definitely not doing everything. and everyone I have ever interacted with would probably prefer if I gave more attention to their priorities.

6. I am not sleeping much at the moment. I sleep about 6 hours a night. Secret: I sleep less than is recommended for health, let alone happiness. That's not good.

7. Threaded through all of this is prioritisation. I certainly sacrifice sleep for “writing.” However, I also don’t do low-priority things AT ALL. I don’t sit down to watch television. I don’t play video games or mobile apps. I don’t wander around in circles. I don’t scroll Instagram or Reddit, and I am not reading books that don’t interest me. I’m usually multitasking, and am usually either doing high-priority tasks or things that are HEALING AND FUN (drawing horsies.) where possible, i offload and delegate, and where not possible, I apologise. Sometimes people kindly recommend me books, films, music, etc - it will literally be a case of, "I can pencil in listening to that on Wednesday." Secret: I don’t do a lot of lowkey “decompression” activities / hobbies. On the one hand, I free up a lot of time by not going on Reddit. On the other, people decompress to relieve pressure, which is a luxury I don't have.

8. I quite likely have crippling ADHD, but I’m also quite high-capacity, so I just run permanently in a really high gear with little downtime or rest as my operational state. Secret: my shoulders are broad, but most people would probably prefer to drop hobbies/standards.

9. Secret: Multiple children can be easier to care for than just one. Just one child wants all your attention. Multiple children play together or can be led through activities. I often offer to have my neighbour kids over because this makes all the children happier and easier to care for (and I receive the reciprocal favour.) note this when you need to take your kid to the park (awful by yourself, lovely with a friend.)

10. Secret: bigger kids honestly do better with certain impressive-sounding activities. It sounds impossible to make jam with three kids, but it’s literally easier than watching TV with them. Making jam is an activity where every child can be given an important task. Mouse (2) washed cherry-plums for a full half-hour. Bug (5) could have pitted cherries all day (the best way to pit large volumes of things like cherry-plums is to squeeze them in your hand and pull out the stone with your fingers.) Bear (8) could sort bad cherry-plums with reasonably good judgment, and could be trusted to stir hot jam, watch the numbers on the scale, and other literate tasks. This is (emotionally, mentally, spiritually) much easier to project manage, even in a cramped little kitchen like ours, than trying to find a television show they all like. Any household task that can include a Kid Job module is gold dust in terms of childcare/entertainment. You can also invent them if you don’t have any. It’s super hard to keep Mouse out of the kitchen when I’m in it, so Mouse does a lot of small invented jobs, like “washing things that don’t need washing” or “chopping cucumber with a butter knife.” Stuff like “doing crafts” or “having an allotment” or “camping” or “visiting attractions” ditto - crafts, travel, and gardening may sound impressive, but are all things that have lots of little tasks that can really absorb kids. Secret 10b: there will be some activities with your kids, especially as they get older, that you quite like doing. Your kid may never exactly become a HELP, and it’s not likely that all of your interests will mesh, but it does count as quality time + hobby time for you.

11. There’s a saying, “With your first kid, you need lots of help. With your second kid, you get by okay. But with your third kid, you help others.” It does get easier with time. But parenting requires skills. It makes a material difference that I’ve already experienced (and learned from) a lot of specific challenges. It would be upsetting if I hadn’t! You would EXPECT someone in their late 30s with 8 years of parenting experience to have some apparently-successful coping mechanisms and a few success markers. The alternative would be unspeakably depressing. We should EXPECT some things to stack, some powers to develop, some skills to grow, and our own characters to deepen, strengthen and evolve. The secret: skills take time to learn, but they do accumulate, and it should be noticeable when someone has spent time collecting them. Parenting may never get easier - life may never get easier - but ideally we will be developing our own character alongside these challenges, and facing them with ever-more maturity! We aren’t done growing yet either.

12. The secret: My kids are pretty easy. I've been lucky. I wouldn't have had any past the first if it had been miserable.

There are a lot of secrets. People don't talk about them. I hope that hearing about my secrets is something of a help, and helps you feel better about yourself. I think you're at a very hard point, and that it will probably be better. You're being very brave, and doing very well. You'll get somewhere good soon.

[woncheolisms]

CRUSH (ushijima wakatoshi x reader)

summary: wakatoshi has a crush.

word count: 720

warnings: fem!reader, its all just fluff

tags: @keiva1000

Ushijima knows he has fans. He might be simple-minded and a little oblivious, but he’s not stupid.

He knows girls stare at him from the balcony during practice. And he can hear their giggling when he passes them in the halls. Tendou often calls him Shiratorizawa’s Golden Boy, which Ushijima wholeheartedly disagrees with, but never voices out loud. Tendou often says strange things. He doesn’t mind.

Ushijima doesn’t understand his popularity. Sure, he is a good player. The best ace in the prefecture. But most of these girls have no understanding of volleyball. So why are they spending hours upon hours in the stands, watching him play?

“They’re not watching the match, Wakatoshi-kun. They are watching you.”

Hm. Strange. His play is very consistent. Watching him do the same thing over and over has to get boring, especially when they aren’t watching for the sake of the game.

But then he sees you for the first time.

You are in his third year English class. In his three years of high school, Ushijima is sure he has never seen you before. Because if he had, there was no way he would forget you.

He is curious. And a little enamored by you.

You are, by all means, a regular girl. You sit on the same chair every day, bring your own bento instead of eating from the cafeteria. It is always wrapped in a pretty multicolored patterned cloth, done up in a knot on top. You have a small stuffed cat chain on the zipper of your backpack. And you wear your hair differently every day. Some days it is tied up, some days it is let down. And some days it is half-up and half-down. You have one pink bunny hairclip that you wear maybe once every two or three days that Ushijima thinks is very cute. Your uniform is always immaculate.

There are so many tiny details about you that Ushijima has learned, and he finally understands why girls would stay hanging over the gym balcony to watch him for hours, because he could watch you for hours too.

You are very smart, he could tell. You always answer correctly when the teacher would call on you, and he has glimpsed at your notes. Simple, but neat and easy to understand, just the way he likes it. There are no crazy colors and highlighters, and your handwriting is neat and beautiful, just like the rest of you.

You are also quiet. You have a select group of friends that you talk to, and while you are nice to anyone who interacts with you, you don't go out of your way to stand out. Again, Ushijima loves that. It seems he loved everything about you. All the minor details that make you a little bit more unique to everyone else.

When you show up at his game, he nearly loses his focus.

It in’t an important game by any means, just a practice match with another local university team. So why are you here? Have your friends dragged you along? Or are you here by your own volition? Ushijima feels how sweaty his palms are when he clenches his fists, and it surprises him.

Is he….. nervous?

Why? Because you are watching? How ridiculous. Ushijima has never once doubted his own strength, or his ability to win. How could your presence alter that? The thought annoys him, and he is determined to prove that you being here would not be a hindrance to his play.

Turns out, he needn't have worried. It seems your presence had sharpened his senses more than ever. Shiratorizawa won in straight sets, and of the 50 points they scored, 39 had been from Ushijima’s hand.

“You were on fire today, Wakatoshi-kun.” Tendou comments as the final whistle rings. Ushijima unintentionally glances at you in the stands, cheering for the team. Cheering for him.

His heart is beating a mile a minute, and he doesn’t think it is because of the game he had just played. He hears Tendou let out a dreamy sigh.

“Ah, the miracles of having a crush.”

He feels his lips tick up in a tiny smile as he throws a towel over his shoulders. Tendou is wrong. Ushijima doesn’t think he has a crush.

He thinks he is in love.

[astroismypassion]

Astrology observations 🌟⭐️🌟

Credit goes to Tumblr @astroismypassion

This one has been sitting in my drafts for months.

🌟I don't care what y'all say about Venus in the 6th house loving order and organisation. I see these people love orderly chaos and aesthetic cluttercore. They embrace curated mess and love imperfectly organised spaces. They love having vintage things, trinkets, crystals on their desk.

⭐️Taurus Mercury is a sensory thinker. They often get flashes of knowing or information while cooking, walking, creating or just being. They also remember things in sensory flashes, like the smell of the room where the breakup happened, the tone someone used that made you trust them, what something felt like in your gut. They dislike being rushed into an opinion (lol Kanye West), but then casually drop a truth bomb.

🌟Venus in the 6th house has a secret love of miniatures, such as tiny animals, pocket-sized art, tiny plushies.

⭐️Gemini over the 7th house, you guys, attract people who bring out two sides of you. And you definitely are not the type who can make "opposites attract" work. You truly require someone who is similar to you and your temperament, identity, personality.

🌟Venus in the 6th house can be attracted to somewhat overlooked or humble people, they romanticize the unseen (opposite 12th house). They like a barista, the librarian, the lab tech, anyone quietly doing their work.

⭐️Sagittarius Risings attract significant others that play multiple roles (partner, friend, teacher, critic) or they are into multiple fields (engineer who is also an artist, teacher who is also a poet). In extreme cases, you can have someone who live a double life or just often reinvents themselves.

🌟Libra Mercury often thinks in opposite ways. When they say I'm confused, it's actually when they know too much.

⭐️Gemini over the 7th house are so cerebral in a connection, that they only know how they feel once they say it out loud or write it down. You might also end up with a partner who has a twin or a sibling who looks just like your partner. In some cases, the people you commit to will change dramatically over time. On a positive side, they can show you how to be flexible, youthful and curious in ways you forgot.

🌟Aries Moons grew up in an environment where they had to self-soothe fast, fight for attention or be emotionally independent way too early. They yearn for someone to be there for them without them needing to earn it.

⭐️Also, they are actually veryy vulnerable, but randomly and in bursts, they are vulnerable with you when you least expect it. And often end up regretting it right after. You might also test people with anger, distance or sarcasm BEFORE opening up. You often have the feeling that if you show you need something, you lose power. Also, I'm sad to say it, but you guys only heal when you are alone.

🌟Gemini Descendant, you guys have a partner that is mentally quick, but emotionally inconsistent. They might randomly emotionally detach or check out.

⭐️Sun in the 6th house give such "alpha behind the curtain" vibe. They are just quietly running things behind the scenes and hold everything together due to how consistent and competent they are. You guys might lead without anyone realizing you're leading.

🌟Sun at an Aries degree (1, 13, 25) are prone to have thin hair.

⭐️ I have to say it again, that Cancer Suns are not soft caretakers. They don’t give love freely, only when you actually earned it. They also often deal with mother’s sacrificed dreams or mother’s grief, because she didn’t fulfill her dreams.

🌟 Virgo Mars has a rage that always come across as calculated rage. They time well, when they will reveal their anger for you. Don’t get fooled that it’s random. They just withdraw their energy, stop fixing your mess and use their disorganization against them.

Credit goes to Tumblr @astroismypassion

[linoxpudding]

Off Limits - Seo Changbin

summary: he confesses his feelings to you but you hesitate given your age difference— and after weeks of hidden feelings and secret pining you start secretly dating, sharing soft, private moments away from the spotlight

pairing: seo changbin x noona!reader

genre: angst, comfort, fluff, forbidden romance trope

word count: 5297 words

a/n: this is based on this request, the reader is almost a decade older than him, this one's for the noonas <3

Masterlist

*images are taken from pinterest*

~°~

The job came with a thick NDA, multiple rounds of interviews, and a rule so ironclad it was printed at the top of every email: 

Interactions with artists must remain strictly professional — no exceptions.

It was rule number one to stay professional. Always.

“No texting, no hanging out after hours, no dating — especially that last one,” your supervisor had said during your final onboarding session.

Your age, your experience, your grounded maturity were what made you a perfect candidate. You were supposed to be the steady one. The invisible support staff who got things done and kept boundaries.

So when you signed the contract, you didn’t even flinch. Because really, what was there to worry about?

They were idols — loud, talented, charming and young. Nearly a decade younger than you in some cases. You thought this would be easy. You’d seen enough of the industry to be unaffected. You were mature and too smart to even consider crossing a line. That’s what they liked about you. That’s why they hired you.

So you smiled and promised, “Of course. I’m here to work.”

And for a while, that was true. You became a ghost in the background like a quiet machine that made things run smoothly. Flights, rehearsals, call sheets, wardrobe runs — you were everywhere and nowhere. 

The boys were all kind and respectful, just as polished offstage as they were onstage. Every interaction was warm but brief consisting of a polite bow, a quick thank you, a shared laugh during group meals before everyone snapped back into work mode.

You liked that. The routine. The mutual respect. No one crossed lines. You were part of every successful show, every last-minute disaster averted. You saw it all.

And unbeknownst to you, Changbin saw you.

He noticed how you always had everything ready before anyone asked. How you moved like clockwork, fixing problems before they became problems. How you never looked at him the way fans or even staff sometimes did — never starstruck, never flustered. Just… calm. Distant. Professional.

Maybe it was the distance that pulled him in.

He started slowly. Nothing obvious. Just enough to inch his way into your radar.

Lingering a little longer after rehearsals. Offering you his coffee instead of the manager. Throwing jokes your way when you passed by, pretending it wasn’t for your laugh. At first, you thought he was just friendly — he was like that with everyone.

He was always respectful, polite. Always smiling. He offered to carry heavy bags when he didn’t need to. 

But then he started saying things like, “You didn’t eat again, did you?” or “Don’t overwork yourself, noona. I can tell when you’re pushing too hard.”

And that’s when you started noticing him.

The way his voice dropped when he spoke directly to you. The way his smile softened when you were nearby. The way your heart started skipping the tiniest beat whenever he looked your way.

You told yourself it was nothing. It was just a silly little crush. A fleeting moment of warmth in an otherwise exhausting job. He was just… sweet, observant and thoughtful.

And way too young.

So you buried it under professionalism. For weeks, months — you reminded yourself of the rules every day. 

You kept your distance. Avoided lingering in his space. Laughed a little less. Held your clipboard a little tighter. Pretended it didn’t sting when he looked disappointed.

But Changbin wasn’t playing games. And he didn’t back down.

It was your name he said first when he walked into a room. Your opinion he asked when choosing outfits. Your face he sought out in the crowd after each show, eyes scanning until he found your small nod of approval.

You weren’t supposed to matter like that.

You tried to logic your way out of it. 

It’s just admiration. You’re older. He wouldn’t fall for you. Don’t be that staff member. Don’t ruin this.

But the feelings crept in anyway. And the more you pushed them down, the more impossible they became to ignore.

*****************

On the other hand, Changbin was suffering.

Every word you said, every laugh that passed your lips, made him spiral just a little more. He’d liked you since the first time you scolded him gently for not sleeping enough—voice stern, but hands fussing over him like he mattered. Like someone had to care.

He was used to being looked up to — respected, admired, even babied by fans and teammates. But around you? He forgot how to talk. Forgot how to be. He turned into a blushing, nervous, walking contradiction. All muscle and swagger in front of cameras, but a blushing, breathless boy when you glanced his way.

He forgot how to be cool. Forgot how to form full sentences. Once, he dropped his protein bar because your hand brushed his wrist while passing him a note.

So when you’d started avoiding him like the plague — subtly at first — like skipping out of rooms a few seconds earlier. Passing off tasks involving him to someone else. Rewriting schedules just to make sure your paths didn’t cross too much.

He noticed 

He wasn’t stupid, he noticed the way your laughter stopped when he entered the room. The way your tone shifted from warm to clipped. The way you never quite met his eyes anymore, as if you were afraid of what they might give away — or what they might see reflected in his.

And it hurt.

He didn’t know what he’d done wrong, only that every inch you put between the two of you felt like a punishment he hadn’t earned. He’d stay up wondering if he imagined it all, the tension, the glances, the comfort he felt around you.

It was like every time he thought he was getting closer, you slipped further out of reach.

But no. That couldn’t be right.

He felt it. It was real. It had to be. And if he didn’t say something soon, he was afraid his heart wouldn’t survive the back and forth.

He was done waiting. Done wondering.

Because you made him feel things he never expected to feel — not in a world built on cameras and contracts. And no rule in the world could change that.

*****************

The next day, the studio was buzzing with post-recording chaos. You were crouched in a corner of the studio, scribbling notes and finalizing the van routes for tomorrow’s shoot. The room was loud with movement — the members packing up, cords being wrapped, conversations overlapping.

You felt him before you saw him. That weight in the air. The way your body tensed out of instinct.

“Hey,” Changbin said, stepping close, voice low and hesitant. “How are you?”

You glanced up briefly. “Fine.”

He blinked. “Just fine?”

You nodded, eyes dropping back to your clipboard. “Tired. Hectic day.”

There was a pause. Not a heavy one, just long enough to notice.

“…Are you avoiding me?”

Your fingers froze over the page.

You forced a scoff. “What? No.”

But you didn’t look at him.

He took a small step closer. “You haven’t talked to me all week unless you had to.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“You always made time—before.”

You looked up then, a little sharper than you meant to. “Changbin, don’t make this a thing.”

“It is a thing,” he said quietly, hurt threaded through his voice. “You won’t even meet my eyes anymore. I don’t know how to get through to you anymore.” 

Your throat tightened. “I’m just trying to keep things professional.”

“You didn’t seem to mind when we were laughing backstage last month. When you brought me snacks because you knew I skipped dinner. When you stayed behind during soundcheck just to fix my in-ear volume—”

“That was work,” you cut in.

His eyes narrowed slightly. “No, it wasn’t. Not all of it.”

Before you could answer — before you could run — a voice called across the room.

“Binnie!” 

Chan called him, he was holding up a clipboard. “Let’s go over this one last time.”

Changbin looked torn, still staring at you. His jaw clenched. His shoulders set.

But after a beat, he stepped back. “I’ll find you later.”

And then he walked away. You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, gathered your stuff and left the room. 

*****************

Later that night, the building was nearly empty. Your desk was dimly lit by the last tired glow of your monitor, the silence broken only by the hum of the vending machine down the hall and the scratch of your pen checking off final tasks.

You shut your laptop and slipped into your coat, bag already slung over your shoulder, ready to go home. Your mind was still replaying the conversation from earlier today, you let out a sigh. You were glad this day was over.

But when you opened your office door, you nearly collided with him.

Leaning against the wall outside your office, hoodie pulled up, hands in his pockets — like he’d been waiting.

You stopped. “Changbin…”

“I said I’d find you.”

His expression wasn’t playful or bold. It was tired. Like he’d been carrying something too heavy for too long.

You stepped out, pulling your coat tighter, already too tired for this.

“If this is about earlier—”

“It is,” he said firmly. “It’s about everything. You avoiding me. The way you shut me out. The way you keep pretending we’re nothing. That this is nothing. You think I haven’t noticed?”

You exhaled harshly. “Changbin, stop.”

“No. I’m done stopping.” His voice cracked slightly, but his stare didn’t waver. “I’m done pretending.”

You froze. “Changbin…”

“I like you. And I can’t keep pretending I don’t.”

You closed your eyes. “You’re not supposed to say that—”

“No. Just listen.”

He stepped forward, close enough for you to hear the catch in his breath.

“I’ve liked you for months. Every time you laugh, every time you scold me for skipping meals, every stupid thing I do just to get a smile out of you… it’s real for me.”

You shook your head, voice shaking. “Are you out of your mind?! You’re— you’re almost a decade younger than me.”

“So what?” he shot back, eyes flashing. “It’s not like we met when I was eighteen! I’m twenty-five, for god’s sake. Do you think I don’t know what I want?”

You gaped at him, stunned by the intensity in his voice.

“I know who I am. I know how I feel. And I know that every time you walk into a room and pretend we’re nothing, it fucking hurts.”

You shook your head and tried to walk past. “This isn’t the time.”

He moved to block you — not aggressively, just enough to make you look at him.

You clenched your jaw. “We can’t do this.”

“Why not?” he demanded.

“Because this is real life, Changbin,” you snapped, louder than you meant to. “This isn’t a K-drama. There are rules. Boundaries. Consequences.”

He looked at you, eyes storm-dark. “I don’t care.”

“Well, I do!” you fired back. “I’m staff. You’re the artist. There’s a rule printed at the top of every goddamn company email — no dating the artists. It’s not just a suggestion, it’s my job on the line!”

The hallway rang with your voice, thick with frustration and guilt and the aching truth you’d been trying to suffocate for weeks.

He exhaled, stepping just a bit closer. His voice softened. “Look, I’m not asking you to throw your life away. I’m not asking you to risk your job or break every rule for me. I know how it works here. I read the rules. Every time I think about texting you, I remember the contract. But then I see you the next day and I wish I’d sent it anyway.”

“Do you know how fast they’d fire me if anyone found out I even thought about you like that?” you snapped. “They wouldn’t see you as the one who started it. They’d say I manipulated you. That I used my position to flirt with someone ten years younger than me? That I’m—”

“Stop,” he said. “You’re not some scandal waiting to happen. You’re the only person who treats me like I’m just me. Who sees past the stage lights and the cameras.”

Your chest ached.

He stepped forward, gaze steady. “If it ever came out—if the company found out—I wouldn’t let them touch you. I’d take the blame. I’d tell them it was me. Because it is, you’ve never once crossed the line. I was the one who fell for you. I was the one who waited—who hoped you'd notice.”

You blinked, stunned.

“I’d fight for you,” he said simply. “If it came down to it… I’d talk to them. I’d tell the truth. That you were the one who tried to do the right thing and I was the one who couldn’t stay away.”

He hesitated, then added softer, “But I’d be careful. We would. I’d never let it get that far. And I’d never let anyone hurt you—not the company, not the fans, not anyone.”

You closed your eyes. 

“Just three dates.” Changbin pleaded.

Your eyes snapped open and you looked at him.

“Three quiet, secret dates,” he said. “If after that you still think this is a mistake, I’ll walk away. I’ll act like it never happened. But if there’s even a part of you that feels what I feel… please, noona.���

Your breath hitched at the sound of it, the way he said noona, not playful, not flirty, but tender. Honest.

You wanted to say no. You should say no.

But instead, your voice betrayed you.

“…Three?”

He nodded. “Three.”

“I’m scared,” you admitted, voice trembling.

He reached out then, slowly, like he was afraid you'd pull away. But you didn’t.

“I am too,” he said. “But maybe...we can be scared together?”

And when you gave the faintest nod, barely more than a breath, he smiled. Not triumphant but relieved.

“I’ll make them count.”

Then, like a gentleman who knew not to press, he turned and walked away, letting you breathe.

You leaned against the wall, pulse hammering in your ears.

Three dates. That’s all.

And yet it already felt like the start of something you’d never be able to undo.

*****************

The next day during the shoot, the atmosphere was buzzing with controlled chaos. Cameras rolled, lights blazed, and you were coordinating everything behind the scenes, clipboard in hand and eyes sharp.

Changbin was nearby, casually leaning against the equipment cart, watching you with a quiet intensity.

You barely noticed at first.

But then, as you passed him the schedule for the next segment, his fingers brushed lightly against yours — just a second longer than necessary. You felt your cheeks heat up instantly.

He gave you a small, almost imperceptible smile — the kind that said, I’m here. I see you.

Later, when you paused to sip your water, he appeared beside you, nodding at the bottle.

“Don’t forget to hydrate, ma'am,” he said softly, eyes twinkling.

You blinked, caught off guard. “I—Thanks.”

He gave a slight wink, then stepped back, disappearing into the crew like nothing had happened.

Throughout the day, you caught these little moments — a whispered comment just loud enough for you, a glance that lingered too long, a touch that was barely there.

And every time, you found yourself blushing, smiling when no one was looking.

You admired how careful he was — how he flirted like a secret code only you could decipher.

It made your heart race, and your mind spiral.

How did he get so good at this without anyone noticing?

*****************

The day after the shoot, the boys were officially off schedule for a week. A rare golden pocket of free time, and the dorm had erupted into lazy chaos — gaming, loud music, snacks on every surface, and Seungmin walking around with a face mask like he was in his own world.

Changbin should’ve felt relaxed.

He didn’t.

His mind was spinning through three separate date plans, backup options in case you bailed, and whether or not his hallway confession had been too much.

He was in the kitchen, pouring himself some water, when Hyunjin leaned over the counter with a smug little smile.

“So…” Hyunjin started, dragging out the vowel, “Noona, huh?”

Changbin froze.

“What about Y/N?” he asked, too fast. Too defensive.

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t say which noona. You just told on yourself.”

Felix suddenly burst out laughing from across the room. “OH MY GOD you confessed?!”

“No one confessed,” Changbin muttered, face already pink.

“You sure?” Minho teased, biting into his apple with a smirk, “’Cause why are you so pink?

“I’m just… naturally this color.” Changbin muttered quickly.

Chan popped his head in, grinning wide. “Dwaekki alert! Look at you, blushing like a dweakki!”

“Shut up!” Changbin yelped, running from the room, hands over his face like it might hide the glow.

“You’re not slick, hyung. I see how you look at her like a love sick puppy.” Seungmin chimed in as he passed by.

“It’s not like that.”

Jisung popped his head out from the blanket pile on the couch. “So when are you asking her out?”

“I’m not—”

“Not what? Dating her? Yet?” Jeongin grinned. “You know we’ve been taking bets, right?”

Changbin groaned and shoved his face into his hands.

He wanted to tell them so badly. That you said yes. That he got three whole dates. That he was already planning the third one like a man about to propose.

But he also knew — if it didn’t work out, if the risk was too much for you to keep taking — he couldn’t stomach the thought of them looking at you differently.

So he just muttered, “It’s not what you think,” and grabbed a protein bar like it might protect him from further interrogation.

Chan’s grin widened. “Are you keeping something from us?”

“No!” Changbin defended quickly.

The others burst into laughter.

“You’re so busted!” Jeongin chuckled.

Felix chuckled, “Bro, you can’t hide it. Your face says it all.”

Changbin wanted the floor to swallow him up, the teasing didn’t stop.

“Oh my god, he’s BLUSHING,” Chan laughed. “Binnie, you okay? You need us to buy flowers or plan the proposal?”

“Do not involve yourselves,” Changbin grumbled.

“Too late,” Minho smirked. “We’re emotionally invested now. If you mess it up, we get joint custody of her.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Changbin shot back, surprisingly serious.

They all paused. And just like that, every single one of them knew. He wasn’t just crushing.

He meant it.

And while they still spent the rest of the night teasing him mercilessly, no one crossed the line. Not once.

Because behind all the jokes, they respected you. And they knew Changbin — when he loved, it was for real.

*****************

It was officially time for your first date, you were a nervous wreck. You planned to meet outside a nondescript café at a weird hour on a Tuesday — no other staff in sight, no fans, no eyes. He told you to wear something comfortable and warm. And while it sounded simple enough, somehow it had turned into a full-blown crisis in your apartment.

Your bed was a battlefield of sweaters, jeans, jackets, and outfits you hadn’t even remembered owning until today. You’d tried on six different combinations. Then went back to the first. Then tried again with a different scarf.

You weren’t dressing for a red carpet. You weren’t even dressing for work.

But something about this date made your stomach do flips.

You stared at yourself in the mirror.

Comfy and warm.

Okay. Simple sweater. Long coat. Jeans. Boots. Casual. Cute. Chill. Nothing that screamed “I spent forty-five minutes spiraling in front of a mirror and had an internal breakdown over knitwear.”

You grabbed your bag, took one last deep breath, and whispered to your reflection, “It’s just three dates. Be cool.”

Your heart whispered back  yet again: But what if it’s more?

You ignored it and headed out the door to meet the man who made you want to risk all your carefully drawn lines.

When you arrived at the meeting spot — a quiet, tucked-away café on a side street near the Han River — Changbin was already there, hood pulled low, scarf around his face, and holding two takeout cups.

The minute he spotted you, he straightened.

And beamed.

“Hi,” he said, voice soft and low.

You smiled shyly. “Hi.”

He handed you a cup. “Green tea. I wasn’t sure if you already had caffeine today.”

The fact that he remembered your sensitivity to coffee after 4 p.m.? Noted.

“Thanks,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

He nodded toward the street. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

You walked side by side for a while, shoulders brushing occasionally, silence soft and easy between you. He led you through a small park, then down a narrow path that opened up to a quiet stretch of the river — far from the couples and cyclists, hidden from the usual crowds.

A small blanket was already spread out on the grass.

“Wait—did you come here before to set this up?” you asked, blinking at the small pile of homemade sandwiches, some of your favourite snacks and hand warmers. 

He looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “I, uh... maybe.”

You laughed. “That’s... really sweet.”

“I wanted it to feel normal,” he said, glancing at you. “Like something we could just do. Without the noise.”

You sat down beside him, and for a while, you both just watched the river. Quiet. Present. The sky was turning cotton-candy pink, and the city lights were slowly blinking awake.

He passed you a sandwich. “I made it myself.”

You took a bite, then blinked.

It was unevenly cut, slightly messy, and had... a very generous amount of black pepper.

You coughed lightly and looked at him, amused. “Did you season this with, like... your whole heart and half the pepper grinder?”

Changbin winced. “Too much?”

You nodded slowly, chewing. “A little but it's okay.”

He looked horrified. “I swear it didn’t taste like that when I tested it—wait, does that mean you like it enough to keep eating it?”

You raised an eyebrow but didn’t stop chewing.

He grinned, victorious.

Then he took a bite of his own sandwich and immediately froze.

His eyes went wide. He blinked. Once. Twice.

And then he exploded.

“NOONA—DON’T EAT THAT!” he gasped, as he fumbled for your sandwich like it was a bomb about to go off. “I SWEAR I DIDN’T MEAN TO MURDER YOU WITH PEPPER.”

You just blinked at him mid-chew, caught between laughing and choking. “It’s not that—”

“It’s a disaster!” he cried, waving his arms like a food safety officer. “I was measuring with my heart. My heart, noona. That was a mistake.”

You couldn’t hold it in anymore laughter burst out of you so hard you nearly dropped the sandwich.

“Oh my god, sit down, drama queen,” you wheezed. “It’s edible.”

“Barely,” he pouted, dramatically collapsing onto the blanket beside you. “I wanted to impress you, not ruin your taste buds.”

You took another bite, calmly. “Honestly, ten out of ten for effort. Negative two for spice control.”

He groaned. “I’m never cooking again.”

You both looked at each other and started laughing, and that laughter dissolved the last bits of awkwardness that had been clinging to your nerves all day.

Still, despite the extra pepper, it was perfect not because it was flawless, but because he’d made it himself. And you noticed he’d remembered all your favorite snacks too. The granola bar you always nibbled between call times. The exact brand of spicy chips you hoarded in the back of the van. Even your weird obsession with almond biscuits.

He didn’t just remember. He noticed. And your heart did somersaults.

You talked for hours. About everything except work. Childhood stories. Favorite scents. Regrets you never said out loud before. The whole time, he didn’t touch you. Didn’t rush, he just listened like no one ever had. Like every word was something he wanted to carry home and keep.

When he dropped you off at your apartment building, he didn’t even lean in. Just gave you the softest look and whispered, “Sleep well, noona.”

And even as he walked away…you couldn’t stop smiling.

*****************

He booked a private room at a planetarium for your second date.

You’d barely finished processing the word when he texted you the location. A literal planetarium. 

He said it was “research for a concept video,” and you rolled your eyes, but didn’t question it.

Because the minute you stepped inside the dim, dome-shaped room — all the chaos and rules and pretending melted away.

It was quiet. Soft galaxies shimmered across the ceiling, light dancing in slow spirals above your heads. The air was cool, still, and scented faintly with the citrusy cologne he always wore — the one you noticed but never mentioned.

Just the two of you. No titles. No cameras. No reminders that this wasn’t allowed.

He brought a small bag, and from it, he pulled out a tiny Bluetooth speaker.

“Trust me,” he said, already smirking at your raised eyebrow.

Then he hit play, it was one of his unreleased demos. A soft, emotional verse you’d never heard, it was a confession in lyrics.

You didn’t ask who it was about. He didn’t say. You didn’t need to.

You sat side by side in the dark, arms brushing, knees bumping. And when the artificial stars tilted above you, your head fell naturally onto his shoulder.

He didn’t move.

Just let out the softest breath like he’d been waiting for that moment longer than he’d ever admit.

Your heart was racing so loud you were convinced he could hear it over his own vocals.

When the song ended, neither of you spoke. You sat in the gentle dark, breathing the same quiet air, your pulse drumming against borrowed gravity.

Later, on the walk out to your separate cars, the night air felt colder than usual. Changbin walked slowly, like dragging his feet might delay the inevitable end.

Then he said in a low voice, “I wish I could take you on dates like this in the daylight.”

You stopped walking.

Your chest ached, because God, you wished that too. You wanted sunlight and loud laughter and crowded cafés. You wanted his hand in yours where people could see.

But you turned toward him, eyes gentle, voice soft.

“But I liked it,” you said. “Just us.”

He looked at you and something flickered in his eyes. Wonder. Relief. Maybe even love.

And he whispered, “Me too.”

*****************

It was raining softly the night of your third date.

The kind of drizzle that misted your coat and made the city glow golden. The air smelled like wet pavement and steamed dumplings from street vendors, and everything felt a little softer. A little quieter.

Perfect for staying in.

Changbin had offered his place ��� “We can watch something dumb and be comfy. No pressure. Just pajamas, movies and snacks.”

And after everything, after the stars and the quiet laughter and the way his voice cracked just a little when he said goodbye last time...you didn’t hesitate to say yes.

Luckily for you both, Hyunjin was out of town visiting his parents that weekend. Meaning there will be no awkward interruptions, no sudden bangs on the door, and no suspicious smirking from the world’s most dramatic roommate.

Just you and Changbin.

The apartment was cozy and clean in the way only someone who anxiously vacuumed before you arrived could manage.

You kicked your shoes off and padded in with fuzzy socks, arms full of snacks you insisted on bringing.

Changbin took one look at the grocery bag and teased, “You’re trying to bribe me with bbq chips, aren’t you?”

You grinned. “Is it working?”

“Maybe.”

He was wearing a hoodie so soft-looking it should’ve been illegal. His hair was slightly tousled like he hadn’t finished drying it. And when he took your coat, his fingers brushed yours and stayed a moment longer than they needed to.

You settled into the couch together with a mountain of pillows, blankets, and a massive bowl of popcorn you both agreed was too salty but too late to fix.

The movie — some old cheesy rom-com from the early 2000s — was barely playing before you felt his arm stretch across the back of the couch.

You glanced sideways.

He wasn’t looking at you, not directly. But the corner of his mouth twitched, like he was trying to look chill.

You smirked and leaned your head back against his arm.

He shifted slightly closer and you took the chance to rest your head against his chest, your legs curled under you, and one of his hands gently brushing your arm in slow, absentminded motions.

It was quiet. Not the kind of silence that needed to be filled. The kind that felt like a heartbeat.

Halfway through the movie, he murmured, “You comfy enough?”

You nodded, nose slightly buried in his hoodie. “Mhm.”

His voice dropped a little. “Me too.”

As the credits rolled and the room dipped into low lamp light and leftover snack crumbs, he nudged you slightly, voice soft near your ear.

“So…” he said. “What’s the verdict?”

You blinked up at him, heart stuttering.

He smiled, nervous. “The three dates. Was it enough to convince you?”

You stretched slightly, still half-curled in his arms. Then, very casually, you said, “Hm. I think we should keep doing it.”

He stared at you for a few seconds.

Then he exploded.

“YAH—” he shouted, practically shaking you. “NOONA DON’T DO THAT TO ME, I ALMOST DIED—”

You shrieked, laughing, swatting his chest. “What?!”

“I thought you were gonna say no!” he groaned, flopping back dramatically against the cushions.

“You’re so dramatic,” you teased, burying your face into his hoodie.

He hugged you tighter. “You like that about me.”

You tilted your face upward slightly, just enough to meet his eyes. He was already looking at you. And everything that had been playful and teasing just a moment ago just stilled.

His smile softened, lips parting just barely as if to say something, but he hesitated.

You could feel the shift in the air. The way his thumb started brushing lightly against your arm. The way his breath slowed. The way your heart sped up.

“Can I…” his voice dropped, almost unsure.

Then steadier, with quiet conviction, he asked, “Can I please kiss you?”

Your breath hitched. You hadn’t expected the question to feel so heavy, so intimate.

You didn’t answer right away.

You just looked at him — the warmth in his eyes, the nervous hope swimming beneath the surface, the way he held you like you were something fragile and precious.

So instead of words, you leaned in.

He met you halfway.

And when his lips touched yours, it wasn’t fireworks. It wasn’t overwhelming or rushed. It was gentle and soft, like everything finally made sense.

The kiss melted into the quiet warmth between you, his hand cupping your cheek, your fingers curling into the hem of his hoodie. 

When you pulled back, the world stayed still.

You looked at him, breath caught, cheeks warm, and whispered, “That was dangerous.”

Changbin pressed his forehead to yours, smiling, voice low and steady now. “But so worth the risk.”

You sighed, smiling. Maybe it wouldn’t always be easy. But if you were careful and you had him by your side. 

Then it was worth it. All of it.

----------------

Taglist:

@lov3rachan @pixie-felix @ellemir2404 @willowhanji @skzimagines @wavetohannie @jamroses @vietjeb @kayleefriedchicken @kokinu09 @nightmarenyxx @my-neurodivergent-world @shuuporanglinos @silly250 @notmedina127 @thecutiepieme @stay-tiny-things @inlovewithstraykids @skz-ot8-stay @emilyywhyy @havenwithleeknow @hungryhobbit815 @seungminnieinthebuilding @beabidoobee @geni-627 @ye0lkkot @yaorzu-blog @butterflybananabread @nightshadeblooming @rockstarkkami @finannn @poody1608 @scarlet789 @mbioooo0000 @icannotbelieveit @casperlynn23 @rtyuy1346 @maddy24207 @ari-hwanggg @jisuperboard @nougatjade @skzlover24

[adelheidvonschicksal]

Nsfw scenarios/hcs for the LADS boys with their MC in ABO!AU (Idl if I wrote this right 😅) please? Like how they marked their mates, how they treated their mates during the rut and heat, etc.

+ Omegaverse, sexual content, alpha boys/omega reader, female reader

General

9/10 possessiveness level

Xavier is the most possessive of the main boys and gets jealous the easiest. He may seem calm about other alphas standing a little too close or talking a little too long to his mate, but the tension in the air is thick and unpleasant. There's a specific eery calmness to his face and falsely polite tone to his voice when he happens to cut into the conversation. He always wants to know the topic of conversation when you talk to anyone who has his suspicion. Xavier suddenly gets a little needier than usual, always trying to figure out a way to draw your attention back to himself. Or, purposely sliding an arm around your waist and holding you close in a silent hint that whoever is talking to you should back off, or he will drop his head against your shoulder, saying he’s tired, and asking you to hurry up so you can go home together,  he emphasizes. His last resort isn't pretty. 

While calm, he has a little of a competitive streak with others, whether that means scoring higher in your hunter team battles or building the largest snowman together. He is competitive for your attention against those he thinks are interested in you; and when he has you alone, he insists on scenting you or mating you. You better be prepared to hide large bite marks or hickeys by the time he’s done claiming you.

Protective Level: 6/10

Xavier has no problem with you running about your daily life. He has confidence that you’re strong and don’t necessarily need much protection. He only insists on coming with for two things: (one) if he’s jealous of the person you’re meeting or (two) if you’re going somewhere to fight on your own.

As long as he’s around, he’s confident that things will work out fine. However, he gets extremely protective when you’re hurt, asking for you to stay behind him, rushing ahead to be the vanguard, and trying to take on the brunt of everything himself. And if you get hurt being rash, prepare for him to be upset with you and insist that you allow him to protect you more.

Scenting

Scent: Fresh Linen

Xavier smells good, but there isn’t something to pinpoint about his scent that is unique to him. Simply put, he smells clean, like freshly dried laundry with a touch of lavender.

Xavier loves covering you in his scent, cuddling and sleeping with you until you’re no longer entirely sure what your scent smells like not mixed with his. He scents your things, like your plushies, before you even need to ask. 

He likes to tease you, asking if you want him to scent his hoodies even more since you take them so much, and he’s always happy to oblige. His first instinct to calm you down consists of three options: scenting, cuddles, and food, in that order.

Mating

Xavier already likes to mate with his partner a lot, like a constant rut minus the attitude that comes with it; always wrapping his arms around you, nudging the back of your neck, and lightly coercing the situation to where he wants it to end up whenever the opportunity shows itself.

In a rut, he’s twice as easy to rile up and much more direct about wanting to be alone with you, wanting to hold you and shove his head into the divot of your neck, and audibly inhaling your scent. You can already feel him against you in more ways than one.

He doesn’t waste his time trying to play games with you during this time, choosing to show you exactly how much he wants you before taking charge. You’re burnt out by his energy when you’re used to him napping right after a round or two. This time he isn’t letting up, but he promises that he’ll treat you so well, promises that he’ll get you there twice in exchange for letting him have one more time, as if you're aren't already overstimulated with jellied legs.

He asks if you're already tired. He'll let you sleep but can he at least squeeze and kiss you while he uses his hand. He promises to clean his mess if it gets on you. He'll be good, he swears, and he's so puppy eyed that you let him.

When he finally is tired, he’ll fall asleep while inside you. His knot stopped swelling a long time ago, but he enjoys your warmth around him as he nuzzles the back of your head.

Xavier does his best to tend to his mate when they’re in heat. He’ll get warm compresses and try his best to cook for you (most likely failing) and offer to nap with you when you’re in pain. He’ll let you use him how you want as long as it makes you feel better, whether that’s using his hands, mouth, or knotting you.

There’s a small bit of worry from him, with the way he asks,

“Where do you need it?” “Like this?” “Are you sure you only want my fingers? It’s okay to ask for more.” “Open your legs wider. You don’t have to be embarrassed. It's only me." "Next time, I'll let you take care of me, deal?

You’re so cute like this, needing and wanting him, but he hates how it causes you pain.

General

3/10 possessiveness level

Rafayel tends to have confidence that he can have you before anyone else, trusting your judgment to take care of yourself. He also has pretty high esteem of himself when it comes to the social world. A few properly chosen words is usually enough to get any seducer to back off. Rafayel can’t believe someone else could possibly think they’d have a chance with you when you have him.

As repentance, he wants you to do things for him after little incidents like that. It’s so exhausting chasing lesser alphas off, after all. Whether he’s serious or not when he says he could use some affection after his omega so cruelly ignored him for another alpha remains to be determined.

If there ever is a time where he feels insecure or jealous, he isn’t above trying to cut off someone’s relationship with you. If it comes to threats so be it, but it will end. It doesn’t matter if it’s from your side or the pursuer. It’s an ultimatum, either him or the other person, but not both.

He has a bigger concern about you not needing or growing bored of him than falling in love with someone else. Otherwise, he tends to have faith in you.

Protectiveness Level: 8/10

Rafayel knows you’re strong. Trust him—a twisted arm and playfights abound—he knows. But you are also bulledheaded and naïve. He worries you might end up getting yourself injured; or worse, killed.

So, he’s observant as always, watching for any suspicious activities with the people you’re around, whether warranted or not. He wouldn’t just do that for anyone, only for his precious mate and also for his precious peace of mind. He tends to operate from the background to not be too overbearing, but he doesn’t mind being the one to step in—to get hurt—if it means keeping you safe.

Scenting

Scent: Beach Sand with a Hint of Citrus

Rafayel smells of white beach sand and tropical fruit. He smells like the first hint of salt air and the ocean breeze and mineral. It reminds you of family vacations and old memories. He insists most Lemurians have scents like these, but his is special! It's the only one that mixes so lovely with yours.

He does scent you when you ask, but he requests that you do the same. It’d be much better for you to scent each other. He loves to tease you when you ask him to scent things for you.

“If you like it so much maybe I should make it into a perfume.” But he’d hate it if you actually agree. “Wait, let’s not be too hasty. A perfume really can’t compete with the natural source.”

Mating

Rafayel dislikes his mating cycle only because he dislikes losing his sense of control over himself. But when you’re there, with your scent clouding his mind, it’s all bets off. He’s so needy and HAS to have you. He feels like he’ll die if he isn’t burying himself in your scent, your presence, in you. He needs to feel your hands on him and isn’t below demeaning himself or being more forceful than usual to get it.

He’ll constantly seek you out, calling you late at night. He has nothing to say. He just needed to hear your voice, just keep breathing for him, he’s almost there. He needs you to come over to his place right now. It’s all your fault he’s burning like this. You need to get there immediately and take responsibility before he goes insane. He's already dizzy and his hand isn’t cutting it anymore.

In person, he grabs your hand, and the look in his eyes is begging in place of his mouth that’s too heavy with pants to talk straight as he savors your touch, desperate and gluttonous. 

“Right there...don't make me beg…just a little bit longer.” “I need to feel you. There. You feel incredible.” “If you want my knot, you can have it. Say you want it for me, and I’ll give it to you. Say it.”

When it’s your turn to go manic, he’s going to have his revenge for all the bullying and petting you did while he was rutting. He’s going to coo and fawn over how much you need him, and make you ask him nicely for his touch, but he’ll always give in to his little mate. He knows what’ll make you feel good, and he’s going to give it to you in due time. He thinks you look so pretty when you’re about to cum, covered in sweat, body tensing, the shallow, quick breaths.

“I wish I could paint you like this, but I don’t want to look away.” “Do you really want me to breed you that bad? Don’t say you didn’t ask for it.”

Rafayel is going to make sure you have an easy time, clearing out your schedule for you and letting you stay in the studio with him. Thomas' calls are going to go unanswered for a while.

General

6/10 possessiveness level

Zayne is able to get jealous; however, he isn’t one to distrust you. It’s other people he doesn’t trust. He’ll drop hints he doesn’t like something you’re doing, a sarcastic jab here, a polite warning there, and even a “you should be careful of the company you keep.”. He always introduces himself as your mate to ensure there are no misconceptions about your relationship with him.

Zayne occasionally has to remind you that he’s your partner especially when you insist on teasing him and being a brat, poking at that jealous side of his to rile him up. It doesn’t take long for you to get the idea after having him between your legs. It’s really more of a funny thing, seeing him possessive, because he becomes a lot more short-tempered but absolutely refuses to admit he’s being possessive.

However, he calms relatively easy with some reassurance, and he doesn’t care as much if someone likes you after he knows you have zero interest in them. It’s more of an annoyance than something for him to fear.

Protectiveness Level: 10/10

Zayne is always so worried about you. He always has to tell you to be careful, to watch where you’re stepping so you don’t trip, to not drink too much without him there to take you home, and to watch for injuries. It might be a bit of his doctor attitude coming out, but it’s so much worse when it comes to you. You know no one else who adds the weather of the city you’re in to confirm you’re okay.

He’s also protective of your mental wellbeing; he tends to be the rock you rely on. If someone is bothering you, you can tell him, and he’ll be sure to handle the issue immediately.

Scenting

Scent: Bamboo Forest

Zayne smells like bamboo forests, a mix of floral and earthy. It kind of reminds you of him, calm and quiet but strong and solid like the earth. Fresh, green, and slightly woody. It smells like nature.

He scents you when you ask, and he quietly scents you when he wants, always overthinking if it’s something you want him to do or appropriate at a given point in time. It doesn’t take long for him to become better at knowing when you want it, when to leave something with his scent for you when you’re upset, and when to simply cradle you against him. His mood improves exponentially whenever you shove your face into his chest and mumble about how good he smells.

Zayne loves the way you smell. It’s a familiar and comforting thing to have your scent greeting him after a hard day at work. It lets him know you’re doing okay, and he gets worried whenever your scent is off. He can usually tell the slightest changes of your mood, and it makes him agitated whenever you try to pretend you’re fine when he can clearly tell different from smell alone.

Mating

Zayne tries his best to control himself and avoid you during his ruts. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you, which leads him to being too restrained whenever he’s with you to the point where you can tell he’s not handling himself well.

It’s going to take a few times to convince him that you can handle it, that he can let go and give you everything before he finally allows himself to dive into his hormones, throw you against the bed, and kiss you hard. It's almost like a completely different side of him. Sure, he could always be dominant in the bedroom but there was always a control to it. Instead, he's instinctive, running off the rush of endorphins to reach the peak he desperately wants to tumble over, harsh and tunnel visioned as he chases the sensation of you clamping down around his knot.

“Hold it there, we’re almost there. You can handle it.” “Let me have you a few more times. Then, you can rest.” “Good girl. You’re doing so well. So good to me.”

During your time, he is meticulous. Zayne knows you almost as well as you know yourself, knows what sweets you like to eat, what positions make you the most comfortable, and tips on how to keep yourself together.

That only works so long, however, and soon he takes a more hands on approach in helping you through your heat cycle. His fingers curled up inside you, pushing that sweet springy spot inside you that has your juices pouring over his palm. He shushes you as you beg for him to give you more and more, to please stop this edging and fuck you already.

He promises he’ll make it good, but he has to slowly work you up first, so you won’t get overstimulated. Then, he’ll give you what you want until you pass out.

“Hold still, or do you want me to stop?” “Does it feel that good? I’ll be sure to remember that for next time.” “See what happens when you follow directions?” “You’ll have your reward soon. Which do you prefer to have—my fingers or my knot?”

Zayne also takes special care of you no matter the situation, making sure to wipe you off and hold a warm rag to your swollen and puffy cunt as he makes out with you. He scents you heavily afterward and lets you fall asleep against him until it all starts over again.

[hcneymooners]

⋆ the heart devises, desires, can be stolen.

modern!young!ambessa x curvy!best friend!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: ambessa has always been your best friend, and you hers—one half of a duo everyone envies. but it turns out she’ll take any chance to remind you that no one else gets to have you.

cw: straight smut bro i'm ovulating real bad, power dynamics, homoerotic friendships, rich girl bullshit, pining, sexually explicit content, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, oral sex, face riding, impact play, dom/sub, brat!reader, brat tamer!ambessa, dom!ambessa, praise kink, face-sitting, face fucking, possessive sex, accidental voyeurism (she eats you out while you're on the phone with a date), possible infidelity? may be up to interpretation, insane sexual tension, kinda hate sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, clit play, humiliation kink, reader is black-coded but everyone can read!

notes: i have nothing to say for myself. enjoy. love you.

the problem with the medarda heiress is that she’s allowed to want you, but you are not allowed to want her. if you do, you’ve upset something delicate and impossible to rebalance. you’ve leaned too hard into it, and she’ll punish you for the weight. it was an invisible rule, but enforced with brutal consistency. you, and anyone else she ever deigned to touch, had to understand this law to be allowed inside the thicketed, thorn-laced garden of her lioness heart.

you were strategic. played it smart. tied yourself to her not through confession but through proximity. best friendship. a safe zone, or something close enough to perform as one. still, the world you built together had curdled into something sticky. mutated by a strain of possession that could only belong to two bright, beautiful, brilliant young girls, padded by old money and too many afternoons with nowhere to be. 

you never talked about it, but you both knew: the relationship had grown elevated beyond all else. separate. sacred. whatever existed between you was observed with more affection than most marriages.

she had your coffee order filed away in the notes of your contact card. you had her credit cards sitting untouched in your apple wallet, every limit obscene. you did her makeup when she was afraid to try something new and needed someone who wouldn’t laugh if it all went wrong. her hands hugged the lunar curves of your hips as she measured you for brands you rarely purchased from. urged you to yield to instructions such as stand still while her thumbs pressed deliciously just below your hipbones.

you knew each other best, which meant you hurt each other best. 

when she was displeased with you, she would excise you silently. you’d wake to an instagram feed newly glittering with crowds of people who would ask about the reason you hadn’t been there with rehearsed innocence. in return, you would still celebrate her birthday, but with less respect than owed. show up late. deliver a gift just generic enough to imply you’d forgotten, a last-minute grab from a boutique near the venue. it would make her lips go thin and bloodless at the head of the dinner table, her eyes going flat with insult.

ambessa would follow this with digging her nails into your thigh until she drew both blood and your sharp gasp of pain, and then look over sweetly. her face would enact a perfect collapse, a slow crumple, her face folding into the perfect picture of saccharine concern. 

“jesus, [name],” she’d whisper, a hand on your knee, locs twisted up like a debutante. “are you alright?”

only you could see the violence behind it. it matched your own.

later, to get back at her, you’d lock her out in the cold and text her to call in a favor at the ritz. you’d fall asleep sprawled across your shared bed, cheek pressed to her pillow, her scent making something claw in your chest.

but the worst, the thing that really got her, was when you went on dates. she despised it. viscerally, illogically. 

she’d watch you get ready from the edge of your bed like a housecat preparing to pounce, her long limbs sprawled out in quiet threat. her eyes would follow your reflection in the mirror as you applied gloss and tucked that evening’s pair of earrings into the soft swell of your earlobe. when you reached for your heels, she'd tug the hem of your dress like she was helping, but always, always popped off a bead or caught a thread.

you’d swat her hand away.

 “bessa. stop.”

 she’d just blink, slowly and unreadably. “i’m only fixing it.”

you’d kick at her ankle, not gently. she’d wince, delicately performative. it made you feel better, even though both of you knew she could break you in half if she wanted.

she just never did.

she always waited up.

never slouched. never drowsy. only still. it was like a meditation brought on by jealousy that coiled with nowhere to strike.

ambessa kept the suite dim, lit only by the golden hush of a single lamp and the spill of city lights leering through the windows. she sat poised in one of the chaises like she’d been born there, legs crossed, one hand rubbing idly at her temple as she looked over internship applications. her silk robe was belted in a way that suggested absentmindedness. but with ambessa, nothing ever was.

your entrance was deliberate. you’d come late, always sitting by yourself at the table for a few extra minutes just to strengthen the wound. as you walked in, she looked up, eyes glossy but sharp as if she hadn’t blinked while you were gone. 

your heels hung from your fingers, limp and thoughtless, betraying nothing of the two thousand dollars they’d cost, you had played it risky, had decided to engage with what your mother once called “the wisdom of a whore”. the outfit was an electric blue, comprised of a candalously tight, micro-skirt and a matching beaded tube top that did nothing to hide the hardness of your nipples. 

your hips swayed like a dare. your hair was teased large and soft, fragrant with something tropical and warm, the kind of scent that would linger kindly along bedsheets and a shirt collar. your lip combo was smudged from the sips of the apple martinis you’d ordered, the liquor a toxic green highball. it had felt threatening every single time a sip went down. your teeth bit into your bottom lip, white still gleaming. your edges were immaculate, barely curled. 

you looked expensive. you were sure to taste somewhat like trouble. and she abhorred it.

you hadn't even liked the guy, but you liked his effect. it was cruel, but cruelty was the only language you spoke fluently when ambessa got like this.

her eyes crawled over you. slow. bladed. her fingers twitched, and she covered them with the lip of her robe, anxious to keep her emotions unrevealed. 

“well?” she said.

you blinked. set your purse on the counter like you hadn't noticed her watching. “well, what?”

her lip curled, delicate and venomous. but then, “did you—did you have fun?”

her voice seemed to get smaller by the end, but you caught the subtle narrowing of her eyes. 

you laughed. couldn’t help it. the act was borderline insane. insanely her. you dropped your heels, letting one tumble toward the couch.

“you’re so upset,” you murmured, the sound almost fond.

ambessa stood. “i am not.”

“bessa,” you said, ensuring that you sounded the right side of disappointed. “i thought we agreed to never lie to each other.”

“please,” she scoffed. you smiled wider. you began to move again.

her eyes tracked you, slow and precise, a predator unbothered by the illusion of prey. she waited until you leaned against the island in the kitchen, fiddling with a glass like you might pour yourself water. you didn’t.

then, low and syrupy, “what’d you drink tonight?”

you smirked without turning. “why?”

“i’d like to know what to order if i go there.”

she’d never go there.

you glanced over your shoulder, smiling sharply.

“if you want to know what’s been in my mouth, then come and find out.”

she slipped over like a shadow, walked unrushed and barefoot. her robe parted just enough to flash well-lotioned skin and the flex of lean muscle. her nails were painted a deep oxblood. she didn’t raise her voice when she stopped in front of you, her height even more pronounced in the throes of her possession, but her mouth was hard.

her gaze dropped: first to your gloss-slick mouth, then the dip of your collarbone, then lower still. with it went the last of her mask. her voice grew high and tight.

“did he touch you here?” she asked, reaching out. her fingers hovered. “or was he too busy trying not to cum in his pants the second you sat down?”

you sucked in a breath, heat climbing up the back of your neck.

“you sound jealous,” you said.

“i think you want me to be,” she countered. you had no answer to that.

goosebumps lit up along your arms. you were still warm from dinner, still sticky from the club, but something about ambessa always made you feel brand-new. 

she stepped closer. her hand landed heavy on your hip, fingers sinking in. she wanted you to remember just how bruiseable your body was. her thumb brushed under the edge of your skirt. a threat of a touch.

“did he kiss you?” she whispered, like it would kill her to hear it.

“of course not,” you lied, soft and immediate. you licked along the faded edges of your lip liner.

ambessa smiled. not kindly.

“that’s too bad,” she said. it was so fucking hot that she didn’t mean it.

“did he touch my things?” she asked. her fingers ghosted the curve beneath your top, just under the tight squeeze of your left breast. “put his mouth here?”

“nope,” you answered, popping the ‘p’.

she moved to your hip. “here?”

your breath hitched. you shook your head, slowly. still lying.

“what about here?” her hand slipped behind you, tugged up the hem of your micro-skirt until the under-crease of your ass met the cool air. one finger traced the waistband of your thong. “this was twisted when you walked in. that’s not like you.”

you didn’t answer. your glossed lips just parted slightly, as if something invisible had just struck you. ambessa tilted her head.

“i’ll fix it,” she murmured, voice thick and poisonous. “you know how i hate mess.”

she adjusted the strap of your underwear with surgical precision. the backs of her knuckles grazed the softest part of your skin. she made sure to dip downward, drag a fingertip against your clit just to feel it twitch. 

you didn’t flinch. you couldn’t flinch. then you’d lose.

finally, she stepped back, just barely.

“and what did you have to eat?” she asked, her rounds of questions cinching tighter against your throat with every turn.

you gave a half-shrug, cheeky. “whatever he was paying for.”

ambessa leaned in. she studied you, breath warm across your cheek, and then cupped your chin. with low eyes, she bit at your lip until they opened and then slid her tongue in to make it a proper kiss. she sucked and lapped at you, curling all around the wetness of your mouth and humming with pleasure when you tried to kiss her back.

then she broke the connection, lips almost engorged red from the tension.

you stood there, stunned. her taste now lived on your lips. your pulse lived in your throat.

“well.” she shrugged, casual. “sounds like it was all very unexciting. shall we go to bed?”

she shouldered past you, unconcerned whether you followed.

ambessa didn’t look up from where she was sitting on the bed, not even when you slipped into the bathroom. you left the door cracked, half-inviting her to watch the undressing of you, but she didn’t give you an inch. it was almost worse, that stillness again. how could she withhold and perform perfect patience while her jealousy dirtied her blood?

you brushed your teeth, wiped your face clean of the night, undid your top like it meant nothing, and re-entered the bedroom in just your strapless bra and thong. you tried not to rush. you knew she was waiting for only a second of displayed desperation.

the air was cooler when you stepped out. low lights spilled across the floor from the floating led light bar above the bed. her robe had been abandoned, and her legs were crossed with the intention underneath the scarlet sheer of her babydoll. 

with a stifled sigh of annoyance, you moved toward the dresser to grab your pajamas. but your phone lit up before you could, its thin body vibrating with an incoming call on the bed. it lay there, ringing in suspense of your answer. you squinted and rose on your tiptoes to read the caller id.

[date’s name.]

ambessa’s eyes found it at the same time yours did. she didn’t say anything, but she shut the cover of her ipad case decisively. her gaze lifted to you with the languid, expectant delight of someone about to flip a switch.

“answer it,” she said, voice so even that you knew she must be boiling inside. it wasn’t a request.

your hand hovered. “bessa."

she tilted her head. “you were so sure of yourself earlier. why the hesitation now?”

you sighed, picked it up. “hey,” you greeted, light and airy, as if your best friend wasn’t boring a hole into the side of your head. you were suddenly so aware of your lack of clothing.

ambessa slid off the side of the bed and moved behind you, steps quiet and intentional. she didn’t touch you yet. only looked.

“uh, yeah, i made it home fine,” you said into the phone, forcing a little buyoncy into your voice. “no, it’s cool, i had a great time.”

her hand ghosted over your waist. her fingertips, at first. you turned a fraction of an inch, a subtle warning in your glance. but she wasn’t interested in warnings tonight. she was tuned into her own thing.

you felt the full flatness of her palm, warm and calloused against the small of your back, and then, without further preamble, she pushed you down. you fell with a gasp of surprise, your chest hitting the plush of the mattress and your legs splaying across the cool sheets. 

“shit, sorry! i’m fine,” you said, responding to the sudden concern of the man on the other end of the line. “just tripped.”

you went to twist over your shoulder, but were stopped by a firm hand on the nape of your neck. you froze. this was new. you had no plan for this. carefully, ambessa dragged your hips up until you were in a suitable arch with your ass spilling around the baby pink lace of your thong.

“hold still,” she murmured, lips barely brushing the shell of your ear, “and keep talking.”

you fought to keep your breath even as she bent and placed a heated kiss against your shoulder, sliding further down to tattoo one against your back. her palm flattened over your ass, sliding up and under to grasp at your lower belly. her fingers splayed wide, her mouth finding that soft place between your neck and collarbone.

the graze of her teeth made you moan, which you then tried to transform into a weak excuse for a yawn.

“no, i’m not tired. just—” your voice hitched. she dragged her hand downward, slow as silk through a ring. you felt her tug up the front of your thong, so that your lips bulged obscenely around the rim of the fabric. 

your free hand clenched in the duvet.

“‘m just getting ready for bed,” you lied. or maybe not. maybe this was exactly how it always went with ambessa; submission didn’t look like a loss. you wanted to obey.

the call continued as she dragged the thong away from you, the graze of lace lighting up every nerve. she left it down around your knees, bringing both hands up to spread you wide and dirty. she gazed silently at the bubblegum pink gape of your body, eyes catching the sloppy drip of your pussy as it pulsed open, messy and glistening, your cream leaking onto the sheets with every shaky breath you took.

“such a pretty girl,” she whispered. you heard the rustle of her sliding to her knees. “keep talking or i’ll make you give him a play-by-play.”

she swung herself around so that she could slide under you, hands coming up to clutch at your thighs. you managed to mute the call as she pulled you down, just in time for the wide stripe of her tongue to meet the throbbing heat of your cunt. 

“ohhh fuck, babe,” you groaned, your body falling flush against her mouth. “yeah, holy shit, bessa. right there. please.”

ambessa suctioned her mouth around your clit, suckling and then pulling off with an unnecessary slurp that you knew was done only to make you shiver with embarrassment. 

“put it on speaker.”

then she was back to burying her face inside of you. 

you hesitated. she noticed. she always noticed. her tongue slowed just enough to make it a punishment.

“bessa, i don’t—”

she pulled back, breath damp against your skin. “i said, put it on speaker.”

you fumbled with the phone, thumb slick as you pressed the icon and heard his voice flare through the room. he was still talking. something dumb. something you didn’t care about. 

ambessa hummed, pleased. the vibration traveled straight through your spine.

“hello?” came the tinny voice, tentative now. “you there?”

ambessa hummed again, this time laughing at both of you, and your whole body jolted. you slapped a hand over your mouth, trying not to make a sound, trying not to cum.

“uh-huh,” you said, voice thin and cracking as you ground down into her mouth. “no, i’m—yeah, just—yeah—yeah. shit. um, sorry. thought i dropped the call.”

underneath you, ambessa smiled.

“is this a bad time? ‘cause i can call back.” it was a shame he was sweet. 

ambessa tapped your ass lightly. then sank her teeth into your thigh, not enough to mark, but enough to warn. then she went back in like she had nothing to lose. well, she didn’t. you did.

 hands gripping your ass, she tugged you even lower, lips messy, tongue insistent. you could feel her breath, hot and damp, every time she moaned low, just to rattle you from the inside out.

“you watching something?” your date asked, and you nodded, forgetting that he couldn’t see you for a moment.

“yeah, sorry! i always have something on in the, unh, background while i do my routine.”

he laughed, filing away your distraction as some cute, quirky fantasy. a far more innocent categorization than the situation deserved. “nah, i get it.”

you tried to focus on the call, tried to nod along to whatever the hell he was saying, something about “doing this again,” “seeing you soon.”

ambessa refused to let up. she devoured you, alternating between firm, unrelenting strokes and soft kisses that felt like taunts. you could hear the slick echo of it, each pull and suck wet enough to shame you. and it was all happening on his time. you weren’t yours right now.

you bit your knuckle, shuddering.

she moaned like you were the one doing something to her, then gripped the backs of your thighs and pulled you further down, spreading you open with no mercy. her tongue lapped deliberately, each movement messier, filthier, designed to make you flinch like a liar under a spotlight. you could hear the wetness now. you prayed he couldn’t.

her nose pressed in. her mouth devoured. it wasn’t sweet. it was starved.

“i’d like that,” you said hoarsely. “tonight was so good. you’re so good.”

“oh, it’s like that?” your date replied, voice dipping with misplaced pleasure. this was not about him right now.

ambessa pulled back just long enough to whisper, lips glossy. she spread your lips wide, watched you clench around the emptiness. her chin was glazed with the drool of your need. “but not as good as this, right?”

then she flattened her tongue and drew a line so slow it made your knees buckle. when she grazed your swollen clit with her teeth you whimpered, far too loud. there was a pause on the other end.

“you okay?” he asked, voice laced with confusion now. “you sound a little more than distracted.”

“yeah,” you breathed, forcing a laugh. “swear. just exhausted. you know. long day.”

ambessa pulled your clit back into her mouth like she wanted to keep it, and your body betrayed you with its shivering and arching. she didn’t stop. she didn’t want you to be quiet. she wanted the performance. wanted him to hear you choke on a lie while she tore the truth out of your body.

you grabbed the edge of the headboard with one hand, the phone shaking in the other as you began to bounce. you needed it to end, needed the focus to ride the fuck out of her face.

she squeezed your ass, giggling to herself as she slapped it and you covered your mouth as your brain whited out. 

“hey, look, do you want me to call back? i can let you enjoy your show in peace,” your date offered, tone unassuming and teasing.

ambessa pulled away only long enough to murmur, “answer him, baby. or i’ll do something that’ll make you.”

“no! no, that’s okay. i wanna—i wanna keep talking.”

he said something else, his tone pleased. you couldn’t even hear it, because ambessa was saying something too. between sucks. between strokes. 

“look at you, mama. do you want to cum for me?”

she didn’t wait for an answer. she slid two fingers in, knuckles deep, while her mouth returned to your clit like it belonged to her and no one else. you squeezed your eyes shut tightly, tried to focus on breathing.

“you want to cum for me, right? not him. we can keep him on the phone if you want. let him here how nasty this pussy is.” she pressed open mouth kisses to your cunt as she said it, using two fingers to spread your folds as she made out with it. she slid her tongue in, french kissing it like she’d done in the kitchen before this. “it’s okay, baby girl. i’m feeling generous. let him hear what he’ll never have.”

you slapped a hand over your mouth. your eyes rolled back. the phone slipped from your fingers and hit the bed with a soft thud, still on. still listening.

“oh shit, baby, fuck. i—oh my fucking god, bessa.” you moaned, rolling your hips faster.

“yeah?” she said, uncaring of her volume now. she smiled viciously at the thought of the way that man must be feeling. “you feel good? you like it when i put my mouth on you? come on, use your words for me.”

“yeah. i, mmm, i love—i love it. love it when you eat my pussy. ‘s so good. so fucking good.”

you were bouncing vigourously now, ass slightly clapping against her chin. she didn’t mind, only guided you further into her mouth and whined into you. you were dripping, dribbling all over her face, even slipping down her neck. she reached up, brought the phone closer. 

the squelch of your pussy was obscene, your walls gummy and tightening around her every time she tried to leave. she drove her fingers deeper inside of you, relishing in the way you squealed and tossed your head back. you fumbled with the band of your bra, finally getting it undone and allowed your tits to fall perky and full into your hands. you pinched your nipples, swiveling delicately as you felt that syrupy heat begin to rise. 

“i’m cumming. bessa, i’m cumming, i’m gonna—holy shit—i’m gonna cuuuum.”

ambessa didn’t slow. didn't pause. she held. kept you split open, held down, fingers buried, mouth sealed over you with a precision that felt cruel. her eyes never left your face.

you screamed as you sprayed, thighs snapping shut around her face as you shook and curled inward. the world fell away, your brain tumbling into the searing bliss of an orgasm that was ripping something out of you. your voice pitched high, trembling, frantic, sweet enough to haunt someone for life. then it fell into a vocal blend of three parts: sob, slurred praise, utter disbelief.

the phone was still on, the call still connected. there was silence first. then:

 “…what the fuck,” he said, voice hesitant as if he didn’t want to believe what he heard. “what the fuck, [name]?”

ambessa didn’t even glance at the phone. she just kept going, alternating between fucking and kissing against your mess, tongue soft now, lapping it all up like she was savoring victory. you whined, tried to pull back, too sensitive. she didn’t let you. 

“uh-uh. you can give me another one, pretty girl. i know you want to.”

she made you ride it out, whimpering, breath stuttering against your lungs, throat closing as her tongue still worked slow, torturous circles through the oversensitivity. another cry ripped out of you, lower this time. she chased every twitch and tremble, drank from you like she was feeding.

the line crackled.

“can you not hear me? because i can hear you. i’m still on the fucking phone with you! you’re fucking—what the fuck is this?”

you couldn't even respond. you were still pulsing, convulsing, twitching in her hands. she pressed her mouth against your thigh like a signature. then, with the most obscene casualness, she reached for the phone and brought it to her lips, their fullness still soaked and shining with your release.

she didn’t rush, her hand rubbing a warm circle across your back as you fell into her. she pressed a kiss to your shoulder and then said, voice soaked clean through with honey,

 “wrong number, maybe.”

then she hung up. 

you collapsed forward, gasping into the pillow, body wrung out and wet and glowing like a fever. ambessa crawled up behind you, mouth still damp with you, and kissed the back of your neck like she was about to tuck you into bed.

“good girl,” she whispered.

then she bit you, hard enough to leave a mark. her hands slid up the backs of your thighs, sliding between them to spread you back apart and rub a thumb against your nerve-shot pussy.

“you want me to fill you up, sweeheart?” she murmured. “tell me, and i’ll go get it. make you feel full.”

“fuck you,” you breathed. then, “yes, please.”

ambessa’s laugh curled around you like smoke. one arm draped heavy over your waist, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“be right back.”

© hcneymooners.

⚚ special taglist: @venusiandyke @thatonetargaryen @drgnflyteabox @y2kas13 @blackdykegirlblogger @slut4sevika @joon1uvr @dut1fuldyk3 @imheadintothemountains @bambishaven @kirammansbow @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame @nightlyconfusion @sevikasrightboob @half-of-a-gay @nsfwruru @yourlovesicklibra @bluferret @doppelman @savedforlaterr @sevikasserafim @fruitfulfashion @soniiyi @namuranguinho @bubblestrbls @spidercat-soccerfan @pllduniverse @sugrcookiiee @iwasholic @sevslefthand @fxngsfxgxrty @leone007 @kk-iki @jvalentinelvr @bella-goths-wife @maaaaaaaaaaari @marieeeluvsyou @powderpinkandsweeet @pearldaisy @sevikas-whore @wolfessa @lazyartizt @cherryswisherz

[quarterlifekitty]

net meet cute

aka: how they start cyberstalking you. Some of these are more on the innocent side, some are slightly more intense.

Gaz sees you pop up in the people you may know section. He most certainly doesn't know you, but you are his type. As it turns out, you have some ridiculously distant relation of people that leads to his circle of connections (you're like his sister's college roommate's wedding photographer's cousin or something). But that one little tether is enough to make him feel tugged.

Soap started following you for your artwork. He follows anyone who even remotely interests him, and he liked what you made. You become a name he looks forward to on his feed-- he feels a bit parasocial about it, he knows your body of work so well now. And one day, he sees you share a post you were tagged in: It's a photo of you with another artist, both holding up the pieces you'd made to trade each other at a convention. He'd known you were talented, he didn't realize you were gorgeous as well.

Ghost sees you in the background of a video Soap shows him. Some disgusting display where people are trying to identify liquids they're drinking. When it's your turn, your face twists and you stick out your tongue, a little patch dyed umber from the soy sauce you'd sipped. He does a little detective work, finds you have a tiny little channel of your own. Nothing with a consistent schedule, clearly just a hobby, but there are a few videos of you restoring old toys, repainting dolls faces and things like that-- usually just showing your hands, but he finds your voice so soothing and you work with such delicate precision. Pretty soon he's obsessed with you, and fantasizing about ending up on your work table.

Price has very few reasons to surf online, but he does have a guilty pleasure: r/AITA. He loves a bit of tabloid level gossip now and again, and its the perfect place for it. He can see the world's most delusional people hard at work. His favorite ones are when both sides are clearly deranged and meant for each other. But then he sees you, posting about your shitty boyfriend, and all too willing to take the blame for the sorry state of things. And he finds himself rather keen on showing you how girls like you ought to be treated, as well as kicking your current man in the teeth.

I've mentioned this before, but I think König meets you in an online game. At first, you never speak on the microphone, and he doesn't either, but you're quite good, and your playstyle compliments his rather well. So he sends you a friend request on a whim, you accept it, playing a few rounds before turning on the party-only voice chat. And once he can hear you when you thank him for tanking damage, or targeting a player who'd been flanking, or pinging a pick-up for you, he's cooked. Looking you up on every social, trying desperately to find pictures of you, because he's sure you'll be as pretty as you sound.

Nikolai find you on a movie review website. He watches movies by the dozen when he gets some time off, but he's admittedly a little bereft of discussion partners, so review suit him fine. He typically disagrees with most of them, partially because he's naturally a contrarian, partially because the majority of online reviews are made by casual watchers and not lifelong cinephiles. And he comes across you, having written one of the only full, multiple-paragraph reviews for the obscure little number he'd just watched. And it straight up made him smile. Your review was punchy, funny, addressed multiple areas including the score, cinematography, casting, and costuming, and he agreed with a surprising portion of it. What he didn't agree with, he was intrigued by. He looks at your page to see what else you've written. You've seen and shared thoughts on many of his favorites, but quite a few things he's never seen, as well. He ends up watching them all, and feels a certain perverse excitement when it comes time to read another review, like he's a teenager taking you on a third date. Before long he's wondering where you are, if you go to the cinema. If they have non-hostile airspace.

Nikto finds you on the staff of some insanely obscure wiki/ID forum. Like, you help run a website/blog that's devoted exclusively to soviet era stuffed animals produced in Sergiev Posad (formerly known as Zagorsk). You help people identify them from pictures, from vague descriptions sent in to you of something from their childhood. He doesn't know why, but he ends up searching up images from others, often from unpopular and defunct listings on marketplace/bidding sites just to send to you. Just to read what you have to say about the stitch markings and stylistic eyes and the little tab of fabric on the leg seam from where the tag was cut. Maybe he'll take it further, maybe he won't. Maybe he'll find out where you are, just to make sure you're safe. Maybe he'll have to keep you safe. People with hearts like yours don't last in this world.