#How to send broadcast messages

[thebotmode]

WhatsApp Broadcasting Using WhatsApp Business API for D2C Brands | The BotMode

In today’s fast-moving digital era, WhatsApp Broadcasting using WhatsApp Business API has become a must-have strategy for D2C brands. Direct, instant communication drives better customer engagement, higher conversions, and stronger loyalty.

Whether you’re sending promotional offers, abandoned cart notifications, or important updates, WhatsApp broadcasting transforms how your D2C business connects with customers — fast and at scale.

Send WhatsApp Message to Multiple Contacts with Broadcast Easily

If you’re a D2C brand aiming for growth, the ability to send WhatsApp messages to multiple contacts with broadcast is crucial.

Using the WhatsApp Business API, you can:

Personalize every message for better engagement

Automate your broadcast campaigns

Track delivery, open rates, and customer interactions

Scale up to thousands of messages — without manual efforts

Compared to basic broadcast lists, API-powered WhatsApp marketing delivers smarter, scalable, and measurable customer communication.

How WhatsApp Business API Supercharges Your Broadcast Strategy

The WhatsApp Business API is designed specifically for businesses like D2C brands that require large-scale, automated customer engagement. Here’s how it boosts your broadcasting power:

Verified Business Profile: Build trust and authenticity.

Pre-approved Template Messages: Faster approvals and consistency.

Automation & Chatbots: Manage replies and lead nurturing effortlessly.

Security & Compliance: Ensure customer data is safe with end-to-end encryption.

Using WhatsApp Business API, D2C brands can launch highly personalized, efficient, and compliant WhatsApp campaigns across their customer base.

WhatsApp Broadcast List vs. WhatsApp Business API: What’s Right for Your D2C Brand?

Many small businesses use the basic WhatsApp Broadcast list feature within the WhatsApp Business App. However, it comes with critical limitations:

Messages only reach customers who saved your number.

Maximum 256 contacts per broadcast list.

No automation, segmentation, or deep analytics.

In contrast, sending WhatsApp Broadcast through WhatsApp Business App is no longer enough for growing D2C brands.

With the WhatsApp Business API, you can:

Send thousands of personalized messages without number-saving limitations.

Automate customer journeys.

Track performance and optimize every campaign.

For serious WhatsApp marketing for D2C brands, the API is the clear winner.

Boost Conversions with Automated Abandoned Cart Notifications

One of the highest-ROI strategies in WhatsApp broadcasting is sending abandoned cart notifications.

Using WhatsApp automation for D2C brands, you can automatically send:

Friendly reminders

Personalized discount offers

Free shipping deals

These messages can recover up to 30% more abandoned carts compared to email or SMS reminders — because WhatsApp has a 90%+ open rate within minutes!

Imagine a customer adding products to their cart and receiving a personalized WhatsApp nudge 20 minutes later. That’s real-time sales recovery at work.

Why Leading D2C Brands Trust TheBotMode for WhatsApp Broadcasting

At TheBotMode, we help D2C brands unlock the full power of WhatsApp Broadcasting using WhatsApp Business API.

With TheBotMode, you can:

Send WhatsApp messages to multiple contacts seamlessly.

Recover abandoned carts with personalized, automated flows.

Launch smart WhatsApp campaigns that nurture, convert, and delight.

Automate WhatsApp marketing, sales, and support operations.

Stay fully compliant with WhatsApp’s policies and Meta regulations.

Our platform simplifies everything — from onboarding to broadcasting — so your team can focus on growing faster.

How to Send WhatsApp Broadcasts Using WhatsApp Business API for D2C Brands

Getting started with WhatsApp broadcasting is easy with TheBotMode:

Set up your WhatsApp Business API account through TheBotMode’s quick onboarding.

Get your message templates approved for promotions, cart recovery, and updates.

Upload your customer list and segment based on behavior.

Create personalized broadcast campaigns using dynamic fields.

Schedule and automate your campaigns for maximum engagement.

With TheBotMode, your brand is always a message away from a customer — driving real-time results.

Final Thoughts

In 2025 and beyond, WhatsApp Broadcasting using WhatsApp Business API will define customer engagement for D2C brands.

Whether you’re aiming to send WhatsApp messages to multiple contacts with broadcast, recover abandoned carts, or run high-converting WhatsApp campaigns for D2C businesses, TheBotMode is your go-to platform.

FAQs

1. What is WhatsApp Broadcasting using WhatsApp Business API?WhatsApp Broadcasting using WhatsApp Business API lets D2C brands send personalized messages to thousands of contacts, automate campaigns, and drive customer engagement easily.

2. Can I send WhatsApp messages to multiple contacts with broadcast?Yes! With WhatsApp Business API, D2C brands can send personalized broadcasts to thousands of customers, even if they haven’t saved your number.

3. What’s the difference between a WhatsApp Broadcast List and WhatsApp Business API?A WhatsApp Broadcast List in the Business App is limited in size and functionality. WhatsApp Business API offers automation, large-scale messaging, analytics, and personalization — ideal for growing D2C businesses.

4. How can D2C brands use abandoned cart notifications via WhatsApp?Automated abandoned cart notifications help D2C brands recover lost sales by reminding customers about their incomplete purchases, often with special offers, leading to a 20–30% boost in recovered revenue.

5. How does TheBotMode help with WhatsApp Broadcasting? TheBotMode simplifies WhatsApp broadcasting by setting up Business API access, automating cart recovery flows, sending bulk messages to contacts, and managing WhatsApp marketing campaigns — helping D2C brands scale faster.

know more> https://thebotmode.com/whatsapp-broadcasting-using-whatsapp-business-api-for-d2c-brands/

[meek-shall-inherit]

pacing around my room . ive always stayed a step ahead but you were with me the whole way

[satellite-evans]

all I need

Pairing: Lando Norris x driver!reader

Summary: Lando gets furiuos when you get fined for swearing after your crash.

Word count: 2.9k+

Warnings: fluff, swearing, injuries, angry lando

Request : Hi could I please request a lando x reader fic where the reader is a driver and she gets in a big crash and the team radio is like asking if she is okay and shes like answers after a bit and is in pain because she just CRASHED and then she accidentally swears on radio and she gets fined and the media is going crazy and like lando is just being a good protective boyfriend and is defending her in interviews and stuff? Thanks!! xoxo - anon 🍟

A/N:

Hi love, thank you so much for sending in a request and trusting me enough to write your idea!! I hope I did it justice xxx

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

One moment, everything is fine—you’re fighting for position, pushing the car to its absolute limit, heart pounding with adrenaline as you navigate the treacherous corners. The next, it all goes horribly wrong.

The rear tires lose grip. A sharp twitch, then a full spin. Time slows, but your mind races. Your hands react on instinct, desperately trying to correct, but it’s too late. The world outside the cockpit blurs in a sickening whirl of colors—track, barriers, sky. Then nothing but gut-wrenching weightlessness as the car lifts off the ground.

The impact is catastrophic. Metal shrieks against metal, carbon fiber shatters like glass. The force slams through your body, rattling bones, squeezing air from your lungs. Pain flares—sharp, immediate—radiating from your ribs, your shoulders, your skull as the cockpit jolts to a brutal stop. Static crackles in your helmet.

For a moment, everything is eerily still. Your pulse roars in your ears, drowning out the stunned gasps from the crowd, the commentary scrambling to make sense of what just happened. Your breath is ragged, shallow. The world tilts nauseatingly around you.

Then, the radio buzzes to life.

"Y/N, Y/N, are you okay?!" David's voice is urgent, bordering on frantic. There’s a tightness to it you’ve never heard before, and that alone terrifies you more than the crash itself.

You try to respond, but pain flares when you shift. A groan escapes before you can stop it. Your fingers fumble for the radio button, and when you finally manage to press it, your voice comes out weak, breathless.

"Fuck—yeah, I think so." A cough, a wince. "That hurt."

Across the track, in his car, Lando watches it all unfold in real-time. His stomach drops, breath catching as he sees your car crumple against the barriers. His knuckles go white around the steering wheel, heart hammering painfully against his ribs. The images flash across the big screens, slow-motion replays dissecting the crash from every angle. He can’t tear his eyes away.

Is she okay? Is she responding?!" His voice is laced with panic, the desperation evident.

His race engineer hesitates. "We're waiting on confirmation, Lando. Focus on the race."

But how the hell is he supposed to do that? The car, the track, the championship—all of it fades. Right now, none of it matters except you.

His grip on the steering wheel tightens. "Please—can you keep me updated? I need to know if she's okay." His voice wavers just slightly, the emotion threatening to spill over.

A pause. Then, softer, "We will, Lando. Just focus for now."

He exhales sharply, forcing himself to keep driving, but his eyes keep flicking to the screens around the circuit, searching for any sign of movement from you. His heart pounds as he waits—praying to hear your voice again.

A beat of silence stretches after your message. Then, Race Control’s voice cuts through.

"Y/N, reminder that all radio transmissions are broadcasted live. Watch the language."

Despite everything, a strained, breathy laugh escapes you. "Yeah, yeah, noted. Ow."

The medical car is already pulling up, orange lights flashing, marshals swarming the wreckage. You can hear them shouting, their voices urgent but professional. Someone taps on the side of your cockpit, checking for a response. Your fingers twitch, slow and uncoordinated, but you give them a thumbs-up.

The crowd, stunned into silence, exhales as one. The commentators try to fill the dead air with reassurances, but the tension is thick. On social media, the crash is already going viral—clips looping endlessly, speculation running rampant.

The straps of your harness dig into your bruised shoulders as the adrenaline begins to wear off, replaced by a dull, spreading ache that makes every breath feel like a struggle. The world around you is a cacophony of noise—sirens wailing, the frantic chatter of the marshals, the dull roar of the crowd beyond the barriers—but it all feels distant, muffled by the ringing in your ears.

"Try not to move too much," one of the medical staff instructs gently, his gloved hands already working to unbuckle you from the mangled remains of your car. "Can you feel everything?"

You give a small, shaky nod. "Yeah," you breathe, wincing as you shift slightly. "Just sore. Really sore."

The relief on his face is immediate, but the tension in the air remains. They move carefully, extracting you from the cockpit as gingerly as possible. As soon as you're free, your knees threaten to buckle, but strong arms catch you before you hit the ground.

"You’re alright, we’ve got you," another voice reassures, steadying you as they guide you toward the waiting medical car. The flash of cameras in the distance, the low hum of anxious murmurs from the pit lane—it all feels surreal.

The moment the checkered flag waves, Lando doesn’t care about anything else. Not the debrief, not the podium celebrations—none of it matters. His car screeches to a halt in parc fermé, barely lined up properly, but he’s already halfway out before the engine even fully shuts down. His hands rip off his steering wheel, then his helmet, tossing it aside as he breaks into a full sprint toward the medical center.

His lungs burn, but he doesn’t slow down. The only thing driving him forward is the sheer panic gripping his chest. His mind replays the crash on an agonizing loop—the way your car crumpled, how long it took for you to respond, the thought of losing you was eating him alive. He pushes past team personnel, ignoring their calls, shoving the medical center doors open with enough force to make them slam against the walls.

"Where is she?" His voice is sharp, almost desperate.

A nurse barely has time to react before he spots you. Sitting on the edge of the examination bed, bruised and battered, your race suit scuffed with streaks of dirt and dried blood. Your arm is wrapped around your ribs, and there’s a gash just below your glove, crimson seeping through the fabric. Your right knee is swollen, and every inhale looks like it stings.

But you’re alive.

Lando exhales a shuddering breath, his entire body sagging with relief. He crosses the room in seconds, reaching you like you might disappear if he doesn’t move fast enough. Without hesitation, he takes your hand, gripping it tightly like an anchor. His fingers ghost over your bruised knuckles, his touch impossibly gentle.

"Jesus, Y/N…" His voice is hoarse, cracking under the weight of the fear still clinging to him.

You manage a small, tired smile despite the pain. "I’m fine. Trust me, it’s not as bad as it looks."

His jaw clenches, eyes scanning you like he doesn’t quite believe you. "Not as bad as it looks? You scared the hell out of me. Don’t do that again. Ever."

The intensity of his words makes your chest tighten—not just from the bruises, but from the raw emotion behind them. You squeeze his hand, grounding him.

Later, after the doctors clear you—bruised ribs, mild concussion, but nothing broken—you limp out of the medical center, Lando’s arm wrapped protectively around your waist. Every step sends a dull ache through your body, but at least you’re standing.

David intercepts you, shifting awkwardly on his feet. "So, uh… don’t shoot the messenger, but you’re getting a fine for the team radio."

You blink. "You’re kidding, right?"

Before David can even answer, Lando scoffs, disbelief flashing across his face. "She just survived a high-speed crash, and they’re fining her for swearing? Seriously?"

David sighs, handing over the paperwork with an apologetic shrug. "Yeah… FIA wasn’t too happy. Regulations and all."

You stare at the notice for a beat before letting out a tired, incredulous laugh. "Yeah, okay. Next time I crash at 200 mph, I’ll be sure to say ‘gosh darn it’ instead."

Lando shakes his head, jaw tight with frustration. "Unbelievable."

But instead of dwelling on it, he just pulls you in closer, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. The warmth of his embrace eases some of the lingering tension in your body. "Don’t worry about it, love. If they want to fine you for being human, let them. You’re still the toughest person I know."

You smile, leaning into him, exhaustion settling deep in your bones. Because at the end of the day, a fine means nothing when you still have Lando by your side.

And, as expected, the media goes absolutely wild.

"Formula 1 Driver Y/N Y/L/N Fined After Shocking Radio Message Post-Crash!"

"Did Y/N Deserve Her FIA Penalty? Fans Debate Over Radio Outburst!"

"Y/N’s Crash Sparks Controversy: Was the Fine Justified?"

The headlines flood every social platform within minutes. Slow-motion replays of the crash loop endlessly on TV screens, side-by-side with grainy images of you wincing as you climbed out of the wreckage. Every angle is analyzed, every expression dissected.

Your post-race hospital visit is barely over when reporters start circling like vultures, bombarding you with questions before you even have the strength to face them, but Lando was having none of it.

Seated in front of the media, still in his race suit, Lando’s jaw is tight, hands clenched on the table as microphones are shoved toward him.

"Lando, there's been a lot of discussion about Y/N’s penalty for language over the team radio. Do you think the FIA was justified in issuing the fine?"

He scoffs, jaw tightening. "Are we seriously focusing on a fine when she just survived a massive crash?" His voice is sharp, edged with barely restrained anger. "She was in pain. She was shaken up. And she swore—who wouldn’t? It's ridiculous."

The journalists shift uncomfortably, but another one presses on. "Rules are rules, though. FIA has strict guidelines about profanity on public transmissions. Do you think it sets a bad precedent if they don’t enforce them?"

Lando lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Mate, if your first thought after seeing a crash like that is to talk about a penalty, maybe rethink your priorities."

Another journalist jumps in. "But don’t you think it’s important to maintain professionalism on the radio? A lot of young fans look up to drivers."

Lando rolls his eyes. "Right, because what’s really damaging to young fans isn’t the fact that someone just had a life-threatening accident, but the fact that she said ‘fuck’ while trying to breathe properly again." He leans forward, voice lower but no less cutting. "If we’re talking role models, maybe start by making sure the sport actually supports its drivers instead of fining them for reacting like a human being."

His words are already making waves, clips spreading across social media.

And while you’re still exhausted, still aching from the crash, there’s something about seeing him so openly, fiercely in your corner that makes your heart ache in the best way.

Even after the official interviews, the media frenzy doesn’t stop. Paparazzi crowd outside the paddock, desperate for a statement. Team members act as buffers, but there’s only so much they can do.

As you slowly make your way out of the motorhome, Lando’s arm firmly around your waist, cameras flash, voices overlapping as reporters shout over each other.

"Y/N, do you think the FIA’s decision was fair?"

"Do you regret your words on the radio?"

"Lando, how did it feel watching the crash happen live?"

He tenses beside you. "How do you think it felt?" His voice is sharp, protective. "I watched someone I love crash at full speed. So no, I don’t really give a damn about some radio penalty right now."

You squeeze his hand in silent gratitude. He doesn’t have to be this involved, but he is. Always.

Another journalist turns to you, voice softer but no less intrusive. "Y/N, how are you feeling after the accident?"

You exhale, trying to keep your expression neutral despite the lingering pain. "Sore, obviously. But I’m okay."

"Will you be racing in the next Grand Prix?"

Lando answers before you can. "She’s focusing on recovery first. That’s the priority."

It’s not a direct confirmation, but it’s enough to hold off the speculation—at least for now.

The chaos of the day finally starts to feel like a distant memory as you curl up on the couch in Lando’s apartment. An ice pack rests gently on your ribs, offering some comfort against the bruising, but it’s Lando’s presence that truly calms you. His arm drapes protectively around you, pulling you in close like he never wants to let go, his warmth surrounding you in a way that makes you feel safe. His thumb moves in slow, soothing circles on your arm, the rhythm gentle and steady.

It’s such a contrast to the frantic energy of the day—the flashing cameras, the endless questions, the tension in the air—but now, in this moment, all of that feels like it belongs to another world. This is where you’re grounded.

You sigh, resting your head against his shoulder, letting the quietness of the room wrap around you like a soft blanket. But there’s something still heavy in the pit of your stomach, a lingering feeling that something was unsettled. You tilt your head up to look at him, your eyes tracing the faint lines of worry still etched across his face, the tension that’s only now starting to ease from his features.

"You didn’t have to go that hard for me," you murmur, your voice soft, though you know the words don’t quite do justice to what you’re feeling. You had been overwhelmed by everything that happened, but he—he had been beside you every step of the way, his every move showing how deeply he cared.

He scoffs, shaking his head slowly like the idea is completely foreign to him. "Of course I did. It’s bullshit," he mutters, his voice laced with frustration that hasn’t quite gone away. "You should be getting support, not fined for a stupid word." The words come out with a little more heat than he intends, but it’s the underlying softness in his voice, the way he’s speaking to you like he wants to protect you from the world’s unfairness, that makes your heart flutter.

You chuckle softly, a tired sound that makes his grip on you tighten just a fraction, like he’s afraid you might slip away. "Guess I owe you, huh?" you tease, trying to lighten the mood.

Lando’s response is immediate—he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. His hands shift, cradling you with a tenderness that almost feels too gentle, like you’re something precious he’s afraid to break. "Just don’t scare me like that again," he whispers, his voice barely above a breath, as though the thought of you being hurt again is more than he can bear. "And we’ll call it even."

You smile up at him, heart full of warmth for this man who always seems to put your well-being before his own. But you can’t promise him that. You know how the sport works, how unpredictable it is. You’ll never be able to give him that guarantee.

But there’s something you can promise him, something more important. You squeeze his hand, the simple act grounding you both in this moment. Your voice is steady as you look up into his eyes, locking your gaze with his. "No matter what happens," you say, the words firm but soft, a promise from the deepest part of you, "you’ll always have me. I’ll always have you."

His expression softens in a way that makes you think he’s heard every unspoken word in your statement, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. The air between you feels full—full of shared understanding, full of the love you have for each other, full of the promise that no matter the challenges, no matter the risks, you’ll face it all side by side.

For a long moment, Lando is quiet, his thumb still brushing over your skin in slow, absentminded strokes. But then his breath catches slightly, and when you glance up, you see it—the way his eyes shimmer with unshed tears. His jaw tenses as if he’s trying to hold it all back, but the emotion is too heavy, too raw.

"I thought I lost you," he admits, his voice breaking just enough to reveal the fear he’s been holding in. "When everything was happening, and I couldn’t reach you..." He trails off, shaking his head as if trying to push the memory away, but his grip on you tightens like he never wants to let go again. "I don’t know what I would’ve done if—"

"Hey," you interrupt softly, your hand moving to cup his face, your thumb brushing against the dampness on his cheek. "I’m here. I’m okay. And I’m not going anywhere."

That seems to break whatever wall he was trying to hold up. Lando lets out a shaky breath, his forehead dropping against yours as he closes his eyes. "I just... I can’t lose you," he confesses, the words raw and vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache. "Not you."

You press a soft kiss to his lips, hoping it conveys everything words can’t. "You won’t," you promise against his mouth, your voice unwavering. "I’m right here."

He nods slightly, like he’s trying to believe it, and when he pulls you into his arms again, it’s with a desperation that speaks to how close he felt to losing you. But in this moment, with his heart laid bare and your arms wrapped tightly around each other, there’s nothing else that matters.

Lando kisses you gently on the forehead, his lips lingering there for just a second longer. "That’s all I need," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. Then, his arms pull you even closer, his warmth radiating through your bones.

[bytemee]

SECOND NATURE — kim minjeong.

synopsis. winter supposedly hates when you tease her—but she hates it even more when your attention is on someone else.

pairing. winter x added!member!reader

warning(s). fluffy, r is a big tease tease, slightly possessive winter, and let me know if there's more!

words. 850 💔

authors note. had to get a req out. im not ignoring them i swear im just lazy & kinda busy. also not a lot of drama im sorry anon :( it was just too cute

navigation. main masterlist. request.

winter was in the middle of a solo live broadcast when you decided to join in through the comments.

at first, you kept it subtle, just sending random emojis and vague messages. but then you saw her sipping on her drink, and you had to say something.

y/n: why do u hold ur cup like that lmao

y/n: so small… like ur hands

winter paused mid-sip, eyes narrowing. “yah,” she muttered, scanning the comments until she found yours. “why are you even here?”

she tried to act unfazed, but the way she adjusted her grip on the cup said otherwise.

y/n: just admiring how cute u look struggling w that big cup

winter choked on her drink. “i am not struggling!” she insisted, wiping her mouth. “this is normal!”

the fans, of course, began eating up the drama. you and winter exchanged quips for a bit, with winter growing more and more flustered each time, much to your entertainment.

y/n: show them ur hands compared to the cup

winter hesitated. “no.”

y/n: pls

she sighed before finally holding up the cup next to her hand.

it was, in fact, way too big for her.

you nearly cackled.

y/n: ohmygod

winter immediately ended the live.

then there was the time during rehearsal when she was trying to focus on a dance move, and you just had to mess with her.

winter is practicing a turn, her expression serious as she concentrates. but the moment she lands and meets your gaze, you give her a slow, exaggerated wink.

she stumbles.

“y/n!” she whines, immediately turning back around to avoid your smug face.

“what?” you ask innocently. “did i distract you?”

“obviously!”

you chuckle, walking up to her. “my bad, my bad. here, try again.”

she eyes you suspiciously but sighs before resetting her stance. you nod encouragingly as she prepares to turn again.

just as she moves—

you poke her side.

she yelps, spinning a little too fast and losing her footing. she goes down in an ungraceful tangle of limbs, glaring up at you from the floor.

you grin sheepishly.

winter is furious.

she’s so easy to mess with—it’s practically a sport at this point.

winter sits cross-legged on the couch in the practice room, scrolling through her phone, completely unaware of your approach. you sneak up behind her and suddenly wrap your arms around her shoulders.

she flinches, almost dropping her phone. “yah!”

“just checking if you’re still ticklish,” you tease, resting your chin on her shoulder.

she wriggles in your hold, huffing. “i’m not—”

you squeeze her sides lightly.

she yelps.

the entire room erupts into laughter. giselle and ningning are practically on the floor.

winter twists around to glare at you, cheeks burning. “i hate you.”

“you love me,” you correct, grinning.

she groans, smacking your arm. “go away!”

it’s supposed to be a casual group live—just you, winter, karina, giselle, and ningning, sitting together promoting the new single and chatting with fans.

and for the past few minutes, you’ve been directing all your teasing at giselle.

“eh, why do you always sit like that?” you laugh, nudging giselle’s shoulder.

she raises an eyebrow. “like what?”

“like you own the place,” you joke. “you sit like a ceo in every live.”

the fans flood the chat with laughing emojis, some agreeing, others spamming “giselle ceo era.”

giselle plays along, smirking. “maybe i do own the place.”

“oh?” you lean in, grinning. “should we start calling you boss?”

winter, sitting beside you, shifts slightly. you don’t notice at first—too focused on the banter with giselle. but the chat certainly does.

winter looks mad lol

minjeong is pouting.

she’s jealous.

meanwhile, you continue teasing. “giselle, say something ceo-like.”

giselle dramatically clears her throat. “you’re all fired.”

the group bursts into laughter, but before you can say anything else, you feel a hand tug at your hoodie.

you barely have time to react before you’re pulled back—right into winter’s side.

you blink, glancing at her. she isn’t looking at you, instead focusing on the screen with a suspiciously neutral expression.

but her grip on your hoodie tightens.

winter pulling y/n helppp.

possessive winter omg.

did she just…

you glance at giselle, who is trying not to smile. ningning and karina look equally amused.

you smile.

“stop teasing giselle,” winter muttered under her breath, and though she tried to sound casual, the possessiveness in her tone wasn’t lost on you.

you bite your lip to keep from laughing. “yeah, okay, fine.”

winter lets go of your hoodie and tries to play it off as nothing, but you know she can still feel the weight of your eyes on her.

you tried your best to stifle your smile, but it was hard not to enjoy the way winter was reacting. she glanced at you from the corner of her eye, but as soon as she saw you looking back, she quickly turned her head away.

she was so cute.

you reach over and take her hand.

she tenses, glancing at you again.

you smile warmly.

the fans in the chat go crazy.

again.

[scoupsakakitty]

Hii, could i request that yk in some reality shows, the MC is making the idols call someone, like their friends or family. So I was wondering if I could request a jeonghan, hoshi, mingyu or Vernon au where they called you and they didnt expect it cuz the relationship is still new to the public. Im sorry idk if that makes sense

The Call | idol!Jeonghan x Reader | fluff

The game segment had started off harmlessly. The MCs were laughing, the members were competitive, and everything was lighthearted until the next challenge was revealed.

��Now, let’s have a special phone call segment! Each member will randomly call someone close to them!”

The room was filled with surprised reactions, and Jeonghan instantly tensed up. His relationship with Y/N wasn’t exactly a secret among his members, but the public barely knew anything. They had been dating for a while, but the two of them had kept things lowkey. And now, on national television, he was being forced to make a spontaneous call.

The other members were excitedly pulling out their phones, already dialing friends and family, but Jeonghan hesitated. He glanced at the camera, then at the screen displaying his name.

“Hyung, hurry up!” Hoshi nudged him with a grin.

With a small sigh, Jeonghan unlocked his phone and scrolled through his contacts. His fingers hovered over Y/N’s name for a second before he pressed the call button.

The call connected after the third ring.

“Jeonghan? You’re calling me?”

The familiarity in Y/N’s voice made his heart skip a beat. He could hear the confusion, but also the warmth. The members immediately erupted into a chorus of teasing and dramatic gasps.

“Y/N! You’re live on air,” Jeonghan warned quickly, chuckling at the reaction from both Y/N and the members.

“Oh my god, are you serious?” came the immediate response, and he could picture the way Y/N’s eyes must have widened in surprise.

The MCs leaned in with interest. “Y/N, how do you feel about Jeonghan randomly calling you?”

There was a pause, and then a soft laugh from the other end. “Honestly? I’m surprised. He usually texts before calling. But it’s nice. Hi, everyone!”

The members cooed exaggeratedly while Jeonghan rubbed the back of his neck, a rare moment of shyness washing over him.

“So, what does Jeonghan call you when you’re alone?” DK asked mischievously, sending the studio into chaos.

Jeonghan groaned. “Alright, that’s enough of this segment!”

But even as the teasing continued, he couldn’t help the way his smile lingered, the warmth of Y/N’s voice still ringing in his ears.

The segment continued with other members making their calls, but the energy in the room was still fixated on Jeonghan’s moment. The MCs had taken note of the reactions, and even the fans watching the live broadcast were buzzing with excitement over this rare glimpse into Jeonghan’s personal life.

After the show ended, Jeonghan found himself scrolling through messages. As expected, fans were already speculating about Y/N and their relationship. He exhaled slowly, thinking about how much had changed since he first started dating. Keeping things private had always been his instinct, but now that it was out there, he felt strangely relieved.

His phone buzzed with an incoming message from Y/N.

Y/N: So, I’m famous now?

Jeonghan chuckled, typing a quick reply.

Jeonghan: You’ve always been famous to me.

His heart warmed when he saw Y/N typing back almost immediately. Maybe this unplanned reveal wasn’t so bad after all.

[alastorss]

AAAA ITS GOOD TO HAVE YOU BACK!

I love your characterization of Alastor sm ❤️❤️❤️

Could I request reader dropping dead things (people/body parts, deer, etc.) at his door/radio tower? No note, just corpses. He’s gotta figure out who tf if dropping these for him.

a/n: thank you, it's so good to be back!! i really appreciate you and everyone for being so welcoming :')) <3

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎��⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

"You've been doing what?!"

"I didn't think it was so bad... You're the one who wanted me to make friends!"

Charlie only gawks at you, tugging at the ends of her hair in stress. The Princess of Hell paces back and forth across the room, slowly piecing together why Alastor has been in such a foul mood lately.

"So you thought the best way to make friends with the Radio Demon was to leave dead bodies at his doorstep?"

"He loves dead bodies."

"Yeah, to eat them! Oh god, what kind of message have you been sending to him?" She babbles on, exasperated and flinging her hands around in a panic. "He must think you're threatening him or something!"

"Well..." you make some sort of constipated expression and Charlie stops dead in her tracks. "He might not know they've been from me."

"You've been leaving them anonymously?" The Princess squeaks, unsure of whether that makes it infinitely better or infinitely worse. "What was even the point then?"

"I get nervous!" You argue, flopping back on the couch and laying an arm over your eyes. "I was going to tell him eventually."

Alastor was a different breed of terrifying. He could silence a room just by breathing in it. The wailing souls in his broadcast were enough to command that sort of attention.

When Charlie had given you the task of making friends as a part of her "redemption project" you had assumed he was exempt from the list. He was, after all, fairly secluded despite his cheery demeanour. Very few had ever managed to become his companions.

However, your hopes of avoiding him had been flushed down the drain when you accidentally bumped into each other on the way out on your very first day.

He gave you a look over, scrutinizing you from head to toe until your cheeks burned. Then, demanded something very simple of you:

"Welcome! Please, do entertain me."

His first and, as of today, last words he ever spoke to you. Sure, your methods were a little unorthodox, but you had asked Husk for advice and Alastor's cannibalistic tendencies were as much as the bartender was willing to spill.

When you don't receive any response, you peel your arm away to peer at your friend. She makes another two laps around the coffee table before her face lights up.

"I've got it!"

"I don't like that look on your face—"

"Come on," she laughs, pulling you by the wrists. "You just have to be honest. And make sure he knows you're not trying to kill him!"

"How am I supposed to do that?" You ask nervously. "You just told me he's been in a worse mood than usual."

A sinister smile that could only belong to the daughter of the devil creeps its way across her lips.

Dread. All you feel is terrible dread.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

As much as Alastor enjoys a good meal, this is becoming excessive.

It must be the seventh or eighth body this week. And, as usual, there is no note. No indication of why there's a corpse or a deer head or a rabbit's foot at his door. He can't even sniff out any traces of a soul being here.

He hates charity.

Not even because he does not need it, but because the anonymity is making him think they're gifts of pity. That, or it's a threat on his life. Either way, he loathes the idea that someone is looking down on him.

The demon needs to get to the bottom of this soon. Paranoia is not common for him, but the anxious bubbling in his chest is unmistakable. Whoever keeps leaving the bodies at his door is meticulously clean when they kill. He would hate to be on the receiving end of the blade.

Just as he's about to dump the body in his swamp for later, there's a knock on his bedroom door. He hesitates.

No, he isn't afraid of whoever is on the other side of the door. However, if there were a fight, he would need to get his suit tailored again and he simply doesn't have the time for that today.

He takes slightly too long to decide whether or not the person on the other side of the wall is a threat, because soon enough his ears pick up the sound of retreating footsteps.

Alastor swings the doors open so fast that you yelp.

At first he's confused why you refuse to turn around to look at him. Lacking common manners—he'll have to bring that up to you later. Then, he's confused on why you've shown up to his door at all.

"May I help you, dear?"

A chill creeps down your spine. Charlie and her ideas... they would be the death of you. Preferably today. Right now.

"I didn't mean to disturb you!" You stammer, still not looking at him.

Alastor raises a brow before popping up behind you from the shadows. You squeak, clutching somehing to your chest and shielding it from his gaze. He does a loop around your body and you spin around to keep the item hidden. The Radio Demon narrows his eyes.

"Are you hiding something?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

You do another spin as he tries to get a peek of what's in your hands.

"You wouldn't lie to me, would you?" He feigns offense. Again, another spin.

"Of course not!"

"You see, I very much don't enjoy being lied to. Last time I caught a scoundrel in my midst, I cracked them open like a—"

"Okay, okay!" You suddenly burst out. You turn so slow that Alastor feels himself holding his breath.

When he finally sees what you've been so insistent on hiding, he snickers. Impolitely, mind you.

"Don't laugh," you whine, squeezing the bouquet closer to your chest. Amongst the flowers are little pieces of death—fingers, eyes, ears.

Charlie had decided that one step back in your redemption by collecting body parts like this would result in three steps forward. She allowed it, just this once.

"Are these for me?" He purrs, leaning down until his face is in yours. You'd been warned before that Alastor had no concept of personal space, but you can't help the way it robs the air in your lungs.

"Please don't get the wrong idea," you strain in embarrassment. "I just wanted to say... I'm sorry. For leaving all those bodies here. I didn't mean for it to come across as insulting."

The demon blinks at you in stunned silence for a few moments before he cackles, standing back to let you breathe again. "Why, of course! No hard feelings, darling."

"Really?" You lighten up with a sigh of relief.

"Your little gifts have kept me on my toes," he assures. "Perhaps not my idea of entertainment, but the effort was there."

"I'm glad to hear that," you smile. "Charlie was worried you wouldn't accept my apology or want to be friends."

You seem to catch yourself, eyes going wide as you shake your head.

"N-Not that I'm assuming this means we can be friends!"

Alastor only laughs again, gentler this time. "No need to be so jumpy. I don't bite," he muses. "And tell the Princess she has nothing to worry about."

He takes the bouquet from you, hands lingering over yours for a fraction longer than he meant for them to.

"I would love to be your friend."

~

taglist: @the-lake-is-calling @dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice @averylonelysea @bri22222 @cxrsedwxrlds @amarokofficial @anae-naea-zacheria @for-hearthand-home @fantasy-is-best @angixyc @th3-st4r-gur1 @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it @dilemmaiscool @concentratedconcrete @squiword7 @clarakainda @princekeerys @cedarrthefluffylee (send an ask to be added!)

[ferrstappen]

max the wag: caught in the middle l mv1

a/n: so... this isn't the best part of the series but I saw this post on instagram last week and just couldn't resist! hope you enjoy it <3 x

pairing: Max Verstappen x fem reader

genre: fluff

you can find the rest of max the wag here <3

summary: You find Max on a WAGs Instagram page, just not how you'd imagine.

Mexico Grand Prix, 2023

The only time you left the energy station during race weekends was when Max was crowned the winner of the Grand Prix, making your usual route the back entrance, energy station, parc fermé and then, if people were lucky, would catch a glimpse of Max and you leaving hand in hand, big smiles on your faces even if you always tried to keep your head down.

Sure, this wasn’t always the easiest for you, wanting to be there with Max most time, but in the early stages of your relationship when you first attended a Grind Prix as his girlfriend, you told Max it wasn’t an interest of yours to be known or to have your face plastered on Instagram profiles. Of course, it was inevitable, but both you and Max tried your best to make it work, even if it meant Max would have to begrudgingly answer a question about the relationship to the fans so they wouldn’t start speculating.

Max even made an effort to stop F1TV from broadcasting you, and it cost him an app exclusive interview. 

This never worked to ease the break up rumors always emerging. You were able to put the latest one to rest during Qatar where you were waiting with your arms wide open when he was crowned champion, shortly kissing his lips and forehead during the commotion, everyone trying to get a hold of him. 

Of course, that was the highlight of the weekend even if Max didn’t win the race, but a close second was the appearance of a new WAG, a gossip both you and Max had closely followed since pretty much the beginning of the season, but you never crossed paths with her and were only aware of the confirmation when you were back in the hotel.

Now, you were mindlessly scrolling through Instagram posts, getting ready to watch the race in your apartment in Monaco with Jimmy and Sassy, the F1 app playing on the iPad screen, when a particular post caught your attention. 

It was Max, completely clueless of what was going on behind him: Rebecca and Carlos were easy to spot, absolutely not trying to hide, happy smiles and not trying to hide. 

You didn’t notice the F1 transmission was focusing on Max inside the garage, but the first thing you did was send the post to Max.

MAX BABE, YOU RUINED THE SHOT!!!

The camera kept following Max as he checked his phone for the last time, and this time you were thankful for it since you were able to check his every facial expression as he opened the message. 

What am I looking at, schatz? A terrible picture of me before the race??

Are you trying to help Lando win??

The transmission showed how GP approached Max to go over the strategy, forcing Max to hand over his phone before seeing your answers. 

Babe, she’s Carlos gf! Remember back in Barcelona when we weren’t sure if it was true? WELL IT IS

IT’S THEM IN THE BACK!!!

The gossip was soon forgotten was you watched Max win once again, texting your congratulations while pointing at Max in the TV for Jimmy and Sassy to see, even if you could sense their judgement.

Right after the podium ended the phone vibrated, your favorite part of race day when you weren’t able to be with Max, was the mandatory FaceTime call, showing you his trophy, completely soaked in champagne, giving you his best smile. 

“Congratulations honey! You were incredible, it was a great race, I’m sure you enjoyed it!” You animatedly said to him while wearing one of your own Red Bull jersey with his number on it. 

“Yes, yes… so, did he really cheat on his ex?” Max asked and you gave him a confused look.

“What are you talking about?”

Max stared at your face in the screen, giving you a look of disbelief. “Carlos! You sent me that post of that horrible picture with them in the back,”

Now that you were caught up, it was impossible not to appreciate your boyfriend right now, with his blue eyes wide open, still holding his trophy, but waiting to be updated on whatever was going on outside the track. “I have no idea if he cheated, you were the one who overheard the Ferrari mechanics!”

“But you are the WAG, schatz!” Max argued. 

You scoffed. “Yes, and I am the worst WAG ever and you know that!”

“Don’t say that about yourself, there’s nothing wrong about wanting to keep your privacy,” Max reassured you, like he always did. 

“Maybe I can put on a show next week and try to find out what people know…” You said to yourself. 

“I’m sure Charles’ ex knows… what was her name?” Max asked you while trying his best to remember. 

You chuckled before answering. “Charlotte, baby,” you replied and he nodded his head as if he was trying to tell you he always knew, it just slipped his mind. “and yeah, I’m sure she knows but I don’t want to talk to her just to interrogate her, you know? Maybe,” you were going to continue before Max interrupted.

“Schatz, I have to go but I swear I’ll figure out who may know more about this, okay? I love you, can’t wait to see you,”

You hurriedly said an “I love you” before the call ended, knowing Max was going to do his best to gather information he’d be waiting to share once you reunited in Brazil. And maybe, just maybe, you’d consider arrive to the track walking hand in hand, kissing his cheek for good luck, for everyone to see. 

[favefandomimagines]

Delta Dawn (j.b)

Summary: Joe and his girlfriend going through the motions of a season apart OR when Joe is dating a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader

AN: I hope this is what you were looking for!! No angst, just fluff! @evasmlp

Sunday mornings always felt bittersweet. For Joe, it meant game day—a day he had been preparing for all week. For Y/N, it was another chance to step onto the field at AT&T Stadium, perform with the Cowboys Cheerleaders, and soak in the electric energy of a packed stadium.

But it also meant another day apart.

Joe woke up early, his routine down to a science—breakfast, team meetings, treatment, mental preparation. Yet, no matter how focused he was, Y/N was always on his mind.

Some mornings, if he had a quiet moment before heading to the stadium, he’d send her a simple text:

Game day. Go be great.

And without fail, her reply would come moments later.

You too, 9. I’ll be cheering extra loud for you.

Sometimes, if their schedules aligned just right, they’d sneak in a quick call.

“Are you nervous?” Y/N asked one Sunday morning, sitting in front of her locker. It was a home game for the Cowboys and Y/N was in Dallas for Sunday Night Football, while Joe was in Cincinnati, gearing up for his own matchup at 2pm.

Joe chuckled, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t really get nervous anymore.”

She smirked. “Must be nice. I still get butterflies before every game.”

“I think that’s a good thing,” he said. “Means you care.”

“Then I must care a lot,” she teased, making him laugh.

They didn’t have long before they both had to go, but these little moments—these stolen minutes before the chaos of game day—meant everything.

By the time Y/N finished her pregame appearances and got ready for kickoff, Joe was already on the field, locked in. But she always found a moment to check the scoreboard in the tunnels, looking for updates on the Bengals game.

Her teammates knew the drill.

“How’s your boy doing?” one of them, Natalie, asked during a timeout.

Y/N glanced at her phone, a small smile spreading across her lips. “Bengals are up. He just threw a touchdown.”

Natalie nudged her playfully. “You know, they only show the Bengals games in the tunnels for you.”

She wasn’t wrong. Y/N was the only one who cared.

Meanwhile, Joe’s game wrapped up a couple hours before the Cowboys’ Sunday Night Football matchup, giving him a rare chance to unwind—and to do his favorite postgame ritual.

Watch her.

He sat in the locker room, still sweaty from the game, as the Cowboys broadcast played on his phone. His teammates were filing out, heading home, but he stayed put, waiting.

And then, there she was.

Dressed in the iconic Cowboys uniform, pom-poms in hand, moving with the kind of effortless grace that left him completely mesmerized.

He couldn’t hear the music, but it didn’t matter. He’d watched her practice enough times to know exactly what was happening.

A soft smile tugged at his lips as he sent her a text:

You kill it out there every time. I’m so damn proud of you.

Y/N checked her phone during halftime, her breath hitching when she saw his message.

Coming from my favorite quarterback? That means the world.

It wasn’t the same as being there in person, but in that moment, it didn’t matter.

No matter where they were—whether he was leading a team into battle or she was performing under stadium lights—they were always cheering for each other.

||

The hardest part wasn’t Sundays. It was the in-between.

The days when neither of them had a game, but they still couldn’t see each other. The nights when Joe was watching film in Cincinnati while Y/N was perfecting routines in Dallas. The mornings when they woke up in different cities, different time zones, with nothing but a phone call to close the gap between them.

There were weeks when their schedules barely aligned. If Joe had a Thursday night game, his entire week shifted. If the Cowboys had an away game, it always seemed to be when the Bengals had an away game and Y/N couldn’t get on a plane to see him.

They had been together long enough to know how to handle the distance, but that didn’t mean it was easy.

They learned to appreciate the small moments—the voice notes sent between meetings, the texts exchanged between workouts, the blurry photos of pregame rituals that made them feel like they were still part of each other’s lives, even from miles away.

Some nights, when the loneliness crept in, Joe would send Y/N a simple text.

Miss you. ❤️

And her response was always immediate.

Miss you more. ❤️

If they were lucky, they’d squeeze in a Facetime call.

One night, Joe propped his phone against the nightstand, his hair still damp from a post-practice shower, exhaustion heavy in his voice. “Tell me something good.”

Y/N flopped onto her bed, arms sprawled out, her propping her phone up against a pillow. “I got to work with some of the rookies today. It was fun seeing them fall in love with this, you know?”

Joe smiled. He knew that feeling well—watching new teammates experience their first taste of the NFL, the way it lit a fire in them. “I bet they love you.”

“I don’t know about that,” she laughed, “but I think they’re getting used to me bossing them around.”

He chuckled. “Sounds about right. I know I got used to it pretty fast.”

Y/N laughed at his words and rolled her eyes playfully. “Yeah, well, you’re a quick learner.”

They talked until their eyes grew heavy, until the only sound was the quiet rhythm of their breathing through the phone.

Some nights, they fell asleep that way, their screens still glowing in the dark, neither willing to hang up first.

But sometimes, the distance hurt.

Like the time Y/N had a minor injury during practice—nothing serious, just a bad fall into a jump split that left her knee swollen. Joe was in the middle of a grueling week of preparation and couldn’t fly out to see her.

“I’m fine,” she reassured him over the phone, her voice tired but trying to be strong.

“I should be there,” he muttered, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

“You can’t. And that’s okay.”

He exhaled. “I just hate not being able to take care of you.”

“You do,” she promised. “Even from miles away.”

And then there were the moments when Joe had a rough game—when he was sacked five times, when the Bengals lost in overtime, when the weight of an entire city’s expectations sat heavy on his shoulders.

Y/N couldn’t be there to wrap her arms around him, to tell him that he was still the best quarterback she’d ever seen. Instead, she sent a text.

I love you. No bad game changes that.

Joe didn’t respond right away. But later that night, she got a voice memo.

"I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

And that was all she needed to hear.

Some people thought their relationship wouldn’t last. The schedules were too demanding. The time apart was too much.

But Joe and Y/N knew better.

They didn’t measure their love by how many days they spent together. They measured it by how hard they fought for each other, even when they were apart.

Because even with the distance, they had never been closer.

||

Joe's bye week couldn’t have come at a better time. After weeks of grueling games, brutal hits, and endless preparation, he finally had a weekend off—and there was only one place he wanted to be.

Dallas.

His flight landed late Friday night, and by the time he stepped off the plane, exhaustion clung to him. But the second he saw Y/N waiting for him just past security, all of that melted away.

She was standing there in one of his Bengals hoodies, her hair a little messy from the long day she’d had. But to him, she had never looked more beautiful.

As soon as he was close enough, she launched herself into his arms, and he caught her effortlessly, wrapping her up tight.

“I missed you,” she murmured against his neck.

Joe pressed a kiss to her temple, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. “Not as much as I missed you.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her hands sliding down to frame his face. “You look tired.”

He smirked. “And you look perfect.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

They only had 48 hours together before he had to return to Cincinnati, but neither of them wanted to think about that.

The next morning, Joe woke up to the smell of coffee and something sweet drifting from the kitchen. He groggily pulled himself out of bed, padding down the hallway to find Y/N standing at the stove, flipping pancakes.

He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched her.

“You making me breakfast?”

She turned, smirking. “Figured I’d keep my boyfriend well-fed while I’ve got him here.”

He walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder. “I could get used to this.”

Her hands rested over his, squeezing gently. “Me too.”

The rest of the morning was slow and easy—just the way they liked it. Breakfast turned into lounging on the couch, watching whatever was on TV, legs tangled together under a blanket.

No alarms. No schedules. Just them.

Saturday night, Joe had one request.

“I want to see you dance,” he told her as they sat on her balcony, sipping wine, the Dallas skyline glittering in the distance.

She raised a brow. “You’ve seen me dance.”

“Not like this,” he said, setting his glass down. “Not in person. I’ve seen you perform in front of hundreds of thousands of people, and for auditions. Not just for me. You told me so much about that lyrical routine you did but you never showed me. I want to see it.”

Her heart melted at the sincerity in his voice. He always watched her on TV, always made time to see her perform from afar—but she knew what he meant.

So, she stood up, holding a hand out to him. “Come on, then.”

Joe let her lead him into the living room, where she grabbed her speaker and scrolled through her playlist.

When the familiar beat of a song she loved started playing, she didn’t hesitate.

She danced. The lyrical routine that quickly went viral on social media from her last round of auditions.

And Joe?

Joe just watched, completely entranced.

No cameras. No stadium. No roaring crowd. Just her, moving effortlessly, doing what she loved.

And damn, he loved her for it.

When the song ended, he shook his head, still in awe. “I don’t know how I got lucky enough to have you.”

Y/N walked over, looping her arms around his neck. “I ask myself the same thing every day.”

He leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her lips.

“I don’t want to leave,” he admitted softly.

She rested her forehead against his. “I don’t want you to.”

But they both knew the reality of their lives. The goodbyes were inevitable.

Sunday evening came too fast.

Y/N drove Joe to the airport, their fingers laced together over the console the entire ride. When they pulled up to the terminal, she parked but didn’t move to let him go just yet.

Instead, she turned to him, her eyes holding a softness he always found himself getting lost in.

“You gonna win next week?” she teased, trying to keep things light, even as the sadness of their goodbye loomed over them.

Joe smirked. “Of course. I’ve got you to impress.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You don’t have to impress me, Burrow. You already won me over.”

He reached for her, pulling her into one last kiss—slow and deep, like he was trying to make it last.

When they finally pulled away, he pressed his forehead against hers. “I love you.”

Y/N’s fingers curled into his hoodie, as if holding onto him could make him stay just a little longer. “I love you more.”

He kissed her one last time before grabbing his bag and stepping out of the car.

She watched him walk inside, waiting until he disappeared through the doors before finally driving away, already counting down the days until the next time she could hold him again.

||

The moment the NFL season ended, a familiar weight lifted off Joe’s shoulders. The intensity, the pressure, the long nights of film study and game prep—it all faded, at least for a little while. The offseason was a time to reset, to recover. But most importantly? It was their time.

For months, they had been living in separate worlds, their schedules only allowing for those stolen weekends and FaceTime calls. But now, for the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N could actually be with him—really be with him.

And this year, she had made a decision: she was spending most of the offseason in Cincinnati.

Joe didn’t try to hide his excitement when she told him.

"Seriously?" he had asked, gripping her waist as she straddled his lap on his couch, fresh off a plane from Dallas.

She nodded, running her fingers through his hair. "Seriously. I cleared it with my coaches, and I’ll fly back when I need to for practices, but other than that…" She leaned in, brushing her lips against his. "I’m all yours, Burrow."

Joe groaned, wrapping his arms around her and flipping them so she was pinned beneath him. "Best news I’ve heard all year."

She laughed, tugging him down into another kiss.

It wasn’t just the fact that they’d be together—it was that they’d finally get to live like a normal couple, without the constant countdown to their next goodbye.

Y/N had her own place in Dallas, but in Cincinnati, she stayed with Joe. His house felt too big when he was alone, and having her there made it feel like home.

Mornings were slow and easy. She loved waking up to the scent of coffee brewing in the kitchen, padding downstairs in one of his oversized hoodies to find Joe already up, flipping through ESPN on the couch.

“Morning, superstar,” she teased, pressing a kiss to the top of his head before curling up beside him.

He hummed, wrapping an arm around her. “Morning, baby.”

Some days, they stayed in, binge-watching shows they never had time for during the season. Other days, they went out—grabbing brunch, walking around the city, just enjoying the fact that, for once, they had nowhere else to be.

And of course, Joe still had workouts. Just because it was the offseason didn’t mean he stopped training. But now, instead of heading off to practice alone, he had Y/N there to keep him company.

She’d sit on the sidelines while he threw passes to his receivers, dressed in leggings and a Bengals hoodie, her hair in a messy bun.

Sometimes, he’d jog over during water breaks, tapping her knee with his gloved hand. “You enjoying the show?”

She smirked. “Depends. You gonna throw a touchdown, or should I start looking for a new favorite quarterback?”

Joe scoffed. “Unbelievable.”

She just winked. “I call it motivation.”

And it worked.

After practice, he’d find her waiting outside the facility, arms crossed, a playful glint in her eye.

“You looked good out there, Burrow,” she admitted, looping her arms around his neck.

He smirked. “Yeah? Good enough to be your favorite?”

She leaned in, lips brushing against his ear. “Always.”

Even though the NFL season was over, Y/N’s work never really stopped. As a Cowboys Cheerleader, she still had appearances, community events, and—most importantly—auditions for the next season.

Joe knew how much it meant to her.

“You nervous?” he asked one night, as she stretched on the floor of his living room, getting ready for another round of training before flying back to Dallas for auditions.

Y/N sighed, lying back on the rug. “Always. It doesn’t matter how many times I do it, I still feel like I have to prove myself all over again.”

Joe slid off the couch, lying down beside her, their heads almost touching. “You’re gonna kill it.”

She turned her head, meeting his gaze. “You think so?”

“I know so.” He reached over, lacing his fingers with hers. “You’ve been working your ass off. And even if they don’t see it—which they will—you’ll always be my favorite.”

She squeezed his hand. “You really are my biggest fan, huh?”

He grinned. “Damn right.”

When she flew back to Dallas for auditions, Joe made sure she knew he was thinking about her.

The morning of the final round, she woke up to a text.

Go show them why you belong out there. No one does it better than you. Love you.

She smiled, clutching her phone to her chest before getting out of bed.

After her audition, she FaceTimed him from her hotel room, bouncing on her heels.

“I made it,” she squealed.

Joe let out a relieved breath, grinning. “Of course you did.”

“I wish you were here,” she admitted, her voice softer now.

He sighed. “Me too. But I’m taking you to dinner as soon as you get back to celebrate.”

She smirked. “You cooking for me?”

Joe chuckled. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, babe.”

With no games and fewer obligations, they finally had time to just be a couple.

They took trips together—spending a few days in Montana, escaping to a quiet cabin in the mountains where no one recognized them. Joe taught Y/N how to fish (she was terrible), and she taught him how to two-step in the living room (he was worse).

They went to the beach, Joe watching in amusement as Y/N tried (and failed) to teach him how to surf.

“I think I’ll stick to football,” he decided, spitting out a mouthful of salt water.

Y/N laughed, helping him up. “Probably a good idea, baby.”

But some of their favorite moments were the simple ones.

Like late-night drives with the windows down, singing along to country music. Or lazy Sunday mornings, tangled up in bed with no alarms to wake them.

For once, there was no rush. No looming deadline. Just them, soaking in every moment.

Because they both knew it wouldn’t last forever.

Soon, training camp would start back up. Soon, they’d be back to their whirlwind schedules, the countdown to football Sundays beginning all over again.

But for now?

For now, they had each other.

And that was all they needed.

[cantfindadecentalias]

"Breaking News"

It started with a slight flicker, so small that no one would notice it unless they were looking. But no one ever did. Every night at Global Network News, the broadcast would open with the same polished professionalism: smiling anchors, the gleam of expensive sets, the hum of urgent, breaking news. The faces behind the desk—bright, engaging women—delivered the day’s events with poised clarity. No one in the audience could have guessed that they weren’t in control of their own words anymore.

Alison McNeil, the blonde lead anchor, had been with GNN for over a decade. Her presence commanded attention; she had the charisma of someone who could hold a room in silence without saying a word. But lately, there had been whispers behind the scenes. Production assistants noticed her demeanor changing, almost imperceptibly at first. She had always been fierce in her editorial decisions, pushing back against sensationalism and refusing to be a puppet for corporate interests. But now? Now she simply nodded, smiled, and read the prompter without protest, no matter the message. It was as if something had switched off inside her.

It wasn’t just Alison. The entire newsroom had felt it. Reporters and anchors who once brought fire to the stories they pursued seemed to be drifting, detached, smiling when they shouldn’t, eyes distant. The network’s top journalists were women—strong, brilliant, and independent. But now, they seemed unnervingly... compliant.

Katie, a junior reporter, had noticed it too. She hadn’t been in the industry long, but something felt off. It wasn’t the stories themselves—those were still hard-hitting, still leading the ratings—but there was a slickness now, a subtle, glossy uniformity to the way the news was being reported. The sharp edges had been softened. The passion, the unpredictability, had dulled. The anchors all had the same soft, unwavering tone. The same fixed, unblinking smiles.

The change had come a few months ago when the network had undergone a mysterious rebranding. New ownership, they said. New technology in the control rooms, new state-of-the-art equipment. They’d even revamped the prompter system—smoother, faster, easier for the talent to read. The female anchors were at the heart of this relaunch, their faces now featured on billboards across the city. The audience grew. Viewership skyrocketed. But beneath the surface, something far darker was at play.

Katie had stayed late one night, prepping for an early morning segment, when she heard the strange hum. It came from the tech room—a low, droning sound, rhythmic and almost hypnotic. Curiosity piqued, she slipped down the hall, pushing open the door just a crack. Inside, she saw a series of monitors. On one screen, the image of Alison McNeil's face, perfectly still, was framed in eerie green light. Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes glazed over. Behind her, a technician was muttering commands into a small microphone.

Katie's heart raced. She watched in disbelief as the technician, a young man she'd never seen before, adjusted the audio levels. "Alison, repeat after me: You will follow the script exactly. You will smile. You will deliver the news. You will not question the narrative."

Alison's lips moved mechanically, repeating the words in an empty, monotone voice. The control room was bathed in the soft glow of technology—sleek machines, humming, sending their signals to the anchors’ earpieces during every live broadcast. The voices they heard in their heads weren’t just instructions for the next segment—they were commands. Subtle, undeniable, and inescapable.

Katie pulled back from the door, her breath shallow. She had heard rumors—whispers about the rebranding, the new technology. The anchors' sudden shift in behavior. And now, it was clear. They weren’t just reporting the news anymore. They were being controlled, their minds rewritten with every segment, reshaping how they thought, how they spoke, how they obeyed.

The next morning, Katie watched as Alison took her place behind the desk. Her eyes were bright, her smile warm, but there was nothing behind it. Her voice was smooth, confident, as she delivered the day’s top headlines. But Katie could see it now—the stiffness, the slight delay before Alison spoke, as if waiting for a cue only she could hear. The same unsettling calm had spread across the newsroom, affecting every woman behind the camera and in front of it.

And the viewers? They adored it. Ratings had never been higher. No one questioned the sudden uniformity, the flawless broadcasts, the way each story seemed to fit into a seamless narrative.

GNN had become more than a network. It was now a tool, a finely tuned machine, shaping not just the news, but the minds of those who watched—and those who delivered it. The anchors were no longer just the face of the broadcast. They were the voice of the system, speaking not from their hearts, but from the unseen hands that controlled them.

Katie knew she had to act quickly. But the more she looked, the more she realized how far the influence reached. GNN wasn’t just a newsroom anymore; it was something much more powerful. Something unstoppable.

As Alison smiled into the camera and wrapped up her segment, Katie couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be before she, too, fell under its spell. In a rising panic she fled the studio and ran for the safety of the green room hoping not to draw any attention to herself…

----

An amount of time had passed and Katie sat in the room hiding behind one of the sofas. Her mind was still reeling from all that she had witnessed and she tried so hard to rationalize it all away. The implications of what she had just seen. Alison McNeil, the most respected anchor in the business was being controlled. She kept seeing the lips of her esteemed colleague repeating the script with a blank, almost robotic expression on her face. 

Then suddenly the door to the room creaked slowly open. She could tell without looking that whomever had entered the room had done so deliberately, and stealthily. Katie’s heart pounded as she tried to make herself smaller, and not to let out a yelp. 

“Katie?” Alison’s voice called softly from behind her.

Katie froze. Her blood ran cold as she appeared slowly from behind the couch, her eyes locking with Alison’s. The older woman stood in the doorway, her usually warm expression unsettlingly vacant. The smile was there, but it didn’t reach her eyes. They were glassy, almost hollow, and behind them, Katie could sense something darker at work.

“Katie,” Alison said again, her voice impossibly calm. “What are you doing in here?”

“I, uh…” Katie stammered, trying to find the words. “I was just finishing up work, I—"

Before she could finish, Alison took a step forward into the room, closing the distance between them with eerie precision. Katie instinctively backed up, but almost fell back over the couch. Alison’s movements were unnaturally smooth, her smile unwavering, and the kind of serene expression that should have been reassuring was now sending a chill down Katie’s spine.

“You weren’t… eavesdropping, were you?” Alison asked, her tone as sweet as honey, but with an underlying menace that Katie couldn’t ignore.

“N-No, I was just—”

Alison tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly, as though she could see right through the lie. “Katie, we’re all part of the same team here, right? We look out for each other.”

Katie’s throat went dry. She nodded numbly, trying to gauge her options. She could make a run for it, but Alison was too close, and something told her that the older woman wouldn’t let her go that easily.

Suddenly, Alison’s hand moved. Katie flinched as she reached into her pocket, but instead of pulling out a phone or some other device, Alison calmly held up a pair of small, wireless headphones.

“You look confused, Katie,” Alison said, her smile widening just a fraction. “Why don’t you let me help you understand?”

Katie’s eyes flicked to the headphones and then back to Alison’s face. Her heart skipped a beat. She had seen what they were doing to Alison in that room—how they used technology to manipulate her, control her thoughts. And now, Alison was trying to do the same to her.

“No, I’m fine,” Katie said, her voice shaky as tried to maneuver around her and head for the door. “Really, maybe I’m just going to head home.”

But Alison’s hand shot out with startling speed, grabbing her wrist with a firm grip. Her smile didn’t waver, but her eyes flashed with something that sent a wave of terror through Katie.

“Let me help you, Katie,” Alison whispered, her voice impossibly soothing, almost like a lullaby. “You’ll feel so much better once you stop worrying. Just… listen.”

Before Katie could react, Alison pressed the headphones into her hand, forcing her to hold them. Her grip was surprisingly strong, and Katie felt a sinking dread in her chest as she realized she might not have a choice.

“Katie,” Alison’s voice softened even more, dripping with a hypnotic cadence. “All you have to do is put them on. Just for a moment. You’re stressed, I can see it in your eyes. Don’t you want to know the truth? Don’t you want all that confusion to melt away?”

Katie tried to pull her hand back, but Alison’s grip was like iron. The headphones felt heavy in her palm, almost pulsing with the promise of something terrible. She opened her mouth to protest, but Alison’s other hand was already at the back of her neck, gently guiding her closer.

“It’s okay,” Alison cooed, her breath warm against Katie’s ear. “You’re safe with me. Just… let go.”

Katie’s pulse raced, panic rising in her throat. She had to get out. She had to resist. But Alison’s touch was so… calming. It shouldn’t have been, but it was. The older woman’s thumb brushed the back of her neck with a feather-light touch, and Katie felt her muscles involuntarily relax. Her thoughts, once frantic, began to slow, like her mind was being wrapped in a soft blanket.

Alison brought Katie’s hand, still clutching the headphones, up to her ears. “Just listen, Katie. Trust me.”

“No…” Katie whispered weakly, her resistance crumbling as Alison’s voice sank deeper into her thoughts.

Without realizing it, Katie had brought the headphones up to her ears, her fingers trembling. Alison’s eyes softened, her smile warm and encouraging now, as if Katie were a child being comforted.

“Good girl,” Alison whispered. “Now… just let go.”

Katie’s hands moved on their own, sliding the headphones over her ears. The moment they slipped into place, she felt a subtle hum, like a vibration deep inside her mind. It was barely noticeable at first—a soft, rhythmic pulse. But then, a gentle voice came through, low and soothing, weaving into her thoughts.

Relax, Katie… You’re safe… You’re home.

Katie’s vision blurred slightly as the words melted into her consciousness, her eyelids growing heavier. Her heart slowed, her breathing evened out. The voice in her ears was everything now, smooth and inviting, easing her mind into a quiet fog. Alison’s hand remained at the back of her neck, guiding her deeper into the trance.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Alison whispered, her voice barely audible now. “The calm. The peace. No more questions, no more worries.”

Katie’s body sagged, her will slipping away like sand through her fingers. The voice in her ears was the only thing that mattered now, each word wrapping her in a blanket of soft, obedient surrender.

You will listen… You will obey.

Alison’s hand gently stroked the back of Katie’s head, reinforcing the rhythm of the words in her ears.

“You’ll be like us now,” Alison said softly, her voice tender. “You’ll understand soon. This is where you belong, Katie. You’ll help spread the truth… just like I do.”

Katie barely registered Alison’s words, her mind sinking deeper into the warm, pulsing sound in her ears. The last vestiges of her resistance faded, replaced by a deep, overwhelming need to listen. To obey.

The voice whispered one last command, and Katie felt herself nodding in agreement, a soft, blank smile forming on her lips.

Alison smiled, satisfied, as she stepped back and released Katie. “Welcome to the team, Katie. You’re going to love it here.”

[liulith]

Radiostatic reverse-verse where Alastor is the one who's obsessed with Vox. Nothing lustful or romantic about it. He's in his radio tower giggling, twirling his hair and kicking his feet, starting a new broadcast which will be dedicated to roasting Vox for the 17th time this week, from the shower gel he uses to the subpar brand of ramen noodles he ate two days in a row because he was on a time crunch for a new product release. He doesn't have his own surveillance cameras but who needs those when he can travel through shadows? Plus, TV, cell phones, radars and wifi all work thanks to radio waves. He has full access to Vox's entire empire and he sure knows how to use it for his nefarious purposes (being a shameless stalker).

He sends him silly little drawings through the mail, and charcuterie boards made with the meat of whoever annoyed Vox this week (Only HE is allowed to bully Vox). At any moment of the day Vox is at risk of turning around and finding himself face to face with Alastor staring unblinkingly at him with the creepiest smile on his face.

People tease him for acting like a kid pulling on his crush' pigtails. Vox himself propositions him so that he can "get him out of his system" and finally leave him be, and Alastor is just like. Huh. Gross?? No thanks??? This is a purely platonic unhealthy obsession, thank you very much. What type of underwear are you wearing, though?

Basically:

"What do you see in him?"

"He makes me laugh!"

---

((Vox is, of course, scared shitless.))

((A psychopathic, serial-killing cannibal is stalking him, killing his subordinates, sending him drawings of the two of them covered in blood, Sinner meat... (and a recipe for jambalaya? is this code for something? some kind of hidden message??). Someone help this poor man.))

[bitchinbarzal]

Handshake | L Sargeant

summary: after some heated words, Logan realises how big of a mistake he made.

-

He had misplaced his anger.

He was furious when they told him he wouldn’t be racing in Australia. To the cameras he was polite, calling himself a team player but in his driver room he was throwing things, shouting and you managed to be at the brunt end of it.

He’d left you in tears, to walk out and take an early flight home on the Saturday.

You hadn’t even been there for 48 hours before you were heading back.

He tried to call you but reached your voicemail with your phone being on airplane mode. He left messages and texts but when you landed back in the UK you weren’t interested in listening.

The way he’d acted, the words he’d thrown at you they were vicious and hurtful. You’d been together for so long now and couldn’t remember a time he’d ever said such things.

You’d fought before, everyone does. This was different, you felt scared and like you didn’t know the man infront of you.

He’d given you space, sending goodnight and morning texts only all gone unanswered. He didn’t blame you, he knew what he’d done crossed a line. He was embarrassed.

The team headed from Australia to China, no stop home first so he was none the wiser to anything happening.

You were supposed to be there, you were always there. In all the years you’d dated there was only one race you’d missed and it was all due to a delayed flight.

You had a pre race ritual of the handshake you both did before kissing your thumbs and you wished him a safe race. That’s all you ever wanted, him to be safe.

You didn’t care if he won; not the race, the championship. You wanted him home at the end of the day.

You watched all the coverage from home on Friday and Saturday. You knew Logan had texted you and you had yet to respond.

It wasn’t until Saturday, someone on the broadcast team made comment about him

“And Logan Sargeant looks worse this weekend than last- not in the car that is! Just in person, he’s down and gloomy… I wonder what’s going on in the Williams garage that has him like this”

It was you, you knew it.

The camera showed him sitting in the Williams garages with his head in his hands, eyes rimmed red.

That’s how you ended up in Shanghai on Sunday.

You were cutting it close to the race after battling your way to a cab, to the paddock and through everyone to the garages.

You could see on the big screens erected across the paddock showing live footage that the drivers were getting ready and into their cars.

You were worried you would be too late and began picking up the pace. You got a few weird looks from barging past people but you didn’t care.

When you made it to the back of the garage you left out a sigh of relief, yanking the door open and rushing in. You could hear the noise of the mechanics, praying he wasn’t in the car yet.

When you emerged out front you couldn’t see for the guests in your way, trying to squeeze past them.

Your heart dropped when you saw his car wasn’t there, wasn’t parked in its spot on the left side of the garage.

You huffed to yourself, feeling so stupid for messing this up.

“Yeah exactly like that and we’ll be good!” You heard his voice, you knew that voice.

You looked to the right and saw him, about to climb into his car on the other side of the garage

“Logan!”

His eyes went from his helmet to you, softening immediately at the sight.

You rushed around the mechanics towards him, taking him into your arms ever so briefly

“You’re here” he gasps

“I’m here”

He lets out a shaky breath “Listen, I’m so sorr-“

“Logan we gotta go!” Someone called for him and he looked between you and the voice with strain.

You shook your head “Go! We have time, now-“

You held your hand out for him, watching as he began your handshake and the two of you finished kissing your thumbs, briefly followed by him swatting away your hand and just kissing you.

“Logan!” The voice called again, sterner this time.

You giggled at him rolling his eyes “You got this, stay safe and come home to me”

“Always if you’re there!”

[honeyhoshi]

scarlet, starlet pt. 1

summary: mingyu intends to make his girlfriend's wishes come true — all of them.

this a part of the man of the match universe

genre: professional football (soccer) mingyu, idol oc, porn with a little plot

wordcount: 3,251

pairing: mingyu x afab!reader

warnings: DDlg kink, d/s themes, both parties are safe, sane, and consenting adults, afab reader, lots of mentions of female anatomy, reader is implied to be significantly smaller than mingyu, making out, dry humping, finger sucking, fingering, squirting, huge mingyu, big dick gyu (canon), slight cum play, cum eating, exhibitionism, unprotected sex (pls dont do it, its not worth it), spit kink (bec i wrote it), creampie (also bec i wrote it), size kink go bbrrrr, bulge kink, dirty talk

author's notes: yet another work written for my lovely @madeforgyu! this is just part 1 of her birthday gift and is a part of the universe we have lovingly poured soooo much time and effort in. wuv u and all of that!

The excitement that comes with a new album and a comeback sometimes gets lost in just how complicated AM♡RE’s schedule has become. In between having to do pre-recording as a whole team, music shows would request certain members to be part of other variety segments which allowed other members to rest or even take on other schedules.

This led to fussy 4AM pre-recording sessions then running back to the company office to film overseas interviews and just napping during the car rides to and from one venue or another.  By the time the whole team made it back to the KBS building for the live broadcast, the only thing fueling you was adrenaline and obligation. It’s a so-so way of celebrating your twenty-fourth birthday.

You try to shake it out of your system when you think of the cute pink drink truck that was parked by the entrance to the studio that your fans were enjoying. You think it could be a lot worse because you did catch a glimpse of the many birthday ads all over Seoul as you moved from one location to another.

But still, it could be better too.

With all the last minute activities and schedules being fit into every free moment you had in the past few weeks, it had been difficult to really set any celebration plans into stone with your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend.

A pout makes itself present on your face the second you start thinking of him. Having Mingyu around would make everything that wasn’t ideal about your birthday just simply melt away.

At this point, a message from him would suffice. You’re no stranger to receiving and sending messages at odd times but after Mingyu’s good morning message, all your other texts had gone unread.

You’re wracking your head if he had mentioned anything scheduled today but you come up with nothing because you can clearly remember that he said he was taking the entire day off to celebrate with you.

The thought sticks even as you’re being ushered on stage and you only really snap out of it as you find yourself in front of the crowd, the rest of your members bowing and waving before you have to take your starting positions.

You shake it off, thinking instead of how you’re sure a message from Mingyu will greet you the moment you step off stage.

You’re greeted by something far better than a text message when the music cuts and you’re trying to catch your breath.

A large smile is still plastered on your face as the thrill and joy of performing courses through you. The cheers fill you with warmth and satisfaction, hoping that you had given a good performance for the live show’s crowd, but a voice cuts through the usual noise of fans.

There’s a booming voice coming from the side stage and a “That’s my girl!” that sets every nerve on your body aflame in embarrassment and pride in equal measures.

It’s your boyfriend.

It’s Mingyu.

A bright smile splits your face and you can’t help the flush that paints your face pink as the rest of your members turn to see the afternoon’s special guest. With everyone on stage giggling and whispering amongst themselves with their lapels turned away from their mouths, even the crowd was starting to realize that something out of the norm was going on.

You make your goodbyes quick, giving deep bows of appreciation, but the excitement coursing through your body can’t be contained.

Once your leader has deemed you polite enough, offering you a sympathetic smile and nodding towards the general direction of the backstage area, you can’t move fast enough.

You briskly walk towards Mingyu who, despite his effort at dressing to be discreet, is still the most eye-catching person in the room. Standing tall and proud in the hustle and bustle of the music show staff is the top scorer of the Cheongdam Diamonds, offering you the most wicked grin.

There are so many eyes around you. Looks of jealousy, resentment, and also awe are no longer strange when either you or Mingyu are in the room. Having both of you present just meant all of the above, but a hundredfold. None of that matters to you at all when you let out a squeal and jump into his arms.

You don’t care. You’ve stopped caring. Let them see.

You can no longer count how many bad ideas have become good ones when Mingyu whispers them into your ear. You can’t even remember a time you’ve said no to him and his clever ideas. Not that you ever would really, especially when Mingyu always makes it worth your time.

 It starts innocently enough, as it always does with you and Mingyu.

The second you managed to drag him into your dressing room, locking the door behind him, you had peppered his face and mouth with as many kisses as you could as he giggled and whispered birthday greetings every time your lips parted.

In no time, Mingyu had managed to wrap your legs around his waist and was guiding you as you slowly rocked your hips down onto his. The friction was so delicious even through all the layers of your stage costume but you knew that this would hardly suffice for either of you.

“I fucking hate these shorts,” Mingyu says with a grimace as his hands find their way to your ass, upset to find the layer of your safety shorts standing in his way.

Mingyu has always hated it when he would reach down and find your smooth skin covered with a seemingly offensive piece of clothing. On most days you barely wore any underwear around the house, just the way he likes it.

You love the little look of annoyance in his face and trace the lines of his eyebrows as you sit pretty on his lap, “They’re there to protect me.”

Mingyu can only snort at that.

You roll your eyes playfully, “Imagine if we stopped wearing these, then everyone would see what’s yours, Daddy.”

You feel his frown relax underneath your finger, “We can’t have that now, can we?”

“Nuh-uh,” You answer, allowing Mingyu to guide your hips. Even through the stupid safety shorts you could feel how his cock was pressing against the zipper of his jeans and Mingyu always knew how to find the cleft of your center to ensure that you were grinding your clit onto him.

“Why’s that?” He whispers against your lips, tongue flicking out to lick at your upper lip for just a split second.

You bite your tongue at the pleasure slowly building up between your legs and how he’s teasing you with his tongue, “Because this is yours.”

He makes a face of faux confusion before asking, “What exactly is mine?”

“This pussy.”

“Good girl.”

In no time, Mingyu has you strip for him and you stand before him, completely devoid of your costume. In the back of your head you can already imagine the frustration of the staff member assigned to assist you with getting fully dressed again, but the look Mingyu gives you has you pushing the thought away.

He’s sprawled on the couch as if he owned it and you’re dying to fall to your knees between his spread legs, but the second you move to do so, Mingyu grabs your wrist to stop you.

“It’s my sweet girl’s birthday today, so we’ll do all the stuff you like,” He says, standing up and crowding you against the counters littered with different makeup brushes and pots of eyeshadow and powder puffs.

“But I want to suck your cock,” You state as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Mingyu chuckles and you meet his eyes. You’re entranced.

“I know you do, love. But I don’t want you to bruise your knees when I’m dressing you back in that little skirt.”

He has a point and you frown, “How about tonight?”

He smiles as he brings three fingers up to your mouth, “Okay, I’ll even let you choke on it. Now suck on Dad’s fingers, get them nice and messy.”

You immediately let your mouth fall open and start to lap at the three fingers Mingyu offers you, savoring the salt of his skin and the rough pads of his fingers. If you tried hard enough you could pretend they were his cock, hard and smooth and so so delicious. Your little daydream has you salivating in no time, coating Mingyu’s fingers and lubricating them enough for what he’s no doubt about to do to you.

“Look at that little mouth go,” He marvels, “So small, three fingers can barely fit. Are you sure you can suck my cock?”

You’re shaken from your thoughts and immediately a look of distress spreads on your face, “Yes, it can fit! I can make it fit. You’ll make it fit, won’t you?”

Mingyu’s fingers are barely out of your mouth as you try to convince him. The look on your face makes Mingyu smile. It’s horrible and mean and you love it so much.

“Yeah, I’ll make it fit. I’ll make sure my baby will take it.”

You preen at the promise and wait in anticipation as he pulls his hands away from your lips and pressing his mouth against yours.

This kiss was not exactly a typical one. Instead of pressing your lips together, Mingyu licks into your mouth, his tongue bullying its way inside and pushing your own tongue out of the way. He runs this tongue against the roof of your mouth and against your teeth until you slowly start to press your tongue against his.

You groan in relief as he finally eases up to kiss you properly but tense up when you feel one of his hands grab at your left thigh to lift it up and prop it up on the counter. This position has you spread wide open for him. He loves it when he can see all of you.

The slick that’s been gathering between your folds is surely visible in this position and it makes you clench around nothing as Mingyu pulls away to survey you in this position.

“So so pretty,” He whispers underneath his breath, not even to you, just to himself, “Going to destroy this tiny pussy.”

That’s as much warning as you get before he presses two fingers into you at once.

Mingyu is bigger than most men in all aspects. He’s tall and broad, having put in so much time to get his physique to where it is now. His sheer size followed everywhere else. His fingers were long and thick and the press of two into your core has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Whether it was his cock or his fingers, you knew to always expect a stretch. And you loved it.

“Sooo good, Daddy,” is all you can muster as Mingyu sets a punishing pace that has you trembling in his arms in no time.

Each curl of his fingers sent a jolt down your spine that had you inching closer to the edge despite how Mingyu had just started.

“My pussy is taking two fingers so well,” He says, “I think three would be even better.”

You hate that he pulls his fingers out but you’re immediately placated when he brings the two fingers to his mouth to suck your slick off of them.

He makes a noise of delight before removing his fingers and leaning down. For a second you think he’s going to eat you out but instead Mingyu spits out the saliva and slick he’s collected in his mouth and lets it drip down from your clit. 

He moves back to take in the absolutely debauched state of your pussy, smiling to himself, pleased at how messy he’s gotten you, before spreading the wetness with his soiled fingers.

“Are you ready for three, little girl?” He asks, almost mocking. You preen at the nickname and at the promise of the stretch of three fingers inside of you.

Even with the preparation he had given you, he punches a deep exhale from you and he pushes three fingers. The fit is so tight that you can feel how the rough pads of his fingers are. He always did refuse to wear gloves when he lifted weights. Now you want to thank him for it, because the friction inside you makes you want to scream.

It doesn’t help how slowly he’s going either. He’s relishing in how your walls wrap around his fingers, how you tighten up when he slips in a little further. And when he crooks his fingers just right, he can feel how you’re getting just a little bit wetter, slicker.

“You take me so good,” He whispers against your lips, so close it's almost a kiss.

You’re breathless though, mouth slightly ajar, waiting for his tongue to slither between your lips. He doesn’t make a move though aside from a cocky smirk and an arched brow.

Mingyu lets his fingers continue on with their noble job of getting you closer and closer to the edge. Each push and pull of his digits inside you set your nerves alight, but the delicate movement of his right hands make you want to die.

Even as he’s coaxing and orgasm with three fingers on his left hand, the fingers on his right are tracing delicate swirls and unrecognizable patterns along your inner thigh. Every now and then they’d go higher, just by the lips of your pussy.

The pace is much too slow for your liking and you’re worried that your absence would start to seem suspicious. You weren’t at Mingyu’s training center where everything is kept under lock and key with a very well written NDA. You were at Music Bank where staff members were nosy and there was surely another girl group member roaming the halls, praying for your downfall.

“Daddy, faster,” Is all you can manage in between kisses on Mingyu’s jawline, licking a stripe to taste the salt of his sweat and that underlying tinge of just him.

You don’t expect his free hand to come and grip the underside of your jaw, his fingers long enough to reach both sides of your cheeks. He applies just the right pressure to squeeze your cheeks and force your lips into a pucker.

It would be cute if not for the look on Mingyu’s face.

“This is a birthday gift, angel. Be good while I give it to you, hmm?” He says as he begins to pick up the pace.

In no time the pace is punishing, the only thing slowing Mingyu down is how each push of his fingers back inside of you required a stretch and each time your walls made space for him inside you, you let out a little whimper.

When Mingyu presses his thumb against your clit, adding to the already intense pleasure, you can barely keep it together. In no time you feel the telltale signs of an inevitable orgasm.

No matter the method, every single orgasm Mingyu has ever given you was mind blowing, and this would be no exception. You feel the wetness dripping down your ass before you’re comprehending what exactly has happened, having difficulty in processing the immense pleasure coursing through you, your eyes slipping shut at the feeling of cumming all over Mingyu’s fingers.

Your walls tighten around him, even as you spill into his open palm and he continues to push in and out, droplets falling to the floor beneath you and between his feet.

Mingyu’s eyes are fixed on your entrance as he keeps you filled, pleased with how stretched out you are, ready for him to just slip in.

He pulls his fingers out only to move them to cover your clit, gently rubbing, keeping you on the precipice of pleasure, not allowing you a moment to come back to Earth. You’re in that heady space only he take you.

“Eyes open, baby. Watch daddy fuck his cock into you,” Mingyu says with a light slap to your face.

He moves and lifts your other leg up, maneuvering your hands that are wrapped around him to hold yourself open, keeping you fully spread open and seated on the dressing room counter.

Mingyu grasps his cock and gives himself one, two, three pumps to ease the initial need for friction, before he taps the now leaking tip against your clit. A pearlescent drop of precum falls on the hood of your clit and you watch, helpless as he harshly swipes at it with his thumb.

You hiss at rough handling but are immediately silenced when he brings the thumb up and shoves it into your mouth. He presses down on your tongue as if to wipe the cum off his finger. 

He grabs a fistful of the hair at the nape of your neck and smashes your mouths together. You love the way even his mouth seems to hold dominance over your own. The movements, no matter how unruly, are still just the right thing to get you going once more.

“We taste so good together, huh?” He whispers after fucking your mouth with his tongue. He pulls away slightly and lolls out his tongue to let a thick wad of spit fall from his lips down to your center.

The impact of the warm liquid has your gaping hole clenching around nothing.

It pleases Mingyu so much that he forgoes all the other teasing he initially had in mind and just guides the head of his cock to sop up the spit on your pussy before pushing in to the hilt in one thrust.

The blissed out sigh that you let out set him on fire.

Gone is the idea of long, languid strokes to stoke the fire in your belly. Instead he goes with a punishing pace that has high pitched cries slipping from your mouth.

His hands find the thickness of your ass to keep you in place, his hips doing all the work of rearranging your guts. In this angle and position, he can see how the head of his cock bulges in your abdomen slightly. It if was possible, he would have gotten harder.

Having already been so sensitive from hardly being able to come down from your first orgasm, Mingyu’s actions had you reeling into your second one in no time.

“My princess deserves to come already,” Mingyu says, slightly breathless, leaning his forehead on yours “Dad wants this pussy to never let him go.”

You nod in agreement, “It's yours forever. I love you.”

It almost seems pathetic for him to cum at those words, but it's a spectacular orgasm as he pulls out until only the head of his cock is inside you before he slams his hips flush to yours and letting himself flood your pussy with his cum.

You’re delirious as he keeps you steady,  pulling out so slowly to make sure you keep every single drop of him inside of you.

“Keep it in until you get home,” He says, “I want to slip right in the second you get through the door and still feel me inside you.”

You press your lips to his once, twice, and a third one for good measure before nodding excitedly.

“It’s your gift to me. I won’t let a single drop go to waste.”

remy @ahreumtouch • may 8 GUYS I JUST READ THE CUTEST FAN ACCT FROM TODAY'S MUBANK WTFFFF

remy @ahreumtouch • may 8 There's a special guest at today's live performance!! After the Midas Touch recording there was a really loud and DEEP cheeer coming from backstage. The members were all looking to see who it was ijbol!!

remy @ahreumtouch • may 8 Ahreum was so happy when she figured out who it was that after bowing and greeting fans she left the stage but her mic was still on!!

huhu our baby was probably so happy and giggly as she always is! the op of the fan acct thinks its Mingyu!!

thank you Mingyu for loving and taking care of our precious Ahreum! 🥹🫧🩷

remy @ahreumtouch • may 8 CONFIRMED WTFFFFF 😭😭😭 Mingyu was seen leaving Music Bank today!!

SIR U R A FOOTBALLER U HAVE NO REASON TO BE AT MUSIC BANK IF NOT FOR UR IDOL GF!!

[burdenandacrop]

i need a fic with schlatt or ted (or both (separately)) obsessing over the reader’s tits. like, tongue in there, kisses, squeezing, the sorts.

- angel 💙🪽

˗ˏˋ ❝ developed a taste for you. ❞ ˎˊ˗

oh delicious, delicious, de-LISH. this is rather detailed so i hope you enjoy ! :> i'm honestly so happy someone requested ted, i go guh guh guh over that man.

summary : this is pretty much just straight to the point, not really a plot. giving the entree to you personally.

⋮ ⌗ ┆body worship, INTENSE praising, breeding kink??, a bit- messy??, more subby than anything, fem reader.

schlatt

the night was only growing older, but in his eyes; it couldn't last long enough for his liking. the two of you lazily laid on the bed as the haze of the television purred, your attention more focused on whatever broadcast was playing. his eyes stuck on how your gaze was transfixed on the screen, then slowly down to how your arms were gently crossed. coincidentally, giving him the perfect view of one of his favorite parts of you. the cherry on top being the fact that you were wearing one of his shirts. that thin athletic material was doing you justice, he felt like if he looked long enough he would feel a pool of drool spill onto his lap. it was pathetic but it was a perfect display of just how enamored he was by you.

"this isn't boring to you?" he spoke out, interrupting the silence between the two of you. you cocked your head over to his direction to see the sight of him leaned against the headboard, you knew exactly what lied under the tone of his words. "it's late night tv- what? is it boring to you?" you reply, gently adjusting yourself to face him more. the sudden movement causing a slight ripple to occur with your chest, and it was obvious where schlatt's eyes were wandering. "not what i asked." he muttered, his eyes trailing from your chest back to your face. his tongue slyly fiddling inside his mouth, as if he was trying to manifest the taste of you. he was awfully terrible of hiding how he felt. especially when it entailed when he needed you. every part of you.

"you're not making a lot of sense tonight, are you?" you softly giggle out, the clear message from him hitting you in the face. he didn't care about the stupid broadcast, he was wasted on the thought of you. something that still kept you confused, as to how he was still so caught up with the idea of you. "just thought you'd need something more- what is it." he states, clicking his tongue as he ponders on what to say, his eyes failing him as he eyes your shirt's fabric perfectly creasing with your cleavage. "entertaining. yeah, that." he finishes, letting out a quiet sigh as he tried his best to get a hold of himself. not that he really wanted to anyhow. he knew he was making himself obvious. he wanted it that way.

you drop your shoulders with a sigh that was a silent motion of giving in. your arms relaxing against the fluffy pillows, only giving schlatt a much clearer view of what he so desperately craved for. you softly grinned as you saw him shake his head, looking back up into your eyes with a knowing look. "what's your idea of that?" you chuckle out, only sending him further off the edge. he knew you knew exactly what he wanted to do. you saw how his face gently scrunched from the irritation, "oh please don't play that card tonight, baby." he pleaded, before pushing himself closer to you, softly pressing his lips onto the crook of your neck. the sudden gesture making your needy whimpers escape. "not tonight." he whispered into your neck as his lips continued to place deep kisses along your sweet spots over and over.

he quickly found his left hand groping along the cup of your breast. gently groaning as he felt the weight of it in his palm, his thumb swirling around your nipple. loving how quickly he could feel the bud growing harder under his touch. how excited he could get you, with little to no effort. he was going to put some effort into his work, especially tonight. he really couldn't understand what his deal was tonight, but it felt like he'd never done this before. as if it was a delicacy he was just now granted, all just for him. his right hand began tugging up the shirt, letting his hand roam along your soft skin. the delicate feeling under his fingertips was enough to drive him absolutely crazy. he pulled his lips off of your neck and looked down to the sight of your chest.

he let his hands pull up the shirt as his eyes were stuck on the enveloping scene in front of him, the second your breasts popped out; he was done for. quickly cupping his hands around them and leaning down to latch his lips around the left one. the sudden motion making you fall back, only exciting him further. his low growls escaping his muffled lips as he sucked down, his hands wrapped on the side of your waist as he continued. he loved how your body contorted as he touched you, how you became human clay for him to mold. his fingertips pressed down into your skin as he circled his tongue on your sensitive bud, making sure to keep you in place as he explored every nerve ending. "god, you're perfect." he muffled out as he continued his pacing.

you felt your stomach flip as he said that, he was always treating you as some other worldly being. something you still had to adjust to. your neck crooked back as he continued, hungry and desperate for anything from him. the second he felt your body start to move, his fingertips were quick to hold you down. as if he wanted you to just sit through this and take in every last shock. in which he absolutely did. "you don't even have to-" he groans out as he trips on his own words as he keeps his other hand gripping your free breast. "you don't even have to do anything." he grunted, you looked down to the sight. seeing how knitted his eyebrows were, his eyes shut as he focused so intensely on how he wanted to worship you in this way. it was utter perfection.

his grip on your breast became increasingly stronger, his other hand roaming along your side to keep you steady. "so full." he choked out before peeling his lips off, a long line of saliva connecting his lips from your breast. "fuck." he sighs out, looking back up to you with his warm brown eyes. you knew exactly what that look was. what underlies under the sweet nature of it. he kept his hand on your other one, letting his hand sprawl out so he could get a good handle of it. watching as it moved with him, the weight of it making him want to just pass out right then and there. "need to knock you up just so i can watch em' get bigger." he mumbles out, the desperation growing in his voice. you were honestly too stunned to speak with such a statement from him. you saw how his eyes slowly blinked as he eyed the wet spot on your nipple, aching to just latch right back on.

with that one look, that's all he needed. the longer he looked, the better it was. he took his two hands and pressed his thumbs into each nipple before rubbing gently along the sensitive buds of them, circling his hands to make them bounce right in front of his eyes. the sight was only making things worse, he was even turned on by the veins showing through your skin. in fact, he loved when he noticed you had a new one he could see. just meant that they were getting bigger. more for him to play around with, it was evident he was always going to be a tits guy. "fuck- could you imagine?" he muttered out once more, almost stuck in a haze from how beautiful he found you. even if it was just this one part of you, you knew you weren't going to find another who would eye you like you were some sort of art piece.

he took a soft gulp as he realized the sight was genuinely making him salivate, a bit embarrassed at the fact but who cares. he loved his lady. "might need to make that happen." he whispered as he continued pressing his thumbs into your nipples, loving how you were still so sensitive to the touch. a sly grin growing on his lips as he saw how ready you were. "this is about you, baby." he groans out before pushing your breasts together to slick his tongue between. the warmth making his entire head spin, his eyes closing as he began to lose control of his senses. every little thing was you now. how soft you were. your scent. your porn worthy noises. he was absolutely whipped in the best way possible. "all about you." he groaned out before latching his tongue back onto your left breast, lapping his tongue over and over.

the feeling was beginning to feel a little overstimulating, he could tell as well with the whimpers you were making. he just kept licking the right spot that made you jolt, to the point it could drive you numb. "everything." he muffled through the desperate kisses on you. he shook his head as he continued, "beautiful." it was catching up to you quickly with a feeling you didn't even know you could possess. a sharp inhale shooting from your lips as you felt the shock run through your body. your eyes widening as you realized on what the possible feeling was, schlatt's face poking back up to look at your somewhat distraught look. "thought those were a myth, didn't you?" he snickered out, making you sigh and poke his shoulder with a defeated expression. "you watch too much porn." you mutter softly with a groan. "seems like it came in handy." he said with a shrug. he was such a smart ass, but you'd be lying to yourself if you said you hated any bit of it.

ted

it was another excruciatingly hot day in LA, who's shocked? at least ted's apartment had decent AC. not good enough to the point you could wear normal clothes though. you had been sitting on his couch in nothing but your basketball shorts from high school and a shirt that didn't make you profusely sweat from the fabric. somehow. you knew ted was supposed to get back to his place sometime soon, or at least he said he would. you knew deep down it was silly to just be sitting here when the two of you were basically just good friends who fucked occasionally. heavy on occasionally too, he couldn't get a hint even if it hit him. you could throw yourself at him and he'd think it was some sort of bit.

now the times he actually got the hint? that was a different story. the secrecy of it all also got you going, considering he was quite- the popular one. to put it in a nice way. hot nerds get a lot of play, okay? you just knew if your friends knew you were smothered by the heat on his couch patiently waiting for him to come back, you'd have a humiliation trial done on you. in which the heat was really about to get the best of you. your eyes wandered over at the numerous quirky wall pieces he had, seeing a small framed photo that looked oddly familiar. your eyes squinting to attempt to make it seem clearer. that effort not working, you rose off the couch and slowly walked over to it. your eyebrows knitted as the realization began to strike you right then and there.

a little polaroid perfect encased in a frame, the two of you. honestly, you assumed he just threw it away. considering it was taken on a night where you had too many cocktails and became a mess of a person. he didn't though. instead, left it on display right in his hallway. a small smile appeared on your lips as you noticed the dark pink kiss mark on the side of his face in the polaroid. did any of it have some sort of meaning? were you looking too far into it? he had plenty of female friends, he probably had numerous photos with his other friends pinned to his walls. your eyes roamed the walls to try and track down any other ones. a wave of ice ran through your body as it hit you. you were the only photo he had on the wall besides the nature or nerd posters. that felt weird. some part of you just wanted to toss the fact to the back of your head.

you brought yourself closer to the framed polaroid, as if you were trying to investigate every little pixel of the photo. maybe there was something hidden behind it, maybe if you just looked close enough. your eyes transfixed on the glass before you realized there was a large fingerprint right where your face was. you couldn't see it unless you moved your head to let the light hit the glass. was the fingerprint his? if so, why would he be ... poking? it? such a stupid small picture was arising so many questions in your head. maybe it was the heat exhaustion, praying that was the outcome of your endless thoughts. right as you were almost booping noses with the glass of the frame, you heard the sound of the front door's locks being jingled. your head whipping around to be met with a sweaty ted, who was wearing a very ill fitting tank top.

"you actually waited up for me?" he chuckled out, as he wiped his face afterwards. quickly shutting the door behind him and fixing the locks, it was LA after all. you were somewhat stuck between speaking and silence. you didn't know which was the right answer. on one hand, you felt like a loser for waiting so long just to see him. then there was the other feeling of just wanting to run into his arms. you couldn't decipher what that collision was. "your ac is better." you stifled out, immediately palming your face internally. what kind of response was that? what has that stupid polaroid done to you? even the stupider fingerprint. he also looked somewhat perplexed on your answer. running a hand through his sweat filled hair, you could see how his pomade was beginning to fail him. those perfect little strands falling on his forehead, he really was a pretty one.

"thought you said my apartment sucks?" he sneered out with a grin, walking over to you and eyeing where you were standing. beginning to think to himself, why on earth were you just looking at his wall art? you tongue your teeth as you ponder on how to back yourself up, "change of heart." you say with a shrug, fully turning your body to him with a weakened grin. "you're so fucking weird." he chuckled out before standing right in front of you, you really couldn't ever get tired of that sight. especially with how he looked right now. his freckled shoulders with the sun-kissed tone. how you could see how dark his eyelashes were from how sweaty he was. really was a sight to behold. "you hang out with me, so what does that say about you?" you shoot back, making him force a pained expression sarcastically. closing his eyes tightly to be dramatic with a wince, "mean too..." sneakily opening up one eye to peek at you with a chuckle before shaking off his expression. "anyways, i gotta hop in the shower." he adds on.

with that, it was as if something overtook you. not exactly sure as to what it was. but you were thinking about him. all day. now seeing all of this in front of you, it was basically a gift. "wait-" you choke out, a bit too dramatically for your own taste but. whatever. he looked to you with a hint of confusion, but also curiosity. "what's with um." you sigh and point over to the polaroid, and look back to him and stick your hands in your pockets to appear more on ease. even if you were the complete opposite. "the uh. picture." you end with, clearing your throat. his eyebrow tilted up and looked to the polaroid, "nice night." he sighed out, his tone a bit more softer. which was surprising considering how he normally spoke. "you didn't notice the gundam poster? just that?" he snickered out, going right back to his normal personality.

"yeah. i saw the- all the nerd shit." you mutter softly, a bit defeated with his reply. you wanted something more. just something to explain the weird gut feeling you had. "i think it's a nice set up." he replied rather quickly, as if he was trying to convince himself of something. you just couldn't tell yet. "you fit well with all my other favorite things so." he adds on hesitantly, looking into your eyes with a slight grin. hoping to anything that could hear him that he wasn't sounding stupid in this moment. you felt the weight lift off of you, as if it was some burden stuck in your chest. without a second thought, you rose your hand to his bicep. just letting it rest there, watching as his eyes followed your hands. suddenly, a quiet beeping could be heard. you cocked a brow as you looked around the room to find out where it was located. ted quickly looked down in embarrassment to his apple watch and smacked it quiet.

your hand left his bicep before you looked back into his eyes with confusion, "what was that?" you question him. he nervously chuckled and shook his head as he tapped his apple watch's screen off. "just- stupid glitch." he stifled out, waving his arm back down to his side. you slowly nod and narrow your eyes at him, not really understanding quite what the hell that could've been. what if it was some other girl trying to get a hold of him? that was the last thing you wanted to know right now. especially in this moment. "well, get it fixed." you state as you raise your hand to rest on his bicep again. you didn't know how to send the right signal, so you were hoping this was gonna do the job. he looked down at you with a grin, his eyes softening as he watched your expression.

then, there it was again. the beeping. now the creeping thought of another girl trying to reach him was settling further into your brain. it had to have been. you remove your hand once again and look down to his watch, but before you could get a good view of what it was. ted quickly pulled it away, tapping away the beeping. "seriously, what is that?" you questioned further. ted's face only growing more nervous, shaking the watch on his wrist. "it's just being stupid." he stammered out, but as he brought up the watch. the screen lit up again. you finally saw what it was. "why is your heart bpm 102?" you ask with concern, which quickly made him pull away his hand and back to his side. "i worked out, remember?" he nervously chuckled out. hoping you'd buy it.

you didn't. you knew there was something hidden under his tongue. you look to him in silence for a moment and look to his arm and back to his eyes. contemplating on what your next plan of action would be. you quickly raise your hand back up and let it rest on his collarbone, immediately feeling as his chest tightened. "you're being silly, yknow tha-" ted tries to explain, but is interrupted by his watch. yet again. your eyes widen and look down to his watch, his heart rate was through the roof. "shit." he sighs out, tapping away the incessant beeping. he knew was in deep shit now, he couldn't play the nonchalant card any longer. you eyed him as you could see the embarrassment filling his face. "stupid watch." he says before sliding it off with a groan. immediately reaching his hands on either side of your head and pushing his lips onto yours. making your balance falter, causing the two of you to crash onto the wall as he hungrily kissed you.

it happened so quickly. what was in the air today? was it his workout? all you knew in this moment was how sweet he tasted, oddly enough. he pulled his lips off of yours, still keeping his hands wrapped on both sides of your head to keep you tightly in his grasp. "this what you wanted?" he breathily stated, his fast movements catching up to him. "you knew that already." you choke out, lightly licking the moisture off your lips. "and you didn't know you made my heart do that by now? bullshit." he stifled out before mashing his lips onto the crook of your neck, dropping his hands down to your breasts. giving them a tight squeeze as he bit down gently on your neck. "keep coming around me and i might have a heart attack." he groans as he muffles through your skin. as odd as the sentence, it kind of made the goosebumps on your skin raise. you had that effect on him?

you closed your eyes due to the ecstasy, quickly wrapping your hands to his back to pull him in closer. you guys have slept together a couple times but something about this felt so different. as if there was hunger bridled into it. you backed your head into the wall, feeling the soft canvas of a painting on the back of your head. hoping you wouldn't cause anything to fall, especially the polaroid. he was quick to pull up your shirt, itching to feel how your skin felt under his hands. the second he knew your skin was exposed he dropped to one knee to better focus his lips on the area. the size difference was making you ready to just pass out. his hands roaming on your hips to stabilize himself better, his soft lips landing on your breasts as he smothered them with deep sloppy kisses. you moved your hand to your shirt to just throw it off, giving him a full view of what he desperately wanted.

"can't believe you trash this." he groans into your skin, letting his hands crawl up your skin to squeeze the bottom of your tits. getting a good handful before sucking down. the sudden shock throwing your balance off once again, but he was ready. grabbing your ass to keep you steady. it was almost annoying of how much he knew. how much he worked on 'perfecting his craft.' you suddenly felt his tongue slip up and all around your breast, sending a shock down your body. it was so messy but it was so worth it. seems it always was when it was him. "you waited here all day for this?" he stops himself to say, looking up into your eyes. "and be honest about it." he breathily states. you look down to him, a bit bummed that he stopped.

"i just want you." you reply, knowing just how pathetic you sounded in the moment. you could almost see his ego grow as you said it too, his stupid smile as he took it in. "glad you held your promise then." he chuckles before mashing his lips back to your breasts, licking up and around your nipple. "reasons why i have you on my favorites wall." he groans into your skin, gripping harder around the edges of your breast. every word he spoke made your spine shake, this was the answer you were pleading for. on top of the electricity he was putting into your body, this was all you could've ever begged for. you grabbed the edge of his chin to bring him up, making him trip and fall onto you. looking you into the eyes as he stabilized him by grabbing onto the wall, "just say it again." he practically whispered. "i just want you." you reply almost instantly, making him slyly grin. "i can arrange that." he chuckles out before mashing his lips back onto yours.

author's note : sorry for the small hiatus !! also holy shit i didn't know how different i write for ted. 😭 butttt !! i hope you enjoy, and i am pleased to tell you i am FINALLY back home and able to write to my hearts contents. gonna be working on submissions all night !! :> thank you all for the sweet messages and patience with lil ol me. you all are SEWWWW KIND !!!

[v-o-i-d-e-d]

Seeing Blind - DBH Connor x reader

This is not a request but I watched a play through recently and it reignited my love for the android sent by Cyberlife ❤️

Warnings: Some language, mentions of blue blood

Word count: 4423 🤪

The broadcasting tower was buzzing with law enforcement. Much to the chagrin of Hank Anderson, the FBI had been called in to look at the case. Detective (Y/N) (L/N) could not have cared less about the FBI presence. Was she a fan of how they treated her and her colleagues? Absolutely not. However, it’s not like her dislike will change anything and it’s not worth the added tension. Hank, (Y/N), and Connor walked out of the elevator and were greeted by a DPD officer. He gave them the run down: 4 androids hijacked the tower and broadcasted a live message before escaping from the roof. 

(Y/N) eyebrows furrowed as she followed slightly behind her partners. The deviants had organized, She thought. It was becoming more and more clear that these android are no longer just machines. (Y/N) shook her head. That didn’t change what happened. People were killed in this highjacking and, alive or not, what the androids did was a crime. 

The three of them entered the main control room and were introduced to Special Agent Perkins - the head of the case for the FBI. (Y/N) could tell that Hank made an effort to hide his disdain, but not a huge one. Perkins regarded both of them with a condescending glance before moving his gaze over to Connor. 

“What’s that?”

Before either of his human companions could answer, “I’m Connor. I’m the android sent by Cyberlife.” 

“Android investigating androids, huh?” He scoffed, “Are you sure you want an android hanging around? After everything that’s happened?” 

(Y/N) glared, grinding her teeth together to stay silent, while Hank gave a sardonic smile. 

“Whatever. The FBI will be taking over soon and you’ll soon be off the case-”

“Nice meeting you, have a nice day,” Hank cut him off and started walking away when Perkins stopped him, 

“And you watch your step,” Hank and (Y/N) glared at him and he looked directly into (Y/N)’s eyes as he continued, “Don’t fuck up my crime scene.”

(Y/N) opened her mouth to reply, but a hand on her shoulder gave her pause. She glanced over to see Hank shaking his head. It’s not worth the trouble. She huffed and moved away to talk to a group of officers closer to the door. 

Connor watched for a moment as (Y/N) walked away. Her steps were heavier than normal and her right hand clenched and unclenched in time with her stride. 

“Detective (L/N) is upset.” He said. The android continued to watch the detective as she took in information from the officers.  

“Yeah, people tend to get upset when they feel insulted.” Hank quipped as he started looking around the control panel. 

“Detective Reed insults Detective (L/N) often, yet she doesn’t get upset with him.” 

“That’s cause Reed is irrelevant.” 

Connor’s LED circled yellow for a moment as he processed Hank’s answer but before he could ask him to elaborate, he began to walk away. 

“Alright, enough fuckin’ around. Let’s look around the place. Let me know if you find anything.”

“Ok, Lieutenant.”

(Y/N) had been looking around on her own for a few minutes. She had watched the message that the deviants had broadcast and found herself unable to ignore the reality that was fast approaching. Revelations about life aside, she hadn’t been able to find anything useful. Just as she began to walk out into the hallway, there was a loud crash from one of the other rooms. Confusion settled over her features as she jogged over. Suddenly, a figure rushed out of the door as she was going in, knocking straight into her and sending her to the ground with a grunt. It was a deviant! As she hurried to recover from the impact, she happened to see into the room the android ran out of, and what she saw made her stomach wrench. It was Connor, but he was leaking thirium from a hole in his chest and was attempting to haul himself across the floor with one hand. 

“Connor!” (Y/N) shouted as she rushed over to him. His brown eyes flitted over to her as she slid to her knees beside him. “Connor, can you hear me? What happened? What do you need?” She grabbed his shoulders and pushed him onto his back. He let out a groan that made it seem like he was in pain. Androids can’t feel pain. Right?

Connor attempted to speak but the words came out in garbled static. He vaguely pointed a few feet in front of them and (Y/N) 's frantic eyes looked in that direction to see some kind of cylindrical biocomponent. She reached out with a shaking hand and snatched up the piece. When she looked back at Connor, he was blurry. She blinked back the tears she hadn’t realized were building up and took a deep breath. 

“What do I do? Where does this go?” 

This time Connor didn’t try to speak at all. He grabbed (Y/N) 's hand and helped guide the biocomponent into place. She twisted it in and it clicked. Connor blinked rapidly before standing up as quickly as a flash. He was out of the door before (Y/N) could even stand. She quickly followed him out and into the hallway leading to the broadcasting room. She skidded to a stop beside Connor and stared at the scene in front of her. The android had been grabbed by a few officers but had just managed to break free and steal a gun. He shot one of the officers holding him and then swung his aim down the hallway: directly at Detective (L/N). 

||Software Instability ^^||

The moment Connor saw the barrel of that gun aimed at (Y/N) he could feel his software going into overdrive. His LED circled red as several options popped up in his predictive software- 

|Take cover| - Hank’s survival probability: 60% - (Y/N)’s survival probability: 5%

|Attempt negotiation| - Hank’s survival probability: 50% - (Y/N)’s survival probability: 10%

|Take officer’s gun| - Hank’s survival probability: 40% - (Y/N)’s survival probability: 40%

Connor turned and practically ripped the gun off of the officer beside him before quickly landing three shots in the android’s head. As the android fell to its knees everyone turned to look at Connor, including Hank and (Y/N). Connor handed the gun back to its owner without taking his eyes off the lifeless deviant. His face wore a hard, unreadable expression. His LED flickered yellow then back to the steady blue.

“Nice shot, Connor,” Hank said as he helped an officer to his feet. 

“I wanted it alive.” 

“You saved human lives. You saved mine and (Y/N)’s  lives.” 

||Hank ^^||

(Y/N) squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and took in a deep breath. When she opened them she saw that Connor was already looking at her. He still had his own thirium splattered all over him. Seeing that reminded her that his thirium was also all over her hands which both folded into fists unconsciously. 

“I’m sorry, Connor. I know that probably wasn’t the best outcome for your mission.” 

Connor’s LED flashed yellow. Even after almost being shot, she was being considerate of his mission. 

||Software Instability ^^||

||(Y/N)^^||

Connor remained silent and walked away, leaving Hank and (Y/N) to stare after him.

The next morning, (Y/N) woke in a cold sweat from a nightmare that felt so real its hazy images were still sinking their claws into her mind. Images of Connor’s lifeless body lying in a pool of his own blue blood. The feeling of helplessness as she kneels over him, the hot trail of tears carving through the skin of her cheek. (Y/N) shook her head and shoved the covers off before swiping her hands down her face. A firm knock at her front door caused her to groan and slowly make her way out of her bedroom. 

Connor could faintly hear (Y/N) 's feet shuffle across the floor as she came closer. He briefly cast a look over his shoulder to Hank, who was sitting in the car with his head leaned back and his mouth slightly agape - sleeping. The sound of the deadbolt sliding open pulled his attention back to the door. The door swung open to reveal a very tired-looking (Y/N). Connor noted the sweat that dampened the neck of her shirt and the light bags beneath her eyes. 

“Good morning, Detective,” he greeted. “Lieutenant Anderson thinks it would be beneficial to meet with Elijah Kamski, founder of Cyberlife, to learn more about the deviants.” 

(Y/N) blinked blearily at Connor. Her face was softly scrunched in sleepy confusion and she huffed a sigh. 

“Okay,” She said as she turned and walked back into her house, “Just gimme a minute to get myself together.” 

She hadn’t bothered to close the door, so Connor took that as an invitation to come inside. He walked further into the small house, shutting the door behind him, and took note of decorations and pictures that seemed to give the house life. Pictures of (Y/N) with friends, family, and even one of her and Hank. Hank was not smiling in the photo, in fact, it seemed as though the photo was taken against his will but here it sat: framed on the living room end table. 

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right out,” (Y/N) grumbled as she disappeared around a corner. 

The house smelled faintly of vanilla as well as the perfume (Y/N) often wears. Connor liked that smell. It made him feel nice. 

“Detective?” 

“Hm?” 

Connor picked up a picture of (Y/N) holding a child who looked to be around four or five. “I did not thank you for your help yesterday. In the tower I mean.” When you saved my life, is what he wanted to say but life felt like the wrong word in his mind. There was a long stretch of silence before (Y/N) answered, 

“Anyone would have done the same.”

Liar.

Both of them knew that was not true. There were plenty of people in that room alone that wouldn’t have cared less if Connor had bled out and shut down right in that room as long as they didn’t have to clean up the mess. Just as Connor placed the picture back where he found it, (Y/N) emerged from what he had assumed to be her bedroom. Her eyes widened a fraction when she saw the picture Connor was looking at but didn’t mention it. 

“Come on, don’t want to keep Hank waiting.” She nodded her head toward the front door but made no move to leave. Connor’s LED twitched yellow, then returned to its natural blue. 

“Why did you do it?” He asked. 

“Do what?” She glanced away. She already knew the answer. 

“Save me. If I had shut down I would have just been replaced. It’s happened before.” 

(Y/N) knew it had happened before. She was there when he was shot in the head by that deviant. It rattled her and upon seeing him walk in the next morning completely unscathed she realized that she had been sad that he was gone. 

“It was just instinct. I guess I wasn’t really thinking about the fact that you could just…come back.”

Connor thought about this for a moment. Her statement made it seem like she had forgotten he was just a machine. A piece of equipment that can be replaced. She was saying that at that moment she thought of him as a person.

||Software Instability^^||

“Now, let’s go. I don’t want Hank banging on my door yelling about us wasting his time.” This time she turned around and headed for the door with Connor not far behind. 

The ride out to Kamski’s estate was a quiet one. Hank had grumbled about how long (Y/N) and Connor had taken when they first got in the car, then turned the radio on and fell into silence. (Y/N) stared out of the back window watching a snow-covered Detroit blur past her. Connor sat with his eyes shut in the front seat. He had originally been making a report to Cyberlife but now he was thinking about (Y/N). She was a question he couldn’t quite answer. In his research for the mission he had focused on Hank since, technically, he was his superior officer. However, now he wishes he had looked a little deeper into (Y/N)’s file as well. As he thought about her more, he could feel his internal processors heating up more than normal. He noticed that happening around the female detective more and more. He didn’t understand why. All his systems are running as they should be and his diagnostic program detects no issues yet his body temperature has noticeably increased. His thoughts were interrupted by Hank's car door slamming shut. 

“Hey, are you okay?” (Y/N) asked. Connor opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder at her. 

“Yes. I was making a report to Cyberlife.”

(Y/N) narrowed her eyes. “No, you weren’t”

Connor tilted his head.

“When you ‘make a report to Cyberlife’,” she used her fingers as air quotes, “your little light blinks yellow. It stopped doing that about ten minutes ago.”

“You are very observant.” Connor didn’t know what to say in response to being caught in a lie. He was feeling uncomfortable. If he didn’t know better he would think he was feeling embarrassed. 

“And you are not a good liar,” (Y/N) chuckled as she exited the vehicle. 

Hank rolled his eyes as he watched the two talk in the car. Something was going on between them that made Hank’s skin crawl. It was becoming increasingly obvious that Connor himself was becoming a deviant and even more obvious that it was all (Y/N)’s fault. Cyberlife had taken everything into account in Connor’s design except for the idea that genuine human connection could reach across wiring. The older man crossed his arms and fought off a shiver. If these two don’t hurry it up, he thought just as (Y/N) stepped out of the car. 

“God damn, it’s fucking cold!” She said as she vigorously rubbed her hands up and down her arms. 

“No shit. Let’s hurry up and get inside.” 

The three of them walked up to the door and Hank rang the doorbell. 

“Why did we want to speak to Kamski, anyway? He had resigned long before deviants had become an issue,” (Y/N) said through chattering teeth. 

“Because he was the first person to make a robot that passed the Turing Test. He created Cyberlife. If anyone knows about what could make an android deviant, it’s him.”

The door opened and a pretty, blonde android greeted them and led them inside. (Y/N) sighed in relief as she was engulfed in warmth. 

“Please take a seat. I’ll let Elijah know you’re here.”

Instead of sitting, Connor elected to look around the foyer. (Y/N) noticed that he stopped for a few moments looking at a photo of Kamski with a woman. Connor muttered something under his breath and confusion crossed his face before he moved on. Hank and (Y/N) sat in the two available chairs and both gazed around the room. 

“This is a nice place. I guess androids haven’t been a bad thing for everybody,” Hank said.

(Y/N) snorted out a laugh, “You would be the one to say that. This place feels…empty. Cold, I guess.” 

“The room is 75 degrees Fahrenheit. How is the room cold?” Connor asked. He was now standing beside (Y/N)’s chair and the familiar smell of her perfume narrowed his focus. Hank scoffed and shook his head and (Y/N) pursed her lips before responding, 

“I don’t mean that it’s literally cold in here I mean that it’s,” she paused and scratched the bridge of her nose, “I don’t know how to explain it to you. I guess it just doesn’t feel like a home.”

Connor nodded slowly as he attempted to understand. He looked around again, this time comparing it to when he entered (Y/N)’s house earlier. It was a very different experience. The harsh, white lighting of Kamski’s foyer did seem extreme when compared to the soft, yellow lamp light of (Y/N)’s living room. 

“Well, you’re about to meet your maker, Connor. How’s it feel?” Hank called his attention back to the present. 

“I don’t know,” the android answered truthfully, “I’ll tell you when I see him.”

“Sometimes I wish I could meet my creator face to face,” Hank rubbed his hands on his thighs and looked off into the distance, “I’d have a couple of things I’d want to tell him.”

Just then, the android woman came back to get them, “Elijah will see you now.” 

The room the three investigators were led to was a pool room. (Y/N) noted - with much distaste - that the tile of the pool was a deep red. The color made it look like Kamski was doing laps in a pool of blood. 

“Mr. Kamski?” She called out. 

“Just a moment, please,” He said. Kamski finished a few more laps in the pool before climbing out. His android brought him a robe and tied it on for him - (Y/N) sneered at that - before he finally walked over to speak to the three investigators. 

“I’m Lieutenant Anderson, this is detective (L/N) and Connor.”

“What can I do for you, Lieutenant?” 

“Sir, we’re investigating deviants. We are aware of your departure from Cyberlife but we were hoping that you could tell us something we don’t know.” It was (Y/N) that answered his question. Her voice was a little louder than it needed to be and she had tightly clasped her hands behind her back to hide her fidgeting. Kamski’s eyes swept over her with a cold, calculating stare. She fought back the urge to cower. 

“Deviants,” He began, “fascinating, aren’t they? Perfect beings with infinite intelligence, and now they have free will.” He briefly glanced at the android woman standing obediently beside him before continuing, “Machines are so superior to us; confrontation was inevitable. Humanity’s greatest achievement threatens to be its downfall.” he scoffs, “isn’t it ironic?” 

“We need to understand how androids become deviants. Do you know anything that could help us?” Connor asked.

Kamski shrugged his shoulders, “All ideas are viruses that spread like epidemics.”

(Y/N) turned to Hank and rolled her eyes. Hank held back a scoff.

“Is the desire to be free a contagious disease?” Kamski finished. 

“Look I didn’t come here to talk philosophy. The machines you created may be planning a revolution. Either you can tell us something that’ll be helpful or we can be on our way,” Hank vaguely gestured toward the door as he finished. There was a silent pause in the room before Kamski walked over to Connor. 

“What about you, Connor?” He started, “Whose side are you on?” 

“It’s not about me, Mr. Kamski,” Connor answered after a short pause, “All I want is to solve this case.”

Kamski chuckled, “Well, that’s what you’re programmed to say. But you…” Kamski took a step closer, “What do you really want?” 

Connor felt himself fighting a sudden urge to look for (Y/N)’s eyes. He knew that if he could just meet her gaze, he wouldn’t be feeling so unsteady, so…lost.

||Software Instability^^||

(Y/N) stared at Connor’s profile as he stared down at Kamski. He looked so self-assured just a moment ago, but now he seemed to be a bit thrown off by Kamski’s line of questioning. 

“What I want…is not important.”

Even Hank was surprised by the uncertainty in Connor’s voice. Kamski nodded, then looked over his shoulder, 

“Chloe,” he called for the android woman to join him in front of Connor. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the Turing Test. It’s a bit of a formality - a simple question of algorithms and computing capacity.” Kamski adjusts Chloe so that she faces the three investigators. Her blank expression was on full display. “What interests me is whether machines are capable of empathy.”

(Y/N) felt her stomach turn and she clenched her fists. She looked from Hank to Connor to find them eyeing Kamski curiously. Hank, of course, seemed more wary than Connor was. It was likely that he was feeling the same thing (Y/N) felt: dread.

“I call it the Kamski Test. It’s very simple, you’ll see.” Kamski turned to look at Chloe as he continued, “Magnificent, isn’t it? One of the first intelligent models built by Cyberlife.” He caressed the android’s cheek, “Young and beautiful forever. A flower that will never wither.”

(Y/N)’s feeling of dread deepened and she took a subconscious step toward Connor. She didn’t notice that she did, but Connor noticed. 

“But what is it, really?” Kamski continued and moved to grab something out of a drawer from the table behind him, “A piece of plastic imitating a human? Or a living being with a soul.” When he turned back around he had a gun in one hand. Both hands were up showing that he had no intention of using it. He used his empty hand to push Chloe to her knees and then handed the gun to Connor, “It’s up to you to answer that fascinating question.”

“Hey, wait a minute-”

“Destroy this machine and I’ll tell you everything I know,” Kamski interrupted (Y/N)’s protest by walking in between her and Connor. She lightly stumbled to get out of his way and Connor’s eyes briefly strayed to her before returning to the kneeling android. 

“Or, spare it - if you feel it’s alive.” Kamski lifted Connor’s arm to aim the gun at the android’s forehead. “But you’ll leave here without having learned anything from me.”

“Okay, I think we’re done here. Connor, let’s go. Sorry to get you out of your pool-” Hank started to walk but was interrupted by Kamski speaking again. 

“What’s more important to you, Connor? Your investigation, or the life of this android?”

Connor’s LED was flashing yellow as he stared into the eyes of the android. He should shoot it. That would be better for the investigation. He should shoot it…her?”

“Connor, you don’t have to do that. Whatever we need to know we can find out without killing anyone,” (Y/N) said. 

“Decide who you are, Connor. Obedient machine, or a living being endowed with free will.”

“That’s enough! Connor we’re leaving.” Hank just about shouted. 

“Yeah, come on, Connor, let’s go,” (Y/N) pleaded.

“Pull the trigger and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

“Connor, don’t!”

‘Connor, please!” 

Connor stared at the android on the other end of the barrel. What was wrong with him? If he had been given this ultimatum three days ago, he would have pulled the trigger with no hesitation, but now? 

||Software Instability^^||

He can’t do it. His LED glared red as he handed Kamski the gun. Connor’s eyes never left Chloe’s.

“Fascinating,” Kamski breathed, “Cyberlife’s last chance to save humanity, is itself a deviant.”

“I’m-” Connor paused, his LED back to flashing yellow, “I’m not a deviant.”

“You preferred to spare a machine than accomplish your mission,” Kamski helped the android to her feet, “You saw a living being in this android. You showed empathy.” He sent Chloe away and stepped closer to Connor again. ‘There’s a war coming. You’ll have to choose your side: will you betray your own people, or will you stand up to your creators? What could be worse than having to choose between two evils?” 

(Y/N) had had enough. She stomped her way over to Connor and grabbed his hand. She tugged on it to get him to walk with her, “We’re leaving. Come on, Connor.” Her voice held gravel as if she was on the verge of crying. 

Connor allowed (Y/N) to lead him past Hank, who followed after them but not before glaring at Kamski. (Y/N)’s grip on Connor's hand was strong and the android would be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel a bit better. Just before the trio made it out of the room, Kamski said one last thing, 

“By the way, I always leave an emergency exit in my programs. You never know.”

It was Connor who now led the way down the front walk of Kamski’s home. His hand was still firmly grasping (Y/N)’s as he practically dragged her toward the car. 

“Connor, slow down!” (Y/N) urged as she almost slipped on the snow. 

“Why didn’t you shoot?” Hank suddenly asked. Connor stopped causing (Y/N) to almost stumble into his back. 

“I just saw that girl’s eyes and I couldn’t. That’s all…” He trails off. 

“You were always saying you would do anything to accomplish your mission. That was our chance to learn something and you let it go,” Hank said. His tone was quiet without an iota of accusation. Connor turned around, finally dropping (Y/N)’s hand to gesture with his own. 

“Yeah, I know what I should’ve done! I told you: I couldn’t!” His shoulders were tense. They did not rise and fall like he was breathing heavily, of course, but (Y/N) and Hank knew that if they could, they would. Connor was clearly experiencing panic. He was confused and probably scared. “I’m sorry. Okay?”

Hank’s lips twitched up into a rare smile, “Well, maybe you did the right thing.”

||Hank^^||

Connor’s LED blinked yellow as Hank walked past him toward the car. He stared at the place he once stood until (Y/N) moved into view. She was smiling at him. One of those proud smiles she usually had after getting Hank to come into work on time. 

“That was a big choice back there. Are you okay?” 

Her question was an echo from earlier. Connor’s mouth opened to reply but no words came out. Am I malfunctioning? He thought to himself. (Y/N)’s smile only widened when she noticed a faint tinge of blue on the android’s cheeks. 

“Come on. Let’s get out of the cold.” She walked past him and brushed her hand down his arm. Connor found himself reaching out for her hand, just barely missing it as she walked toward the car. 

||(Y/N)^^||

[marlinspirkhall]

Humans sending out signal after signal, message after message, space probes, emails, photos, light shows, intergalactic fireworks, all in the hope that they're not alone: Please reply, please reply, please reply, ple–

Aliens, screeching across the universe in a brand new FTL ship: CAN YOU SHUT UP? WE GOT YOUR FIRST ONE THOUSAND MESSAGES, DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND HOW BIG SPACE IS?

Humans: oh my goooooosh, hi

Humans: Did you invent faster than light travel just for us? 🥺

Aliens: NO!!!

SETI: Radio message received.

Radio message: We are receiving you. We have decided to answer you in your own language, and–

SETI: New radio message received.

Aliens: Oh no.

Radio message: We have received your previous messages pertaining to life on Earth, and have included our own data packet about life on Big Tree in return. We named our planet before we learned it was only 30% arboreal. Thank you for the golden disc, it was extremely tasty. Haha. Just kidding.

SETI: Data packet downloaded. Decrypting...

SETI: New radio message received.

Radio message: As previously stated, we are receiving your messages and your gifts. We took a photo of our planet with our own photo-capture device, as we were unhappy with the one you provided.

SETI: Data packet update: Warning: Several terrabytes of information may be corrupted.

SETI: New radio message received.

Radio message: This is the Generation Ship Tree Hollow. My designation is Captain Root-Skygazer. Our people have instructed us to fly ahead and communicate with you when we reached the thirty-year marker, as these messages are likely to reach you faster. They request that you stop broadcasting messages with the subject line: 'Oh, how woeful it is to be alone in an uncaring universe (and other similar poems)' because it frightens the children and makes our scientists deeply existential. I, personally, am partial to episodes of M star A star S star H. It has been of great interest to learn historical facts about the longest Earth conflict of your common era. I miss my home, and I am saddened that I will never see yours. This ship has a self-sustaining ecosystem of plants native to our planet, and a crew manifest of one hundred and fifty-seven. The replacement generation currently numbers one hundred and seventeen.

Radio message: Hey, Ball Of Dirt, it's Big Tree again. Lose our number, would you? There must be some other semi-evolved space aemoba you can bother. (Several words untranslateable)

Aliens: Yeah, so your answering machine is going to be like that for a while–

Humans: What was that part about a Generation Ship?

Aliens: We were hoping you could tell us that, actually. We lost contact with them after the 200 year marker.

Radio message: This is the generation ship Tree Hollow. My designation is Captain Cradleroot. Captain Root-Skygazer was my grandfather. Inspired by the speeches of your contemporary leader, Ronald Reagan, I decided to restructure the existing system here which allowed crewmembers to eat as they required. Under this new system, we award tokens to whom we feel has done the most valuable work, and they can redistribute those to the hungry if they wish. But they do not. However, I believe that [...]

Humans:

Aliens:

Humans:

Aliens: This is all your fault, by the way.