#Single Number in Arrays

[sandflakedraws]

hi i'd just like you to know that your illustration for ABoT of reigen meeting mogami, looking composed on the surface, but arrayed around him are renditions of him experiencing every single stage of grief plus all the animorph transitions between them has had such an impact that both me and my partner reference That Art Specifically whenever we're trying to invoke that particular vibe, i have legitimately lost count of the number of times we've said "[character] is in Ten Thousand Screaming Reigens about it" by now and i'm sure we will be continuing to use it long into the future XD your art is fantastic and i hope you have a good day

[the ten thousand screaming reigens]

8D !! I AM BEYOND DELIGHTED TO LEARN THIS.

WHAT AN ABSOLUTE TREASURE !!!

[simplyhale]

club classics j.a.

jack abbot x fem! reader

summary; after what was supposed to be your night off in weeks you are brought right back to the pitt. the only man that is able to help you afterwards is the one you've been hooking up with.

notes; divider is from @uzmacchiato they have stunning ones! do i think i'll probably do a part 2 to this? maybe? have i only been able to think about the pitt and the rookie for the past two months? yes. i couldn't stop listening to brat and thinking about jack abbot so here we are. i hope yall enjoy and let me know if yall would want to see the part 2 because it may or may not include smut.

words; 2394

gif cred;

— ｡⋆ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Tonight was your first night off in what felt like forever. Truly it had only been a week. But working nightshifts your internal clock was all messed up. You had finally been able to join your friends on a night full of club-hopping. Sweat marks all over your clothes . All the stress left your body, and your brain shut off. Instead, you just listened to loud pounding music that was filling every inch of your body. Allowing your body to move in ways that loosened your muscles like nothing else could.

Well not nothing else.

A part of you was sad that you wouldn’t be able to see him. But the voice saying you needed a break was much louder. Plus it was backed up with the reminder that you had his number, meaning if you really did want to see him, he was only a text away.

When I go to the club I wanna hear those club classics

Just as that thought was pushed to the back of your mind, the alcohol took over, sending you onto the dance floor with not a single care in the world. Correction: The only care was that the next song had to live up to the current one. 

But the Pitt had other plans.

It wanted you back one way or another.

You weren’t exactly sure how it started. Adrenaline had made the beginning all a blur. But when you came to, you were already on the other side of the bar top. grabbing a hold of one of the white bar rags. The screams and gasps went in one ear and out the other. You reached down to the bartender who had slid down the back wall holding his neck with a large glass shard poking out of it. “Don’t touch it!” His hand quickly moved from it, as blood had already started to pool. 

You held enough pressure against the space to try to slow the bleeding but not enough to move the shard. “Someone better be calling 9-1-1!” You shouted mostly meaning it towards your group.

“What the hell do you think we are, idiots!”

Your smile was cut short by the panicked man in front of you. bringing you right back into reality and sobering you up fully. “I’m an E.R. doctor. On the other side is a whole handful of other nurses and doctors. All I need to do is shout and they’ll be here.”

“The station is on the other block, and they said they’d be here in three minutes!”

“All you need to do from here to the hospital is focus on breathing, staying awake, and not moving a single muscle. You can do that for me, right?” He started to shake his head but quickly stopped when he remembered what you said. “Right bad word choice.”

The whole ride was a nightmare. Not only was his vitals dropping, but the paramedics decided to take the bumpiest route. When the two paramedics were wheeling him in you were straddling him, holding the shard steady while also trying to do one-handed compressions. Besides doing CPR to “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun,” the only sound that actually registered in your head was Ellis' voice. “What the hell is she doing up there?”

“Y’all gunna keep on watching or actually help?” You remarked not taking your eyes off the glass. Knowing that if you moved it anymore then it would definitely hit something. You didn’t need to actually know if you were close or not. All the movement to get here was enough for you to know that it was too close for your liking.

“You heard her, trauma one!” Jack’s voice ordered, sending a new wave of energy through your body. 

Hearing an array of different voices around you call out different things. Hearing Jack saying who to call: ENT, Trauma, anesthesiologist. Ellis and Shen listed off all the different things they would need. It was seconds, or maybe minutes, before Walsh was coming through the double doors taking a look at him and you. Nothing was fully making its way to you. You were too busy with trying to get his heart to start beating again. 

That was until you heard his voice, cutting through thick muffled silence in your ears. “Give us the rundown.”

“I didn’t see how it happened but saw the remains of a shattered handle of vodka around him. Went through four different rags. As soon as we pulled in, I barely felt his pulse. It’s like the fucker knew or something.” you remarked, shaking your head, hearing him let out a small, airy laugh under his breath.

But you heard it.

Turning your attention back to the man's chest and see the grey wires and black wires coming out. Some were for an EKG and others were for his vitals. “Hold compressions.” His voice said as you did, holding the shard into place but at that moment, you let your fist unravel. The joints in your hand screamed for release. When one of the nurses announced he had a pulse, your body relaxed, not fully as the shard needed to stay put. “Thank god, you know how hard one-handed compressions are? Now how am I getting off without nicking anything?”

Eyes were now all on Abbot who nodded his head a few times, clearly trying to think through every solution he could as fast as he could. “Alright, Shen intubates after the sedatives kick in. If it's too hard to see, then we’ll go through the neck. Ellis will control the bleeding. You say what’s in your way, or what you need out of it. Hopefully Trauma finds their heads out of their asses and finds their way down here.” You didn’t need to look to know that Walsh was rolling her eyes at the comment, hearing her press buttons on her phone. 

“Great plan, except what about the person still on top of him?” 

Your attention was drawn over to your side where Jack was now leaning on the railing, dropping the metal down and out of the way. “I’m going to get you off, but you need to try and not move the shard.” 

Looking at him directly in his eyes, “I’m drunk not wasted, Doc.” He let out an airy laugh as he slowly wrapped his arms around your upper waist. The feeling of his cold skin against your hot skin started making your mind spiral. All the times tangled in between each other’s sheets. The mess of limbs on the couch for when the need for the other in that moment was stronger than the need to make it to the bed. You knew for a fact that Jack could hold you up. From the times he carried you into the bedroom with your legs around his waist. To the few times he had you against the wall, head buried in between your thighs and your fingers digging into his hair. 

“On three?” You nodded, his voice swiftly bringing you back. Loosening your grip of the glass, making sure it would stay in place as he counted. On three, he pulled you up, flesh against his chest, twisting the two of you to the side so everyone could at least get their hands into work. Moving his hands down to your waist, trying to keep you steady after your small wobble from side to side. It was like the rush of moving you had moved the remaining alcohol in your system and you were back to your nice buzz. 

“Come on, I’ll clean your hand.” He guided you to a private room with a hand steady on your lower back. 

Settling down at the foot of the white bed, watching as Jack went to the cabinets with a sink in the corner, gathering all the supplies he would need. Pulling the rolling stool over, he positioned the two of you so your leg was in between his. He placed everything onto the spot next to you. Taking your hands into his own and looking over it. His hand was cold, probably from all the times he had washed or used hand sanitizer on them. Compared to your warmth, thanks to the alcohol that was still in your system, your whole body felt warm. His hand was gently yet steady. Moving it back and forth in the light, seeing just how bad the damage was. “You got lucky,” He announced, rolling back and getting a bed pad. 

“Did I?” You held up your arm slightly upwards, trying to slow the blood flow. He raised his brows at you, not just the sight of you but your flirtatious tone. Pacing the pad onto his thigh, followed by your hand, causing heat to quickly flush your face. “Careful Doc, last time my hand was here, one thing lead to another. And then to another.” He smirked and you had to ground yourself to not jump onto him and kiss that smile.

At least not until he fixes your hand. A bit of silence passed as he brought the peri bottle up to view, “Want a count–”

“Just do it.” You cut him off, preparing yourself for the sting to come. His eyes watched you for a moment before looking down to your hand propped on his thigh.

When the clear liquid hit the tiny cuts your nails are gripped a hold of his shoulder. “Son of–” Your face scrunched up in pain, letting out a quiet hiss, trying not to yell a string of curse words that everyone could hear. “Aaanndd..” He strung out his words after double checking the wounds and giving it one or two more sprays. “And I’m done. You okay?” Your head was hung low, eyes shut as the sting pain started to dull out. Slowly opening your eyes to see you were eye level with him. He was waiting for you to answer, and wasn’t going to continue until you did. “Yeah, just forget how bad that stings.”

“Well, you already know what comes next so the worst part is over, right?” 

Slowly patting the few cuts you had on your fingers dry, applying some Neosporin onto them before slowly and carefully wrapping your fingers. All the while, you couldn’t take your eyes off him. Not because you were watching him to make sure he did a good job. You were a four-year resident and knew by now that Jack Abbot  knew what he was doing.

It was the touchiness. 

Each touch was filling your veins with a buzz that had you squirming in your seat. Hopefully, he blamed it on you being just cold. Which you were. It was always set to below freezing in the ER.

The silence was loud. The buzzing of the overhead light mixed with your heart beating in your eardrums almost killed you. His silence did. Nothing on his face told you that he wasn’t into you. Nothing showed that you had read into the wrong signs. Everything the two of you had done was nothing but mutual hookups. 

Nothing more. 

He wasn’t even saying anything. He was just looking at you, still touching your skin. That’s when he gave you a sign. His hand that was holding your wrist slowly moved to hold your hand, feeling his thumb tracing your knuckles.

Licking your suddenly very dried lips, pressing them together before smiling at him. “Hopefully you still liked my outfit, even if my top is covered in blood.” His eyes slowly took you in, the fabric clung onto your body like it was just one size too small. But his eyes then settled on the large blood stain that covered half your stomach, a few streaks on your chest from where the drenched ends of your hair met the white fabric. “Yeah, I think we’re going to have to cut your shirt off. Wait here I’ll get you another.”

“Why? I have a spare shirt in my locker. Just cut this one off and I’ll get it and let you go back to the chaos.” You spoke, stopping him half way to the door.

Turning to face you, it was clear he wasn’t down with your plan. Tossing the trash he had balled up followed by his gloves. “You wanna walk out there, in front of all your colleagues, in a bra and micro shorts?”

You stood up slowly; the easiest way to not make everything in the room spin faster. Taking a few steps closer to him as you spoke. “Aw, you do listen to me after all!”

He pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath. “You act as if I’m walking out there naked. I’ve worn worse to the club.”

“To dance all night?”

Nodding your head with a toothy smile, “That’s right! Never gonna stop ‘til the morning light.”

Letting out yet another heavy sigh. Finally looking back at you after what felt like years. You didn’t realize until this moment how much you actually loved and craved that stare of his. “You make me fucking crazy, ya know that?”

Raising two hands up in defense, “Don’t blame me for your psychosis.”

“You are my psychosis.” He quickly bit back; taking another step forward, leaving only a single inch between the two of you. 

A beat passed; the two of you just looked at the other. Staring at the other. Waiting for the other to make the first move. Thanking the small amount of alcohol in your system you took the chance. “Say the word, Jack and this stops.” He looked at you almost making you deflate inside yourself. A tilt of his head with that stare of his had you shifting your weight onto the other leg. Leaning into you, his lips brushing against your ear. “No. This stops only when you say so,” His voice rasped against your skin. “This doesn’t even start until you say so.” Swallowing the sudden dry spot in the back of your throat. Looking over to where his face was, trailing your eyes from either one of his before looking down at his lips. Each look being followed by a hot and heated memory of the two of you together. Eyes suddenly back on him with a blink before opening your mouth. “So.”

[satocidal]

cw: exhibitionism, possessive suguru <3

⋆·˚ ༘ * Now One thing about Cult Leader! Suguru is that he loves seeing your fat tears rolling down the apple of your cheeks, he revels in knowing he did that...

Something akin to a whine escapes his lips as you, his pretty little assistant suck him off, his eyes stuck on your eyes, a hand resting on the back of your head.

The meeting continued as per usual. It had become a slight habit now, a bad habit - you would start mouthing him off, telling him he was wrong about so and so numbers and well, then had have to remind you were just a monkey :(

albeit, his favourite one.

So very simply, with just a single slap to your cheek, softly, just to remind you, he would spread his legs and lean back, not a single care about the array of people who were there at his beck and call - this was important, this was you.

“Ah fuck that’s perfect,” Suguru whines again, acutely aware that he'll punish for making him sound so pathetic in front of all these fuckers later - admiring your movements, the way your head bobbed, the way his juices were coated all over your face. The way you were drinking him in, trying to shove as much of his length possible, a desperate hand begging to be allowed to fondle his balls.

He loved how needy you got.

And that was when the second slap landed, fingers combing through your hair, only to yank your cock-drunk face away, a scoff as he stared at you, "Did I say you can touch me?"

How could you not?

He looked so good. It was aggravating - rewarding - magnetizing, it was everything all at once.

and fuck—you really, really need his cock in your mouth.

A shake of your head, he could tell that head of yours was so empty, contrast to how sharp you were, which was the only thing that had compelled him to take you in

Well, that and the fact that he was a tad bit obsessed with you.

So you withdraw your hand, this time his hand guided you - finally - a beckoning, all his care to make sure you were doing fine between his legs, that you would also enjoy pleasing him, that this was a habit for you too.

Then came the firm shove, slowly, steadily, your nose pressed to his crotch and he kept you there, enjoying the sight. The cold breeze of the living room fan contrasts with the glossy layer of oil he’d rubbed all over you earlier, goosebumps erupting up your thighs and back.

"hold it f'me," he mumbled, a play, pretending he cared about those present, his hand reaching for the papers on the table, toying with the pieces as he urged some man to continue - an apology muttered through his teeth, a faux smile ever present, mind only stuck on the choked whimpers you could pass.

And you held it in always so well, he'd trained you for that after all, you were his best, his cute little assistant - how foolish.

But this was a show.

A reminder to everyone that this pet was his - and while he only smiled when any one of those business partners commented about you - you knew he didn't like it.

Evident in the slight cock of his brow, evident in the way his hips would start bucking - no longer using your mouth to just warm his cock but now fucking it - as a reminder.

For you and for them, often, for himself.

[formulakracing]

“well that’s too bad” — k.r.

pairing -> kimi räikkönen x dcc!reader

word count -> {typed this one on my phone}

warnings -> banter, lots of flirting, some sexual innuendos, kimi being protective, the grid being a bunch of goofballs/down bad, some cursing, light pda

a/n -> this is a request based off of this ask! anon, i love you and thank you for sending in an ask so that i could write about one of my favorite drivers (can we also talk about long hair kimi like…) i hope y’all enjoy!

"who is that?"

a blonde peers around the garage, cocking his head as the figure strolls toward the row of paddocks. licking his lips, he folds his arms across his chest.

"i don't know, but whoever she is, she's gorgeous. absolutely stunning."

the object of sebastian vettel’s desire brings a phone to her ear, her plush lips parting, brow furrowing. whatever she was doing, she was deeply invested, as she stopped dead in her tracks to make the call.

the fellow drivers gather around the blonde, almost gawking. there was no doubt this woman was absolutely ethereal, the gentle rays of the morning sun accentuating her features. a pair of low rise jeans hung from her hips, a white long sleeve clinging to her torso. a luxurious purse hung from her shoulder, the bag accessorized with all sorts of trinkets and a bow.

the most striking aspect of her outfit was the pair of cowboy boots on her feet, the black leather worn from years of wear.

an interesting choice, especially in monaco, but it suited her.

she was regal, carrying herself with an aura that exuded dominance and grace. and to sebastian’s delight, she started to make her way in the direction of the red bull garage.

was she single? there sure wasn’t a ring on that left hand. but she could have opted to leave it at home, where it was protected from the public eye.

it was a gamble really.

and sebastian was more than willing to take his chances.

"do you think i could get her number?"

"you? please. you wouldn't stand a chance."

"come on nico," lewis hamilton, british driver for mercedes scoffs, rolling his eyes, "and you think you could?"

“well, i guess we could ask her if she’s ever been to paris—“

"you guys really know how to make me chuckle," another voice cuts in, his spanish accent seeping into every word, "a woman of that caliber? she probably wouldn't even look in your direction—"

"hi boys!" a chirp rings out through the red bull garage, "i'm looking for my husband. i tried calling his cell but i couldn't reach him. do y’all know where he is?"

her voice was sickeningly sweet, thick with the twang of an accent.

not just any ordinary accent.

an american accent, a drawl that sebastian only heard from one region of that country.

the south.

clearing your throat, you survey the array of men milling about in the garage. you recognize them all in an instant, as your husband had dotingly shown you photos over the years. before you stood fernando alonso, sebastian vettel, lewis hamilton, nico rosberg, and daniel ricciardo. an elite group of drivers, but they did not compare to the man you were searching for.

it wasn't even close.

you were looking for a finnish man, fair in complexion with fluffy, golden locks of hair. a hue that reminded you of sunlight pouring through the leaves of a forest. he was shorter in stature, but muscular, with piercing, icy blue eyes.

well, piercing to some, but to you, they were beautiful, brimmed with nothing but adoration and joy. often, you would gush to him about how his eyes were like the summer sky. he detested this, grumbling how they weren’t that special, but you could always make out a boyish grin, his dimples making an appearance.

taking a step back, sebastian studies you, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. as you give your name to nico, a bell rings in his head. he couldn’t quite place a finger on it, but it sounded familiar.

almost like he had heard it before. mentioned a few times, actually.

“who’s your husband?” fernando puckers his lips, placing his hands on his hips, “is he an engineer? a mechanic? part of the media?”

“he’s a driver.”

“a driver?” lewis’ eyes widen, “are you sure? we would remember one of our own bringing a woman like you around the—“

“will you all stop pestering my wife?”

a rumble from behind you earns a flinch from the drivers. swiveling on your heel, you feel your mouth curl into a dazzling grin.

“sugar! i’ve been looking all over for you! this place is a maze.”

sebastian can’t help but feel his mouth fall open as kimi räikkönen scoops you up into his embrace, squeezing you tightly against his chest. giggles erupt, bouncing off the walls as he peppers your face with kisses, a giddy squeal rising in your throat as he murmurs sweet nothings into your ear.

shaking his head, lewis almost can’t believe what he’s seeing, “you have got to be shitting me.”

“you’re telling me!” nico mutters, glaring at sebastian, he arches a brow, “is this the woman he’s been rambling about for months on end?”

“she is,” daniel clears his throat, finally finding his voice, “you guys didn’t put that together the second she started to speak? you can tell that woman has lived in texas all of her life. she’s wearing cowboy boots for fuck’s sake. you guys really amaze me sometimes.”

“well sorry we’re not all detectives like you!” fernando pouts, throwing his hands in the air, “we were all under the impression that—“

“the impression that i was just some helpless little bunny makin’ her way through?”

your snarky words cut through, sending a ripple of shock throughout the boys. their heads turn, pairs of eyes falling on you.

clicking your tongue, you raise a hand, pointing at sebastian, “y’all know it’s rude to stare, right? i could feel you watching me from a mile away.”

kimi wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer, “why didn’t any of you let me know she was here?”

“they thought i was single,” you can’t help but feel a smirk begin to grow as the boys stutter, scrambling to find some sort of response that wouldn’t set kimi off any further.

“well that’s too bad,” finding your hand, kimi intertwines your fingers together, “because you’re my wife. you guys hear that? she’s mine. off. limits.”

“heard you loud and clear,” fernando flashes the finnish driver a thumbs up, “my apologies, kimi.”

“don’t apologize to me,” kimi snorts, “apologize to her.”

as the boys hang their heads, you can’t help but feel a chuckle tumble out as they start speaking in unison, like some schoolboys being chastised.

“we’re sorry.”

“that’s better,” tugging on your hand, kimi motions his head in the direction of his own garage, “come on, my love. let’s go.”

peering over your shoulder, you shoot the group one last wink, scrunching your nose slightly. giving them all a wave, you blow a kiss.

“it was nice to meet y’all! but if you’ll excuse me, i would like to be with my husband. hopefully you’ll all fare better on the track than how you court women. bye now!”

and as you walk away, kimi brings your hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to the gentle skin.

“i love you.”

linking your elbow with his, you lay your head on his shoulder, your heart cozy with bliss.

“and i love you, ice man.”

and for the rest of the day, the ice man would bear a radiant smile.

a sort of grin the rest of the grid had never seen before.

and that was all thanks to his cheerleader.

his wonderful, talented, smoke show of a cheerleader.

the one who happened to be not just any cheerleader, but his wife as well.

and if anyone wanted you?

well, that was too damn bad.

[moonlinos]

It would’ve been sweet if it could’ve been me

♡ Pairing: Bang Chan × fem!reader

♡ Genre: Single dad!Chan, friends to strangers to lovers

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), mentions of parental guilt, themes of loneliness, Chan is stuck in the past, lying, mentions of feeling lost in life, story spans over a number of years, nipple play, oral sex (male receiving), unprotected sex, creampie

♡ Word count: 8.2k

♡ Synopsis: Being a single dad to Hyerin is all Chan has known for the past four years. He and his ex-girlfriend reached an agreement that saw her going off to live a life she had always dreamed of while he was left with a life of loneliness, which he endured with a smile on his face for his daughter. A small gleam of hope seems to appear in his life in the shape of you. But hiding himself under a haze of lies seems to be his only option if he ever wants to keep you.

♡ A/N: Based off a request by anon! Thank you for requesting, this was so much fun to write 🩷 I will admit this is a lot more focused on Chan as a character than I originally wanted it to be, and I kinda went a bit crazy with the plot, but I hope you still like it! The song Chan sings to Hyerin is Little Star by Standing Egg 💗

Every day in Chan’s life is a monotonous, never-ending cycle. Like watching reruns of bad TV shows on gloomy Sunday nights, every second of his past and upcoming days is etched into his mind like a quilt of mundane tasks and repetitive moments.

But that wasn’t always the case.

Once, excitement filled his every waking moment. His weekends were a whirlwind of new places teeming with bustling crowds and unfamiliar faces who became fast friends. During his university years, he and his friends lived their lives with ardor, savoring every moment as if it could be their last. His days were filled with an array of unplanned parties and impromptu trips which brought a kaleidoscope of color to his life.

Until he met Dana.

He was about to graduate, and she swept into his life like a hurricane — flipping everything upside down before disappearing just as quickly, with only destruction and ashes remaining in her wake.

He was infatuated; she was bored. That was clear from the start, but Chan was too blinded by affection to be concerned with such a minute detail. So long as he got to have her by his side, he was happy. Their relationship lasted a year, yet it changed his life forever.

He was twenty-one when Dana announced her pregnancy. On his twenty-second birthday, she told him she didn’t want to be a mother.

By that point in his life, Chan had already forsaken everything he had for her. He turned his back on his old friends, the vibrant life he once led, and everything that once made him who he was. Without Dana, he would be left with nothing but the ugly reflection of his self-destructive choices made in the name of a loveless love.

And so, they came to an agreement. Dana would leave — that had been her plan from the start, anyway — but she would leave Chan with a small piece of their story.

Hyerin was born on November 20th, 2019.

Dana left on a plane to New York City on December 1st.

Now, the only speck of color in his life is Hyerin. In the four years Chan has been lucky enough to be her dad, he has found she is much more than simply a reminder of Dana or what could have been between them. Hyerin is his entire world. She is the love he’s unknowingly been searching for his whole life, and he would sacrifice every last bit of himself to make sure she only ever knows happiness.

They live a quiet life, with Chan working a less-than-fulfilling corporate job and spending all his free time with her. He sometimes allows himself to wonder what happened to his old friends — did they all eventually settle for the mundanity of adult life, or are they still chasing an endless thrill? But he never dwells on it too much. The sweet memories of his early twenties are now nothing more than a comforting escape when the weight of loneliness becomes too overwhelming.

Today is one of those days. A late Friday night after his shift, Chan sprawled on his couch with Jisung, a co-worker who became his first friend after many years, a silly smile on his face as he reminisced about a trip to Jeju in his sophomore year of college. This is how he lives most of his life; when he’s not in the present with Hyerin, he’s stuck in the past.

How could he not be stuck in the past? So many people he loved and memories he cherished were there.

“I don’t get how you just left all of that behind for someone,” Jisung scoffs, loosening his tie. “Why couldn’t she just join your group of friends?”

“It’s complicated,” Chan sighs, eyes wandering toward Hyerin’s bedroom door for the umpteenth time to make sure she’s still sleeping soundly. When he turns to look back at Jisung, his expression prompts him to elaborate. “What? You want the whole story?”

Jisung shrugs. “It’s not like we have any other plans for tonight.”

“Well, there was this girl in my friend group. We hooked up a lot, but our relationship went beyond that,” Chan explains, fingers tapping his thighs as the memories flood his mind. It was a sore topic, one he certainly didn’t enjoy remembering. “We never dated, but Dana was jealous, and I couldn’t blame her. Me and this girl were… very close. I couldn’t be in a relationship while also being that close to her, but I also couldn’t imagine us being only friends. So it was easier to walk away.”

Chan conveniently leaves out the fact that he walked away because an artificial love strangely provided solace for his heart, unlike the searing torment of unrequited love, which engulfed him like molten lava.

“And that was the last time you ever had that type of relationship with anyone?”

“With Dana? Yeah—”

“Hyung, you know what I mean. You told me yourself Dana didn’t love you,” Jisung points out. “I mean this other girl.”

Chan shrugs dismissively. “I guess, yeah. Doesn’t matter, though.”

And Jisung scoffs loudly at his words, rubbing his forehead with a sigh. Memories of that love flood Chan’s mind, and he's ready to let them sweep him away when Jisung abruptly turns so he sits facing him, resolve swimming in his eyes.

“Give me your phone,” his loud voice reverberates through the small apartment, prompting Chan to shush him with a stern look. “Give me your phone,” Jisung repeats himself with a harsh whisper.

Chan rolls his eyes but ultimately smiles at his friend. He retrieves his phone from the end table, handing it to a much too enthusiastic Jisung. “The password is Hyerin’s birthday,” he tells him, albeit a bit apprehensive.

He watches amusedly as Jisung types away at his own phone before doing the same on his, handing him the device with a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“What did you do, you little menace?” Chan questions the younger boy, narrowing his eyes. Jisung simply shrugs.

“I got you a date tomorrow. Thank me later.”

Chan immediately sits up on the couch, eyes darting toward his phone screen. A chat with a single message from him to an unknown contact makes him question his entire friendship with Jisung.

Me: I’m your date for tomorrow 😉 Me: O’neul restaurant, 6 pm. See you there, cutie

“Jisung, what the fuck?”

“What?” His friend asks between giggles. “Sora has this friend she said desperately needs a date, and I have you in the same situation,” he explains, clearly proud of himself. “I just did you both a favor while also getting boyfriend points.”

Chan’s eyes shift toward his phone once more, inwardly cringing at the messages with a heavy sigh.

“And was making me sound this creepy necessary?”

Jisung waves his hand dismissively. “Nah, that was just a little treat for me.”

“And why the fuck is her name Mystery Girl?” Chan queries, the irritation making him unknowingly raise his voice.

“It’s a blind date,” his friend explains. “This girl’s apparently super picky, kept turning down every guy Sora suggested. So, she came up with this solution. Can’t turn you down if she doesn’t know what you look like.”

Chan groans, ultimately sinking back onto the couch with a defeated sigh. Jisung was trying to be a good friend, he knew that, but he wasn’t at all thrilled with the prospect of a date. Not only did he not want one, but he also had no time for such a futile thing. He had Hyerin, and she was the sole reason for his existence. He didn’t need anyone meddling in their little world. But he didn’t have the courage to tell Jisung that.

It would be a lie to say the past four years weren’t lonesome. Falling asleep alone in a cold, empty bed was a sorrow he had simply grown numb to. Yet, he still yearned to have someone to share the grapples of routine life with, someone whose presence alone would effortlessly diminish his worries, someone he could make love to before falling asleep and waking up intertwined.

But he couldn’t afford to have that.

At least this date was bound to fail; the woman’s demanding nature, coupled with Chan’s unwillingness to even be there in the first place sure to make their wasted time brief.

Just as he’s about to grumble about the messages again, Hyerin comes stumbling out of her room, her small feet shuffling against the floor as she rubs her sleepy eyes.

“Oh, honey, were we being too loud?” Chan asks sweetly, and his eyes discreetly shoot daggers at Jisung, who mouths an apology.

Hyerin firmly shakes her head, the crooked pigtails Chan clumsily had tied this morning coming undone as she does so. He smiles at her, propping his elbows on his knees and waiting for her to speak her little mind.

“I had a dream,” she mumbles. “With a dragon.”

Chan gasps, hands wrapping around her tiny frame and picking her up before walking toward her room. It took him some time, but he ultimately learned that it’s best to ease her back into bed while she’s distracted, lest she throws a tantrum.

“And was it a nice dragon?” He asks. Hyerin giggles, and Chan is positive that the sound has the power to light up even his most somber days.

“Of course it was a nice dragon, daddy,” she tells him. “You said I only have nice dreams ‘cause my mind is pretty, remember?”

Chan nods as he gently tucks her back into bed, triple-checking that she is comfortable and warm. “Of course, of course. How could I forget?” He slaps a hand on his forehead with a sigh. “Hyerinnie has the prettiest mind. It can only make up pretty things.”

Hyerin smiles at him, tugging her blanket close to her chin, her doe eyes already heavy with sleep and blinking languidly. Chan asks her the same question he does every night, although the answer remains unchanging every time: would she like him to sing to her? She drowsily tells him she wants to hear him sing her favorite song, Little Star.

Chan promptly gets under the covers beside her — Hyerin pouting and whining about how he’s stealing her blanket for himself, to which he can’t help the hearty laugh that escapes his lips. Since turning four, she��s developed quite a strong personality that Chan soon finds he adores, much like everything about her.

He turns on his side to watch her features as he sings; her nose and mouth so similar to his, and the way she furrows her brows while falling asleep mirrors his own habits. Chan might not be a happy man in his job or his personal life, but the boundless happiness his little gift provides him surpasses anything else he could wish for. Every now and then, he finds himself wanting more, but it’s not long before he realizes he already has everything he needs.

Chan goes over his rather extensive list of how to care for Hyerin with Jisung for the tenth time that evening, making sure the younger man knows what to do in any situation that could arise in the couple hours he’ll be gone. Hyerin is the one to usher him out of the apartment, assuring him she’ll be fine with her uncle Han, and Chan has to stop himself from wallowing over the fact that his once tiny baby is rapidly blossoming into a young kid.

He made no real effort to dress for his date; a simple button-up shirt and jeans served him just fine, seeing as he plans to return home as soon as possible. His date and he haven’t talked much at all since his initial texts yesterday, texting each other only to confirm the time and place of their basically forced date.

He arrives fifteen minutes late, all but running from the bus stop to the restaurant while cursing Jisung under his breath. This was definitely not worth the hassle, and Chan wanted nothing more than to be back at home with his daughter. He’d pick watching Tangled with her for the hundredth time over an unwanted date in a heartbeat.

Chan finally walks into the restaurant, informing the waiter that he’s there to meet Cherry. His face visibly grimaces as he mutters the words. Fuck this blind date bullshit.

He’s led to his table, dragging his feet behind the waiter. His attention is immediately drawn to the pencil holding his date’s messy ponytail together. He chuckles quietly, circling around the table and forcing out a smile to introduce himself.

But then he’s met with a sight he had long given up hope of ever seeing again: you.

You, who were next to him as he made stupid decisions during college. Like when he drunkenly thought it wise to bet his laptop in a game of beer pong.

You, who always made him your special hangover soup after a party. He especially loved it when you let him keep the leftovers, knowing that he and his roommate were hopeless in the kitchen.

You, who filled the space in his cold sheets with warmth and always made his bed feel like a sanctuary.

You, who let him make love to you despite you both swearing to be only friends.

You, who later had to watch him walk away from you like a coward, driven by sheer fear.

You, staring back at him with a stunned look on your face.

“Chan?” You ask, an unsure lilt to your words.

And Chan embarrassingly fumbles over his words, his tongue tying itself into knots in front of you. He notices you pursing your lips to stop from giggling and clears his throat a bit too loudly, a few patrons turning their heads to look at him. But he can’t bring himself to care, not when it seems the universe has turned the wheels of his fate in his favor for once.

“Uh, hi,” is all his brain can muster among the jumble of thoughts inside his head. He mentally berates himself for acting so damn awkward when you’re clearly not as affected by this encounter as he is.

“Damn, it’s been so long,” you marvel, eyes not leaving his face for a second. “I thought you moved to a different country or something. It’s so strange how we never ran into each other.”

Chan forces out a chuckle, hands now fiddling with the menu on the table. Of course you two never ran into each other; he only ever leaves the house for work or when he has to accompany Hyerin, and he doubts you frequent playgrounds or zoos.

“Yeah, I… don’t go out much anymore,” he simply says.

You hum, and he properly takes in your appearance. You haven’t changed one bit; from your hair to your choice of clothes, you’re still the same girl who ruled over his every thought during college.

You two order your food and fall into an infuriating cycle of small talk. Chan doesn’t want to talk about the weather or if you have seen the latest movie yet — he’s desperate to ask you how you’ve been, if you ever pursued your dreams, if you can still outdrink anyone in your friend group, and—

And if you’re still single because you find relationships a hassle.

But as the food arrives, you fall into an even more frustrating cycle: silence. Chan feels restless, squirming in his seat every few minutes while you calmly eat and watch the people around you. He remembers your habit of scanning crowded rooms and making up stories for strangers with your vivid imagination. He wants to ask if you still do that, but it seems he’s only grown into more of a coward since your last encounter.

You’re the first to break the silence, waiting for the waiter to leave with your plates to ask what Chan has been doing since graduating. It’s a casual question with no weight to your words, as lighthearted as you have always been. And the complete opposite of his every possible answer.

How can he tell you he’s given up music altogether, now surrounded by gray walls and lifeless faces in his corporate job? How can he tell you he’s alone most of the time, partly by choice and partly because he doesn’t know how to dig himself out of this comfortable hole he’s trapped himself in?

How can he possibly explain that he agreed to be a single father, sacrificing his own happiness for the selfish whims of a woman who never even loved him?

You’re still the same; the same carefree eyes and attitude, same easygoing approach to everything life throws your way — such as meeting him again after years.

All of him has changed.

Chan can’t tarnish your colorful life, can’t sit before you and spill out his problems or grumble about the overwhelming loneliness in his life when he knows damn well that was a consequence of his own choices.

He wants nothing more than to be the same Chan he was in college. Creating life stories for strangers in dive bars with you, not caring about whether he’ll have enough money to pay the water bill next month, not having to bear the burden of something as precious as a human life depending solely on him.

It’s selfish, but he wants nothing more than to go back.

So he does.

“I actually still write songs, though it’s only a freelance thing,” he lies. He hasn’t written a single note in years. “Other than that, I’ve just been taking it day by day. Same as I’ve always done, I guess.”

And your eyes immediately light up — you’ve always loved his songs, after all. Your conversation flows much like it used to in the past after that, with you making witty jokes and Chan laughing loudly at them. You tell him you started working as an art teacher for the elderly when living off of commissions became impossible, and that you adore the stories they share about their younger years. They remind you of your own stories together, you admit with a genuine smile.

Your conversation is endless, continuing even as Chan walks you to your car in the empty parking lot. The night has grown colder, and the crescent moon gleaming in the sky above him almost feels like a sign that things will change for the better.

As you two stand in front of your car, a smile tugs at the corner of your lips. Ever the free soul, you ask him outright if he would like to come back to your place. There are no further implications hidden in your request beyond a hookup. Nothing’s ever heavy with you, every little thing always feeling light as a feather.

He says he would love to, but quickly excuses himself under the guise of calling his roommate about the spare key. Chan hurriedly calls Jisung as soon as he turns a corner in the parking lot, ensuring you won’t be able to hear him. It’s juvenile, the way he’s actually taking pleasure in almost creating a different version of himself — a version much closer to who he was when you were his, at least in some sense of the word. He’s a father, he should be responsible and dependable, but the weight of that role had been thrust upon him far too abruptly. He can’t be faulted for wanting to go back in time.

“Okay, I have no time to explain,” he blurts out as soon as Jisung picks up the phone. “Would it be too much to ask you to stay the night?”

Jisung chuckles at the other end of the line. “Damn, was the date that good?”

Chan ignores his sly comment, because yes, the date was everything he never thought it could be.

“I’ll be back first thing in the morning,” he assures him. “I’ll even pay you if you want. How much—”

“Hey, no need for that,” Jisung cuts him off. “You know I love looking after Hyerin.”

And the pang of guilt inside his chest at the mention of his daughter’s name almost knocks the air out of his lungs. He feels ashamed, as if he’s neglecting his daughter for a hookup, going after a fantasy that has long crumbled and faded away.

“How is she? Is she okay?” He asks, guilt washing over him like a wave. He hadn’t thought of his daughter for a second that entire night. “Did she cry at all? Did she notice I was gone for longer than I promised?”

Jisung calls out his name with a chuckle, prompting him to stop his rambling. “Relax. We painted each other’s nails, she did my makeup, had her dinner, and is now sleeping soundly after listening to another one of uncle Han’s phenomenal stories about frogs,” He details, causing a hearty laugh to fall from Chan’s lips at the image of Jisung’s face painted with Hyerin’s cheap children’s makeup. His friend then adds, “Go get laid, man.”

And so Chan hangs up the phone, all but running toward your figure waiting by your car. You smile at him, taking his hand and pulling him into a tight embrace. It’s the first time he holds you in almost five years, and he feels his dull world away from Hyerin slowly fill up with vibrant hues.

It takes you less than fifteen minutes to reach your apartment building, and Chan is thanking any higher power that might listen for that. The sheer anticipation of what is implied to happen once you two are alone together has him picking at his cuticles until it stings.

He’s nervous, to put it lightly. A couple of terrible drunken hookups in dingy motels after office gatherings were his only sexual encounters after Hyerin was born.

But once you’re standing in front of him in your living room, your eyes never leaving his even as you’re slipping off your heels, Chan knows you’re both equals in this playing field. 

He’s the one to pull you into a kiss, lips barely grazing against yours. But the feeling of finally kissing you again after so many years was like wildfire, consuming him wholly until the kiss turns feverish. His hand travels from your shoulders to your lower back, pulling you flush against his body. You hum against his lips, fingers clumsily undoing his buckle, and the prospect that you might be as eager as he is has him gripping the fabric of your dress.

Chan swears his vision goes black the moment your fingertips brush against his hardening erection, the feathery touch enough to make him sigh into your mouth.

A hand is pressed to his chest before he has the chance to think, and you’re pushing him backward until his back meets the wall. You immediately drop to your knees in front of him, leaning forward and nuzzling your face against his clothed cock.

“I missed you,” you whisper, hungry eyes looking up at him. “Don’t think I got to say that.”

Chan takes in the sight of you, memorizing and storing it in his mind alongside the countless images he already had of you on his knees for him. His fingers thread in your hair, your lips falling open with a sigh.

“I missed you too,” he professes. You have no idea how much.

With a smile, you quickly work his zipper open, pulling his jeans down his legs and pressing a wet kiss to his clothed erection. Chan feels your tongue lap at his member through his boxers, lips sucking around the head as your nails scrape the flesh of his thighs lightly.

It feels like you mouth at his length for hours, the light gray fabric of his boxers stained with your saliva and his precum, leaving Chan panting and tugging at your hair. You trail soft, wet kisses down his thigh while pushing his boxers out of your way, his cock already swollen and flushed. He’d be embarrassed for the way his body reacted so responsively to you if you weren’t also visibly as affected.

Your tongue circles his length languidly, lapping at a small bead of precum with a hum. Finally wrapping your lips around his tip, your tongue flicks teasingly beneath the head of his cock, Chan sucking in a deep breath and using his grip on your hair as leverage to pull you toward him. You almost obediently drop your jaw to slide his now fully hardened length into your mouth, your hand wrapping around the base as you begin to bob your head up and down his cock. Chan hisses your name when you relax your throat after a few passes, taking him fully into your pretty mouth, your nose brushing his pelvis.

“Fuck, you always looked so pretty like that,” Chan chokes out. “Pretty lips taking me so well.”

You groan at his words and the vibrations traveling along his shaft have Chan growling with a harsh tug of your hair, causing you to sputter as his cock hit the back of your throat. You seek purchase in his hips as tears prick the corner of your eyes. You’re unrelenting nonetheless, circling your tongue around him before pulling away, hands now sliding up his thigh before gently gliding over his balls. As you slowly lick from the base of his shaft all the way up to the sensitive tip, Chan’s gaze shifts down as he catches a glimpse of your thighs rubbing together. He feels himself twitch, and immediately pulls you away from him.

“Don’t wanna come like this, I need to fuck you,” he rasps out.

You stand back up, legs wobbly, and fumble with the buttons of his shirt while he slides your dress down your shoulders. Your movements are messy and filled with urgency, your breaths quickening as you both want nothing more than to strip away any form of barrier between you. Piling up five years of yearning will do that.

As your impatience reaches its peak, you tear open the last remaining buttons of his shirt, your nails grazing his skin as you slide the fabric down his shoulders. A wave of goosebumps travels across Chan’s body, and his hands abandon the task of removing your dress in favor of tracing the curve of your ass before picking you up off the floor.

“First door on the right,” you tell him, your words answering his unspoken thoughts as if you could read his mind. Chan nods, your proximity making it impossible for him not to press his lips to yours, tongue sliding over your bottom lip before licking into your mouth with a low hum.

He collides with a wall, missing the entrance to your bedroom by a hair’s breadth, and you giggle against his lips. Chan smiles back. Nothing’s ever heavy with you.

He lowers you onto the bed gently, his body instinctively slotting between your spread legs the way he did so many times before. You soon also wrap your thighs around his waist as you always did, pulling him closer until his cock is pressed up against your clothed pussy.

“Wanna ride you,” you tell him, grinding your hips forward and eliciting a quiet moan from Chan’s lips as he hastily nods. With a tight grip on your waist, he flips you both effortlessly.

Promptly sitting up on his thighs, you finally rid yourself of the inconvenient fabric of your dress, followed by your bra, your nipples instantly hardening. Chan sits up, eyes transfixed on your chest as his calloused thumbs trace the nubs before his lips circle around one, sucking harshly. As you gently roll your hips, he can feel the way your soaked panties cling to his skin as your core presses up against his thigh.

Your fingers tangle in his hair with a whimper, pushing his face into your breasts as he bites the sensitive skin. His lips leave your nipples with a wet sound, then trailing kisses up the column of your neck until his gaze is locked on yours again. He was dying to mark you, bite and suck on your skin until it blossomed into a beautiful maroon — but he knew better. You weren’t twenty anymore, and you weren’t his; in no sense of the word.

“I’m on the pill,” you tell him, eyes heavy with lust.

And he knows this is a terrible idea. This was exactly how he came to be a father.

But it’s not his mind that’s doing the thinking, and so he nods, his grip on your hips tightening as you pull your soaked panties to the side just enough to slide the swollen tip of his cock against your slick folds. Chan sucks in a breath, fighting a war against his own body not to come from this feeling alone. It wasn’t just how long it had been since he was with someone, it was you. It was all you. The effect you had always had on him having never faded, simply laying dormant until his body had you again.

Chan rests his forehead on yours as you slowly sink down on his length. His lips find your neck again, gently sucking the skin into his mouth as you slowly grind down on him, a whine falling from your lips and going straight to his cock. His hips buck up unwittingly, causing you to moan loudly in his ears. But your slow pace remains, and Chan knows he should savor this moment, but he wants nothing more than to fuck you into the mattress until he forgets every minor issue aggravating his brain.

Such as the fact that he knows you will leave his life again the second you find out he lied to you.

So his hands find your waist and he flips you down onto the mattress once more. His eyes bore into you as you suck in a breath.

“Fuck me,” you plead, hips grinding into his cock again. “I want it, please—”

Chan doesn’t waste another second, retreating only to plunge back harshly into your cunt. He moves with deep strokes, hips falling into an erratic rhythm, your nails digging into his back as your thighs clenched around his waist. All he can hear is static and your choked moans as he presses you into the mattress.

“Missed this so fucking much,” he groans against your ear. And finally succumbing to his desires, he bends down to suck and nibble on the delicate skin of your neck, mind too focused on how your walls squeeze around him to worry about marking you. He laps at the small bruises he leaves behind, your fingers tangling in his hair as you mewl.

You roll your hips, matching his rhythm, and Chan feels a familiar heat rise within him. He reaches down to glide small circles around your clit, your body jolting and squirming. He absentmindedly smiles against your skin.

After an entire night of pretending his life was the same as it was five years ago, fucking you required no acting.

“It’s too much, fuck,” you whimper, tugging him by the hair until your lips are crashing together in a sloppy kiss. Your walls tighten around him, body clenching as the tension finally snaps, your orgasm coursing through your shaking body as Chan growls into your parted lips.

He keeps fucking into you, until his hips meet yours one last time, and a low groan reverberates through the room. His cock twitches inside of you as his body stills, filling you with his warm release which leaked out of you and onto your sheets as he pulled out with a sigh.

Chan throws himself onto the mattress, labored breaths leaving his heavy lungs. He pulls you into his arms, and you melt into his embrace as if it were a habit. It’s as though he’s gone back in time, even if temporarily.

He feels like he’s simply a guy making love with the girl he adores in the familiar comfort of his dorm room again.

When the first rays of sunlight seeped into your room, Chan was already awake. He watched as you slept, eyelids fluttering and a small smile adorning your lips.

It was as if you were his, in every sense of the word.

Guilt.

That’s what Chan feels every time he sees Hyerin’s laughing face on his phone’s wallpaper when he’s out, entertaining the silly lie he crafted.

It’s been two months since you reconnected and you effortlessly slipped him back into your life. The reunion with his old friends was expected — but Chan dreaded it, regardless. He found that out of the nine people that once comprised their group, only five remained. He wasn’t the only one who had gone his own way.

But he was the only one who had done it in the worst way possible, carelessly ghosting every single one of them, hoping his existence gradually faded from their memories.

That made facing his once best friend frightening. Minho was the first friend he made on the very first day of university, when Chan walked into his dorm room only to find he had snuck his cat into the building.

They were roommates for two years, and best friends for four. Chan complained loudly when he was assigned a new roommate. Minho was silent as he watched his best friend turn his back on him with no explanation.

Minho initially ignored him entirely, and Chan doesn’t fault him. When his vibrant face turned cold upon seeing him walk into a bar, Chan knew he earned that the moment he decided to ignore his friend’s every text message and phone call. When Minho made backhanded remarks about how nice it felt to have him back in their group, he knew he deserved it for not answering the door the only time his friend came looking for him.

It takes a drunken argument leading to a fist colliding with Chan’s cheek for Minho to finally address him. It takes them being escorted out of the bar by security for them to finally have a conversation, tears and resentment flowing freely as they sat at a bus stop late at night. After that, their friendship returned to what it was before, as if they had never been apart even for a second.

Despite the years and the changes, Minho was still his best friend — which was why he was the only person he came clean to.

Hyerin loved Minho, especially his cats. Her new favorite pastime quickly became going over to his house to play with her new ‘friends’, as she called them. And Chan was overwhelmed with happiness to witness his best friend falling under his daughter’s spell — his house now containing its very own box filled with every toy Hyerin mentioned even once, his kitchen stocked with all her favorite foods, and his cats falling asleep beside her anytime they came over to visit.

It was as if he was watching his two worlds collide. His past and present, which he had separated out of a senseless fear, intertwined so effortlessly it made him feel stupid for ever thinking he needed to build this barrier. For assuming the people he loved so much would reject him.

Made him feel even worse for walking away in a futile attempt to protect his feelings, because it only resulted in more hurt.

After so much of his time spent wondering, Chan finally has the answer to his questions. Some of his friends did settle for an ordinary adult life, some already married and some focusing their energy solely on climbing the corporate ladder. Still, some remained relatively unchanged — much like you did.

His social life blossomed again after reconnecting with his old friends. However, he still refused to hire a nanny, too fearful to leave Hyerin to a stranger’s care, resulting in constantly having to come up with excuses when his parents aren’t able to babysit. He won’t deny that he often fabricated these lies purely because staying in with his daughter and watching Tangled now outweighs any appeal of noisy nightclubs.

Jisung remained his salvation whenever he wanted to spend the night at your place, with Chan slowly but surely running out of reasons as to why you can’t go to his apartment for a change. He hasn’t had the heart or the courage to tell you the entire truth yet, only owning up to his lie about his job after you understandably asked him to listen to his new music and he was put on the spot.

Ever since you walked back into his life, he finds himself weaving a web of little white lies that slowly chip away at his heart.

He’s at a small gathering for his friend’s birthday, listening to Minho all but eulogize his fiancee. They have been a couple since university, Chan playing the wingman and encouraging his friend to finally do something about his crush (mostly because he couldn’t handle any more of Minho’s whining before going to sleep). Despite what everyone around them surmised, they beat all the odds and statistics and stayed together even after university. Chan would be happier about that if he hadn’t bet money on them breaking up before graduation. He wonders if Hongjoong will ask for his twenty bucks now that they’re friends again. 

“No, really, settling down with someone is so good,” Minho says after another shot of Soju, a silly smile etched onto his lips. “I thought I would hate it, y’know? Thought slapping such a significant title on our relationship would wear it down, but it’s the complete opposite. Ever since she proposed, it’s like we’re two love-struck nineteen-year-olds again.”

Chan smiles, saying they should drink to that purely because he hopes the sensation of alcohol burning his throat will numb his overwhelming jealousy. After congratulating Minho for the umpteenth time, he finds himself listening to yet another story about his relationship.

And he’s happy for Minho, just as much as he’s happy for Wonwoo for getting married last year. He couldn’t express the overwhelming joy he felt upon discovering these people, who once meant so much to him, had successfully navigated their way through life. But envy rears its ugly head every time he listens to one of their stories, because Chan’s direction in life seems to be a winding road. He’s a father, and his love for Hyerin is immeasurable, but he’s still actively lying about this side of him simply because he feels as if maybe he made the right choices in life at the worst possible time.

As he’s walking out of Hongjoong’s apartment with you later that night, he wraps an arm around your waist, a smile spreading across his face when you nestle closer to him. You two discuss Wonwoo’s marriage, with you talking about how beautiful the ceremony was, but ultimately scowling at the mere thought of getting married. Chan feels the corner of his heart crack at your words, but he laughs it off.

“Do you think he wants kids?” he wonders aloud.

He expects you to laugh at his sudden curiosity. He doesn’t expect you to dig at the fissure in his heart with your words, causing it to shatter completely.

“Gosh, it’d be so weird to see.” You cringe, snuggling deeper into his arms as a chilly breeze brushes against you two. “I like kids, but I’d never have them myself. Feel like it’d kinda ruin my life.”

Chan feels his grip on your waist loosen.

“Having kids doesn’t ruin your life,” he reasons. “You’re given the chance to care for something so precious, so important to this world…” he trails off, shaking his head and taking a step away from you. It feels as if exasperation has filled his entire being. “You look into their eyes and see yourself, and it’s— the love you feel when you first see them is so pure and earth-shattering that you can’t think of anything but how to make that tiny being only experience the good in the world. It doesn’t ruin your life.”

You eye him with confusion, cocking your head to the side and huffing out a laugh. “You talk like you know what that’s like. If you ever have kids one day, then you’ll know—”

“But I do know,” he’s yelling before he can stop himself, his footsteps coming to a halt. “I know because I have that. I have that and it’s the most precious thing in my life and yet I’ve been taking it for granted. And for what?”

He scoffs bitterly, his gaze fixing on your features; your flushed cheeks and slightly smudged lipstick, the way your puzzled eyes gleam under the moonlight. He shakes his head. 

“For childish illusions. The illusion that I could go back in time if I pretended hard enough, the illusion that this romanticized idea I have of my early twenties was superior to the life I have now,” Chan lets out a heavy breath, averting his gaze to the pavement. “The illusion that I could ever have you.”

“So it’s my fault you chose to lie about being a dad?” You blurt out.

He doesn’t lift his head. He can’t, the burden of guilt and shame weighing too heavily on his shoulders for him to face you.

“It’s my fault. You were simply the catalyst.”

“What do you even mean?”

“I mean I’ve always felt this way,” he exasperates, finally lifting his head but keeping his gaze anywhere but on you. He’s a coward. “I’ve always felt like maybe I was too young to be a dad, too immature to fully understand the consequences of the choices I made. I don’t regret my daughter, but I certainly regret the timing, and this haunts me every day. Meeting you again just made these feelings worse because you represent everything about my past that I no longer have.”

You remain quiet for a beat, but it feels like an eternity as Chan is forced to endure the deafening ring of your silence.

When you finally speak, your voice is unsteady. “You know, that’s why I always figured it was for the best that you left.”

“What?” Chan turns his gaze toward your face at last, your words stomping on his scattered heart one last time. He expects anger, but sorrow has taken over your expression, one so heavy he doesn’t recall a single moment in the years he’s known you where he’s seen you like this.

“You were always like this, Chan. You might think you were a different person back then, but you said it yourself,” you shrug with a sullen chuckle. “It’s only an illusion.”

He hums, nodding his head as it dawns on him. “You were never gonna be mine, were you? No matter what I did. I lied to you because I thought you would never want someone like who I am today. But I guess that was all in vain, ‘cause I’ve always been like this.”

“You always talked about getting married, settling down, having kids.” As you run a hand through your hair, an exasperated sigh falls from your lips. “You went along with our bullshit, but even back then, you were always like the dad of our group. This has always been you, Chan, but that’s not a bad thing. Don’t think you need to change or lie about who you are ‘cause you’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met, but…”

He scoffs. “But?”

“But we’re too different. We’ve always been. We’re great together in every way but the way you want us to be — the way I would love for us to be as well,” you simply say, offering him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“And would it kill you if we tried? ‘Cause this unfulfilled hope has been killing me since I first fell in love with you.”

“What’s her name?” You simply ask, avoiding his question altogether. Chan furrows his brows. “Your daughter, what’s her name?”

He shifts on his feet. “Hyerin.”

“I hope she knows how lucky she is to have you as a dad.”

Chan shakes his head. “I’m far from the perfect father.”

“Good,” you state matter-of-factly. “Perfect wouldn’t be you.”

You fall into a much lighter silence, although it’s still far from comfortable. A swarm of questions fills Chan’s mind, but his words fade into silence and die on his lips.

He knows everything is over when you suck in a sharp breath, muttering, “I can’t be what you need. When love becomes too serious, I feel trapped and run away. You know what that’s like,” you trail off. “I know we loved each other back then, and I know I still love you now, but I think it’s my turn to walk away. I’m sorry, Chan.”

And just like that, he’s left to watch your figure slowly grow smaller and smaller as you fade into the dimly lit street. You don’t reprimand him for lying or question if he also loves you still. You don’t explain why you can’t make an effort, probably because you’re unsure of the answer yourself. It turns out you both remained unchanged.

And after all this time, it’s only then that Chan realizes you were always just as lost as he was.

Chan didn’t allow himself to think much about you since he watched you walk away that night. He missed you often, as he had done for so long before your last encounter, but he had long grown numb to that feeling.

In the two years he was apart from you for the second time, he learned that life isn’t black or white. He could be a father while also being his own person; a son, a friend, a boyfriend. He learned that prioritizing Hyerin didn’t mean neglecting himself, as that would negatively impact her as well. She couldn’t only know happiness if her father was always dripping with sadness.

He learned he doesn’t have to choose between who he is now and who he was at twenty years old; they were both him, with certain moments bringing out glimpses of one or the other.

Hyerin started elementary school and is blossoming into a caring little girl, no longer needing Chan to tie her pigtails in the morning or remind her to brush her teeth before bed. Although she still demands that they maintain their nightly routine of lying together until she falls asleep to the sound of his voice singing her favorite song.

During his first parent-teacher conference — after walking into the classroom fifteen minutes late — he’s stunned to see you sitting across from him yet again, a pencil holding up your ponytail the same way it did that night at the restaurant. He couldn’t help the smile that spread on his lips.

You were Hyerin’s teacher. He recalled picking her up after her first day of school and listening to her gush over the art teacher who was so pretty and nice, and talking about how she wanted to be like her when she grows up.

It felt as if you were destined to find each other every time one of you chose to walk away.

Your friendship picked up again slowly this time — no rushing into bed together and no rushing into long overdue serious conversations. They had already been avoided for years, anyway, they could wait a bit longer. This is exactly what you needed; patience. Chan had never had the patience to wait for you, while you never had the patience to understand your own feelings.

It’s been ten months now, and he’s yet again sitting before you. The teachers and parents converse around you both as you sit in silence. When you think no one is watching, you exchange glances, struggling to suppress the silly smiles that insist on spreading across your faces.

As people leave the room one by one after the meeting, Chan approaches you.

“You’re Bang Hyerin’s father, correct?” You speak with a grin.

“Correct.”

“She’s an amazing kid,” you tell him.

He smiles, shifting his gaze toward his feet before his eyes find yours again as you speak.

“We could grab a coffee this weekend.”

This time, there are further implications hidden in your request. You’re not asking as a friend, like you’ve been doing these past months. Some things are heavy with you now, and this is something he’s only recently come to find. He’s also come to find that he loves that change.

So he answers, “Sure. Tomorrow at three?”

“Then I’m your date for tomorrow,” you say with a giggle. “See you there, cutie.”

And Chan lets out a hearty laugh at that, which earns him a scolding look from the other teachers in the room.

He isn’t sure what will come of this. Maybe you two are better off as friends and all it will take is a couple of months to figure that out. Maybe time has changed you both more than he can understand, and you will finally be able to try something real after all these years of unfulfilled hopes and childish illusions.

Either way, Chan knows he won’t let go of you this time.

He wants you to be his, in any sense of the word.

♡ taglist: @bloom-ings, @linocz, @farahia, @mirbokk, @jisunglyricist, @jazziwritesthings, @seungseung-minmin, @yourcvndx, @hynjinnnnnnnie @vlctorriaa @yongbokkiesworld

[andy-15-07]

Infinite Horizons

PAIRING: Reed Richards x reader

WORD COUNT: 1159 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The Baxter Building hummed with the quiet energy of invention. Fluorescent lights cast a cool glow over the laboratory, where papers, holograms, and whiteboards filled with intricate equations surrounded a single figure.

Reed Richards stood before a towering chalkboard, writing with swift, precise strokes, his mind working at a speed no ordinary person could match. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing forearms dusted with chalk. His dark curls were slightly tousled, and his eyes burned with concentration as he scrawled symbols in a methodical yet fluid rhythm.

You leaned against the doorway, watching him. Admiring him.

There was something about seeing his mind at work that left you breathless. The way his brow furrowed, the way he whispered numbers under his breath, the way his fingers absentmindedly tapped against his chin when he hit a snag in his calculations—it was mesmerizing.

And he hadn’t even noticed you yet.

Smirking, you finally spoke. “You know, Reed, most people don’t spend their Friday nights romancing a chalkboard.”

His hand stilled mid-equation. He turned, his sharp eyes softening the moment they landed on you. “Y/N,” he said, and just like that, the tension in his shoulders eased. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

You stepped forward, arms crossed, head tilted in playful scrutiny. “You were too busy proving the meaning of the universe to notice, Professor Richards.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not quite. Just solving a little problem in quantum instability.”

You raised a brow. “A little problem?”

He turned back to the board and gestured at the dizzying array of symbols. “I’m attempting to stabilize the quantum field distortions in our multiversal gate. Right now, the energy fluctuations are unpredictable. If I can refine the equation, I might be able to prevent spontaneous breaches.”

You stared at the equations, pretending to consider them seriously. “Mmm, yes. Of course. Looks like... numbers.”

Reed laughed—a warm, low sound that made your heart flutter.

“You’re impossible,” he murmured, his fingers brushing over your wrist as he pulled you closer.

“And yet, here you are, madly in love with me,” you teased.

His lips quirked. “Madly.”

Your heart did an embarrassingly giddy flip, but you disguised it with another playful remark. “So, what happens if you don’t solve this equation?”

Reed sighed, running a hand through his curls. “Worst case scenario? Unstable dimensional rifts. Possibly reality imploding. Best case scenario? I get a headache and need coffee.”

You gasped dramatically. “A headache? We’re doomed.”

His eyes twinkled. “Not if you stay here and keep distracting me.”

You smirked but didn’t move away. Instead, you stepped behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek against his back. You felt him exhale, his muscles relaxing under your touch.

“Your brain is my favorite thing,” you murmured. “Well, one of my favorite things.”

His hand covered yours, fingers lacing together. “That’s comforting.”

“What’s the other worst-case scenario?” you asked, tracing lazy circles on the fabric of his shirt.

Reed hesitated, then sighed. “The math isn’t adding up. If I don’t find the missing variable, I can’t stabilize the distortions. Which means—”

“—which means no experimental travel through the multiverse anytime soon,” you finished.

He turned in your arms, facing you fully. “Exactly.”

You studied him for a long moment. “How long have you been at this?”

His silence was telling.

You groaned. “Reed. Have you even eaten today?”

He pressed his lips together in thought. “I had coffee.”

You placed your hands on your hips. “That’s not food.”

He exhaled through his nose, amused. “I was in the zone.”

“You always say that.”

“And it’s always true.”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed his hand. “Come on, genius. You’re taking a break.”

He resisted for half a second before relenting. “Fine,” he murmured. “But only because you’re bossy.”

You smirked. “And because you love me.”

He squeezed your hand. “That too.”

You sat cross-legged on the couch in the lounge, watching Reed as he leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee. The kitchen was bathed in warm, golden light, making him look impossibly soft despite the sharpness of his intellect.

“So,” you started, “what’s the missing variable?”

Reed sighed, rubbing his forehead. “That’s the problem—I don’t know. The math should work, but there’s a fluctuation that keeps throwing it off.”

You tapped your chin. “Couldn’t it be an external factor? Something you haven’t accounted for yet?”

He hummed in thought. “Possibly.”

“Have you considered... I don’t know, the energy signature of whoever’s opening the breaches? Maybe the anomaly isn’t in the math but in the source itself.”

Reed’s eyes widened slightly. “You might be onto something.”

You grinned. “Of course I am. I’m brilliant.”

He smirked, setting his mug down before walking over and placing his hands on either side of your head, trapping you in. “You are. And now, I’m going to need your help.”

Your brows lifted. “My help? In quantum physics?”

Reed grinned. “I need a second set of eyes. Even if they’re skeptical ones.”

You sighed dramatically. “I suppose I could lend my expertise.”

He chuckled and kissed your forehead. “Then let’s get back to work.”

Hours passed as you sat together in the lab, Reed scribbling equations while you sat beside him, offering insights where you could. It was a strange dance—you weren’t a scientist, but Reed valued your perspective. He thrived on discussion, on the challenge of explaining concepts in ways you could understand.

And you? You just loved watching him work. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, Reed froze.

Your head shot up from where you’d been resting it on your hand. “What? What is it?”

His eyes flickered with realization. “You were right.”

You blinked. “Obviously. But about what?”

He grabbed your shoulders, excitement radiating off him. “The anomaly wasn’t in the equation itself—it was an external force! If I adjust for the unique energy signature of the breaches, the entire system stabilizes!”

You grinned. “I mean, I did suggest that hours ago.”

He shook his head, grinning. “You did. And I was too busy overcomplicating it to listen.”

You leaned closer, whispering, “Say it.

He narrowed his eyes. “Say what?"

“That I was right.”

He sighed dramatically. ���Y/N was right.”

You smirked. “And?”

His lips twitched. “And Reed Richards was wrong.”

You gasped. “A historical moment. I need this on record.”

He kissed you before you could gloat further, his lips warm and insistent. You melted into him, savoring the quiet triumph in his touch. When he pulled away, his voice was soft.

“You’re my favorite variable.”

Your heart clenched in the best way. “And you’re my favorite genius.”

Reed exhaled, resting his forehead against yours. “Thank you for keeping me grounded.”

You smiled, fingers brushing through his curls. “And thank you for reaching for the stars.”

And in that moment, with the weight of the universe pressing against him, Reed Richards knew—no equation, no discovery, no multiverse could ever mean more than you.

[golddustwomanwins]

BANG BANG

Cam boy Patrick Zweig x Reader

18+

You‘re searching your sweater in Patrick’s dorm when you accidentally happen to come across certain videos of him on his laptop.

This is a little short but it came to me like an epiphany.

You considered committing murder for the first time in your life. Your victim: Patrick Zweig. Your best friend had the awful habit of borrowing your stuff without ever returning it. You kept a dwindling number of sweatshirts that grew precariously smaller with him borrowing them all the time. Right now you were ruffling through his dorm room, trying to find the red Stanford sweater you lend him last time he was with you. It was your lucky sweater and you had an upcoming exam in which you desperately needed a good pound of luck.

Empty noodle boxes littered his desk, stiff socks you gagged at laying on the dirt carpet. You barely dared to touch any of his stuff, only pushing them around aimlessly to find your sweater under the piles of clothing. You had searched everywhere at this point, no clue where it could be. Your eyes found a book slightly peeking out from under the bed. Without hesitation you climbed onto the mattress, narrowly avoiding knocking off his laptop before bending over the edge to get a glimpse of the dark pit what was the underside Patrick‘s bed.

You almost groaned at the masses of tissues, trying not to think of what was inside. Patrick was seriously wrong in the head at this amount of tissues. But then you saw a glimpse of red. Jackpot. Shoving the tissues aside with your sleeve, you groaned as you stretched all the way to reach your sweater. The red blinked temptingly at you but you were too far away.

You stretched your body even further, legs kicking and a moment later, your fingertips grazed the fabric.

„Yes!“ you exclaimed, pulling the sweater out. As you got up on the mattress properly your knee hit the space button on his laptop, waking up an array of pictures and sound.

„Oh fuck,“ you went to turn it off when the image cleared, someone setting up a camera in a red Stanford sweater. Your red Stanford sweater. You sat down unable to do or say anything as the video progressed. The video couldn‘t have been taken too long ago, you only lend him the sweater last week.

You watched closely while Patrick lay in his gingham boxers, hand fiddling with the waistband while he stared directly into the camera. This was wrong. You should stop the video and close the laptop. This was a private video. But you couldn‘t. Physically weren’t able too. You flushed crimson as if he was actually watching you, his hand dipping into his boxers. He still had your sweatshirt on, slightly riding up as he palmed his cock over the boxers. A soft groan passed his lips and your core clenched at the sound.

Who was he doing this for?

His hand finally dipped fully into his boxers and pulled out his half hard cock. You gasped at the picture; thick head swollen with a bead of pre cum. Even half hard he was bigger than you could’ve imagined. You always thought Patrick to be all talk.

He put one hand behind his head as he slowly stroked his cock with a sure grip. You were frozen, leaning slightly forward to not miss a single detail. You watched his cock grow achingly hard in his hand, his strokes growing faster. Moans and groans kept passing his lips lewdly, making you put your hand between your legs and clamp your thighs around it. You didn‘t dare touch yourself, only easing the pressure building inside you. Rivulets of pre cum were running down his cock, making wet sounds as he kept the steady movement of his hand.

You watched as Patrick fucked his fist like a slut, moaning with parted lips. A string of spit was connecting his upper lip with his bottom lip, his cheeks flushed furiously. You could tell he was growing impatient, his hand slapping against his groin with every hard stroke, hips bucking upward into his hand. His hips moved faster, words tumbling past his lips, “you’re being so good for me, baby.”

Your eyes flickered from his pretty face to his hand, dark curly hairs making way for his hard shaft. You couldn‘t help but imagine how your own hand would look around it, so much smaller than his.

„Fuck—ohh god“ he huffed. „Such a good slut.“ His eyes fluttered shut and your heart stopped when he burrowed his nose in your sweater. A moment later his hips bucked up furiously, hot ropes of cum spewing from the tip. Your lips parted again, a soft moan escaping the moment Patrick slipped out a deep groan. He was calming down as spurts of his semen continued to flow out of his cock. Suddenly a hand appeared and hit the space bar. You looked up right into the face of your best friend.

„What are you doing, baby?“ Patrick asked.

[prokopetz]

While we're talking about AnyDice, do you know if there's a way to accurately test the probability of multiple outcomes on unconventional dice? The below link is an abriged test of an implementation of FFG's Genesys dice I found on a forum thread; the tester was trying to work out if the implementation was even correct, and testing for 2 Advantages AND two Successes on one ability dice (which is impossible, but AnyDice gives 1.56%). The ability dice is a d8; only one side has 2A and only one side has 2S, and they're different sides. The intuition is that because the advantage sides and the successes sides are defined in different orders, the same index for success and advantage should be used which will never see a 2 on both arrays. AnyDice just outputs the intersection of the two 1-in-8s, 1/64 = 0.015625. Do you know of any way to get the intuitive output, or is this just a reflection of AnyDice being a probability calculator and not a dice roller? https://anydice.com/program/3aeb3

Yeah, no, that's completely wrong. What you've got there is is a script to generate the results of rolling two dice, one of which has only success symbols and no advantage symbols, and the other of which has only advantage symbols and no success symbols. That's where your unexpected intersection is coming from.

The problem here is that, because each die can have multiple kinds of symbols on it, potentially including multiple kinds of symbols on a single face, and we care about the total number of each kind of symbol, our odds become a sum of vectors rather than a sum of scalars. I'm not aware of any widely available dice probability calculator that can elegantly handle dice which produce vector results.

We can cheat a bit in this particular case, though, because the fact that we don't need to deal with negative numbers means we can convert a vector result to a scalar result by assigning each symbol a power of ten.

For the sake of argument, let's assign each "success" a value of 10, and each "advantage" a value of one. Thus, a face with one "success" symbol becomes a 10; a face with two "success" symbols, a 20; a face with one "success" and one "advantage", an 11; and so forth.

In the table of results, we then examine the digits individually, with the "tens" place being read as the number of success symbols, and the "ones" place being read as the number of advantage symbols.

Expressed in this way in AnyDice terms, a Genesys skill die becomes:

output 1d{0, 10, 10, 20, 1, 1, 11, 2}

In the resulting table, you'll see that your anomalous intersection has vanished; there's a 12.5% chance of "2" (that is, two advantages with zero successes), and a 12.5% chance of "20" (two successes with zero advantages), but no "22" (two successes with two advantages).

Note, however, that this only works correctly with up to four dice; with five or more, there will be some outcomes where the number of advantage symbols exceeds nine and "overflows" into the successes column, polluting your results.

Clear as mud?

[makeitworse]

MAGAZINE sweet n’ sour ʚ𖦹ɞ

a full relationship timeline of the highly publicised and rocky romance with pop princess y/n and rapper thanos.

the release of her debut album ‘sweet tooth’ hallmarked y/n as a music phenomenon, sweeping the charts with lead single ‘sugar rush’ breaking pop records.

all eyes have been on y/n since she’s been crowned a pop princess— which caught the fancy of fellow artist thanos, known for his rap music and signature purple hair.

LOVE AT FIRST GLANCE

the couple first encountered via instagram, where the popstar had shared an array of sultry mirror photos. thanos left numerous comments under the post, brashly stating his attraction to the singer.

ttthanos ✓ DAMNNN MAMACITA 😍😍🔥🔥 ttthanos ✓ check your dms mamaaaaaaas ttthanos ✓ you gotta bf ??? can he fight user does he know we’re also seeing these??

thanos even took to his instagram story, reposting it and publicly shooting his shot.

the crossover had fans of the artists in an uproar. the pair’s contrasting style and music made for an interesting match, which fans of the singer quickly started shipping.

however, after days of no public acknowledgment from y/n, thanos vaguely confirmed in a comment that the popstar had declined his advances.

user someone tag me when she responds ttthanos ✓ nah she playin

despite this, fans didn’t stop shipping the two, and their hopes would later be fulfilled, as a month later y/n shocked the world with a post of thanos.

via her instagram story, y/n alluded to a budding romance with the rapper in a casual photo paired with a cheeky caption.

user OMGGGGG user he actually pulled her wtfff?? user i’m going to be so annoying abt this

a source close to the pair shared, “they have friends of friends, who got the two in contact.”

the insider confirmed that y/n originally ignored his public advances, but she grew ‘tired of hearing about him’ and passed on her number— where they ended up hitting it off.

they stated that she’s very adamant on thanos behaving himself publicly now. (the silence on thanos’s end had made y/n’s story post all the more surprising, but now we know he was warned not to embarrass her!)

CALM BEFORE THE STORM

various sources report how the couple get on very well. “his flashy lifestyle aligns with her own fast-paced schedule. but she’s able to ground him when they need to wind down from their busy lives,” a close insider states.

thanos himself posts looks into his relationship with y/n, albeit his social media presence is more toned down now. he often shares candids of her, one captioned with what fans believe are lyrics to a possible future single:

ttthanos ✓ found her amongst the weeds, she’s my beauty flower

user idk if i wanna be her or him user y/n i could treat you better 🙏 ttthanos ✓ shut the fuck up

other than the odd post from thanos, the two kept it relatively private.

trouble in paradise began early: only a few months into their relationship, blind items detailing thanos’s alleged drug addiction began to spread like wildfire:

the team of the newest pop princess is adamant she must break up with her rapper boyfriend if she wants to maintain a good image. his infatuation with pills will sabotage how the public perceives her.

yourname / thanos

fans also took to reddit, where an alleged sighting of the couple went viral.

r/celebgossip

i was out at club pentagon saturday night and saw y/n and thanos with a big group. thanos was being super loud and was all over her, y/n looked so sick of him. they had an argument and she ended up leaving with her friends lol

user why didn’t you take a vid?? user girl i’m not turning my phone flash on in the club

y/n had kept up her usual posting, announcing collaborations and events. radio silence from both ends concerning the rumours had fans worried for the worst.

one user states their opinion on the matter: “she’s a busy woman, she’d need a little quiet from her sudden surge in fame. thanos loves partying and getting high. i’d imagine some nights she wants to just stay at home and they’d fight over that.”

however, fans were relieved when y/n subtly put all of the gossip to bed by including a picture of the rapper amongst others in an instagram post.

yourname ✓ last few days sure were sweet

user crisis averted guys user i can’t have two divorced parents

while the two masterfully avoid any paparazzi encounters in their time away from work, thanos is often spotted as her plus one at events or watching her live performances.

popnews rapper thanos photographed with fan at lollapalooza, where pop sensation girlfriend y/n was performing.

user i was there!! they were fighting before y/n went on but my friend said she saw them making out later 😭 user what were they fighting abt?? user idk but he looked like he was tweaking on smth

y/n has been booked and busy since ‘sweet tooth’ dominated the charts— now constantly on the move, thanos can be found often tagging along, some insiders to her team have confirmed.

“they’re very in love,” one reports. “he’ll follow her anywhere she goes.”

there were also whispers that thanos has been drafting new singles while travelling alongside his popstar girlfriend, sparking discussion of a future collab.

BREAK UP AND MAKE UP

fans were left stunned when y/n wiped her posts clean of boyfriend, thanos, alongside recent blind items reporting that the couple had called it quits. neither of their teams make public statements which leaves fans panicking.

amidst the gossip, y/n takes to instagram to announce her new extended play ‘ecstasy’ — following a year after the release of her debut album ‘sweet tooth’ that catapulted her into the spotlight.

in the following days, thanos completely clears his instagram account, with fans sadly concluding that the pair are really over.

speculation ignites that y/n’s EP will spill the details of her relationship through to her break-up with the rapper.

yourname ✓ ecstacy out tmrw who tuning in

user oh he fucked UP user is it called that bc of the rumours he was a junkie omg??! user have you listened to his music? it’s obvious

an interview with the singer for the EP’s release was published, where y/n prefaced the interview bluntly: “it’s exactly what you think it’s about.”

when asked about the details and specifics of the tracks, she said plainly: “you’ll just have to listen and find out.”

the EP’s release the following day was met with immense love and support, praising the artist for her vulnerability in the songs.

user “saying you can’t stand me, so let me sit on your face baby” HELLO?? user the little death has been on repeat all day user PLS GET BACK TOGETHER 😭🙏 user nahh he fumbled so bad aint no way user in grievance it sounded like she’d forgive him tho

the EP quickly climbed the charts, with fan favourite ‘the little death’ reaching #1. however, all the noise for y/n was halted when thanos surprised fans with new single ‘comedown’.

serving as a response to the EP, which is loaded with details on thanos’s shortcomings as a partner, ‘comedown’ is an earnest account of thanos’s struggles post break-up— as well as his desire to make it up to y/n.

thanos gets vulnerable in admitting to his addiction and how it impacted their relationship. his regret is evident, and fans couldn’t help but sympathise, rooting for the couple to find their way to each other again.

POWER COUPLE

after months of silence following the release of y/n’s EP ‘ecstasy’ and thanos’s follow-up single ‘comedown’, the pair make headlines once again as they’re spotted rekindling their romance.

tmz ✓ pop singer y/n spotted in a club cozying up with ex-boyfriend, rapper thanos 👀

user I JUST WOKE UP WHAT???? user WAR IS OVER user she listened to comedown and unblocked him fs

while neither of the stars put out official statements, an insider close to y/n’s team stated: “they’ve been figuring things out for a while, but now they’re officially back together. he had to make it up to y/n for messing up the first time round. she’s not the type to let him off easy.”

fans rejoiced at the news, and thanos’s former regular posting of y/n continued, signalling that they were really back.

later that month, thanos announced his third studio album ‘pretty things’— which coincided with the release of a music video for new track ‘muse’, starring his singer girlfriend.

ttthanos ✓ PRETTY THINGS. OCT 2025.

user MOTHER AND FATHER ARE BACK yourname ✓ is the girl in the vid single? ttthanos ✓ never again

yourname ✓ muse mv ♡

user i’m so glad they’re back together ttthanos ✓ ong

the couple’s had far from a quiet relationship, yet through their very public ups and downs, it seems these two lovers are too stubborn to be swayed by media coverage of their relationship (and it’s made for some great music!)

with reports from insiders that the two are “happier than ever”, and y/n being plastered all over the teasers for thanos’s newest album ‘pretty things’, fans wait eagerly for their new era as a power couple.

ttthanos ✓ my heart beats only for you 🫀

a/n: thank you for reading this far! ♡ a little different from my usual content. i felt very inspired after seeing this post — thank you to op!! all pics used were t.o.p himself (loser mv, tazza hidden card) & norafawn

[ace-turned-confused]

planted in your garden | joel miller x f!reader

joel masterlist | read on ao3

summary: joel has always shown his love for you through flowers, and now it's your turn to do the same word count: 1k warnings: 18+ only, reader has tattoos & is shorter than joel, joel being soft & lovey-dovey & just the best in general, bit of spiciness at the end a/n: written for @morallyinept's Fauna & Flora Challenge ❤️ not beta’d or any of that jazz, please enjoy :)

If there’s one thing you know about Joel Miller, it’s that he will always find a reason to buy you flowers, no need for a special occasion. It’s been a long hard week and I wanted to get you something, saw these pretty flowers and thought of my pretty girl, got them just because I love you. Whether it’s an entire bouquet or just a few wild stems tied together by a ribbon, you’re sure he’s given you more flowers than you’ve received in your entire life.

It started on your birthday — you told him you hadn’t planned anything because you didn’t want a big fuss and it wasn’t a number worth celebrating, and he insisted on bringing you dinner so you wouldn’t have to spend the evening on your own. Every number is worth celebrating, it means you’ve been around another whole year. You were floored when he showed up on your doorstep, pizza boxes in one hand and a bunch of red and pink tulips in the other.

“Saw the ink on your arm there and just assumed they were your favourite. None of the stores ever have anything fresh or pretty enough, so I just cut these from my back garden.”

Joel Miller. Cut red and pink tulips for you. From his own garden.

You’d only known each other a few weeks at that stage, and he’d been more observant in that short time than any other man you’d met. At first, you didn’t read into it too much, he’s just doing something nice for you. You told yourself it didn’t matter that this ‘something nice’ was the single nicest thing anyone ever did for you.

You ate your takeout pizzas and talked for hours that night, record player on in the background, sharing stories of years gone by and remembering the person you each used to be. A few stray tears even slipped down your cheek at one point — Joel moved to sit close next to and almost on instinct you rested your head on his shoulder. It was oddly comforting knowing just how vulnerable you could be around him. He was a kind soul, a rather rare find in today’s world, and you found it surprisingly easy to open up to him.

You asked him for a hug that night and he wrapped his arms around you, holding you firmly against him, his chin resting on the top of your head and it was the safest you felt in years. Of course, and next time you don’t have to ask. You smiled into him, letting out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. He eventually pulled back to check on you and planted a hand on your waist; he bid you goodnight with a wink, called you sweetheart and went home, leaving you standing like an idiot, mouth hanging open in a daze and still feeling the heat that had radiated off his palm and the grip of his fingers through your shirt on your skin.

‘Sweetheart’ played in your mind over and over for hours, days, weeks after that — soon enough you acknowledged that you weren’t immune to his charms and you’ve never looked back.

The flowers aren’t only for you to enjoy — you noticed early on that Joel takes great pride in his garden. The lawn always mowed, flower beds always with manicured edges, bees and butterflies in abundance. You’ve spent many hours lounging in the sun just admiring him, your book long abandoned — temples and greying curls damp with sweat, t-shirt clinging to his arms and back, gym shorts showing him off deliciously, all while he potters around tending to his garden, refilling a bird bath, touching up the fence and spewing out endless plant facts.

He even expanded the bed of tulips, planting bulbs of different varieties and an array of colours — ones with frilly edges, ones with pointed petals, and even blooms that look almost hand-painted in their beauty. He told you he’d been planning this for months, long before he met you, but you knew that part of him was doing this for you, too.

Late one night he finally told you the red and pink of your birthday flowers represented eternal love and affection, and sheepishly admitted he only remembered that once he’d already knocked on your door. He had hoped you wouldn’t ask him the meanings that night and figured there must’ve been someone looking out for him when you simply accepted them with a dazzling smile and that twinkle in your eyes. He wonders how things might have played out differently if you had asked him that night.

Now it’s Joel’s birthday and you want to do something special for him — so here you are, lying underneath him in a matching set, simple and white and covered in daisies. Propped up by his elbows, he traces over a flower right in the centre of your bra.

“You gonna tell me anything about them?”

“Daisies supposedly represent innocence and purity…” His voice fades off as he trails his fingers featherlight across you, goosebumps rising in his wake. With a faint smile pulling at his lips, he lifts his gaze to look you in the eye. “But something tells me you already knew that.”

He leans to kiss you, tongue licking into your mouth and you feel him pressed against your core, thick and heavy. You spread your legs wider to accommodate him and he grinds his hips into you, your fingers raking through his hair and tugging ever so slightly. He pulls back and starts snaking a hand down between you, now taken by the same applique daisies on your panties.

“Not sure those words apply right now, though,” he whispers to you, knuckles grazing the fabric.

“What, ‘innocence and purity’? You don’t think that’s true about daisies?”

“I ain’t talkin’ bout the daisies, sweetheart.” He smirks at you and you simply grin at him and huff a laugh in response as he shuffles down your body to pull your panties down your legs.

comments & reblogs are hugely appreciated, forehead kisses to all 💜

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[agentmarvel]

center image by @/ave661

PART I

hitman!ghost x fat!reader (afab, fem) w/ arranged marriage

mdni - 18+; minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

rating: explicit

word count: 2,992

read on ao3

summary: in which contract killer simon "ghost" riley has to marry by a deadline, and of all the women to pick from, he chose you - without your knowledge, against your own stubborn will, and without much hesitation. your entire life, what you thought you knew, is flipped on its head while you try to navigate your new worldview and the complications therein.

cw: toxic parenting

♡

Simon stares at the photos before him, eyes flittering across the array wordlessly as he contemplates the question at hand. As migrant as his gaze has been, he keeps circling back to the same photo in his grid. Something about it draws him in, calling to him like a siren song. There’s no inclination that this path could lead him to his death, leave his bloated corpse floating just below the surface like seaweed, equally as limp and lifeless, nor can he be bothered to mind the possibility of rocky shores ahead, nearly certain to run his ship aground if he’s not exercising the utmost caution. His sails have never flown higher, and this? This feels like the right rigging for his needs.

It’s not that Simon wants a wife. Truthfully, he wants for nothing - he fucks when he feels like it, does as he pleases, and has hired hands to handle his household; anything he desires is placed at his feet with the snap of his fingers. He’s earned the life he has now, paid for it in blood, sweat, and tears - the likes of which belonging both to him and the piles of bodies he prefers to think of as stepping stones rather than people. But Simon Riley is nothing if not a man of his word, and the bill has come due.

Twenty years, he promised. Twenty years, and not a day more. It seems like an eternity to an eager, naïve teenager.

John Price, the master of hired guns, trained Simon. He put years of his life into molding Simon into the perfect weapon while instilling a moral compass impossible to sway. It did not come without cost, though. When he agreed to teach a driven, persistent, gifted fifteen year old Simon the ins and outs of the business, they made a deal. In exchange for John’s knowledge, Simon would be given time to build his empire before being required to take a wife.

“A mountain can’t rest upon a single pebble,” Price had told him. “Strength is in numbers, my boy. Earn loyalty where you can and buy it where you can’t.”

He’s been on his own for just over a decade, John becoming his equal, and he still takes those words to heart; hence the spread of pictures. Word travels fast, and when it gets out that the Simon Riley is seeking a bride, every magnate - respectable or otherwise - with a daughter to spare is throwing their hat into the ring. Conceited, perhaps, but having connections with Simon gives a man the kind of power they’d be foolish to reject.

His right-hand, Johnny, has already weeded out those with seedier dealings - those who cater to terrorism or are even suspected of having connections to human trafficking. While Simon is merciless in his kills, he does not kill without compunction. He’s swift and silent and doesn’t believe in leaving them to suffer. Death itself is punishment enough. There’s no purpose in his life for those who inflict undue dolor for their own gain, and he will not be associated with the uncouth.

The process limits his options, though not by nearly enough. Still, nigh on two dozen remained. He culled the field down to a mere nine by adding stricter constraints: age, employment history, education, and the like. He has no interest in the barely legal, the spoiled socialites, the vapid, shallow, or vain. As hollow as this state of matrimony may ring under the circumstances, he’d prefer not to be one of those men who feels disdain for his partner.

That’s the thought that keeps him circling back to one specific photo - a grayscale surveillance-style photo. The subject is undoubtedly stunning, appears to be precisely his preference in every physical aspect, but the devil is in the details. A delicate necklace that appears to be well-worn but treasured enough to stay polished, a purse that bears no distinguishable designer but shows no sign of detrition, neat, complimentary nails, but he can see a thin sliver of dried glue at the cuticle of the thumb; all signs of frugality without sacrificing sophistication...

Even the tiniest observations sing a haunting, operatic tune that keeps Simon hypnotized with little regard for what could lie within the treacherous depths below. Instinct drives interest, and if there’s anything Simon’s learned in his line of work, it’s to trust his instincts.

Not another beat passes before his fingertips finally close around the edge of the picture. He hands it to Johnny.

“Dig up everything you can on this one, yeah?”

♡

Fascination seems to be the weakest word to describe the rabbit hole Simon finds himself in when Johnny slides a file across his desk. He thumbs the manila tab that peeks out beneath the slew of staggered papers, taking caution to remember the name printed neatly across it - your name. It tastes sweet when he says it out loud. Pretty name for a pretty girl, he muses with a nearly imperceptible smirk.

The surname strikes him with a notch of recognition. Your father, if memory serves correct, is one of the largest arms dealers in the world. A pleasant man by reputation, though Simon has never met him directly. Sans the obvious, he keeps his nose clean. Nothing iniquitous or unscrupulous. There aren’t many American families that Simon has ties to, and forging a bond of this sort with a weapons tycoon would certainly be beneficial.

He digs into the contents of the folder, the pages feeling almost like silk between his heavily calloused fingers. A vague eagerness settles into his bones. Simon feigns disinterest outwardly, expression masked in stoicism, but he can’t lie to himself - he’s undoubtedly curious.

Each barely-cooled sheet turned only draws him further into a spiral. Your basic documents - driver’s license, birth certificate, passport - fill in a few blanks. The additional knowledge of your height, weight, and eye color offer insights not clear from the photo. He knows your middle name, birth date, that you’re an organ donor. You’re not living off your father’s money, as evidenced by the consistent bi-weekly paycheck deposits in your bank records. Educated, obviously, as your student loan payments are automatically drafted monthly.

On paper, it’s almost as if you were made for him, and what a thought that is. Optimism isn't in his nature; a heavy dose of skepticism hangs like a dark cloud, brewing a storm of adversarial rationale. But the pinch of hope that hovers like the sun in the back of his mind tells him to digest before coming back for seconds, and he concedes.

In the days that follow, Simon notices himself spending every spare moment revisiting your file. He placates Johnny’s lingering nosiness with the assurance that he’s merely trying to make a prudent choice under the circumstances, but that’s not quite honest. Truth be told, you’ve become a bit of an obsession of his over the last week. He often notes that his mind is wandering to the things he didn’t learn from the dossier - how you take your tea, what perfume you use, where you’ve always wanted to go but have never been. It’s a dangerous admission, one best kept to himself.

He toys with the notion of conducting the same research on a couple of the other candidates, just to be sure, but his decision is made final when Kyle sends over the links to your social media accounts. None of them are private - an issue Simon will have to address quite thoroughly at a later date - so he has no trouble combing through the last several years of your life.

Admittedly, it leaves an adequate mark. You’re witty and smart while remaining a bit sardonic. Thoughtful and warm, but not without your sharp edges. You’re ambitious and driven, a bit of a firecracker. Color him impressed; he quite likes that.

Demeanor aside, he also finds that you really, genuinely are an absolute beauty. The few photos from your file don’t hold a candle to the selfies you’ve posted. Something about seeing you when you feel most confident, when you’re exuding that effervescent glow of aplomb, it sparks a sensation in Simon’s stomach that he can’t quite describe.

That all but seals the deal.

He snaps up his phone and sends a text to Johnny before placing it face-down and turning back to his laptop.

>>> Set up the meeting

♡

As his jet touches down in Bogotá, Simon is reminded of what a nasty beast jetlag can be. It’s an animal he’s not had to contend with since his younger years, a fact for which he’s grateful. Call it a perk of his constant travel over the years and the more… unconventional hours he entertains on jobs. They’re approaching hour fourteen of their flight, though, so he supposes he can’t fault his men for falling asleep.

(He did, however, take a picture of them sleeping on each other before the turbulence awoke them; you know, for the sake of posterity and potential future blackmail.)

Simon’s mind had been far too occupied to allow him the opulence of rest. Upon his lap sits a dossier on his next target, a relatively high profile subversive at that, and all he can think about is the pretty little thing that’s been haunting his subconscious for the last two weeks.

By all accounts, it’s baffling. He understands that this sudden onset of infatuation is irrational, illogical, and quite frankly, irresponsible. It distracts him from things he ought not be distracted from, and that irritates him to no end.

The whirring of the engines slows to a dull hum, and Simon, with a grunt of discontentment, stuffs the file into his briefcase. He’ll accomplish nothing as long as he’s preoccupied. Hopefully, focus will be far less elusive on the flight back.

A loud thunk from the cockpit draws him from his spiral of ire, and Nikolai emerges. He greets Simon only with a curt nod before disengaging the door and deploying the stairs. Once they’ve kissed the asphalt, he ventures back a step, creating room for the men to disembark.

“Welcome to Colombia, gentlemen,” he announces. “We leave in six hours; gives me time to refuel the bird and grab some fuel myself. Enjoy your time, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, okay?” He tacks on a wink for good measure, which draws a bark of laughter from Kyle. Nik’s been with them long enough for them to know that’s a very short list, a fact Johnny is very quick to point out.

Simon claps a hand on Nikolai’s shoulder and hands him an envelope before stepping out - a hefty cash sum for his time and efforts. He may have also snuck in a sizable bonus as an anniversary present, but that will stay between the two of them.

“Get some rest, too, yeah? You’ve earned it.”

The air outside is crisp and pleasant. Underneath the standard airfield smells, Simon detects a pinch of coffee and cocoa. He wouldn’t be surprised; there’s a manufacturing plant not too terribly far from here, and if the wind blows just so, it may carry on the current. It’s refreshing, especially after being trapped for hours in an aluminum tube with three men who, today in particular, seem to be having a war over who can wear the strongest cologne.

Kyle and Johnny flank him on either side as they stroll off the tarmac. They’re both covertly armed to the teeth as a general precaution, but he trusts there will be no sinister intent behind a simple lunch. Surely, his appointment won’t mind. He likely won’t be attending alone either.

At the far end of the strip, a hired car is waiting. It’s relatively inconspicuous for the part of the city housing the restaurant, according to Simon’s research - a sleek, black SUV with windows tinted dark enough to hide any passengers, but passable enough to not draw attention.

Once in the city, it’s inherently obvious that there’s plenty of time to kill before the agreed upon hour. Place and time re-confirmed, the boys are turned loose to occupy themselves however they see fit, and Simon delves into the rows of local shops.

He finds things here and there; a pair of stunning leather boots, a box of cigars for Price, trinkets and treats he can share with his staff or gifts he can bring to gatherings so that he never greets his gracious hosts empty-handed. Even a little something for you, should all go according to plan. He smiles inwardly as he tucks the velvet box into the pocket of his slacks. It won’t replace the necklace you clearly adore, but he hopes you’ll wear it regardless.

After a quick trip back to their driver to leave their finds, the trio makes their way to the restaurant. Johnny and Kyle lag behind, keeping a respectable distance from Simon, whose eyes are immediately combing the patio for your father.

He spots him closer to the corner, sitting with his back to the wall. Two tables over, a pair of rather conspicuous men sit, cliché aviators perched in place while positioned to have a clear view of the upcoming interactions. Simon makes a mental note to wait until closer to the wedding to offer suggestions for higher quality detail. Assassinations are easier when you can gauge your obstacles so easily; trust him, he’d know.

In his periphery, he sees his companions select an empty table four over from the rent-a-cops. Kyle sits with his back to the table, glasses off. Johnny sits across from him, keeping his on to supply a reflective overview. Simon can’t help but crack the tiniest grin. He’s taught them well. They move as a singular unit when needed and rely on instinct over protocol. It’s the perfect display of how safe you’ll be with him. If he seems a little arrogant about it, that’s because he is.

Your father looks up from his phone and meets Simon’s eyes with an unspoken question. Simon tips his chin just once before the man stands, greeting him with a gracious smile.

“Ah, Mr. Riley… Pleasure to finally meet you.” He’s sincere in tone and offers his hand. Simon takes it without hesitation, giving it a firm shake while he shares the sentiment.

“You as well, sir.”

His smile widens a bit at that, and he gestures to the open chair, saying, “Please, sit.”

Simon takes the invitation, settling into the seat and the subsequent relatively meaningless small talk. They cycle through the basics before ordering their food and get a pinch more personal while they wait, discussing their respective hometowns and places their work has taken them. It isn’t until they’re digging into their plates that your father finally broaches the subject they’re both most anxious to discuss.

“As much as I’m enjoying getting to know you,” he begins, gaze not rising from his fork as it prods a pile of coconut rice. “I’m sure you didn’t fly halfway across the world just for that.”

“No, sir,” Simon responds. “I’m here to talk about your daughter.”

That draws the man’s attention, eyes finally meeting Simon’s with a subtle grin. It’s almost somewhat unsettling, like a cat finally catching that damn canary, though he’s unsure whether it’s him or you that owns the role of prey.

“But you already knew that, didn't you?”

“That I did,” he confirms, dabbing the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “Tell me, Simon, what exactly is it about my daughter that calls to the infamous Ghost?”

Simon pauses a moment, unsure of quite how to approach the response. He'd rather not tip his hand until he determines what sinisterity lies behind that predatory gaze. The mask your father is wearing at the moment is approaching uncanny, and a faint alarm bell sounds in the back of Simon’s mind.

“I only ask because, well, I never would’ve expected that a man of your stature would choose someone so… plain, shall we say? Don’t get me wrong, she’s a good girl, but she’s certainly not without her flaws. Stubborn, opinionated, talks too much, certainly far from the ideal housewife. And don’t get me started on how she takes care of herself. Really makes me wonder, Mr. Riley, what ulterior motives might you be hiding?”

“None, sir. Nothin’ I need from you that I can’t get myself.” Simon’s voice is flat as he tamps down the anger crawling beneath his skin. How does a real man speak ill of his own daughter so flagrantly? Does he really have no regard for you? He has half a mind to remove your father’s tongue after the wedding, if only for your sake.

“Pray tell, then.”

Simon scrubs a hand over his jaw before he answers, “Pretty girl. Smart from the sound of it. Doesn’t rely on attention from the public or ‘er daddy’s money. Ain’t lookin’ for a sweet little housewife; I like it when they bite back.”

“And you understand that she’s… How do I put this delicately?” He pauses. “She’s a bit bigger than what you'd consider a trophy wife."

Simon scoffs, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Of course, he's aware of that. That's part of what drew him to you.

“Quite like a fuller figure. Don’t want a woman who’ll fuss over calories when I cook for ‘er.”

Your father mulls it over, chewing thoughtfully as he considers the words before him. Simon watches as the muscles in his jaw flex and reflex, and he swears he can hear the scales tipping back and forth as they try to find some balance.

Finally, he wipes his face with his napkin. His expression cracks into something adjacent to genuine, and that alarm gets just a little bit louder.

“I suppose this little meeting has reached its end.” He snaps his fingers twice as the waiter, gesturing for the check. Rude, in Simon’s opinion, but he bites his tongue.

“Sir?”

“I’ve got business to attend to back in the States, and by the sounds of it, a wedding to start planning.”

♡

part ii

[awoogayanderes]

A BIRTHDAY GIFT FROM OSAMU DAZAI

➪ sypnosis : waiting for dazai’s attention is like playing a game of cat and mouse.

➪ other notes : it’s a day late but it’s okay because i went on a shopping spree yesterday, ALSO, i have another chapter of convergence finished and ready to post but i’m waiting until i can finish writing the next chapter of between the floors so i can post them at the same time, non edited :3

tick. tick. tick. you look up at your wall clock as every second clicks on it. it was 11:48 pm, and on any other day, you wouldn’t have cared. but today was your birthday, a very special day for you. your phone is in your hand as you wait for a single call from someone, osamu dazai. surely he remembered, right ? maybe he was on a mission and just hasn’t had the time to call you.

you and dazai weren’t in a relationship…well not exactly. some could call it a situationship, others could call it friends with benefits. but you disagreed, dazai was just a complicated man. and you were always the one who was there when he had his moments of sadness. he would call you late at night and you would go over to his apartment, comforting him as you held his tall form in your arms.

you try to soothe yourself as your eyes flick towards the array of presents your friends had given you, but none of them matter when you’re waiting for dazai to call you, or at least send you a quick text. ten minutes go by, it’s 11:58 pm and your position on your couch hasn’t changed as you slightly tear up, he really wasn’t going to call ? you let out a shaky sigh. buzz. buzz. buzz. your eyes immediately widen.

you frantically pick up the phone, it was dazai, you quickly answer his call. “hello ?!” you say into the phone, a smile forming on your face as your lips wobble with happiness, all the doubt going away. there’s a few moments of silence that go by before dazai speaks up, “wanna come over ?” your smile falters, he hadn’t talked to you all day, and that’s the first thing he says to you, on your birthday…?

“w-what ?” you quietly say as you held your phone tighter. “feeling a bit lonely, you know,” dazai sighs into the phone. you scoff, he wanted your comfort right now ? “where have you been all day ?” you ask. “i was hungover so i took the day off,” he says, you can tell there’s a smile on his face as he says that. so you were wrong, he was sitting on his ass all day as you stupidly waited for a ‘happy birthday’.

you look at your walk clock, it was 11:59 pm, he really didn’t care, did he ? “dazai, do you know what day it is ?” you ask him, your eyes tearing up again, dazai call tell theres something off about you. “i’m sorry, pretty, but i don’t know what you mean, it’s tuesday,” dazai chuckles, making you let out a whimper, catching dazai off guard, but he doesn’t bring it up as a few moments of soft ticking go by.

tick. tick. tick. 12:00 am. “happy fucking birthday to me,” you whisper into the phone. oh, so that was what he forgot. dazai tries to recover by saying “you thought i forgot ?” he chuckles. “i have your present for you right now,” he lies through his teeth. “just cut the shit dazai…why is it that i’m always here for you and you’re never here for me,” you say, voice breaking as you tears fall down your face.

“i know you’re upset, but i’m not your boyfriend, don’t treat me like one,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “then don’t contact me again, i’m not your girlfriend,” you seethe as you hang up. dazai looked at his phone before tossing it to the side as he sighs. you quickly block dazai’s number before crying yourself to sleep on your couch, realizing that dazai wouldn’t be apart of your life anymore.

[m4iya]

⋆⑅˚₊ Order up! - coconut brownies with cookie dough to go for @strwbiv!

Took the wrong backpack ft. Bokuto Kotaro (fluff)

As the blaring sound of the bell rang throughout the school, you stood up, stretching your arms. Exhausted, you planned to immediately head home.

Though as you slid your bag onto your shoulder, a voice spoke through the school intercom, calling you by name to present yourself in the teacher’s lounge.

With a sigh, you dropped your bag on the floor near your desk and headed out

You returned after 10 or so minutes, arms sore from carrying boxes. ‘I’m not an errand runner!’ you thought to yourself as you slid the door to the classroom open. It seemed like everybody was eager to leave, as the classroom was now empty. Walking over to your desk, it looked like your bag had been kicked across the floor, as it was not where you left it. Behind your chair lied what you assumed was your bag; without checking, you tugged on the straps, slinging it over your shoulder as you left the classroom.

After returning home, you dropped the bag on your bedroom floor, slumping onto the bed. Fatigue set in, and you were no longer to keep your heavy eyelids open.

Upon waking up, golden light was no longer peeking through your translucent curtains. The sun seemed to have set a while ago. In an attempt to check the time, you reached for the bag, unzipping it to take your phone out. Though, an array of unfamiliar items met your gaze. Groggily squinting, you rubbed your eyes before hoisting the bag up onto your bed for further inspection. What on earth was all this?

A large pair of sport shoes, a towel, body spray, snacks, workout clothes? Hold on, was there even a single book in here?

Under the cacophony of items was a crinkled notebook. The front read ‘Bokuto Kotaro’ and the inside was practically empty. Flipping through the pages, the only sections with writing looked like they were written by a sleepy child. Words trailed off the page, and it was horrifyingly messy at that. Who on Earth did this bag belong to?

Just as you were about to zip the bag back up and return it to class tomorrow, an idea popped into your head. ‘Perhaps this ‘Bokuto’ has a cell in here as well?’

Sure enough, there was a phone buried inside. Turning it on and attempting to open it was a success as there was no password on it. You weren’t going to snoop around; it wasn’t yours after all. Opening the phone app, you typed in your number, hoping for an answer.

After a few rings, a boy with a vibrant voice picked up. “Hello?”

You turned the phone on loudspeaker to keep your ear in tact. “Yes, hello? Is this Bokuto Kotaro?’

“Yeah, that’s me! How did you get my number..?” He questioned, his voice trailing off. Had this boy seriously not realised the phone he’s holding isn’t his? You heard murmurs in the background as the boy had paused.

“Bokuto, that isn’t your phone.” A faint voice informed him

“What do you mean?” He stopped once more before gasping “..Wait, this isn’t my bag!”  

“I have your bag. Looks like it might’ve gotten swapped.” You responded.

“I’m so sorry! My bag wasn’t on my desk, so I assumed the one on the floor next to mine was for me!”

“Oh, are you my desk-mate? I’ll return the bag to you tomorrow then.”

“No really, I’m sorry about this!” He was a little loud; you could make out someone telling him to keep quiet. “I’ll come by in the morning! What’s your address?” He sincerely offered.  

After wearing your uniform, you made sure the bag was packed with everything that was in it yesterday. Last night, you told him that it was fine and he didn’t need to come over, but he insisted, saying he wanted to apologise properly.

Leaving the house, you shut the door behind you. In front of the gates was a tall boy with grey hair. One that you’d definitely seen before, but couldn’t recall an instance where the two of you spoke. He smiled at you, saying “Good morning!”

Walking towards him, you noticed he was carrying something in both hands. “Sorry about the bag.” He smiled, handing you a cup that seemed to be from your local café. “Do you drink hot chocolate?”

You chuckled, taking the cup from him “You really didn’t have to do that!” He slid the bag off his arm and handed it to you, and you did the same.

“Just something small to apologise!” He said, lifting the bag onto his shoulder as he walked. You followed, walking beside him.

“Thanks.” You smiled warmly, taking a sip.

‘No problem!”  

Once the two of you reached the school gates, you suddenly remembered that there had been homework assigned yesterday, and due to this whole bag fiasco, you weren’t able to do any of it.

“Oh no, I didn’t do the homework!” You panicked.

“Huh? What homework?” He turned to you, perplexed. Right.. the horrors of his notebook said enough.

“I’m going to do it in the library during the break. Wanna tag along?”

“Sure!” You made a mental note to make him do his too.

Mya's Bakery Event 𝜗𝜚 other works

[literaryvein-reblogs]

hii I love your stuff can you make writing notes about volcanoes I wanted to write abt them for my writing project and I'm having a hard time on in thx ^^

Writing Notes: Volcanoes

Volcano - vent in the crust of Earth or another planet or satellite, from which issue eruptions of molten rock, hot rock fragments, and hot gases.

Volcanoes are Earth's geologic architects.

They've created more than 80 percent of our planet's surface, laying the foundation that has allowed life to thrive.

Their explosive force crafts mountains as well as craters.

Lava rivers spread into bleak landscapes.

But as time ticks by, the elements break down these volcanic rocks, liberating nutrients from their stony prisons and creating remarkably fertile soils that have allowed civilizations to flourish.

Some 75% of the world's active volcanoes are positioned around the ring of fire.

It is a 25,000-mile long, horseshoe-shaped zone that stretches from the southern tip of South America across the West Coast of North America, through the Bering Sea to Japan, and on to New Zealand.

This region is where the edges of the Pacific and Nazca plates butt up against an array of other tectonic plates.

Importantly, however, the volcanoes of the ring aren't geologically connected.

In other words, a volcanic eruption in Indonesia is not related to one in Alaska, and it could not stir the infamous Yellowstone supervolcano.

Active – volcanoes known to have erupted during historical times. (Total Number = 529)

Dormant – volcanoes that have not erupted during historical times, but will probably erupt again. (Total Number = 1,340)

Extinct – volcanoes that are unlikely to erupt again.

The 3 Classic Types of Volcanoes

TYPE — SIZE — LIFESPAN

Cinder Cone — Small (<1,000 ft; 330 m tall) — Short (single eruption of a few months)

Composite Volcano — Large (usually between 6,500 and 20,000 ft; 2,000-3,000 m tall) — Long (hundreds of thousands of years)

Shield Volcano — Very large (up to a maximum of 33,000 ft; 10,000 m tall) — Very long (up to a million years or longer)

Different shapes of volcanoes have different kinds of eruptions.

The most explosive eruptions come from stratovolcanoes, like the Augustine Volcano in Alaska. When they erupt, stratovolcanoes blow huge columns of gas and ash into the air that can collapse in hot, fast-moving clouds called pyroclastic flows.

A shield volcano, like Mauna Kea in Hawaii, has gentle slopes formed by oozing, runny lava. The magma is low in silica and low in gas, so it doesn’t erupt explosively.

A lava dome, like the one of Chaitén Volcano in Chile, forms when thick lava oozes from a vent, piles up, and cools into a steep mound. The lava is thick because it’s high in silica, and it oozes instead of explodes because it’s low in gas. Sometimes lava domes form after explosive eruptions.

A cinder cone volcano, like Tavurvur in Papua New Guinea, forms when erupted fragments harden and fall to the ground, accumulating around the vent in a cone shape. The lava is low in silica, so the lava is runny. High gas levels make for the explosive eruptions that send it flying. Cinder cones typically form at the beginning of eruptions, and lava flow follows.

Olympus Mons - a giant shield volcano on Mars. It is believed to be the largest volcano in the solar system. The entire island of Hawaii would fit in its caldera.

In more-detailed classification schemes based on character of eruption, volcanic activity and volcanic areas are commonly divided into 6 major types, shown schematically in the diagram. They are listed as follows in order of increasing degree of explosiveness:

Icelandic

Hawaiian

Strombolian

Vulcanian

Pelean

Plinian

There are different types of volcanic eruptive events, including:

pyroclastic explosions, with is fast-moving hot gas and volcanic matter

hot ash releases

lava flows

gas emissions

glowing avalanches, when gas and ashes release.

Volcanic eruptions can also cause secondary events, such as floods, landslides and mudslides, if there are accompanying rain, snow or melting ice.

Hot ashes can also start wildfires.

Volcanic eruptions can impact climate change through emitting volcanic gases like sulfur dioxide, which causes global cooling, and volcanic carbon dioxide, which has the potential to promote global warming.

Features and Erupted Material

Viscosity: The resistance of a material (usually a fluid) to flow. Example of comparison would be the higher resistance to flow of cake batter compared to water.

Lava Flow: Lava flow is thin at the top of the cone, while lava pooled at the base is very thick. When eruptions end, erosion processes start on the cooled lava, including glacier erosion, flowing water, rockfall, and landslides. The volcano will only grow in size if the amount/volume of lava erupted is more than the amount that is lost to erosion.

Volcanic Gases: Most gases originate in the mantle and are transported to the crust and surface by complex interactions with magma and rocks along the way. In general, gases are dissolved in the magma. At shallow depths, as pressure on the magma decreases, gases leave the magma. The gases can interact with surrounding rocks or continue to the surface. The most common volcanic gases are: Water Vapor (H2O), Carbon Dioxide (CO2), and Sulfur Dioxide (SO2). Gases can be both dissolved in the magma chamber and also emitted from volcanoes at the surface. It’s the dissolved gases cause volcanoes to erupt.

A magma chamber contains high pressure and dissolved gases.

The density contrast between the magma and the surrounding rock causes more buoyant magma to rise. As the magma rises, the dissolved gases start to come out of the liquid and form bubbles.

As the bubbles grow and increase in volume, it causes the magma to became more buoyant and ascend closer to the surface, allowing the overlying pressure to decrease and produce magmatic foam.

When the pressure in the bubbles is greater than the pressure of the overlying rock, then the chamber will burst causing a volcanic eruption.

The viscosity, temperature and composition of the magma determine whether the explosion is explosive or effusive.

More Features and Erupted Material

Silica: Influences lava viscosity and overall shape of the volcano. Silica molecules form a strong bond that permits entrapment of volcanic gases and promotes explosive volcanic eruptions. Low-silican magmas allow rapid escape of gases and low-explosivity eruptions. Other factors that control magma viscosity include the temperature, gas, water content and the amount of crystals in the magma.

Color: Color and texture of lava vary considerably depending on cooling conditions. Lava rocks at high temperatures appear red to orange in color but cool quickly to shades of red (due to oxidation) and gray.

Sound: Witnesses of slow-moving, partially cooled lava flows report sounds similar to breaking of glass and pottery, caused by the splintering of the cooled outer skin of the lava flow. In contrast, the passing of a pyroclastic flow is eerily quiet. Some people say this is because its sound energy is absorbed within the billowing ash cloud.

Smell: Observers of lava flows report a slight sulfur smell in the air and the odor of burning vegetation.

Texture: Lava at Mount Rainier is not as fluid as lava at the volcanoes on Hawai'i, where lava flows sometimes resemble hot molasses, nor is it as viscous as lava at Mount St. Helens.

Tephra: Fragmental material produced by a volcanic eruption regardless of composition, fragment size or emplacement mechanism. Also referred to as pyroclasms (airborne), and pyroclastic flows (on ground) and rocks. Tephra can stay in the stratosphere for days to weeks following an eruption. It can also reflect light and heat from the sun back into the atmosphere. Tephra mixed with precipitation can also be acidic and cause acidic rain and snowfall. Tephra is made up of ash (fragments of pulverized rock, minerals and volcanic glass), volcanic blocks (a mass of molten rock), and lapilli (little broken up pieces of molten or semi-molten lava ejected from eruption).

Other Types of Volcanic Rock

If a rhyolite lava flow cools quickly, it can quickly freeze into a black glassy substance called obsidian. When filled with bubbles of gas, and usually with explosive eruptions, the same lava will form pumice. If the same lave is allowed to cool slowly…it will form a light-colored, uniformly solid rock called rhyolite.

Pumice most commonly forms with rhyolite lava flows, though it has formed from dacite and andacite. flows as well. It is so lightweight, it will float on water.

Obsidian has been used for centuries in many countries for things such as weapons and art.

The shape and size of a volcano are controlled by several factors

The volume of volcanic products

The interval length between eruptions

The composition of volcanic products

The variety of volcanic eruption types

The geometry of the vent

The environment into which the volcanic products are erupted

Overall, 44 volcanoes were in continuing eruption status as of 23 December 2024.

An eruption marked as "continuing" does not always mean persistent daily activity, but indicates at least intermittent eruptive events without a break of 3 months or more.

There are typically 40-50 continuing eruptions, and out of those generally around 20 will be actively erupting on any particular day (though detailed statistics on daily activity is not usually kept).

Health concerns after a volcanic eruption include:

Infectious disease

Respiratory illness

Burns

Injuries from falls

Vehicle accidents related to the slippery, hazy conditions caused by ash

When warnings are heeded, the chances of adverse health effects from a volcanic eruption are very low.

Volcanic Ash. Exposure to ash can be harmful. Ash is gritty, abrasive, sometimes corrosive, and always unpleasant. Small ash particles can abrade (scratch) the front of the eye. Ash particles may contain crystalline silica, a material that causes a respiratory disease called silicosis.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Thanks so much! Do go through the links above for more details I wasn't able to include here. Hope this helps with your writing :)

[sanctus-ingenium]

What role/niche do dragons fulfill in their environment? Or, if that is [secret]/redacted/Unknown [by universe parameters], are there other, smaller beasts - creatures not within our world, but common in theirs?

I've been meaning to draw a lot of these for a while now and this was a nice prompt thank you :)

Dragons support a large and surprisingly diverse community of animals. The primary producers are the unique photosynthetic cyanobacteria which are found lining the transparent flotation sacs of cloud fleas. 'Cloud fleas' can refer to any type of airborne zooplankton - that is, animals which do not actively fly but rather drift. Pictured is a daphnia type but there are a few others. The bacteria produce lighter than air gases as a byproduct of photosynthesis as well as nutrients for their hosts. The daphnia type pictured retain their large claws and use them to cling onto other individuals, sometimes producing really large structures which can form fantastic shapes at times. This is how they reproduce also (unlike in the water, they can't just externally fertilise eggs because gravity exists)

When they aggregate in large numbers (swarms reaching billions and billions of individuals), they become easy prey for dragons. The dragons capture the fleas using a dense array of rictal bristles. Living in and among the bristles are the monkey birds, a unique species of flightless bird which act as kleptoparasites, stealing the clumps of fleas bound up in dragon mucous before they can be transported to the dragon's mouth. The bristles are so dense that in order to get in there where the fleas are most concentrated, you wouldn't be able to fly. They spend their lives clinging among the bristles with their feet and wing claws, and they make their nests out of woven strands of mucous. New individuals join the birds' colonies when dragons are mating and their bristles come into contact with one another. Bird populations are controlled by hive serpents, who pick them off for a nice snack.

Barnacles and other filter-feeders are common on the windward-facing side of the dragon (what you'd call the front of the dragon). These do not harm the dragons and offer not much useful food for serpents while being very annoying to eat so they're usually left to their own devices.

The vampire chiton exoparasites can be found basically all over a dragon. They find a piece of cuticle that is thin enough to pierce and drill their siphons down into it to suck the watery connective tissue beneath. They are about a foot long and the main food source for hive serpents.

The serpents themselves are mammals. Nearly every dragon hosts a hive. Despite spending most of their lives on their hosts, they are quite strong fliers; they need to be, in order for the young queens to set out to make their own hives. The 'hive' consists of a reproductive pair and 20-50 of their offspring, with the queen being 1.5x larger than the others and by far the most aggressive. They have one tooth, a single elongated tusk which is used like a crowbar to lever the chitons off the dragon's cuticle. When working on the underside of a dragon, it takes a certain amount of skill to catch the chiton before it falls away. The serpent's neck and legs are very strong to produce enough force to dislodge a chiton, which are often so deeply attached that a human with a pickaxe would struggle to knock one off. The chiton is swallowed whole, and the shell digested.

Serpents viciously defend their dragons, controlling parasite populations and fighting off and attacking humans or large metal creatures they perceive as a threat. The name 'serpent' is given to them in the Mezian theocracy because they are associated with sin; hive serpents can be among the most dangerous combatants a holy beast might face. When the dragon has been killed, its serpents will flee and, more often than not, restart their hive on the ground if they aren't killed first. Outside of the theocracy, humans do raise serpents and use them for various tasks - a baby queen is taken from the wild (by killing every other hive member) and raised to imprint on humans. If their diets are not heavily supplemented with calcium carbonate, they fail to thrive.

[m1ngkis]

A yeosang x reader smut request?

Thank you for this! I’ve been wanting to write for Yeosang for a minute now.

Masterlist

I can definitely see gym crush Yeosang growing OBSESSED with you. Every time he sees you sprinting on the treadmill he can’t pull his eyes away from your body, watching the sweat trickle down your face and disappear behind your clothes.

Just like when you can’t help but watch him do an endless amount of pull ups, his skin tanned and glowing under the gym lights, highlighting his toned muscles

It’s a constant ‘will they/won’t they’ when you find yourselves in the gym together and you don’t exactly remember when it started but you end up spotting each other during various reps.

That was his excuse for how close he was standing to you while you held the weighted bar on your shoulders and bent for a squat. So close that when you came back up to stand, your ass would brush the front of his shorts as he muttered what number you were on.

Every ‘accidental’ brush set his nerves on fire as his dick grew hard behind the fabric. You could feel him every time you stood and it was making you want to say fuck indecent exposure and have him down your throat.

“Need a break.” You huffed

“Nope. Straight through. You said so yourself. Only 5 more. I got you.”

Your eyes meet through the mirror in front of you and the not so subtle spark between you ignited into a bursting flame.

His hand came to rest on your back, his thumb rubbing firm circles against your burning skin.

Your eyes started to flutter closed with the soothing motion until he called your name, snapping you back as you continued your workout.

Once done, your limbs turned to mush as you dropped the weight and laid on the floor.

“That bad?” Yeosang laughed, fixing the area and wiping the bar down.

“Yes. You should’ve never added that weight.” You sucked your teeth as he sat down next to you, his eyes trained on the rising and falling of your chest.

“It was getting too easy. You need a challenge.”

“I need a massage.” Your eyes closed, body relaxing just at the thought of the soreness in your muscles being rubbed away.

“Yeah?” It came out softer than he intended. A single word exposing how breathless he was just watching you exist. “Let’s get you one.”

“No. Massages are expensive.”

“Mine aren’t.”

He’s joking. He’s gotta be joking. He’s joking, right?

You crack an eye open just to gauge the situation and the look on his face is dead serious. Not a hint of joke or sarcasm in his eyes.

He wants you in his bed. He wants his hands on your body and he’s really hoping that you are catching the hint.

“Okay. Let’s do it.” You stand up, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “But I need a shower first.”

“Alright. I’ll text you my address.” It’s his turn to lay back on the floor now, a giddy smile etched across his features as you walked out of the gym.

————

To say you were nervous would be an understatement. After eyeing this man for almost a month and interacting with him another, it seemed surreal sitting in his apartment surrounded by all his things.

“Okay. You ready?” He popped out of his bedroom down the hall. “You don’t mind the bed right?”

“No. Not at all.” You took the liberty of lifting your sweatshirt over your head, missing the way his eyes snapped to your chest in awe, his erection already returning.

“Right.” He cleared his throat. “Come on in.” He disappears behind the threshold again as you follow him.

You don’t know what exactly you expected but the array of lit candles and selection of oils definitely shocked you.

“Wow! You really got the vibes going.” You giggle and take a seat on his bed.

“Anything for you.”

You wouldn’t deny it. Your heart definitely did a little somersault especially when he said it so low and gravelly with his eyes covered in lust.

A thick silence coated the room as you gazed at each other trying to read the other’s intentions and feelings.

“Should I take my clothes off now?”

His body tensed, his bottom lip captured between his teeth. At this point, you both knew there would be no massage. “Yeah.” He whispered.

“You wanna help?” You smirk.

“Hell yes.” He stepped forward as you stood up and started to pull at what was left of your clothing, tossing the articles every which way.

His hands settled on your waist pushing you gently back down on the bed til you lay there on display just for him.

“God you’re beautiful.” He says it more so to himself, his voice just a murmur but his hands won’t stop roaming you.

From your waist up your torso til he cradles your cheek, the skin hot under his fingertips.

“I think we both know where this is going, hm?”

“Yeah. It’s about time.” You smile as he leans in, merging your lips together softly, experimenting his limits.

It isn’t until your fingers rake themselves through his hair that his desperation shows. His tongue tangling with yours in a fight for dominance.

His body weight dropping onto you as he grinds his erection against your skin, short whimpers against your lips.

“Oh fuck me..” You pull away from him regretfully as your hands start to tug at his shorts. “Please fuck me.” You beg.

“I will sweetheart but I need to taste you or I might die.”

You laugh at his antics as he makes quick work down to your body until he’s lips meet your arousal, lapping at your cunt like a starved puppy.

Your juices drip down his chin as he moans, gripping your thighs like you might run away from him.

He hums against you, vibrations traveling up your belly and sending surges of pleasure through your body.

“Yeosang!” You cry, hands tugging at his strands of hair as he catches your clit, sucking on the bud and practically dragging your orgasm out of you.

Your body jerks and shakes as the knot in your belly snaps, gone almost as fast as it came (no pun intended)

“Jesus!” Yeosang lifts himself up, smiling brightly as he takes in your ruined form. “I’ve never cum that fast in my life.” You confess.

He shrugs, lifting your legs til your ankles rest on his shoulders. “First time for everything.”

“How long have you been waiting for this?” The question had been sitting on your brain since you showed up and the way he just ate you out had your curiosity peaking.

“Since the day I saw you. That beautiful smile.” He kisses the inside of your ankle. “Pretty eyes.” He kisses the other one. “Perfect body.”

He pulls his shorts down and kicks them away, stroking his hardened length. “Knew from the day you started at that gym, I was a goner.”

“That was 3 months ago.” You gasp as he starts to ease in, his hands braced against your hips as you swallow him up.

“Patience pays off doesn’t it, baby. Now I get to hear you fall apart on my cock. Bet it’s even better than I imagined.”

With that he thrusts in completely, barely waiting for you to adjust before he sets his pace.

“Ooh! Fuck yess!” You exclaim, your eyes dropping to watch as he splits you apart.

Yeosang can’t even watch, half afraid the sight of your cunt taking him so well will make him cum before he realizes it. Instead he tilts his head back and trains his eyes on the ceiling.

His length hits you just right, making you lose your breath and see stars right away. The only regret you have now is not doing this with him any sooner.

His name is a mantra on your lips. A chant that fuels both of your staminas for a full night.

“K-kiss me…please Yeosang.”

You hardly need to ask before he’s meeting your lips in a harsh kiss, moans harmonious with the building energy. Your legs slip from his shoulders and you lock them around his waist

“I’m gonna cum.” You whine, your head thrown back as Yeosang bites at your neck. It only takes a few more thrusts before your high hits like a ton of bricks, your body shaking under him at the intensity as you moan in his ear.

He tries to hold it off, he really does but you tighten around him like a vice and he can barely move inside you. It’s like you reach through him and force him to fill you up, his own shaky moans in your ears.

“I think I love you.”