#and then the other respond not-infrequently

[regallibellbright]

Both my brother and father are frequent GMs for the ttrpgers in our social circle. They also each play in the other’s game.

This leads to fun situations like a week or two ago when my brother brought up giant undersea scorpions being a thing that exists in casual conversation.

Dad: That’s coming up in a game.

Bro: (His girlfriend, who plays in Bro’s) already forbade them.

Mom: *laughing* I love that you both went straight there. You and she just knew he’d do that.

Me: Who do you think he learned from? And who plays in his games and therefore KNOWS exactly what he’d do?

Bro is, I believe, the one who suggested to Dad back when we were still kids the phrase “carnivorous crickets,” before realizing he was giving the GM ideas. Horrifying arthropods are in fact part of his GMing style.

So anyway, Dad’s the GM tonight, Bro’s visiting his girlfriend, so I just heard the alarm go off and Dad go “time to go kill some adventurers.”

I told him to have fun.

[heartless-aro]

Every person who has ever responded to an aromantic headcanon with “They can’t be aromantic! They’re in a romantic relationship!” owes a romance favorable aromantic 200 Australian dollars now. Same for everyone who has ever said “They can’t be aromantic! Canon implies that they’re romantically attracted to (other character)!” You now owe 200 Australian dollars to an aromantic person who experiences romantic attraction infrequently/with low intensity/only under specific conditions.

[sleepy-steve]

@steddieangstyaugust 04/08 // angst with a happy ending

wc: 2.3k // rating: G // cw: language // tags: post-s4, eddie lives, eddie in WITSEC, mutual pining, phone calls

divider credits @steddiecameraroll-graphics

“So, where are you now?”

Steve knew he wasn’t going to get a real answer to this question—given that Eddie wasn’t allowed to say—but it was basically tradition at this point to ask. 

Eddie chuckled through the receiver. “Hmm… it’s windy. And cold as balls. Will probably start snowing soon.”

Steve raised his brows. “Snow? This early?”

Dustin, from Steve’s kitchen island, mirrored his look of interested surprise, and immediately started looking over the map laid out on the countertop. It was dotted with little red and yellow stickers and various scribblings.

“Yep,” Eddie responded, popping the P. “Pretty shit going out for a smoke, but lots of trees around, so the view is decent at least.”

“Lots of trees,” Steve repeats, with a pointed glance at Dustin, who hurriedly starts marking different spots on the map. 

“How’s Henderson’s map going?” Eddie asked, knowing by the tone what they were doing.

“It’s… going?” Steve responded with a shrug. “He thinks he’s worked out the movement system.”

“I have worked out the movement system, thank you very much,” Dustin snarked, not looking up at Steve. “We can track their movement from the West Coast back up North, hence the snow.”

Eddie laughs again. “Kid’s too smart for his own good.”

“You’re telling me,” Steve grumbles, moving away from the kitchen, as far as the cord allowed him to. He drops his voice low. “How you holding up?”

“I dunno,” Eddie sighs. “Same shit, different place… Same shitty government officials with the same shitty requirements.”

Steve wants to say so much, to reassure and comfort him, but holds back. Keeps it in. “How’s Wayne doing?”

“He’s alright, doesn’t love the cold…” Steve can picture Eddie looking over at where Wayne is probably sitting nearby. “Hopefully they’ll move us somewhere warmer next.”

“D’you know when that’ll be?” A small pit of anxiety swirls in Steve’s gut. As it did any time they spoke of Eddie needing to move.

“Nah, last time was six months, but time before was only three. Hopefully this is just another quick one.” Steve can hear Eddie chewing on his lip, can picture him playing with his hair.

“Steve!” Dustin calls from behind the wall. “Ask Eddie what kind of trees are around him!”

Steve snorts. “Did you get that one?”

“Tell him I have no idea,” Eddie deadpans. 

Lowering the receiver, Steve calls over his shoulder. “He doesn’t know, buddy.”

“What kind of trees…” Eddie grumbles, only slightly mocking. “I guess I can’t blame him for trying.”

“It’s how he deals.” Steve keeps his voice low. “He misses you. I miss you.” His brain scolds him—too much—and he quickly adds, “We all do.”

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs, and Steve’s almost sure he hears him hit his head on the wall. “I miss you too. All of you.”

It was a thing that happened often, for how infrequently Eddie was able to call. A kind of vulnerability that Steve supposed came from the fact that they couldn’t see each other, and wouldn’t for a long time yet. They’d skirt around it, but it was there, pulled taut between them, ready to break with one wrong move.

“How much longer?” Steve asks, like he doesn’t already know, like he hasn’t been counting down the days since Eddie got taken away.

Eddie exhales heavily, the sound muffling through the receiver. “Bit under three years.” Steve can hear the sad smile in his voice.

“Right.” Steve leans back against the wall, head tilted back as longing shoots through his gut. They were almost at the halfway point. There was so much he wanted to say, but he just… couldn’t. Steve would wait.

Steve’s kicking snow off his boots at his front door when he hears the phone ring from inside. He bolts in, slipping on the floor slightly in his haste. 

“Hello?” he answers breathlessly.

“Hey.”

A wave of relief washes over him. “Eddie,” he breathes.

“You okay? Did I wake you up?” His tone immediately switches to one of concern.

“No, no, I just got back from the Henderson’s,” Steve says, running a hand through his hair, willing his heart to calm down now that he’s answered the call. “We wanted to call you, but… y’know.”

“Yeah…” Eddie sighs. “I wish you could.”

The silence settles, and they just listen to each other breathe for several long moments. Steve knows that Eddie is holding back, the same way he is. Saying things that are only close to what they mean. Their quiet filled with unanswered questions and things they wish they could say. Finally, Eddie breaks it.

“Are you by yourself?”

“Yeah, just me tonight,” Steve says, shrugging his jacket off. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Eddie doesn’t laugh at the joke. Steve didn’t really think it was that funny. Their constant need to skirt around the thing developing between them led to him saying some dumb stuff. He rolls his eyes at himself.

“I don’t think I could handle talking to anyone else tonight,” Eddie says, voice growing soft. “It’d be, I dunno, too much. With you, I can just… be, y’know?”

Steve is surprised—as he often is—at the honesty. He tries to make his next words sound casual, but he’s sure he fails miserably. “I’m glad I caught you then.”

“Yeah… me too.” Eddie doesn’t let the silence linger for too long this time. “So, any new Henderson theories to update me on?”

Steve snorts. “Of course.”

Letting him talk about his day at the Henderson’s, Eddie hums in the right moments, asks a few follow up questions, makes little jokes, but is otherwise quiet, seemingly content to just let Steve ramble. Happy to hear his voice. He lets Steve talk until he’s yawning too much to complete a full sentence.

“Sorry, I should let you go to sleep, it’s late.” Eddie’s tone is gentle, but like he’d rather be saying anything else.

“Nah, it’s cool, man,” Steve argues sleepily. “Don’t wanna waste your call.”

“It’s never wasted with you.”

“Eddie…” Steve doesn’t know what to say. Or rather, he knows exactly what he wants to say, but doesn’t know if he should. If he even could. He yawns again.

“Come on, bed time,” Eddie’s voice teases.

Steve feels the pull of his eyelids, begging for sleep. “Yeah, alright… Talk to you soon?” He tries to ask it casually, but again, can’t seem to manage it. Something like pleading coming through in his words.

“As soon as I can,” Eddie promises, voice tight with sincerity. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Eddie.” Steve pauses. “Merry Christmas.”

He can hear the sad smile in Eddie’s voice. “Merry Christmas, Steve.”

“How much longer now?” Steve asks, already knowing the answer.

“Two and a bit years,” Eddie sighs. “Past halfway, at least.”

Even Steve can tell he’s trying to convince himself it’s a good thing, but neither of them feel any happiness about it.

It’s been almost six months since Steve heard from Eddie, much longer than any gap between calls before. Anxiety gnaws away at him, a constant presence whispering in the back of his mind and sitting like a stone in his stomach. The kids—barely even kids now, having graduated high school—were starting to show their worry. He begged and pleaded with invisible entities that they’d hear something soon.

The phone finally rings.

“Hello?” Steve answers with urgency, as he did every time it rang these days.

“Steve?” the voice croaks.

“Eddie!” Bringing a hand to his face, Steve’s eyes welled with tears. “Eddie, are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m fine, it’s okay,” Eddie reassures him, sounding anything but. “They just had us somewhere remote. We didn't have a phone.”

“What the fuck? Can they do that?” Quiet rage slips through Steve’s chest.

“Evidently, they can do whatever they want,” Eddie seethes. “Didn’t stop me from bringing hell at every check up until they moved us again.”

Steve winces at the pain in Eddie’s voice. “I’m so sorry, Eddie. It’s fucking awful, what they’re doing to you.”

“It’s bullshit!” Eddie snaps. “I’m so fucking sick of it. I can’t believe this was their solution. Like, I’m the one demonised and hunted down in Hawkins and somehow I’m the one that ends up punished for it! It’s not even a solution. All it’s doing is fucking me around.” He takes a breath. “It’s hurting me. It’s hurting us.”

To anyone else, it would sound like Eddie meant him-and-Wayne-us, or even him-and-the-entire-party-us. But Steve knew. Heard it in the way he almost whispered it. Steve wanted to match his anger, throw something, hit something. Instead, he willed it down.

“It fucking sucks,” Steve says, keeping his tone soft. “But we’re so close to the end now. It’ll be over soon.”

“I just…” Eddie’s voice lowers. Steve can picture the way the air deflates out of him. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way. I wish… you could’ve come with me.”

“Me too.” Steve lets the back of his head hit the wall, eyes squeezed shut. “I miss you. So much.”

“I miss you, too.” Eddie says it like it’s painful. Like it gets caught in his throat halfway up. Like he was saying something else entirely.

“I’m sorry… I don’t know why I called when I don’t really have anything to say.” It’d been close to silent for more than five minutes before Eddie says it, voice soft. Almost timid.

The corner of Steve’s mouth lifts in a half-smile. “It’s okay. I’m just glad to hear your voice at all. To know you’re alive.”

The silence settles between them again. Comfortable, somehow. Eddie’s voice is smaller when he speaks again. “Only six months left.”

“Only six months,” Steve repeats, slightly more optimistic.

“We can… we can do it, right?” Eddie sounds so unsure. Steve can picture him playing with his hair. “It’ll be okay? When you visit?”

Steve knows what he means. He’s felt the same way for a long time. Scared that once they’re reunited, whatever this thing was—this delicate bubble of vulnerability—between them would burst. Each phone call found it wound tighter and tighter, pulled like a rubber band that would eventually reach its limit and snap, hurting both of them in the process. 

“It’ll be more than okay,” Steve says, sounding more sure than he feels. He wants more than anything to be able to hold him. To reach through the phone and wrap his arms tightly around him, feel the rise and fall of his breath and listen to his heartbeat.

“Promise?” Eddie asks, and Steve can picture him chewing on his nails.

“Promise.”

“One month left,” Steve whispers in the dead of night. No one else is there, but something about the late hour makes him quiet. Or maybe it’s what he’s saying. Like a wish that needs to be kept secret, or it won’t come true.

“One month,” Eddie repeats, just as soft. “You’ll be here?”

“Wherever you are, I’ll be there,” Steve assures him.

He’s sure Eddie can feel it too. The thing between them growing more palpable, more solid, more real. The less time they have left, the stronger it becomes. It terrifies both of them.

The car stops in an urban area of Chicago. Steve glances around as he gets out of the backseat, giving a quick thanks to the government official who drove him. His heart races. This is it. Double checking the address on the small piece of paper, he looks up to the block of apartment buildings, scanning the numbers.

Steve doesn’t need to look for long. At the next building, standing in the entryway, with his curly hair pulled into a messy bun, shadow of facial hair around his jaw, face more angular than Steve remembers, is—

“Eddie…” The name comes out in a soft breath, like a prayer. His eyes well up and he quickly blinks, as though the man might disappear if Steve couldn’t see him.

Whatever was holding Eddie to the stoop of his building breaks. He jumps down, skipping the stairs completely and landing with a thud of his boots. He runs, as quick as his legs allow him, until he crashes into Steve, almost knocking them both to the ground. With his arms around Steve’s neck, Eddie whispers his name over and over. Steve pulls him tight, arms wrapped around his waist. Steve can feel Eddie’s heartbeat matching his—racing, pounding, about to jump out of his chest. They hold each other like they’ll never let go, afraid that all of it could be taken away again.

Finally, Eddie pulls back, one hand softly entangled in Steve’s hair, and looks at him, huge eyes filled with tears. “You look different,” Eddie says with a wet laugh.

Steve can’t help but smile. “In a good way?”

Eddie nods with enthusiasm, grinning despite the tears. “In a really good way.”

Their eyes are locked on each other, and Steve can’t hold back anymore. He leans in, cautiously at first, before Eddie gives him a tiny nod, leaning in to meet him halfway. Their lips finally meet, crashing together, and Steve gasps at the feeling. It’s messy and desperate and shy. It’s everything they wished they could say, given to each other in their kiss. Steve brings his hands up to hold Eddie’s face, feeling the tears spill over and wiping them away with his thumbs.

They pull back, laughing and crying. Steve kisses him again and again and again, on his lips, his cheeks, his forehead, before finally just looking, taking in every detail of Eddie’s face. The deep brown of his eyes, the thick lashes, the faint dusting of freckles across his nose. “I’m never letting you go. Never again.”

Eddie laughs again. It sounds like a sob. “Never again. You promise?”

“I promise,” Steve says reverently. “I love you, Eddie.”

Eddie’s smile grows wider, a fresh lot of tears spilling from his eyes. “I love you, too.”

[hynzsn]

★ BUTT BOUND ★

☆ changbin + bangchan x male reader 18+ MDNI

-> bully!changbin + bully!bangchan x victim!reader

꩜ .ᐟ smut

contents: dubcon, bottom!changbin + bottom!bangchan x top!reader, big dick!reader, brainwashed!reader, teasing, oral, anal sex, anal fingering, cock riding, talk about their fat jiggly butts, cumpie, degradation, facial, cumshot, moaning, whimpering, grunting, ass slapping

wc: 2.3k

summary: college bullies chan and changbin turn you into their submissive, brainwashed slut. they take turns fucking your mouth and bouncing on your cock with their fat jiggly asses, making you go crazy and melt underneath them until you’re nothing but a complete mess.

a/n - i do not like this at all 😭 but i made a promise to myself that i would post everything i write no matter how bad it is so here it is… hopefully you guys like it better than i do >.<

♡︎♡︎♡︎ likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated ♡︎♡︎♡︎

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

the clock ticked towards midnight as you sprawled out on the corner table of the college library, immersed in textbooks. aside from the faint buzz of fluorescent lights and the infrequent rustle of pages, the entire room was silent. in an effort to escape the constant harassment you were experiencing on campus, you became utterly engrossed in your studies. however, tonight, destiny had different intentions.

chan and changbin entered the library as the doors swung wide, their presence commanding attention. anxiety gripped you. in an effort to go unnoticed, you shrank as much as you could. however, by that point, your efforts were futile. they fixed their intense gazes on you like lions spotting a wounded gazelle. "lookie here, bin," chan said with a sneer, his voice loud enough to break the silence. "our favorite little geek."

changbin’s mouth curled into a mischievous grin. "why are you here by yourself?"

"i’m just studying, that's all,” you mumbled. "i have a test tomorrow."

both changbin and chan looked at each other, their faces turning even darker. "you’re always studying," changbin remarked as he moved closer to the table. "it’s pathetic.” chan swiftly lifted you up by the collar and had you standing before you could respond. forgotten, the textbooks scrambled to the floor. "you’re coming with us," he demanded, his hold strong and unwavering. "we have something more beneficial for you to do.”

fear was the factor that stifled your protestations. you were aware that resisting was pointless. you were not only outnumbered, but you were also, without a doubt, outmatched. you let them drag you out of the library with a groan of resignation, your feet faltering as you tried to keep up with their determined pace. the journey to the dormitory was a haze, and your mind was racing with anxiousness the entire time. though you didn't know what they might do, you assumed it was bad. you could feel your heart racing as soon as you reached the door to their room.

after forcing the door open with his foot, chan shoved you inside. the room had a low level of light, and the air was thick with a smell that was foreign to you. your eyes darted around, taking in the sight of the cluttered desks and the unmade beds. you were in a confined space. to show his eagerness, changbin closed and locked the door behind you. his eyes sparkled with excitement. "sit down," he ordered while pointing to his bed with his finger.

despite your first hesitation, chan gave you a forceful push that caused you to fall onto the mattress. you sat there, your heart pounding, as chan and changbin both removed their shirts, exposing their cut abs and showcasing their strong bodies. the sight was enough to make your breath catch in your throat. they were so terrifyingly perfect that you felt even smaller. under their gaze, you felt helpless; they looked like predators ready to attack you.

the first to walk forward was changbin, who exuded an air of self-assurance. he growled at you, his tone dripping with scorn, and said, "look at you. i’m willing to bet that you're already hard and desperate.” he leaned down, grasping your crotch, and fondled your cock through your pants. his fingers traced the outline of your cock. simultaneously with your soft whimper, he erupted into a small belly laugh. "you are such a fucking loser,” he mocked. you were hard. rock hard, in fact. as his fingers began tugging at the waistband of your jeans, he pulled them down your thighs, along with your boxers. The entire length of your enormous cock escaped its confines and sprung free, as changbin and chan observed. it was thick, with a drop of precum glistening at the tip, and stood tall and proud, throbbing with need.

chan exhaled a chuckle. “i knew his dick was big, but fuck, he's huge… i guess we‘be got the perfect toy in our possession, bin.

"definitely. we’re going to milk this big boy dry.” changbin drew his thumb across the tip of your cock as he collected the bead of precum. he then placed his thumb on his lips and pulled away from you. "mmm, he tastes delicious, too."

all you could do was sit there, your mouth dry and your mind reeling. yeah, you had fantasized about this moment countless times before, but the reality was overwhelming, to say the least.

changbin wasted no time. he turned around and undid his pants, revealing his fat, jiggly ass. he backed up toward you with a teasing sway of his hips, his ass cheeks tantalizingly close to your throbbing cock. “you like this, huh? i bet you can't wait to have my fat ass bounce on your useless dick.”

your breath hitched as changbin turned around and lowered himself onto his knees, one of his hands holding your cock with a tight grip. “don’t get too excited; i’m not about to suck your dick,” he spat, grabbing a condom from his nightstand and tore it open with his teeth. "i don’t want you making a mess inside my ass.” with practiced ease, he rolled the condom down over your cock. the latex felt cool against your heated skin, and you couldn't help but shiver at the sensation.

once the condom was securely in place, changbin reached for the bottle of lube that was also sitting on his nightstand, squirting a generous amount onto his fingers. he stood up and turned back around, spreading his cheeks with one hand while the other one slicked up his hole. the sight of changbin’s fingers slipping in and out of his hole caused your cock to twitch in anticipation. changbin moaned softly as he worked the lube on himself, his fingers glistening. looking over his shoulder at you, he teased, "fuck, i bet you've been dreaming about this. too bad you’re just a fucking loser. you’re not even good enough to fuck me without a condom.”

you whimpered in response; your mind was already starting to fog over with desire. you watched as changbin positioned himself over your cock, slowly lowering himself. changbin’s tight heat enveloped you inch by inch, and your eyes rolled back at the overwhelming sensation. “fuck, you’re big,” he groaned, starting to ride you slowly, his ass cheeks jiggling with every bounce. “you like that, you little slut? do you enjoy exploiting your tormentors?"

in response, you could only moan, your hands gripping tightly onto the bed sheets. everything felt like a blur—the sight and sensation of changbin’s ass taking over your every thought. you were becoming mindless, just as they wanted.

chan watched with a smirk as he also pulled down his pants, his own cock rock hard and leaking. "you’re not even prepared for me to get on that cock," he mocked, his voice dripping with malice, despite the promise behind his words. he moved beside you, his hand grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him. “for now, i’ll make use of your mouth.” chan guided your head toward his cock without uttering a word, the thick length of his cock slipping past your lips. you moaned around his cock, and the vibrations made chan shudder. “good boy,’ chan murmured, his hand tangling in your hair to control the pace.

meanwhile, changbin picked up the pace, his ass slapping down with increasing speed. each bounce, along with the thrusts of chan’s cock inside your mouth, caused your eyes to roll back for what felt like the hundredth time, causing your brain to melt. in contrast to how you were earlier, you accepted everything they were doing to you without hesitation.

chan found the sounds of you moaning, gagging, and slobbering all over his cock to be delightful. he even went so far as to remove his cock from your mouth, allowing your saliva to connect a string from his cock to your lips as he slapped his cock against your cheek, resulting in a wet and sloppy patch on your skin. “fuck, look at him. he’s such a pathetic, drooling slut. he can’t get enough of my cock, bin,” chan grunted, shoving his cock back into your mouth.

your muffled moans around chan’s cock were all the answers they needed. you absolutely loved this. you were completely lost in pleasure. you were their submissive and slut, and you loved every second of it.

chan withdrew from your mouth, his cock sparkling with your saliva. “move, bin. it’s my turn," he declared as he advanced behind changbin, who was still bouncing on your cock. chan pushed changbin forward, making him come off your dick as he now lined himself up with your cock. bangchan’s ass was slightly more compact than changbin’s, but no less impressive. "let’s get this thing off," he purred, effortlessly removing the condom and tossing it aside. "i don't mind you making a mess in my ass. good pathetic sluts like yourself should be rewarded a little, and what better than to take my ass raw?” with a teasing wiggle, chan lowered himself onto your cock, his ass jiggling as he took changbin’s place.

your mind couldn’t handle the shift; the sensation of chan’s even tighter heat replacing changbin’s driving you insane. chan bounced on your cock with practiced ease, his ass jiggling beautifully. “yeah,” he taunted, “you like this, don't you?” he rolled his hips around on your cock, making you moan out, unable to use coherent words to give him a response. your cock was twitching inside of him. you moved your hands to grab at chan’s hips, desperate for more, and you got exactly what you wanted. chan began to bounce on your cock again, this time making sure to come down and take you as deep as possible.

changbin, subtly gaining his composure, moved behind chan, his hand coming down to spank chan’s jiggling ass, causing chan to moan. “fuck, this is hot,” changbin groaned, his free hand reaching down to pump his own cock. his hand continued to slap chan’s ass, each slap sending ripples through chan’s plump cheeks. the sound of skin on skin echoed through the room, mixing with the panting and moaning. you were barely holding on, your senses overloaded by the sight and sensation of chan riding you expertly.

chan’s head lolled back, a blissful expression on his face as he bounced faster, driving you deeper into madness. “fucking loser,” chan taunted with a breathless voice. on the receiving end, you were beyond words; your mind was fixated on the consuming pleasure of having your cock milked dry. every bounce, every jiggle, imprinted itself into your brain, turning you into a mindless and needy mess.

changbin smirked as he observed you, his own cock hard and in need of some attention. he moved to your side, grabbing the back of your head and forcing you to face him. “you’re not done yet, loser. you’ve got two of us to satisfy.” with that, changbin presented his small but thick cock to you. without hesitation, you opened your mouth, welcoming changbin’s cock with eager enthusiasm. the taste and scent of changbin’s cock filled your senses, adding to your brainwashed state.

changbin thrust into your mouth at a brutal pace. “yeah, that’s it,” he snarled, his voice filled with dominance. “take it all, you slut. show us how much you love being our fucktoy.”

chan continued to ride your cock; his pace was relentless. he was a vision of sinful pleasure, his ass bouncing up and down, each movement driving you deeper into submission. “you’re doing so well, slut,” chan cooed, his voice dripping with false sweetness. "takin’ us both like a good little slut."

as changbin fucked your mouth, you found yourself drowning in sensation. you were completely at their mercy; your mind was reduced to a single thought: serve and please your bullies. your hands gripped chan’s hips even tighter as you tried to ground yourself.

changbin’s thrusts became more erratic, his breaths coming in sharp pants. “fuck, you’re good at this,” he groaned. “such a perfect little slut. you’re going to make me cum.” your eyes fluttered closed, and your mind was hazy with pleasure. you could feel your own orgasm building, the tight heat of chan’s ass, and the taste of changbin’s cock pushing you to the edge.

“don’t you dare cum yet,” chan warned, his voice filled with authority. “not until we say so.” you whimpered around changbin’s cock, trying to hold back your impending release. the command only heightened your pleasure, making you even more desperate. you were their toy, their slut, and you would do anything to please them.

changbin’s moans grew louder, and his thrusts became more frantic. “fuck, i’m going to cum,” he panted, pulling out of your mouth just in time. he stroked himself a few times before unleashing his hot release all over your face. “take it, you slut. wear my cum proudly.” your eyes fluttered open, and the warmth of changbin’s cum on your face added to your dazed state. you were completely at their mercy, covered in sweat, and cum. your cock throbbed inside of chan, desperate for release.

chan’s movements became more erratic as he approached his own orgasm. “fuck, you feel good,” he moaned, his pace quickening. “i’m going to cum, and you’re going to take it all. you hear me?”

you could only nod; your mind was too foggy to form words. you were on the brink, your entire body trembling with need. with a final, powerful bounce, chan came, shooting his massive load all over your thighs, your legs, and the bed sheets, his body shuddering with pleasure. the tight grip of chan’s hole around your cock finally sent you over the edge, your own orgasm crashing through you. you cried out, your release filling him as your mind went completely blank.

chan slowly lifted himself off your cock, your cum leaking out of his hole, both of you panting and spent. with a satisfied smirk on his lips, he looked down at you. “good job, loser. you’re good at something besides absolutely sucking in life, being our slut.”

changbin chuckled, wiping the sweat from his brow. “yeah, you did great. can’t wait to use you again.”

[moongreenlight]

Said my piece about stalker!soap but how could I forget stalker ex boyfriend!ghost????????????!

Cw: Creepy crawler behavior. Stalking. Breaking in.

Maybe you should stop listening to true crime podcasts at work.

It feels entirely silly. You’re surely working yourself up over nothing, but some mornings you wake up and have to explain-away the way that your toothbrush is in the wrong spot or that there’s a lunch packed in the fridge that you can’t remember putting together yourself. There’s pictures on your phone that look like your dark bedroom that you’re pretty sure you didn’t take yourself. Maybe you accidentally took it on the way to bed? While you were getting up to use the bathroom?

You talk yourself blue in the face explaining it away well enough that you convince yourself your flat must be haunted. It seems almost logical? Better than any of the alternatives you can come up with if nothing else.

You live with the infrequent tweaks and changes to your surroundings. Lights on you shut off. Doors open you left closed. Your laptop charger going missing when you were certain you left it on the desk.

You almost go so far as to get a motion-activated light to plug into the outlet by your bedroom door, but you convince yourself against it after wandering the aisles of a drugstore with it in your cart long enough for an employee to start following you around. You toss it back on the wrong shelf and buy a packet of sweets you won’t eat in an attempt to not look like you were casing the joint.

But then it picks up. Gets more serious. Windows being opened while you sleep. Strange creaking of floorboards that are too loud to be the building settling. Your bed being made when you get back from an outing you had to rush out the door for. Massive men’s sweaters showing up in your in-unit dryer. The trash being emptied while you were at work. It gets so bad that you stop staying at home because it’s simply too creepy.

It’s the kind of fear that settles in the craggy parts of your brain. Seems silly if you think about it too hard the same way being scared of the dark in your closet after watching a horror movie does. Being scared of a potentially haunted apartment doesn’t really convey the severity of the situation when you try and talk about it with people.

You stay with friends. Couch surf as long as you can until you cannot possibly force people to take you in any longer. And when you’ve exhausted all other options, you find yourself texting Ghost for the first time in months.

Hey.

It’s hours before he responds. Not unusual. And instead of him texting back, you see a phone call block out the video you’re watching on your phone from a very well-lit spot in the living room. Also not unusual.

You pick up, but it takes you a few seconds to choke out words around the sudden lump in your throat.

“Forget how to answer the phone?”

He sounds irritated -again- not unusual.

It’s quiet where he is. Sounds like maybe he’s in a smaller space. His bedroom or his car? Though you couldn’t imagine him out at this hour of the night.

“Sorry. No. I- sorry.”

Shifting from his end. The static of fabric brushing past the microphone. A hefty sigh.

“Sorry.”

“You said.”

“Uh- I don’t really know how to ask you this, it’s- silly. I don’t know. Are you- um- busy?”

“S’half one in the morning.”

“It was a better time when I texted.”

It’s hard not to snark at him.

“No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“I mean no. I’m not busy.”

You’d love nothing more than to hang up on him, but you stayed up the entire two nights before because you couldn’t find anyone to come stay with you and you were getting desperate.

“Could you come over?”

[leahrintarou]

✩₊˚.⋆☾ BALANCED - osamu miya

CW: usage of the petname 'baby' and 'pretty', fluff, maybe a bit of 'angst' if you wanna call it that lol, fem reader (she/her) Word Count: 1.4k

“when will you come by, samu?”

“soon, baby. within another hour, i'll be on my way, okay?” his tone was breathy, and y/n inferred he’d stepped away from a busy situation to answer her call. with the weekend approaching, his shop was bound to be bustling. “what’s wrong?” he asked. after hearing only silence from her end, his breathing slowed.

y/n hesitated before responding, “nothing, but okay, i’ll see you later.”

he sighed at her evasion but chose to let it be.

“baby, i'll be home before you know it. you should take a nap to pass the time. you sound tired anyway.”

y/n nodded despite his inability to see her, and when his name was called faintly in the background, she muttered a quick goodbye before ending the call.

with the line dropped, y/n turned off her phone and tossed it to the other side of the sofa. she was genuinely thrilled for her boyfriend’s burgeoning business, but his infrequent visits were beginning to weigh heavily on her.

she hadn’t realized how much time they used to spend together until it started dwindling. whether it was her busy schedule maintaining her grades or osamu's increasingly tight schedule, their communications, though frequent, were beginning to fail in filling the void. nothing could replace the comfort of physical presence, especially when it came to osamu.

she stood up and decided to heed his advice to take a nap. after all, what else was there to do? her friends were occupied with work or their own classes, she’d finished her studying for the day, and she had no errands left. all she truly craved was relaxation, but for that to be possible, she needed the presence of the person she loved beside her.

her phone vibrated in her hand, and she checked the message from her boyfriend.

samu 🩶 -> ‘i know this is terrible timing, pretty, but i might be getting home a bit later than planned. i need to pick up a few supplies for tomorrow. we’re running low.’

she couldn’t stop the tears from welling in her eyes, blurring her vision. she wasn’t sure if her reply made sense, but she was beyond caring.

y/n -> ‘okay. be safe.’

she set her phone down on the nightstand and rested her head on her pillow. it had been a long, arduous week, and all she needed was him.

---

osamu hurriedly hung his hoodie by the door as he called out for y/n. her silence worried him. he had informed her of a late return, but the exact time had been unclear. he intended to be home three hours ago, but unforeseen circumstances had delayed him. he took steps up the stairs cautiously and gently pushed open the door.

there, y/n lay on their bed, her back turned to him. he called her name, and she stirred in her sleep, prompting him to sit on the edge of the bed. it was dim in the room, but he noticed the dampness of her pillow and her swollen eyes. his heart ached as he placed his palm against her cheek.

her eyes fluttered open, and they widened upon seeing his familiar face. she sat up as he settled on the bed, and she enveloped him in a tight hug.

“were you crying, baby?” he asked, wanting to pull away to see her face, but her embrace was firm, and honestly, he never wanted to leave it.

she mumbled a soft “no,” but the tremor in her voice revealed the truth.

“yeah, you were. look at your eyes…” he finally managed to view her features when she reluctantly released him. “i’m so sorry for being away for so long. why didn’t you tell me you were going through a rough patch?”

“you were busy with the shop and so happy that things were picking up. i’m happy for you too. so much,” she said, using the sleeves of her hoodie to wipe her tear-streaked cheeks.

“there’s a ‘but’ in there, isn’t there?” he asked, reaching for both of her wrists to gently pull them from her face.

“but,” she exhaled, meeting his gaze before looking down at her lap, “i don’t just want you to be here, i need you to be here. nothing is enjoyable without you anymore.” she frowned. osamu smiled and placed a tender kiss on the top of her head, then on her lips.

“i understand, baby. but listen to me.” his hand cupped her cheek, and she leaned into his warmth. “i will drop everything in a heartbeat if it’s you who needs me, okay?” he stated. she nodded and drew herself closer, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne. even the slightest trace of it brought her a sense of tranquility and comfort.

osamu wrapped his arms around y/n, holding her close. the weight of her words and the tears she had shed made him realize just how deeply his absence had impacted her.

“i’ve been so focused on making things work at the shop that i didn’t see how much you were struggling,” he admitted softly. “i promise i’ll make it up to you. we’ll find a way to balance this better.”

y/n nestled her head against his shoulder, her breathing slowly evening out. “i know you’re working hard, and i appreciate it. i just want to feel like i’m a part of your life, not just a contact on your phone.”

“of course you are,” osamu reassured her. “you’re my whole world. we’ll figure it out together, okay?”

he gently rocked her back and forth, his touch soothing her. after a few minutes, he pulled back slightly to look into her eyes. “how about we make some plans for the weekend? no work, no distractions, no studying.”

y/n’s eyes brightened at the idea, her sadness dissolving in the warmth of his gaze. “that sounds amazing, but time won’t stop just because we want to spend time together."

osamu smiled, his heart swelling with relief. he leaned in to kiss her forehead, then her lips again, as if to vow never to let her feel this way again. “you’re right, time won’t stop, but we can make every moment we have together count. let’s focus on the time we do get and make it special. we’ll find our balance, and until then, i promise to make the most of every second i can spend with you.”

as they settled back into their embrace, y/n felt a renewed sense of comfort. the weeks ahead might still be busy, but knowing osamu was committed to making time for her eased her worries.

with osamu by her side, y/n drifted off to sleep, feeling more at peace than she had in days.

“i’ll make sure we always have these moments. you mean everything to me, baby.”

this was written for a certain someone lmaooo

ty for reading! leave a like to show support :D

tag: @lifesucksweswallow & @powpowboom

[slowd1ving]

STRESS, STRAIN: THE TALE OF YOUNG MODULUS AND A FORLORN PHYSICS STUDENT ゜゜・BLADE DRABBLE

Dealing with a stalker roommate? No problem, Kafka's got the perfect solution: staying with the unapproachable and cold Blade. Teetering the thin line between sleeping on the streets and facing his rumored wrath, it sure is hard keeping your balance when the engineering student is anything but civil. gender-neutral, physics major reader paired with college au + band au (will come into play in another part I swear) see here for some basic designs for them warnings: some violence? consumption of alcohol, arguments, blade being a dick, college au wc: 6.3k

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

✧ Perhaps it’s lucky that your acquaintance Kafka finds you at your most dire of moments, or perhaps it’s your Achilles-level misfortune finally catching up to you. Dorm changes aren’t particularly infrequent, sure—but dealing with a stalkerish, obsessive roommate is definitely story-material for when you’re downing shots. Literature major Kafka isn’t one to turn her magnanimous back on whom she considers a friend, even if said friend is currently wallowing their sorrows away by complaining about the lack of available dorms to make the switch and drowning in hard liquor.  ✧ Saviour Kafka, who plays for notorious metal group Stellaron Hunters (she’s a suave electric violinist), finds this a perfect opportunity to help out the cute guitarist from the rival Trailblazers! Her deft fingers are already sending a message to her pinned contact and drummer: Bladie, finally found you a roommate. Respond. It should be okay to put two college students (in bands infamous for their tense rivalry on– and off–campus) together in the proverbial lab rat cage; after all, neither of you are aware of who the other is behind the elaborate masks. It’s not like there’s a deficit of music groups at the Astral Institute—so who will ever know? Don’t ask how she knows the face behind the pretty Venetian mask. She won’t ever tell.   ✧ Honestly, she’s not sure how the bad blood started (she helped spread the rumours). All she cares about is doing you a solid!

“You think the streets will accept me for who I am?” Even with your head slumped over your forearms and the smell of cheap vodka clinging to your clothes, Kafka thinks you look naively charming in the dim amber lights of a bar pretending to be upscale. And by naive, she means very naive—for real, how can a physics major be so gullible as to not question their roommate’s deranged tendencies until it’s far too late? It’s hilarious. 

She’d dissect how this mood is perfectly, pathetically fallacious to your situation; yet her mind is too honed in on the buzz of her phone as Blade finally replies to her text. 

“Kafka,” you bawl into a stack of papers you’d salvaged from your ransacked dorm. “What if the asphalt doesn’t like me when I’m sleeping in the streets?”

21:48 > ok. 

Kafka, being an expert at metaphorical and allegorical interpretation, translates Blade-speak easily: let’s discuss this tomorrow, please and thank you. 

“Found you a roomie,” she murmurs delightedly, watching with her hawk-keen eyes as you sit up drunkenly. 

“That was fast, even for you,” you wipe your eyes cautiously—still wracked with the occasional hiccup. “Who is it?”

“Blade. You know him?”

✧ That sobers you right up.  Of course you know him. Nicknamed Blade for how cold and unfriendly he is, you’ve personally seen him in engineering lectures: making people shiver from just his gaze alone, and on one notable occasion, making his project partner cry after his infamously harsh criticism of her proposal. It’s common knowledge that he practises various martial arts, but the rumours that circle around him like vultures whisper of how he uses them on the streets. But whilst you doubt the reliability of the latter talk, it’s hard not to picture his hands dripping sanguine when his eyes glint the same shade.  ✧ Honestly, how bad could it be? It’s not like you have any other options unless you want to wake up with your roommate standing over you while you sleep again. After her, you doubt he’ll be any more of a walking nightmare.  ✧ Perfect!—Kafka is a bit too enthusiastic at your reluctant nodding, but you cast it from your mind as you pack your stuff with Caelus and Stelle standing behind you like a pair of twin guard dogs. One good thing about this is that you can finally take your guitar with you (rather than storing it safely at Dan Heng’s room) to the apartment—because of course he’s too good for the dorms. Though, after experiencing your batshit roommate, you really can’t blame him for avoiding this area.  ✧ Maybe, just maybe, the rumours about him being insane too are false and you can finally have a peaceful night’s rest without fearing for your life. 

Yeah right. You hate him. You genuinely hate the man over in the room next door. The passage of time on your phone indicates it’s only been a week since you showed up with five boxes of belongings and a nervous smile on your lips—but the agony you’re going through prolongs this mental period to eternity. 

Sisyphus embodies futility for evermore; as do you when you’re knocking on his door for the nth time to beg him to quiet down on his drums. The timings are so meticulous and calculative that you’re sure you could work out a linear sequence to this situation if you tried. 

Exhausted from the laboratory job you’re juggling on top of band practice and reading on Dirac notations? No problem—Blade’s busy expressing how you feel in terms of loud crashing and banging that you hate to admit is (very technically) skilled.

Recalling your first encounter—your nervous smile and his cold indifference as you moved into the room next to his—it’s not hard to imagine that he’d be inconsiderate of you. Those red eyes had slid right past you like oil on water: judging you to be not worth his time to even greet properly. In fact, it’s like he’s trying to chase you out so you leave him alone for good. 

The deep mahogany door swings inward, and you’re left facing an unimpressed, scowling Blade. With the way he’s clutching those drumsticks, you’d think he was about to skewer you—but you’re a bit too preoccupied with how he’s only sporting a pair of loose navy trousers that cascade languidly from his hips. 

“What do you want?” Laconic as ever, he gets straight to the point with his question—as if he can’t possibly fathom why you’ve come knocking. Just like this morning, just like last night, the night before, the night before yesterday’s—every damned night is a problem. 

“For you to invest in soundproofing,” you scowl back, too tired to keep up the fragile facade of politeness. At least when you practise with the electric guitar, you can easily hook it up to a pair of headphones and protect the sanctity of silence elsewhere. Actually, you don’t think he even knows your guitar exists with how considerate you are of your asshole roommate. 

“Why should I?” he crosses his arms, looking directly down at you. If you looked closely, the slight stretch of his lips resembled a smirk—but you’re definitely mistaken, since the man never so much as smiles. The cold expression accompanying his crude words sums up his thoughts: if you don’t like it, beg Kafka for whatever other solution she has. 

His inky hair sways from where it’s tied back, and you resist the urge to yank it until he sees sense. 

“For better quality of life,” you grit out. 

Those eyes turn into sardonic crescents. “I’m good.”

And the door is shut. 

✧ Fortunately, you’ve managed to fall asleep in the middle of the practise room before on countless occasions; tuning the heavy thumping comes easy after a while when you’re exhausted and practically dead on your feet. The problem is during the day—doing your assigned reading and writing up results from practical work comes much harder when you’re constantly accompanied by the rhythmic percussion of a madman who favours metal. It gets so rowdy that you seriously consider whether he’s part of the Stellaron Hunters and knows you’re a Trailblazer—it would make sense, after all, if he was just feeling extra spiteful. However, from the trembling students claiming to be his previous roommates, this is just common treatment: him basically telling them to beat it and never return.  ✧ Two can play at that game. Upon complaining to Kafka of his (rage-inducing) musical tendencies, she suggests that you get back at him with your electric guitar. Don’t ask her how she knows, no she’s not trying to instigate and watch the chaos—Kafka attempts to reassure you. You don’t trust the shady writer one bit, but both Data Analysis major Dan Heng and Environmental Studies student March 7th give the plan the go ahead. If you’re not mistaken, you can hear a touch of personal grief in the normally composed Dan Heng’s voice—something so poignantly irritated you wonder what the story between them is.  ✧ Contrary to his nonchalant attitude, it’s clear he’s annoyed by the loud chords that buzz through the apartment. As soon as he picks up his drumsticks, you plug the guitar to the amps and thoroughly mess with him. You know enough from Caelus’ repertoire to place each genre of music Blade starts to play (which is limited to metal). No problem—you play various styles that decidedly aren’t metal and are so discordant with his own tempo you can’t help but keep a grin on your lips. He’s much too stubborn to knock on your door, but the irritated twitch of his eyes in the kitchen belies just how aggravating this is. And when you know he’s scrawling down notes for his classes, that’s when you’re practising your metal riffs and playing around with the fretboard. If you’re feeling particularly nice, you’ll play along to some darkwave gothic music—something relatively more calm—but these occasions are few and far between. 

Chromatic eyes pierce your back while you deftly chop vegetables for your dinner. Really, now’s the best time to do work: when you’re busy with cooking and not insistent on plaguing him with jarring melodies. For someone so logical when it comes to his meticulous classwork, he sure doesn’t seem it as he leans against the counter on the other side of the kitchen—sipping water and just staring at you while you Julienne an onion. 

You shoot him a withering glance as you toss the slices into a bowl on the side, and he glares at you with a matched fervour. If it weren’t for the fact that you literally don’t have anywhere else to go—Caelus doesn’t even have a couch for you to sleep on—you’d have moved out a long time ago. 

It’s a rustic space: sage green cabinets filled with charming, mismatched plates and cups; glossy white counters that house various herbs and the occasional plant; a lacquered table in the middle that has a vase holding a singular dried flower. An orange lily—still retaining a vibrancy that conceals just how long it’s been there. You wouldn’t have expected this style of decor from him, but at the same time, you doubt it’s his influence so much as Kafka’s. 

“Do you have a problem?” you probe icily, turning back to where you’re slicing a carrot into thin matchsticks; if there was a god somewhere, you’d hope it could transfigure the man behind you into the root vegetable you’re enthusiastically chopping. 

“No.” And when he speaks again, he’s right behind you. There’s a sink to your left, but he’s much too close as his breath ghosts over the nape of your neck. Affronted, you turn around; only to watch as his eyes widen minutely, glass of water slipping out of his grasp and spilling down your front. 

“You dickhead.” Your hands angrily grab at his collar—unheeding or perhaps uncaring of his reputation for violence as you feel the cold seep into your skin. You’re seething; for someone with such good reflexes, this is a new level of low in attempting to chase you out. Or perhaps it’s revenge for finally getting under his skin. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

It’s a little too late when you realise the position you’re in: skin showing through the translucent material, breathing shallow from your infuriation, face glaring right up at his. 

“Sorry.” His voice rings out insincere—and there’s that damn faint smile still toying at his face as he looks directly at you with that heavy gaze. “My hand slipped.”

You shove him back, too disgusted to acknowledge him any further. Maybe if you turned back around, you’d see the tiniest pricks of red on his face as you tossed your soaked shirt into the washing machine—leaving you in a damp vest while you continued cooking for yourself. Maybe if you looked back at least once, you’d see the amusement in his eyes as you maul the bok choy on the cutting board. 

Those are maybes.

There’s particular things you know for certain. One, you despise him and his existence. Two, he abhors you and your entire being—because why else would he be so insistent in making you leave out of your own volition?

✧ It’s the time of year that you hate: joint engineering classes so you can cover the materials aspect for your physics studies. Well, it’s not like you hated it from the very beginning—you’ve hated it ever since you realised that once again, you’d have to be in the incorrigible presence of Blade. While he did finally install some soundproofing in his room, he’s taken it upon himself to linger wherever you’re present. Typing up your notes on the deep maroon couch with a mug of lavender tea perched on the coffee table? He’s in the window seat, looking over a thick reference manual for tensile strengths. Going to meet bassist Dan Heng so the two of you can play around with various lines for your next song? He’s at the convenience store you briefly stop at, gazing at you before he glares at your friend. Practising a slow solo in the living room (it’s really got the best ambience)? He’s tapping out a beat that you can very faintly now hear—one that surprisingly goes with the electrifying chords.  ✧ Point is, you’re ignoring him and his presence—while he’s inching ever closer. It comes to a head at the lecture hall; you decide to sit in the third row, since it’s both far from the back (where he usually frequents) and it doesn’t make you look like a beg. When you glance at his predestined seat, it’s empty—unsurprisingly as he’s there usually a minute before the professor—while the seat next to him is taken by a girl you’ve seen before. Despite his horrible personality and the (probably true) rumours surrounding him, there’s a few stragglers who genuinely want him. And you genuinely want those people to seek help because it’s clear something went wrong in their lives for them to be thirsting over a man who looks like he eats cigarettes for breakfast.  ✧ He comes in late, as you expect, but you freeze as he places his bag down next to you. Aghast, you can’t help but stare; yet for once he’s not meeting your eyes, and it’s far too late to make a scene and move elsewhere—not when the professor’s just arrived and is keen to start the lecture for materials. He doesn’t talk much, but you’re so distracted by his presence pressing slightly into your sides that you forget that today the professor’s deciding on the pairs for your projects—mouth agape, you stare in shock as she assigns them based on who’s sitting nearby. To be generous, she says, yet there’s nothing generous about this arrangement as his mocking eyes meet yours. He knew, you seethe, storming out of the hall right as the class wraps up. 

“I hate him.” Your molars grind bone-against-bone as you harshly press angry chords into the fretboard. “I hate him so so so so much.”

“Who are you talking about?” March 7th—in charge of the synthesiser—glances first at the bassist to your side, then back at you. Her eyes are wide in sympathy, yet it’s useless in the face of your despair. 

“Blade.” Poetically, the word is accompanied by the deep twang of Smoke on the Water as your fingers move mindlessly on your precious baby. What, your roommate?—she queries. No, a pet fish—Caelus responds, but you tune them both out. 

“He knew the professor would assign groups like that,” you groan. “That’s why he sat next to me.”

“He’s definitely trying to get you to leave his apartment out of your own will,” Dan Heng’s smooth cadence is somewhat soothing—and his conjecture is one you’ve come to yourself—but the accompanying baseline he’s playing to the song makes his theory sound comical. “But he won’t screw up his own project like that.”

You sigh, and the melody falls apart as you bring it to a grinding halt. 

“Believe me, I know just how much he values his projects.” Your head throbs upon thinking about that poor girl sobbing, and the bassist coughs to stifle a laugh. 

“What did he say that one time? ‘Your vapid idea would be better used on death row than as a functioning building’,” Stelle—the vocalist and also the only Psychology major you know who doesn’t unnervingly stare at you—imitates the deep reverberations of his voice, and you’re astonished at how it’s recalled verbatim (down to the exact adjective).

“I’m surprised it got round that far,” you suppress a smile—after all, it’ll be your head on the chopping block next. “You should’ve gone into theatre like Caelus did.” 

What a waste of talent, you shake your head mock-ruefully, which quickly turns to true woe as you realise just the predicament you’re in. 

✧ It’s not a complicated assignment. Well, it shouldn’t be: designing a sound structure based on the whims of the architectural class (whom you loathe); except that Blade is notorious for being a severe critic for civil engineering partnerships—like seriously, out of all hills to die on and it’s civil engineering. You begrudgingly create a new contact for him in your phone; a digital space just for him, which almost makes you throw up at the thought.

(+2 unread messages) <Dickhead> (new contact) 10:11 > library.  10:11 > east block, 20 minutes.

You stare incredulously at the chat, which is neither phrased as a question nor a request but an encrypted demand. The fuck? Infuriated, you take the break between your reps now rather than later, swilling down water while you irritably type out a reply. 

No can do. < 10:15 I’m busy. < 10:16

The reply comes less than a minute later; three dots animating themselves into existence while you wipe the sweat off your face with a towel. This prick. Well, it’s not so much a reply as an acknowledgement of your words—because he doesn’t reply, but rather your phone starts buzzing and you fumble while looking at the expletive lit up brightly on the screen. 

You’re sorely, sorely tempted to press the red receiver on the device. 

“What do you want?” you scowl, and you hope it translates through your voice that you’re revolted by his mere radio presence. 

“Where are you?” He ignores your question; voice vibrating low through your headphones, and you can’t help but shiver, just a little. Even through the thick towel, you can still feel crescents being formed in your palm from your nails—you sincerely wish you were throttling him instead. 

“None of your business.” 

There’s a budding migraine blossoming to life in your temple as you finally hang up. You think that’s the end of it—after all, it was literally yesterday that the groups were assigned. 

But when you shoulder the gym door open—skin still damp and warm from your shower, clean clothes sticking ever so slightly to laved skin—there’s a sleek car parked outside, and you frown when Blade opens the driver’s door. 

“I’m going to report you for stalking,” you grit out, pressing your body to the cool glass of the building. “How the fuck did you know where I was?”

“Kafka,” he replies simply, and of course, that crazy woman was the one who viewed your private story and sent it to him. “I’m picking you up.”

“No you’re not.” Seriously, he thinks you’re that easy to convince—

“I’ll shut the fuck up with the drums for these two weeks.” 

It’s almost miraculous how quickly you slide into the passenger seat. 

✧ You’ve never been in such close proximity to him before (if you don’t count that day in the kitchen). At least, voluntarily. When you close your eyes and lean back against the headrest, you can smell the faint, woody scent of his cologne. It’s different from the putrid tide of Axe the average engineering student drowns themself in—rather, it’s got the deep undertone of oud and something sweeter. You don’t expect it; maybe if he smelled like first impressions, he’d stink of blood and a dumpster fire.  ✧ Don’t fall asleep—he remarks, and you can feel his eyes on you briefly. Eyes on the road, prick—you retort, but your own lids are still tightly shut. Therefore, you don’t see how his gaze traces the remaining water droplets from your shower: how his hands linger on his gear stick so he can feel the emanating warmth from your damp thigh.  ✧ He freezes. Gross. He doesn’t like anyone, and only tolerates the rest of the Stellaron Hunters since they’ve seen him at his lowest and yet still find ways to bug him. And you. He wasn’t expecting you to last as long as you have. He certainly wasn’t expecting you to irritate him in your own way, and actually manage to aggravate him enough to force him into soundproofing his room. Actually, he still doesn’t know why you did that. He doesn’t know why his heart picked up slightly at the sight of you in that soaked shirt. And in the end, he still doesn’t entirely know why he chose to sit next to you for that lecture instead. It’s to annoy you, he decides. No point in deliberating too much about it.  ✧ It’s surprising that the two of you don’t immediately argue over the project; some eco-facility for sports that surprisingly was chosen unanimously by the pair of you. Eyes flitting to each other and back, it was a miracle you both had the same idea somehow. And it’s surprising when despite your lack of experience in civil engineering like this (you usually opt for mechanical on projects like these), you carefully consider the missing parts in his outlines—security cameras, sound systems, and tiny edits to the structure to really amplify the architecture.  ✧ He doesn’t mind your presence. That’s what shocks him. As you doze off with your head pressed into the crooks of your elbows, he doesn’t reprimand you like he would with anyone else. Instead, he places the material reference guide down and stops considering cement foundations. Before he gets the chance to poke your forehead, your phone buzzes against the table—lighting up with a name he didn’t think he’d see.  ✧ Dan Heng. He knows you’re friends with the guy, but there’s a burning sensation as his eyes watch the pop-up turn into another message, then another. What does he want? In real time, there’s a particular irritation that blossoms with each new notification. 

<Dan Heng> 20:19 > Are you still up? 20:19 > My roommate’s going to move in with his girlfriend, so you’ll be able to…

The message is cut off, but Blade isn’t stupid. He knows exactly what the implication suggests, and there’s a certain coolness in his eyes as he stares the message down. Isn’t this what he wanted? Yes, this is precisely the ending he hoped for: you moving out and him getting his space back to himself. 

But the issue stems from Dan Heng. He can’t have that. He can’t have you moving in with that man of all people. Anyone else would be fine, he insists to himself. 

Dan Heng. Dan Heng. Dan Heng. 

There’s a certain hypothesis he’d like to test. With your guard down like this, he snaps a photo of you with the drool leaking onto your sleeve—sending it directly to you. Just like clockwork, your phone lights up once more with a message. It’s not ‘Blade’ that’s texting you. 

<Dickhead> 20:20 > [photo.jpeg attached]

He grits his teeth, clutching his textbook until his fingers ache from the strain. No, he won’t give that bastard the satisfaction of taking his roommate like this. 

He’ll play nice. When you find someone who works this efficiently with you, while managing to hold their ground under his intimidating gaze, it’s hard not to want them to not scurry away. 

Eat shit, Dan Heng.

✧ Somehow, mercifully, you manage to complete the project with that weirdo. It’s strange—he’s surprisingly more cordial than ever. And with his inky hair pulled into a loose bun, glasses perched on his straight nose—it’s hard to imagine he’d ever made that poor girl cry in front of everyone like that, but you’d witnessed it yourself. So with a sigh, you remind yourself that he’s just as much of an asshole as the rumours say. But, staring at him so relaxed like this, these two different Blades are hard to ever merge.

“Something on my face?” He’s still writing with his glasses sliding down his nose. He sounds irritated, as per usual, but the tiny smirk painting his face lets you know that no he’s not irritated, he’s just being an arse just as always. 

“Yeah, pen,” you mutter, looking away as he finally glances up at you. When you glance back at the desk where your laptop precariously shows the still-unfinished presentation slides, he’s gazing up at you with an indecipherable look in his eyes. 

It almost puts to rest the image of a dickhead. 

“There’s no pen, though,” he purrs, voice low while he rests the manual back on the table. “I’ve been reading all morning.”

Nevermind—he’s as much of an asshole as he regularly is. 

“Who knows,” you comment offhandedly, slowly sliding a blue biro your way as soon as he looks back down. There—you attempt to inch forward to draw on his face, but he catches your wrist from across the table between you. 

You freeze. Shit, you screwed up. With how relaxed he is, it’s getting easier and easier to forget the rumours of his bruised knuckles that follow him like a shroud. His eyes glance coolly at you, then at the incriminating weapon within your fingers. 

“What are you doing?” Maybe he’s the questions first, beat up later kind. 

“Getting revenge.” Shameless, you think, but definitely not as shameless as getting told to effectively shut up with the drums yet having the audacity to keep going louder. 

His lips part, and your eyes nearly stray to the pink colour of them. Then, he smiles—something so cynical and disturbing you can’t help but shiver and twist your arm out of his hold, all so you can watch him askance. 

“I can see why people find you scary,” you shudder, tapping your biro on a square notepad. 

“And you don’t?” An innocuous question, but one that almost sounds accusatory. 

“Nah,” you make a disgusted noise, like you’re trying to suppress vomit. “You’re just a prick.”

In the end, that same prick ends up rolling his sleeves upon your request so you can litter blue ink upon his forearms. With how pale he is, it resembles delicate ceramics painted with cerulean landscapes. And while you do include etched illustrations and swirling designs, you make sure to include several phalluses dotted around—just so he lives up to his contact name. 

“Wow,” he remarks sardonically. “Maybe you should quit physics and join the liberal arts programme.”

You ignore him, taking a few shots of your handiwork and sending them to Kafka, captioned I feel like this truly reflects his personality and making sure all the tiny dicks are in full focus. 

“Maybe I should,” you shrug. “Then I wouldn’t have to deal with you, at least.”

“Likewise,” he responds, but it’s not as satisfying to think about you quitting as he thought it would be. 

It’s stupid. He finds that he doesn’t want the ink to wash from his arms, not so soon. 

When you log into your account to touch-up the presentation, you spot the comment he left back in the library on the presentation slides—timestamped to the exact twenty past five. 

17:20 > Maybe if you stopped staring at me, we’d be done sooner. 

It’s the longest sentence he’s ever typed out to you—but that’s exactly what makes it so galling. 

go fuck yourself < 22:31

22:31 > ooh you want me so bad aha

You pause, staring incredulously at the text, then to where the bathroom’s situated. The water’s definitely running.

… < 22:32 damn this idiot’s really getting scammed and hacked < 22:33 crazy < 22:33 [feynman’s twin] sent laughing emoji < 22:33

22:33 > on the daily lmao 22:34 > same two old man passwords for everything

Types like one too < 22:34

22:35 > right?? 22:36 > we should be friends btw 22:36 > [Blade.] sent contact silver-W

Dang he really put a period after than name too < 22:37

22:37 > top ten edgelords 22:37 > [Blade.] sent laughing emoji

[feynman’s twin] sent laughing emoji < 22:37

It’s not until the morning when he’s looking over the (surprisingly well-done) slides that he finally notices the string of (highly unprofessional) messages that he definitely did not write. 

His head throbs and his eye twitches as he reads through them—burning holes through the wall separating him and you. He hopes you receive the subliminal nightmares he’s so graciously sending you. 

It’s a fiercely deliberated decision. With a heavy heart, he finally presses [backspace] on the typo next to his nickname. 

He only hopes you won’t notice. 

(Silver Wolf notices—immediately screenshotting the new handle [Blade] and sending it to you.)

✧ Good things come in threes. Getting through this project, not getting beat up by that nerd, and getting through the presentation smoothly. By that, you mean you do most of the speaking while Blade clicks through the slides. However, contrary to all expectations, his voice comes low and rich—neither stumbling through the knowledge nor forgetting the important parts. It’s so shocking you can’t help but stare at him; something he definitely notices, judging by the self-important smirk he sends you.  ✧ Perhaps a little too good. The pair of you leave the lecture hall separately—after all, it’s not like you want to be in his presence any longer, and he doesn’t particularly want to be in yours either. But you do want the sweet energy drink that’s been chilling in the shared fridge for the past few days: as tantalising as the very nectar of the gods.  ✧ It’s when you enter an alleyway shortcut that you witness her—your old roommate. Vaguely, you recall she used to have a crush on Blade (a match made in heaven if there ever was one); perhaps that’s why she’s inching towards you with a pipe that is tetanus’ wet dream—so grimy you think you’ll immediately die if you’re struck by it.  ✧ All this over him?—you think with disgust as you try back out of the alleyway, only to collide with the towering body of her boyfriend: some guy unfortunate enough to be entrapped by her pretty face and definitely not her personality. She doesn’t want you, and he (aforementioned: Blade) doesn’t want her either. It’s rather tragic, but woefully you can’t spare any pity for them: not when you’re about to get beat and for what? A successful presentation with Blade?  ✧ They’re amateurish enough that you manage to evade them for a minute, but the alleyway’s too narrow to slip past them, and you’ve never been in a fight like this.  ✧ You’re cornered when he appears: some twisted knight he is.

“You’re late,” you heave, bruises on your knuckles and that man’s face. 

“You…” Blade trails off as he sees the blood spatters on your clothes, and his expression twists into one he’s glad you can’t see—not when his broad shoulders face you in an impenetrable wall. The two idiots—Tweedledee and Tweedledum, judging by how disturbingly gullible they are—stiffen immediately upon his timely arrival. 

He’ll handle it like he always does. 

But it’s certainly strange. Why does he feel so much angrier than he does normally?

✧ It’s late afternoon: dusk barely kissing the rooftops of the city, stars just about peeking from the violet firmament. You didn’t ask questions when he made enough space for you to slip out the alleyway: heart lodged in your throat as you quietly sat down at the local café with blossoming pain in your ribs and fists. Stupid, you were stupid to think that crazed girl would ever leave you alone.  ✧ Maybe it’s counterintuitive to feel safe when he steps into the small building. He smells faintly of blood: a terrible, metallic odour spilling onto his clothes and flesh. But beneath that, there’s a lingering scent of that woody oud—you can’t help but sink into it.  ✧ They won’t bother you ever again—he murmurs as the door jingles behind both of you. You didn’t kill them, did you?—you mutter back, half-sarcastically. No, but it probably hurt quite a bit for them—he shrugs. “Let’s go home.” ✧ Home. He says that, but there’s still that offer from Dan Heng to move in with him—one you’ll probably accept. Blade may have saved you, but he’s still a dickhead who has made numerous attempts to kick you out. 

“Ow, fuck,” you hiss as he dabs antiseptic on the various cuts on your hand. It’s well into the evening now, and you’re currently sitting on the bathroom counter with your injuries on full display. 

So infuriating. You glare at the man standing in between your legs—unscathed completely. Worst of all, there’s a smug smile on his lips; whatever worry he might have had over you has completely dissipated. 

“You couldn’t let them hit you once?”

“Bitter much?” he returns easily, swabbing another cotton ball with alcohol and pressing it against the large cut on the side of your forearm. It stings, but you grit your teeth and bear it—much too annoyed with him to show any more pain. 

In this position, the resentment you feel towards him turns faint; a veil seems to obscure the burning sensation. 

“You talk too much,” you seethe. “What happened to the prick who kept his mouth shut and ignored me?”

Tendrils of his jet-hued hair brush your cheek as he inches forward. “If you like, we can go right back to that—playing at my whim included.”

He hasn’t felt like this in years—back when he was still a boy named Yingxing and unmarred by the burdens life would eventually place on his shoulders. 

“Let me do it myself,” you argue back. 

“Nah.” Silver Wolf will pay for calling him an old man. “You won’t do it properly.” 

Another brief kiss from the alcohol against your bloody knuckles, and this time you can’t hide the slight wince on your face. It takes quite a lot of self-restraint to not dent the tweezers—he should’ve done so much worse to the two who tried this, besides beating the shit out of them and getting Kafka to land them behind bars. 

“That rod probably had tetanus on it,” he shrugs, rummaging around in his disused first-aid kit for plasters and bandages.

“Yeah, I thought that too,” you shudder. It's this moment of casual, same line thinking that strikes you as being far too strange. He's so close you can feel each puff of air when he exhales: practically scalding the bare skin stretched over collarbones. Too close—and if he keeps talking like this, as if he’s no longer disgusted by your presence, you won’t be able to deal with it. 

“What’d you do to her?” he questions, but it’s not the ‘no wonder she attacked you’ tone—rather than that, it’s like he’s trying to prompt you into distraction. 

“This is actually your fault,” you scowl, irritably casting your mind back to when she used to talk your ear off about the man standing here. 

“How so?” Nonplussed, he starts rolling the bandage across your arm—evidently, he’s experienced with this sort of thing. 

Stalker roommate. Stalker roommate has crush on engineering maniac. Stalker roommate sees that your new roommate and engineering maniac are one and the same—you summarise, too tired to give the specifics. He sees the way your lids flutter closed from exhaustion; for once, he’ll use Kafka to get more of the information you omitted. 

“Honestly, you two freaks would be perfect for each other,” you murmur absentmindedly. At that, he pulls the bandage tighter against your skin and you draw in a pained inhale. 

“You should try stand-up.” His voice is thick with revulsion, and it’s quiet for a few brief moments as he gets started on patching up the scrapes left on your back. You’re sitting on a stool now: unable to see his face but awfully mindful of how his hands brush over the skin layered over your scapula. 

“You still haven’t thanked me.”

“Thank you, my aggravating saviour,” you say, much too insincerely. “But that reminds me that I’ve got good news for you. That should suffice as a symbol of my gratitude.”

What is it?

“One of my friends has a room free, so I’ll probably be able to move out soon.”

The worst part is, he knows exactly who this friend is. His hands freeze on the band-aid he’s smoothing on your skin; too absorbed in his murderous thoughts to notice how you stiffen at the prolonged gesture. He’s not jealous; these are merely stirrings of friendship—this ugly, amorphous thing writhing in his gut and condemning him to senseless anger. 

“That’s not good news,” he breathes, and it’s a little too quiet as he finishes wrapping the final bandage around your bruised ribs. 

For the first time ever, Kafka receives a text from Blade that doesn’t consist of just one word. 

<Bladie> 20:33 > I need advice. 

Oh, this is interesting. 

What are friends for?—she coos, making sure to show Silver Wolf the glaring achievement in Blade’s range of text vocabulary. 

He’s clearly been on the rear end of bad news; while for her, on the contrary, this just means her scheme is moving along very nicely.  

[etheries1015]

Wishing you a happy birthday!

Featuring: General Lilia

General warnings: Gender Neutral reader

TW: None!

Being an orphan and of an unknown background, Lilia never really cared to know the true date of his birth. He didn't care to celebrate birthdays, simply for the fact that it becomes mundane and repetitive once you've lived long enough. He had a brief understanding that humans worked in an entirely different mindset, they treasured their short lives and often held grand celebrations to signify one year closer to their inevitable demise.

So the moment you had brought up the fact your birthday was that day, and you hadn't told him sooner, he seemingly brushed it off as if he hadn't cared for the notion. Little did you know, he was at an internal war with the values he thought he once had.

"I see." Lilia responded seemingly coldly, "And what age does that make you now?"

"(age)," You responded with a slight smile at his interest and widened eyes, "I know, compared to you i'm a baby, huh? I could be in my eighties and you'd still laugh at my 'lack of life experience.'" The general bit down his bottom lip and nodded, holding back commentary by grabbing his mask and heading towards the door of the cottage that you resided in. You noticed this uncomfortable shift in his demeanor, sighing slightly and retreating your playful banter.

"Off so soon..?" You asked with sadness in your voice, "I was hoping-"

"Don't," Lilia cut you off, "You are lucky I'm allowing you to stay here at all, human. Stay hidden, and remember that I..." He paused, seeing the sadness twinkle in your eyes tugged at his heart in ways he never thought he would feel. He hated the way you did that to him, he hated the feeling of butterflies with sharp wings fluttering in his stomach at those eyes, he hated the deep imbedded foreboding of betrayal for his people simply by sheltering you under his care.

Yet he also couldn't help but continue to test the waters and had found himself rather attached the past few months you resided with him.

"...I will return later," Lilia briskly murmured before closing the door, leaving you sighing helplessly at the kitchen table. It wasn't infrequent for the fae to act like this, you understood he had a major conflict of interest, and you couldn't blame his brash attitude. Yet there were days in which you wondered to yourself, when would he finally break out of that cold façade he placed?

The day quickly turned into night as you spent your day inside tending to your normal everyday hobbies. The clock ticked on and you could see stars begin to rise, with no sign of Lilia. This was not an uncommon occurrence, of course, he had spent days outside of the cottage fighting in a war you knew you should be siding with. None of that had truly mattered, though...you come to terms that Fae had souls just as sensitive and kind to the things around them as much as any human, the only difference was lifespan. With these thoughts in mind, laying in bed and wishing yourself a happy birthday you fell asleep.

Slumber did not last long for it seemed only a few minutes passed before you were awoken by strong hands that gently shook your shoulders. Your tired eyes blinked open to find a familiar figure looming over you, black hair with streaks of red surrounding you, much to your sleepy surprise. Once realizing you were awake, Lilia stood up and tugged your arm gently.

"Human, get up, I have something to show you," The general appearance was what you'd expect of someone fighting for their life, mud-streaked cheeks and disheveled hair, although Lilia always seemed to clean himself up before greeting you. Not this night, apparently. You rushed out of bed due to his urgent request, falling over one foot after the other to put on shoes and finding something quick to be decent in. This process seemed to annoy the man, for he sighed before grabbing one of his own jackets and draping it over your shoulders. You looked at him with a raised eyebrow and a smile crawling onto your lips

"What's this?" You asked, "Taking me out all of the sudden, giving me your jacket to stay warm...what do you have planned, hmm?" Lilia raised his eyebrows in shock at your brazen response, a flustered shade of pink bursting upon his cheeks before turning his face away and complaining how long you were taking with your "drivel" and rushing out the door knowing you would be quick to follow. Laughing to yourself at how easy he could be to read, you made your way outside of the cottage. Lilia was leading you somewhere deep within the woods, while the greenery was all nice- you found yourself staring at him instead. The way he held onto your hand and led you through the forest with great understanding and no hesitance, how handsome he looked staring forward with such a serious face, and the way his hair flowed behind him with every confident stride left your heart melting at the sight.

"You're distracting," He suddenly said interrupting the silence, "Staring at me like that. Keep your guard up while we are outside," Although sounding cold per usual, your heart was warmed at the notion he cared to warn you out of worry for your well-being, for the forest in the Valley was not the safest place for a human such as yourself. Though, Lilias warm hand in yours reminded you just how far you've come, enough to trust him with your very life. You bit your tongue back from teasing him, for you weren't about to ruin what rare opportunity of affection he seems to be suddenly giving you.

The sound of feet against the leaves of the forest floor came to a halt, walking up the endless hill finally ceasing as he pulled you through the final stretch of trees to reveal a sight more beautiful than you could have imagined. Overhead you see a sea of forestry, with lights of soldier campfires scattered among them. You could see the castle, thinking to yourself if this is how Its beauty from afar enamoures you, you believed that seeing it up close must truly be a sight to behold. Lilia hid his smile, watching you with satisfaction at your reaction for something he has seen a hundred, no, thousands of times before. Yet something about seeing you there, staring out in the distance with such overwhelming love and fascination, he knew it was the first time he'd ever felt such complicated and confusing emotions. When you turned around to thank him, he held out a small box for you to open.

"What...what's this?" You asked, holding out your hands as he gently placed it on top of your palms. He bit his bottom lip, something you noticed he would often do when embarrassed, before turning his head away to look over the view ahead.

"Humans have very short life spans," Lilia started, "As a fae, outliving humans is simply...biology." Lilia took a seat, allowing his legs to dangle above the cliff, "Birthdays are not as important to us as they are to humans. But..." There was no mistaking the bright blush now dusted upon his cheeks, so vibrant you could see its glow even in the dark of the night where the stars and moon lit up you two.

"But I can't help but feel compelled to celebrate the day you were born, funnily enough. Its not much, you may be disappointed."

You unwrapped the messily done box, the bow strapping it together done disorderly yet the intent was still there. Opening the box you revealed a bracelet of acorns- neatly strung together. You couldn't suppress your smile, sitting next to the typically cold man and offering him a side hug, much to his dismay.

Yet he found himself allowing you to engulf him in an embrace, albeit grunting and grumbling with cheeks becoming rosier by the minute.

"I love it," you smiled, "Thank you, Lilia."

The general let out a soft sigh with a smile slowly creeping up to his lips, no longer resisting your hug. Although internally he screamed in protest, every fiber of his being begging to stop himself from falling deeper and deeper enthralled with this human he knew would not live past the time he even turned 250. Yet this moment, under the stars and the glow of the moonlight above, he found himself doing things he never thought he'd be doing, feeling emotions he thought would be lost in the field of battle, and saying things he never dreamed of saying to a human such as yourself.

"Happy birthday, (y/n). May your life be prosperous, and peace soon prevail."

~~

Happy birthday @masquerade-of-misery !! I hope it wasn't ...TOO angsty for your tastes.... Happy 33 years though!! And many more years to come!! 💜💜

[littlefireball]

can I request an Ateez Yeosang x Reader where she asks him to fuck her on her period as her cramps so really bad. And at first he is hesitant becuase of the blood but sees her in pain and realizes it would help her. And as he gets more comfortable with it. He goes extremely rough and makes her squirt and she starts crying from the pleasure?

Added some setting 🫡

Other members: Seonghwa

ʏꜱ|ꜰ*ᴄᴋ ᴀᴡᴀʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀɪɴ (ᴍ)

ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ ʜᴜꜱʙᴀɴᴅ ʏᴇᴏꜱᴀɴɢ x ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇꜱꜱ ᴡɪꜰᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ|ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx|ʀᴏᴜɢʜ ꜱᴇx|ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ|ᴘᴏʟɪᴛɪᴄᴀʟ ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴀɢᴇ|ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ʜᴀᴅ ᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴘʀᴇꜱꜱᴜʀᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1.9ᴋ

Part 2 is here YS|Baby Fever (M)

After marrying Yeosang, the frequency of your intimate moments is scarce and infrequent. This is not unexpected, considering your marriage is primarily political and lacks any emotional foundation. Apart from a few instances when he was drunk and in need, the two of you rarely engage in physical intimacy.

However, the King and Queen have grown increasingly concerned as you have not conceived a child, adding huge pressure on you. Each encounter with them is fraught with the need to navigate their inquiries and there is no assurance that they will not approach you privately, despite Yeosang's attempts to intervene.

"Are you feeling alright, Your Highness?" the maid inquired, concern evident in her voice as she noticed the pained expression on your face. Clutching your stomach, you struggled to maintain your composure, the sharp cramps making even the simplest movements unbearable.

"It's just... my period," you managed to reply, the words tinged with a hint of frustration. Menstrual pain was a new and unwelcome addition to your life, likely brought on by the stress and pressure of your royal duties.

"Should I fetch a doctor, Your Highness?" the maid asked, offering you a cup of hot water in an attempt to provide some comfort. You waved off the suggestion, knowing that any sign of weakness would only invite more questions and scrutiny from the King and Queen.

"No, it's fine," you insisted, taking a sip of the water to soothe your aching body. The prospect of attending the party later loomed in your mind, adding to your discomfort.

"Would you like to go to the party, Your Highness?" the maid inquired, trying to gauge your readiness. Despite your initial enthusiasm, the pain in your stomach intensified, causing your features to contort in agony. The simple act of moving felt like a torture, draining you of all strength and resolve.

Before you could respond, a knock at the door signaled the arrival of Yeosang's butler, announcing the presence of his Highness who had come to escort you to the party.

"Your Highness, His Highness is here to accompany you to the event," the butler informed, his tone respectful yet expectant.

With a deep breath, you knew that you had no choice but to push through the pain and fulfill your royal obligations, even if it meant enduring the torment that accompanied it.

As you steadied yourself with the help of the maid, you walked to the door slowly, only found yeosang standing outside with a cold face.

“Are you feeling well, Y/N?” Yeosang whispered, his voice laced with a hint of concern that surprised you. Despite the facade of indifference he often wore, there were moments when glimpses of the man you had once known shone through.

"I'll manage," you replied softly with a forced smile. “Your Highness…” As your maid attempted to explain, Yeosang stepped forward and said, “We won’t go to the party.” “What?But…” “You are not feeling well and I will inform My parents.”

"Take a break," he said, offering a comforting smile as he turned to leave. "Yeo─Your Highness…May I ask for your assistance?" You reached out, gently tugging at his sleeve, a rare display of vulnerability.

"What can I help you with?" You nervously bit your lip, pulling him closer and discreetly signaling for the others to give you some privacy.

"I'm actually experiencing menstrual pain," you whispered.

"Are you still in pain? Should I call a doctor?" Yeosang's concern made you blush, stirring a new emotion within you.

"No, it's okay... I just..." Taking a deep breath, you found the courage to ask for what you needed.

"Yeo…Yeosang... could you... could you make love to me?"

"What?" He almost shouted in astonishment, clearly taken aback by your unexpected request. In his eyes, you were seen as innocent and conservative, not someone who would initiate such a proposition unless under the influence of alcohol or in need.

"Oh... I'm sorry, forget I asked. You should go to the party. I apologize for bothering you." You lowered your head, not daring to meet his gaze. Oh gosh! How could you ask something like that? Even during your period?! He would definitely treat you like a slut and just ignore you.

As you turned to go back to your room, the sharp cramps made you bend over, as if a knife had been cut across your stomach. Gripping the door handle with all your might and resting your forehead on the door, you only wanted the pain to go away quickly.

Seeing you suffer from the cramps made him feel sorry for you. Maybe making love could help you relieve pain. Although he was not sure if it works, he believed you must be in so much pain that you can’t stand it before you ask.

“Y/N?” He said softly, gripping your shoulder to pull you into his embrace and helping you to open the door.

“Let me help you.”

—---

You were lying naked on the bed, waiting for yeosang to come back with something. You didn’t expect he would say yes instead of running away. Feeling him crawl back onto the bed and grab your thighs, you looked at him and placed the towel under your body and his.

“That way they don't have to wash the sheets. You know it's troublesome." He let out a chuckle before climbing over you, making you bend your legs to allow him to settle between your thighs. “And I wrapped a condom up, You don't have to worry about getting infected."

“Yeo…yeosang, actually you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” “It’s okay,” He murmured, cupping your face with his hand before leaving a kiss on your lips. “Don’t you ask me to fuck you?" Your voice soon died out as his tip rubbed against your soaked hole. “Everything's gonna be alright and you will feel better.”

Both your hands were pinned beside your head, intertwining with his long fingers. As he eased into you, a weird feeling washed over him. Your blood wrapped around his cock, a hot sensation came from the tip to the shaft, combined with the wetness, making him feel a little bit uncomfortable.

“You…you can just pull out. Don’t force yourself.” “I said I would help you and I won’t break my promise. You’re my wife, Y/N. Helping his wife is what every husband has to do, isn't it? Just let me adjust first.” He leaned down to kiss you, as if asking for comfort but also giving you solace.

You even forget when he kissed you so passionately. Was it the last time he was drunk? Or was it when he accidentally took an aphrodisiac? You had no impression. But it didn’t matter. You would never forget how he kisses you right now. His kiss was so tender, slightly touching your tongue and lips, flowing with endless sweetness and warmth.

Without breaking the kiss, he started to move at a slow pace. Thanks to your blood, he could easily push in and out. The weird feelings faded away as your wall tightened his erection, giving him a new level of pleasure.

“Gosh, you feel good,” He said between the kisses, his thrusting became intense and faster. You moaned in his mouth as he went deeper. His cock fitted you perfectly, filling you literally full without any space left. Each time he thrusted in, his cock rubbed against your velvet wall deliciously and reached the deepest part. You arched your back as a response, feeling a wave of heat rush over your body.

“Yeosang…ah” “Say my name again, babe” “Sangie~” You moaned out his name over and over again as if it was the only word in your mind. Yeosang loved your voice so much but he never told you for fear that you would think he was a pervert. But it seemed that he thought too much.

"I need more, moan louder for me, darling” The word ‘darling’ made your head spin in pleasure. You loved how he called you so affectionately, feeling like you were a real couple but not a nominal. Your legs bent even more as he pushed in with all his might, hitting your g spot dead on. Not caring if people passing by would hear you, you left out a high-pitch moan to satisfy the man above you.

Without a warning, he flipped you over, lifted your pelvis roughly, making you scream at a sudden rough. “Yeo─!!!" He slammed into you with no mercy and tenderness, only desire to ruin you. The sound of skin colliding skin filled the room and even the corridor, covered all the noise as he fucked you extremely fast.

“Too…too much─!!!" “You can take it, darling” He possessed a captivating allure that rendered you powerless to resist his commands. Your body arched, offering itself eagerly as he sought out your most sensitive spot with precision. "Oh my god!" The intensity of the moment drove him to push the boundaries of passion, his movements growing more forceful with each passing second.

"Babe... I want it rough. Can you handle that?" He gasped, his breath ragged as he quickened his pace. "Yes... yes... please..." Your eager response spurred him on, his grip on your hips tightening as he increased his tempo.

As you attempted to adjust your position, he delivered a sharp slap to your cheek, commanding you to remain still. "Don't move," he instructed, his tone firm. "I'm sorry," you whispered, before another stinging slap left a mark on your skin.

"Now, count." The next strike elicited a gasp of pain, followed by a forced shout. "One..." "Louder," he demanded. "Two!" The impact reverberated through you, a mix of pleasure and pain overwhelming your senses.

"Three!" The cycle of sensation continued, each strike pushing you to the edge. Tears mingled with the fabric of the sheets, your cheeks flushed with a mix of emotions. The ache of desire eclipsed any lingering discomfort, leaving you breathless and consumed by the raw intensity of the moment.

"Umm…yeosang…I’m…cumming…” “Cum for me,” He fucked you in an inhuman pace to push you to the edge. “My god!!” You couldn't contain yourself any longer and squirted, the release splattering over his cock and even dripping onto the towel. Yeosang let out a guttural growl, feeling as though his last shred of sanity was slipping away. "Fuck!" he exclaimed as he also reached his peak inside the condom with a final, powerful thrust.

As the two of you caught your breath, the intensity of your shared experience slowly fading, Yeosang withdrew and disposed of the condom before pulling you close in a tender embrace. "Are you alright? Was I too rough?" His voice, soft as silk, tugged at your heartstrings. You shook your head, a wave of sleepiness washing over you.

"Thank you, Yeosang," you murmured, nestling against his chest, finding comfort in his warm embrace. "Don't mention it," he replied, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead and playfully tucking your messy hair behind your ear.

"Oh! The party..." you suddenly remembered, but Yeosang reassured you, "It's okay. Let's clean up first, shall we? I'll call for the maid." You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, burying your face in the crook of his neck, whispering softly, "No... can't you stay with me?"

"Of course," he agreed with a loving smile, lifting you up and carrying you to the bathroom to help you freshen up. As you gazed up at him, you couldn't help but feel surprised by the progress your relationship had made on this unforgettable day.

-------

"Hey, Y/N. May I ask for your assistance?" He imitated the way you asked him, grabbing your sleeve slightly.

“What can I help you with?” You laughed out and replied to him softly.

“Can we have a baby?"

[wanderingcritter]

I just had one of the most positive "coming out" therian experiences Ive ever had the other day.

I was hanging out with a couple friends I hadn't seen in a while (technically it'd been years, but we've all kept in good contact online so it felt like much less), and one of them asked me about therianthropy because they had seen me post about it once or twice on my main. So I tried to be less awkward about it than usual and just told them straight up "It means I identify as an animal".

And there were no weird looks, no blank stares or awkward silence. They just kinda laughed and were like "Oh yeah that makes perfect sense for you :)"

We talked about it a little bit off and on during the rest of the hang out, I told them about my phantom shifts and mental shifts, about how I met my irl therian friends, about how I found the community. They asked me genuine questions, and while talking about alterhumanity irl is still a rather uncomfortable experience given how infrequently I do it, I never once felt judged.

And the thing is that neither of these friends are even part of adjacent/intersecting communities. Neither are furries, neither are cosplayers or really even into fandom at all. By all accounts they're both very "normie", but they accepted me with open arms.

After really only having coming out experiences where the other person just responds with "okay 🙂" and then never acknowledges it again, it felt soooo good to just have a normal open conversation about it, just like I would with any other aspect of my identity.

Sometimes humans are really cool :)

[rabbitindisguise]

migraine cheat sheet for folks not sure if they have migraines

A couple cardinal signs for migraines:

pulsating/throbbing

nerve pain-like (tingly, electric, shooting)

aching, especially radiating into the jaw

can be on one side or both sides, in one area or more than one area, or even at the base of the skull, front of forehead, etc

at least one of sound sensitivity, light sensitivity, nausea +/ vomiting, and veritgo (typically- there are subtypes and other headache disorders)

and of course migraine aura (flashing lights, dark spots in vision, etc)

can come in short bursts of 1-30 seconds repeatedly, can last for hours or even weeks, and have different phases with different associated symptoms

Headaches:

don't interfere with work, school, or socializing

mildly annoying

take a lot of effort (weeks of staying up too late, being hungover, etc)

happen infrequently (closer to 1-2 a year)

are not "bad ones" (if you had "regular headaches" and "bad headaches" then it's very likely you have migraines - though personally both headache types turned out to be migraines for me)

happen when you have the flu or another illness as a result and it's clears up by the time you recover from it

do not last 30 min - 72 hours with a clear start, middle, and end phase

don't make you feel wrung out dry afterwards

don't affect you neurologically (fuzzy feeling, slow movements, slurring, feeling exhausted/sleep deprived, feel like you can't rest properly even after taking ibuprofen)

don't respond to sumatriptan or another migraine reliver

you don't dread having a headache

you don't avoid chemicals/harsh scents, chocolate, concerts, or any other migraine triggers

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Consequences | Prologue

Summary: Only nine and ten, she does not know much about the world and when she acquires a job at the Red Keep as a maidservant, she catches the dark and ominous attention of the One-Eyed Prince. Unsure if she even wants it, she may realise that the realm is not so kind to lowborn women, regardless of the situation they find themselves in | Word Count: 1.4k~ | Warnings below the cut!

Series Masterlist

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, dark, medieval-canon sexism, dub-con, mean Aemond, manipulation, gore, blood, violence, major angst

A/N: This is intended to be a dark one, so please read all the warnings before continuing. Warnings will be highlighted when needed. Aemond’s gonna be pretty mean, self-serving and not at all very nice in this one! Basically a spoilt prince reaping the benefits, so beware. You know me, I love a bit of angst.

She liked being early to rise.

It meant that for a few small moments, she could pretend that the hallways were all her own. However brief they were. It was a small slither of peace for the young maidservant. 

That was at least until the Red Keep began to wake. The murmured whispers of the staff to one another, organising the various meals for the royal family, making sure their clothes were ready and prepared, ensuring that their rooms were neat and tidy for their arrival back to their chambers and drawing their baths at their behest.

It was tough work at times, but it was good, honest labour and for her services, she was paid much more than she could have even dreamed of. That said, most of it was sent to her younger siblings where she could spare it, but it was still entirely novel and rewarding to earn her own coin.

It was a fine, clear day like any other. The servant’s quarters were bustling with busy maidservants, rushing around after their allocated jobs. Most of the other maidservants were of a similar age, but their temperaments fierce away from the forced politeness they were obligated to offer the royal family. It could very often get catty. And sometimes it was best to say little at all, where it could be helped. People talked, gossiped and made fun for themselves in the dreary, everyday lull of being at the behest of King and Queen. She did not blame them for making fun, but perhaps it was naïve of her to believe it could be done without cruelty.

One particular girl, not much older than her, assumed a role akin to a elder sister amongst the little band of maidservants. She had chestnut hair that was braided like the other staff, in plaits and pulled behind the head, stuck with pins and out of the way. Her name was Hedi, possibly short for something, but she dare not ask.

“Ah, there you are,” Hedi smiled in a sing-songy way, gesturing for her to come and join them, “you are to go to Prince Aemond’s rooms and take his clothes with you. He will be expecting his old bedsheets to be taken away,” she instructed, oblivious to the way the little maid servant's eyes widened. 

“Hedi, I have never-”

“Better you meet him now and get it over with, child,” she responded, pushing the bundle of clothes into her hands, ignoring the unsure look on her face. 

She had heard many things about the One-Eyed Prince. Aemond Targaryen. The second son of King Viserys and Queen Alicent.

Since her employment at the Red Keep only a few moons ago, she had rarely seen any of the royal family with the exception of infrequent refills of their wine decanters at the dinner table. And even then, it was rare she could get a proper look at any of them as the halls were dark and lit only by candles at the table, obscuring some of their faces.

She had only heard stories of them.

Upon employment, Alicent had instructed Hedi that the new staff were not to be around her first son, Prince Aegon, by any means necessary. And though at the time, Hedi was not given any more information, she told the rest of the maidservants that she surmised that some wrongdoings caused the previous staff to leave King’s Landing altogether, moon tea in their bellies and a purse of gold dragons to keep their silence.

This did nothing to calm her nerves though, for she sometimes saw him walking around the Keep. Though she was advised to not spare a glance, she felt the weight of his eyes on her, and the other maidservants said the same.

Princess Helaena was a sort of anomaly. Nobody ever really saw her. Or perhaps she just made less of a fuss compared to her brothers. The few times she had seen the Princess at the table, Helaena had been staring forward at her plate, murmuring things under her breath.

That only left him, the One-Eyed Prince everyone so fondly called him. 

She had seen him only once, to her knowledge, at the aforementioned feast. He had been sitting at one end, his seeing eye downcast, looking anywhere but at the individuals he called family at the table before him. He seemed to not move an inch throughout, as if deep in thought. 

She took a deep breath and walked the long, winding path to the main halls of the Red Keep, along the corridor where Prince Aemond’s chambers would be. She whispered to herself that it would be alright, that the other maidservants were just trying to rile her up with fear for the man, for they’d said that he frightened them terribly. 

Willing the shake out of her breath, she stared at the door for a while, thinking that perhaps if she waited for a moment it’d be easier. But it just sent her heart racing even more. Her small fist gingerly knocked. 

“Prince Aemond,” she called softly. 

There was a moment of silence and muffled rustling inside the chambers, presumed to be his bedsheets. 

“Enter,” a groggy, male voice called out in return. 

Without thinking on it for another moment, she quickly slipped inside and though she did not mean to, her eyes briefly looked upon the Prince in his bed, halfway through sitting up tiredly. But her eyes were quickly drawn away once she had realised that there were no clothes on his person, and so with dusted cheeks she darted to the chair and placed the clothes atop it, making sure everything was there for him before drawing the curtains. Feeling somewhat flustered and out of sorts, she brushed the wayward curl from her face that had fallen loose from her braids and felt that hot annoyance as it continued to tickle her face. 

She ties the curtains together to keep them drawn and her heart quickens when she hears him get out of bed, stretch with a tired groan and pad over to the table near the fireplace. He pours himself a drink of water and is quiet for some time. 

“You are not my usual maid,” he says and when it is clear he is speaking to her, she turns around finally, offering a small nod. 

He is tall, almost unnaturally so. He wears only his nightclothes on his bottom half and leans against one of the armchairs, regarding her with an indescribable look in his one good eye, the other has a sapphire wedged inside, and she thought it must be uncomfortable to sleep with it. For a moment, she swallows nervously, he is broad and strong looking, but not in a burly way, and on the fair skin of his bare chest she can see several scars, all silver from age and hairline thin.

“No, your grace. I was sent to attend to you today,” she responds, shockingly evenly, clasping her hands in front of her before nervously smoothing her hands over her apron.

She sees the way his tongue pokes at his cheek, seemingly annoyed, “Hm,” he responds as he sips his water, “will you be attending to me from now on?”

Her tongue wets her lips nervously, “I am not sure, your grace.”

He seems like he wants to say more, but he just stands there, across the room, looking at her and enjoying the way she continues to shrink under his gaze.

She pushes that stray hair behind her ear once more as she moves to strip the bed, working quickly and without looking back towards the quiet prince. She can tell however, how his gaze never seems to leave her, watching her with interest. 

“What is your name,” from his lips it almost doesn’t sound like a question, more a demand.

Wound tight with anxiety, she tells him her name, which only makes him turn one side of his lip up in some form of a smile.

Once she has all the sheets folded and ready to take away, she stands with hands clasped, “is there anything else I can do for you this morning, your grace?”

He taps his finger against the glass he’s holding, as if in thought. And it’s extremely difficult to avert her eyes from the firm planes of his chest, but for the sake of politeness and her position, she forces herself to.

With a soft shake of his head, she gathers the sheets in her arms and makes for the chamber doors and her hand barely brushes the handle before his voice calls out her name.

“Yes, your grace?” she answers, a dusty pink covering her cheekbones with her nerves.

With a genuine, mischievous looking smirk, he strides widely towards her and her eyes never leave his face, feet planted firmly where she stands.

“I want you to attend to me from now on.”

General Aemond Taglist (DM me if you want to be removed)

@risefallrise​

[niphredil-14]

The platonic Leo request got me thinking…

What if, in a romantic scenario of Donnie x reader where they’re Leo’s best friend? Donnie falling for the idiot and reader is the idiot, wingman Leo let’s go.

OOH I LOVE THIS IDEA! Sorry it took me so long, life's been hectic. Warnings: fem reader, she/her pronouns used. Word Count: 1.3k

BAD DIRECTIONS (Rise! Donnie/Reader)

She was convinced that Leo did not in fact live in the sewers, but instead, that his home was a labyrinth that had her completely turned around and lost. Leonardo had given her what had sounded like clear directions to the bathroom, but evidently were not clear enough. She was just about to cave and call Leonardo, when a voice made her pause.

“Hello?” Came from behind her. She turned, to find a turtle standing in the hallway a few feet away from her. She didn’t know Leonardo’s brothers very well, only having spoken to them shortly and infrequently, and not seeing much of them as most of the time she spent with Leo was at her place. Despite the unfamiliarity, if the amount of purple he wore wasn’t a dead giveaway, the various tech he carried on his person definitely was.

“Oh, hi!” She said, slightly startled. “Uhh… Donnie, right?” He nodded in response.

“You’re Leo’s friend, right?” He said their name. She nodded, just the same as he did. “What are you doing just hanging out in the hallway? Did Leo ditch you? That ass.” Donnie said, falling into a slight ramble.

“Oh, no, no, no! He didn’t ditch me.” She said. “I just, um, well, it’s kind of embarrassing, but I got a little lost on my way to the bathroom.” She explained. “I was just about to call him.” Don let out a slight snort, and turned around, starting to walk away.

“Follow me.” Was all he said, not waiting for her to hurry to catch up to him. He led her through twisting, confusing hallways that she did her best to memorize, so as to not get lost again. His strides were long, and she somewhat struggled to keep up. Finally he stopped beside a door, and turned to her. “Here it is.”

“Oh! Thank you!” She said. Don made a soft affirmative hum and began to take a few steps, so she entered the bathroom. When she emerged, she found Donnie standing a few feet away, leaning against the wall scrolling on his phone. At hearing the door swing open, he looked up, and tucked his phone into his pocket. She was evidently confused by the fact that he was still there, and quirked an eyebrow up. Before she could question him, he spoke up.

“Go back in and wash your hands again.” He said, deadpanned and serious.

“I- What? I just did.” She responded.

“Yes, for thirteen seconds, which is insufficient. You should wash for at least twenty seconds to prevent illness. Sing ‘Happy Birthday’ twice.” Flabbergasted, she reentered the bathroom, and rewashed her hands, taking care to intentionally sing obnoxiously loud.

“Happy Birthday to you.

Happy Birthday to you,

Happy Birthday,

Dear Donnie~

Happy Birthday to you!”

With the door being open, there was no resistance for the sound to reach his ears, and he let out a small snort, musing to himself what perfect sense her and Leo’s friendship made. It was endearing to him, in a strange way, her act. And it was slightly frustrating that he knew the same amusement would not be present if it were his brother doing the very same act, instead of the cute girl he was always talking about. From how often Leo spoke about her, Donnie felt like he had already known her well, for quite some time, even though they had not spoken to each other more than four separate times. And deep down, in a part of him that he shoved every thought that he didn’t feel fully prepared to acknowledge or process, there was stored a feeling of slight jealousy surrounding Leo and his best friend. She was clearly quite the character, and Donnie had found himself drawn to her, wishing that perhaps he could grow close to her as well. She had begun to sing the song for a second time.

“Happy Birthday to you!

Happy Birthday to you!

Happy Birthday-“

“My birthday isn’t for another four months.” Donnie interjected, correcting her.

“Dear Donnie~

Happy – four month early- Birthday to you!”

She had dragged out the last syllable of his name in her song, and had switched from singing to speaking when she said “four month early,” before switching back to singing for the rest of the song. He smiled slightly, and breathed out a silent laugh as he shook his head, which she, luckily for him, did not witness as she was preoccupied drying off her hands. Walking out, she held her hands out to him, palms up.

“Do they meet your standards, oh Lord of Proper Hygiene?” He glanced down at her hands for a moment, and gave a curt nod.

“Yes, they do, Oh Lady of Unnecessary Sass.” She gave a small giggle, that he generously returned. As their laughs quieted, a short silence fell over the two of them as they looked at one another. It did not turn awkward until after a few seconds, after which Donnie coughed to clear his throat, and turned away. “Do you know the way back to Leo’s room?” Her eyes widened, and her cheeks slightly flushed in embarrassment.

“Oh, um, no.” He laughed lightly, genially, and motioned with his head for her to follow him.

“I’ll walk you back.”

The journey to Leo’s room didn’t take more than two and a half minutes, but it was filled with conversation that flowed smoothly and naturally. The pair found themselves standing outside of Leo’s door far too soon for either of their liking, but reluctantly, they pulled their conversation to an end, regardless.

“Thanks again for helping me, I know it was a pretty stupid situation on my part.” She giggled to try to mask just how deep her embarrassment ran. He offered her a smile softer than he willingly would to most others he didn’t know all that well, and reassured her.

“The lair was specifically designed to be labyrinthian and confusing, in case any of our enemies were to find it, the odds were against you from the start.” Just as they were about to say their goodbyes, the door swung open, and Leo stood in the entryway with a ridiculously smug look on his face.

“God!” Leo gasped, as if in pain. “That took you ages!” His words were directed at her. “You have got to cut down on the Starbucks.” Her mouth dropped, and fire filled her eyes as she jumped at Leo, swatting at his head.

“Leo, I’m gonna fucking kill you!!” His laughter resounded throughout the room and hallway as they play-fought. When the fight had finished, with Leo yelling,

“Uncle! Uncle!” As she sat atop his shell, beating his head with a pillow, she had turned to the doorway, only to find Donnie had disappeared. It was then, almost as if on cue, that her phone pinged in her pocket. She dropped the pillow, and pulled out her phone. She had received a text from an unsaved number. Opening it up, she found several images had been sent to her, all maps and schematics of varying complexities. After staring for a moment, she put the pieces together and realized that they all depicted the lair. Three bouncing dots appeared at the bottom of the screen, android then she received another text.

Unknown: If the maps are insufficient, and you find yourself lost again, feel free to contact me. -Donatello.

A small smile graced her face as she stared typed a response.

YN: Considering my serious lack of direction and spatial awareness, I’ll probably take you up on that. Thanks, Donnie c:

She was broken out of the spell by Leo’s voice from beneath her.

“So,” He began, dragging out the word. “You and Donnie, huh?” He teased, winking at her, and it hit her.

“Oh my god! You gave me bad directions on purpose!” She screeched, and reached for the pillow again, resuming her assault.

[psyphigirl]

"May I See Her?"

TW: Immobility, Health Play, Hospital Setting, "Asphyxiation"

A person is admitted to the most advanced bariatric health center, where they must be subjected to constant and intense mechanical medical care

(I'm not sure the tw list is entirely exhaustive as I don't know how to define some of the things I wrote about. Please feel free to give any suggestions you feel I need to include!)

The doctor looked at me as though I had two heads, he just didn't understand the question.

"I- I don't know. There ... there isn't a lot left to see. You didn't really ... leave us with a lot ..."

I had weird mixed feelings about how he said that. Shame, guilt, fear ... pride, wonder, lust. What could they possibly have done to her?

"You can come in about 11.00 on Thursday morning, if you really do want to see her", he said flatly

"Thank you, Doctor. I'll be in then."

I hang up and sit back on my bed. I should really be getting to bed soon but I can't bear the thought of going to sleep just yet, so I go in to her old room. Just to remember her.

The room looks so much smaller without her in it. For the first time in years I can actually stand anywhere I want without fear of standing on her flesh or on a cable or tube she needs to function. The room's been stripped almost bare from the kit I used to tend to her. The oxygen pump is gone, the feeding tube has been retired, even the fridges have been wheeled away. I can see an almost perfect outline of her rear on the wall behind her, painted with sweat into the wallpaper. Her mattress is still here, it's been crushed to about a quarter of it's normal height after years of propping up a mass measured in metric tons.

I'm almost glad to see her in a proper care center: All this tech is ancient. Held together with tape and staples. It's a wonder it failed as infrequently as it did...

That's enough remembering for tonight

...

Beep beep beep

That's the alarm. Seven o'clock. Get up, get dressed, go to the kitchen. What's in the fridge? Not a lot. A dozen eggs and half a loaf of toast should be fine. I can fit two slices per slot in the four slot toaster and have them done in two minutes. I can fit three eggs in a pan per two pans. It takes five minutes to cook them and have them done in ten minutes. Hopefully I can have this done before she wakes up-

Oh.

I turn the stovetop off and unplug the toaster. For the first time in years I don't have to center my daily schedule around caring for my helpless other half. It takes about an hour to get to the hospital. So I have three hours to kill ... somehow

...

"Oh, it's you. It- She's right this way"

The doctor lead me down a corridor, with a sign above it reading "ICU". Is it that bad? It must be. I was lead all the way down to the end of the corridor. The very last door in the ICU of the most advanced bariatric care center the fattest country in the world has to offer. I really did a number on her.

"Now. I should warn you. She's very ... fragile. You just need to be careful. Do you understand?"

"Yes, doctor, I think so"

His mouth jerks to the side and he turns away from me. I could have sworn I heard him say "I'm sure"

He opens the door and I see her.

She's nothing more than a mound of flesh, decorated by a spidersweb of wires and tubes, moniters and dials.

"Jeez, doc. Is this all really necessary?"

He looks at me with a subtle and frightening rage, "Yes. If even one of these machines failed, or one of these cables disconnected," he looks almost disappointed, "She wouldn't last long."

I don't respond. All I can do is gawk at her.

"This one here, for example", He gestures to a machine containing a series of combustion pistons, "That's her heart. There's no way her actual heart can pump blood around the rest of her body without assistance."

He points to another one, a pair of pumps under a turbine, "Those are her lungs."

And another, "That's her liver. There's no machine in here that isn't essential to her continued survival. Her body just doesn't work anymore. Technically ... she ... isn't that person in the center of this room anymore. She's ..." He struggles to find his words for a minute, "She's pretty much the room itself"

I take a minute to comprehend what that means. I'm inside her. Staring at her bare soul

"Doctor," I inquire, "Could I be left alone with her for a little while?"

He looks right through me and approaches, "Her diet is automated. Don't think you can do any more damage"

He leaves heavyfooted and disgusted at what I did to her. I almost don't blame him

"Hi dear. Can you hear? It's me."

I wait. I get no response.

"I know you may resent, or even fear me. But you're safe now, love. I can do you no harm. Now that I say it out loud I'm even sure that's entirely true. If that's your lungs, then that tube must be intake. So which tube feeds you the oxygen? This one here? Next to my boot?"

Her heart beats visibly faster.

"That's a yes. What happens if I ..."

I lightly squish the thick clear plastic tube with my heel. The rhythm of the machinery is changed, tarnished even.

Her heart beats visibly faster again.

"I like that response. See it could be fear, couldn't it ..."

I press a little deeper

"Your mouth feels dry. Your temples feel tight. Your lungs, your real ones I mean, are burning. It hurts and you're afraid."

I press a little deeper

"Or maybe. Just maybe ..."

I connect my heel all the way to the floor

"It's lust?"

[transingthoseformers]

Tarn geting on his infrequently used personal account on The Great Conversation and lurking in Relationship Advice before coming to the conclusion he actually needs to post because there's no previous question that addresses his problem.

Megatron gets a high priority notification that DamasceneSteel is posting. Tarn is using his old personal username! Megatron keeps tabs on his most volitle high comand member's activity infrequent as it is. "Help! I accidentally seduced a jet," is the last thing Megatron expected from the DJD leader so he lurks on his personal acccount(identity known only to Soundwave) and watches the trainwreck unfold in real time.

Tarn's geting notifications of Lucky slagger! Or, Share your Wisdom I beg you! Not to mention, Hoax! Everybody knows jets dont frag grounders ever!

Then User ShootyShoot McBangBang weighs in to dispense his wisdom. No hoax mech. I once when I was a newbuild, I slaged off my CO so bad i got temporary assigned to a grounder unit and let me say you losers on the ground are fragging weird about fragging. All weird and soft and slag when you flirt. I though my temp CO was flirting with me but when I kissed him he punched me for being a weirdo. The loser had no clue even when I explained how to him exactly how he was coming on to me!"

Tarn meanwhile is cross-referencing the database. Misfire might be an incompetent Deceptacon but he's a seeker and he's actually giving an explanation that's sheding light on of what the frag just happened with Pharma.

What would Jet courting look like to the uninitiated? Tarn typed tentitavely and waited for a response.

Hmmmm. It's really hard to describe the subtitles between flirt-threat and threat-threat to grounders but basicaly if it looks like a seeker's trying to kill you and you're still alive or they could kill you at any moment and they chose not to it's pretty likely they're trying to spike you.

Tarn blinked in shock and typed an incomplete response as he processed. Wait would that mean

KaoniteMiner2793 responded at the same time, But Starscream

Misfire cut them both off with STOP! ✋️ 🛑 Speculating on the Air Comander's love life WILL get you slagged! He'll make sure. You could be a Phase Sixer or the slagging DJD and he would find a way! Anyhow onto a shiny new and much safer topic! DamasceneSteel, you said you seduced a jet and I hadn't heard through the gosip network about anyone in the airforce geting it on with a grounder. You bringing the good news of The Cause to the Lost Colonies, or trying to pull a DocKnock?

Pull a DocKnock? Tarn typed brow furrowed under his mask

ShootyShoot McBangBang blythly typed away unaware who he had warned off. You know Knockout the medic and interogator from Velocitron? Pulled a slagging Wrecker over to our side early in the war with his impeccable valve Dom game? Break-something or other? The two of them single-handedly launched the Converted to the Cause porn genre. Its rumored some of the hottest smut in the genra were written by one of the elite trine.

It's been so long I forgot about that recruitment campaign. KaoniteMiner2793 added. It got unpopular when mechs realized they had to kill their lovers if they didn’t join the Cause and didn’t have live capture bounties.

Tarn considered his response. Misfire didn't. Live capture bounties! we had those! When?! 🤯

We still do. Tarn educated absenly before he logged off. Mostly medics and a few others who if they can be made to serve The Cause are more useful alive than dead. Thank you for your help clarifying the situation.

Tarn leaned back in his chair to best consider how to use the situation.

Megatron blinked at his screen stuned. Starscream's ridiculous stunts were courting attempts?!?! It was ridiculous! Preposterous! It made... entirely too much sense actualy. Had he accidentally been engaging in an amorous game of one-upmanship with his subordinate??? What in the Pit?!

Misfire sipped someone else's energy drink and scrolled to a new thread.

This is just great amazing great amazing great

Win Misfire for being our Ultimate The Great Conversation problem solver today

Megatron is Learning Today and he's not quite sure he's ready to think out the consequences

Tarn got what he was looking for, and shall utilize that information accordingly (oh the humanity, that relationship is going to be so fun given the conditions of this au)

Win Knockout and Breakdown for kick-starting a porn genre

The little lore drops make it extra interesting too like the part about live bounties and how for a short period of time porn was 100% used as positive propaganda

[yeahspider]

but i’ll know 🕸️

VE’s note - me when i’m in fluff era . and who better to write fluff about that thee lee felix . not proofread . sfw . my requests are open so stop by <3

one hour . that’s how long felix had to wait before he could see you again . going on tour without you by his side was torture . he was a clingy affectionate person by nature so not being able to hold his bang for two months took a toll on him . his smiles were quick to fade and his laughter graced his members less and less . they were starting to get worried . the calls you shared were never enough , not with timezones making the time you had together rushed and infrequent . felix needed you . he was fidgeting on the whole plane ride home his energy spilling out of him . he couldn’t wait to see you , but a part of him was nervous . what if you didn’t like him anymore ? what if you moved on ? what would he do with his life if you weren’t in it ? he was so in his head he didn’t realize the plane had landed . he was in the same timezone as you . you were so close he could basically smell you .

thirty minutes . felix thought as he walked through the airport . cameras flashing from the crowd and reporters yelling question at him and the members . he couldn’t even begin to comprehend what was being asked to him because his thoughts were clouded with you . as he got in the car he vaguely realized one of his members asked him a question. are you okay ? he just nodded but was he really ? he couldn’t tell . he just needed you .

ten minutes . the casual conversation happening around him continued to fly over his head . not caring enough to actually process the words floating in one ear and out the other .

five minutes . his heart was hammering out his chest . he looked at the present he bought you , suddenly self conscious. what if you didn’t like it ? what if it wasn’t enough ? he just wanted everything perfect for you . as soon as the car stopped in front of the dorms felix jumped out . the elevator didn’t seem to move fast enough for his liking . his key didn’t unlock the door to your shared apartment quick enough . he called out for you as soon as he crossed the threshold . his heart stopping when you didn’t respond . felix checked every corner of the house but you aren’t anywhere to be found . so he doesn’t the only thing he can think to do . he sits on the couch, anxiously waiting for your return . it felt like he waited an eternity until he heard your keys turn in the knob .

“lix did you know you left your bags in the van ? chan told me to tell you to stop by late-“ felix didn’t even gave you a chance to finish your statement before he pinched on you . he couldn’t help but smother your face in kisses and you giggle encouraged him to keep going . “i missed you so much baby you don’t even know .” felix said when he finally stopped kissing you .

“i’m never living without you again next time you’re coming with me .”