#but I'm still going to do a LITTLE mocking

[pure-kirarin]

Shanks x reader tripping into them

So this is a request I've got for Ben Beckman, Shanks and Hongo. I'm going to make 3 seperate posts for each one because I'm planning on writing a little each day lmao. I started by writing for Shanks since he is the one I'm the most comfortable with. Stay tuned for the other characters ! :) I hop that you don't mind me posting seperately :) @austrianmusiclover13

rating : sfw

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

It was one of those nights aboard the Red-Haired Pirates’ ship where the drinks kept flowing, a night where celebration was merely an excuse to consume enormous amounts of alcohol and indulge in rowdy games and cheerful revelry.

As a recent addition to the crew, it was still hard to keep up with the frequency of these hedonistic nights, but the desire to blend in was far stronger, and one glass kept emptying after another.

However, the massive amount of beer and rum you’d consumed had started to get to your head — and your bladder. You excused yourself to Lucky Roux, who barely acknowledged you, too absorbed in the massive cutlet he was fiercely devouring. To be fair, you were no match for that kind of feast.

It was hard to keep your balance as you walked; the ship seemed to dance to the rhythm of the waves. Suddenly, you lost your footing, and before you could even realize it, you collided with something hard, something like... your captain’s chest! He smelled of rum and musk, an enveloping scent that sobered you up almost immediately. Your heart dropped when you felt his arm wrap around the small of your back, pressing you tightly against him. Had he not been there, you probably would have been severely injured.

“You know, you could’ve just asked if you wanted a hug that badly.” His voice was playful, almost like laughter. His sneaky remark made your cheeks flush as you jerked away from him.

“Don’t be so full of yourself, old man!” you retorted, defensive. But the truth was, you really enjoyed his embrace, you even immediately regretted not pretending to be unable to get up.

Still wearing that sneaky smile, Shanks held your gaze and said with mock disappointment, “Old man? I’m not that old, you know.” 

You couldn’t help but imagine some kind of risqué meaning behind his words — or maybe it was just the fact that you were tipsy that stirred your senses and made you imagine such things about your captain.

Noticing you lost in thought, Shanks flicked your forehead with two fingers, pulling you out of your reverie.

“Don’t overthink it, birdie.” 

Your heart was still racing, you looked up at him shyly. “Maybe I do want that hug after all.”

Without a word, Shanks pulled you into a gentle embrace, the scent of rum and musk surrounding you like a protective shield. In that moment, the chaos of the sea faded away, leaving only the two of you, connected in the quiet intimacy of the night.

[thirteenheavens]

been thinking about vernon saying all kinds of mean things with his accent and😫

Beg for it, Now || Chwe Vernon

Word count: 950

Notes: this is just pure filth I must of wrote this in my feels 😭

Vernon pushes you down onto the bed, his eyes dark with lust as he towers over you. "You've been teasing me all day," he growls, ripping off your clothes.

"Now it's my turn to play," he says, spreading your legs roughly. "And I'm going to make you cry and beg for mercy." You gasp as he thrusts into you without warning, his thick cock stretching you open. "Vernon..." you moan, arching up to meet his powerful movements. He grabs your wrists and pins them above your head, leaning down to speak directly in your ear. "You like being dominated, don't you?" he whispers harshly. "You love being my little toy."

His hips snap against yours with brutal force, each thrust punctuated by a mean word. "Pathetic," he sneers. "Look at you, taking my cock like a desperate slut." Vernon's grip on your wrists tightens as he continues his relentless pace, his lips moving to your neck. "You're nothing but a needy whore," he growls, biting down hard enough to leave a mark.

"Begging for my cock like this," he mocks, his free hand sliding down to grip your throat. "What would everyone think if they saw you now?" Your walls clench around him as tears start to form in your eyes, the pleasure and humiliation mixing together. "Please... Vernon..." you whimper, unable to form coherent sentences. He chuckles darkly, releasing your throat to grab your hips. "Please what? Use your words," he demands, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you to make me cum," you manage to gasp out, tears streaming down your face. "Please, Vernon... I need to cum so badly." Vernon's expression darkens with satisfaction at your pleading. "Such a good girl for admitting it," he praises mockingly. "But I'll decide when you get to cum." He shifts his angle slightly, hitting that perfect spot inside you that makes your toes curl. "You're mine to use however I want," he reminds you, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. "And right now, I want to edge you until you're a crying mess."

"That's right, baby girl," Vernon whispers in his thick accent, his hot breath fanning across your ear. "You're completely at my mercy now." He slows his pace to a torturous grind, his cock rubbing against your sensitive inner walls. "You're so wet for me," he observes with a smirk. "Your pussy is practically begging for release." Your body trembles beneath him as he denies you the orgasm you desperately crave. "Beg for it," he commands again, his voice dripping with dominance. "Beg me to let you cum."

"Please, Vernon... please let me cum," you whimper, his accent making your core ache with need. "I'll do anything you want." Vernon chuckles at your desperation, his accent thickening even more. "Anything?" he repeats, his hips still moving at that slow, torturous pace. "Even if I tell you to count how many times I edge you?" He bites your earlobe gently, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts. "I want to hear you count every time I deny you," he whispers huskily. "Can you do that for me, baby?"

"Yes... I'll count," you promise, your voice trembling as Vernon continues to tease you. "One..." He starts to speed up his thrusts again, but just as you feel the familiar tension building, he pulls out completely. "Not yet," he says with a wicked grin. "Start over." You whine in frustration, your body aching for release. "One," you repeat obediently, tears of desperation forming in your eyes. "Please, Vernon... I need more."

Vernon runs his fingers through your hair, his accent making your heart race. "You're being such a good girl," he praises darkly. "But I'm not done playing with you yet." Vernon watches as tears stream down your face, your body shaking with need. "Look at you, crying for my cock," he says with cruel satisfaction. "You're so desperate to cum, aren't you?"

He teases your entrance with just the tip of his cock, not giving you the fullness you crave. "But I'm enjoying this too much," he confesses, his accent thick with desire. "Watching you squirm and cry... it's beautiful." You sob and buck your hips up, trying to take him in deeper. "Please... please... I'll do anything," you beg, your voice cracking with desperation. "I'll let you use me however you want, just please let me cum."

Vernon finally takes pity on you, thrusting deep inside with one powerful movement. "Cum for me, baby," he commands, his accent rough with need. "Cum all over my cock like a good little slut." His fingers find your clit as he pounds into you, finally giving you the release you've been craving. "That's it, let go," he encourages, his own orgasm approaching. "I want to feel you squeezing around me."

You scream his name as your climax hits, your body convulsing beneath him as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you. Vernon follows soon after, groaning as he fills you with his hot cum. Vernon collapses on top of you, both of you panting heavily as you come down from your intense orgasms. "Fuck," he mutters, his accent still thick with satisfaction. "That was... incredible."

He rolls onto his side, pulling you against his chest and stroking your hair gently. "You were amazing," he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "The way you begged for me... it drove me crazy." Your body is still trembling from the aftershocks as Vernon holds you close. "I think I might have to edge you more often," he teases, though his voice is gentle now. "You look so beautiful when you cry."

[fixated-cookies]

Well... i think as Shadow milk is tall and has big hands... like i actually want him finger me and maybe something about height difference too?

AHHH YESSSS I'm a firm believer of tall shadow milk cookie as well, If i'm being honest, I see pure vanilla as taller, but their both tall in my eyes hehehe. Oooohh and his large hands only mean longer nice slim fingers yes...? those to reach up in the depths of your wetness, ahhhh

“Ah, ah, ah…” Shadow Milk’s voice coos low in your ear, sugar-slick and venom-laced as his long fingers flex beneath your skirts. “Look at you. You knew what you were doing, didn’t you?”

He clicks his tongue dramatically, like a disappointed actor mid-monologue. “One little dress, a sway of the hips, a sigh that’s just a little too breathy—and now look where we are. You, moaning on my hand like a dessert melting in the sun.”

His fingers are deep inside you now—elegant, slow, and taunting. They curl just right, drawing out tremors that make your knees threaten to give way. But he’s got you. Of course he does. One arm firmly around your waist, the other stuffed inside you.

And the worst part?

He's smiling.

Grinning wide, wicked, gleeful—his breath fanning against your cheek as he speaks like it’s all a punchline to a joke you’re too dazed to understand.

“Oh my, so sensitive now? How tragic. Or wait—maybe it’s hilarious. Is it cruel, I wonder, to enjoy how you shake with just two fingers?”

He adds a third.

You cry out.

“Ohohoho~ There it is! The tremble! The twitch!” His hand slaps lightly against your thigh as he giggles—low and sharp, like windchimes in a thunderstorm. “I swear, your little cunt is trying to bite me. How precious.”

Your breath hitches. He leans in close, lips brushing your jaw.

“Do you know what I love about you?” he whispers. “You’re just so earnest. You want to be good. To prove you can take it. As if that will impress me. As if I’m not the one who put you in this state to begin with.”

He thrusts again, and your back arches. You clench around him with another needy moan.

“See? There you go again. So desperate. So eager.” His voice turns pitying now, almost mocking. “You poor little thing. This isn’t even my cock. What will you do then, hm?”

He presses down against your pelvis, just enough to make you feel everything. The bulge. The weight of it. The humiliating reality that you fit him perfectly.

His grin widens.

“Darling, you really should see yourself from up here,” he purrs, leaning down just enough to breathe it against your temple. “So tiny. So helpless. All these pretty little sounds, and I’ve barely even started.”

He lets out a low chuckle, fingers pumping slow and deep, stretching you open with shameless ease. “Do you think I don’t notice how you look up at me? How your neck cranes just to meet my eyes?” His free hand slides up, ghosting over your throat—his thumb resting against your jaw, tilting your face up like he’s admiring a delicate confection. “You like it, don’t you? Being looked down on. Being handled like something small. Something soft.”

You nod, barely, and that’s all it takes.

He snorts in delight. “I knew it. My poor, sweet little cream puff.” He swirls his fingers inside you, slow and deliberate. “You were made to tremble under me.”

He eases you down, one-handed, until your back hits the bed—or was it the couch? You barely know anymore. Everything is white static and syrup-slick heat. Your thighs fall open with no resistance. He looms over you like a shadow split from the ceiling itself, curls of his sharp, jester-black hair cascading like night silk around your vision.

And still—those fingers move. Still he pumps you, slow and intentional, like he’s playing with you.

“Do you feel how deep I am?” he hums, his voice a breathy mockery of gentleness. “This is nothing. My palm hasn’t even kissed your cunt yet. And yet…” He twists his fingers just so—crooking them brutally against that sweet spot that makes you buck—and you scream.

“Ohh~ What was that?” he gasps theatrically, pretending to clutch his own heart. “A cry already? How precious! My darling little bun’s going to break before I even sheath myself.”

You pant, twitching, hips grinding down onto his hand in a desperate rhythm. He watches, transfixed and delighted.

“Mm-mm~ You’d be better off crawling,” he coos. “Honestly. Standing upright is a privilege, and you’ve long since lost that.”

He drags his soaked fingers out of you, holding them up in the light with childlike wonder. “And look at this. Look what I did to you. Ruined and dripping, all from my fingers.” He sticks them in his mouth, slow and theatrical, groaning around them with exaggerated delight. “Mmm~ So sweet. Like milk tea and shame.”

You whimper.

He smirks.

“Now now…” He leans in, slowly—looming, towering, letting his cock drag heavy and hot against your stomach as he straddles you. “Be brave, my little cookie. We’ve barely begun our act…”

His fingers return to your swollen folds, smearing the mess he made just a moment ago, slicking you up again with infuriating precision.

“You’re going to take every inch,” he whispers, nose brushing yours. “And when you’re crying from being too full, too stretched, too ruined—remember…”

His cockhead presses against your fluttering entrance, and you whine, legs trembling around his hips.

“…You wanted this. All of it. Every last, delicious inch of your downfall.”

--

I MAY HAVE GOTTEN TO INDULGENT WITH THIS ME THINKS!!! alsoooooo do you guys like it when i keep reader quiet or more talkative? I like to focus on the characters of the request as i dont want to accidentally write a "y/n" placeholder that doesnt act like whoever reads it. i just find it sooo cringe when reader says something i'd never do hehehe

[zerocoded]

summary: what is like to date gamer!heeseung while being a college student.

authors note: so yeah, they have one of the best discographys on kpop in my opinion and have the most lethal face card as well. what am i gonna do about it? WRITE! bc hell yeah i think about them regularly. heeseung is a baddie too, so what i'm daydreaming about having a normal dating life with my idol boyfie?

warnings and tags: sfw content • pure fluff • heeseung x reader • heeseung calls us baby • this is loser and hot hee all the way • slice-of-life! • not much planned • gamer!heeseung x collegestudent!reader.

word count: 0.9k

the dorm is quiet when heeseung opens the door, hoodie half-zipped and hair pushed back like he’s been running his hands through it all day. he smiles as soon as he sees you, that lazy, boyish grin that always makes your chest ache a little.

“you’re late,” he says, stepping aside so you can come in. “i almost died of boredom.”

“you were playing league five minutes ago,” you say, slipping off your shoes. “don’t act like you were suffering.”

he squints at you as you walk past him. “babe… you weren’t supposed to know that.”

“you’re literally still in the discord call.” you point at the headset hanging from his chair. “i heard someone yell mid diff when i knocked.”

he groans and grabs a pillow off the couch, tossing it at you as you giggle and duck. “rude. i was gonna give you a kiss but now i’m reconsidering.”

“liar,” you grin, flopping down onto the couch and patting the seat beside you. “you’re obsessed with me.”

he drops down next to you with a dramatic sigh, pulling a blanket over both of your laps. “...okay, maybe a little.”

“a little?” you gasp, putting a hand over your chest. “wow. i’m hurt.”

heeseung laughs, leaning in to nuzzle your cheek. “don’t be dramatic, baby.”

you make a face. “says the one who just fake-died over me being five minutes late.”

“i missed you,” he insists, lips brushing your jaw now. “it’s not a crime.”

you roll your eyes but lean into him anyway, fingers reaching to play with the strings of his hoodie. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

heeseung beams like you handed him a trophy. “i know.”

you both settle in, the tv humming softly in the background as the game loads up. his dorm is warm and dimly lit, one small lamp by the desk casting everything in gold. your knees bump under the blanket, and his foot hooks around your ankle like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he doesn’t keep touching you.

“ready to lose?” you ask, picking up your controller and flashing him a smug look.

heeseung scoffs. “baby, you only win when i’m distracted by how pretty you are.”

you blink. “wow. you’re pulling the ‘i let you win’ card and flirting? impressive.”

he leans closer with a mock-serious expression. “that’s what you signed up for when you agreed to date me.”

“hmm.” you pretend to consider it. “can i return you?”

he gasps, clutching his chest like you just shot him. “betrayal.”

you’re laughing when the match starts, and heeseung is already leaning toward you again, lips brushing the corner of your smile. “you’re gonna pay for that, baby.”

“bring it on.”

dating lee heeseung consisted in being impressed how that weird boy is a sensation on stage and shy in his bedroom.

like how he can walk out of an arena to thousands of fans screaming his name, drenched in sweat and confidence, only to come home and nervously ask if you want to split a convenience store sandwich with him in bed.

“it’s the last one,” heeseung mumbles now, holding up the sad triangle-shaped snack with a tiny frown. “i mean, i can go get another if you’re really hungry, baby.”

you blink at him from your spot against the headboard, wearing one of his oversized tees and holding his plushie hostage in your arms. “heeseung, just split it. we’re not rich in time or kimbap.”

he smiles like he’s just been forgiven for something serious. “you’re so good to me.”

“you’re dramatic.”

“you’re hot.”

you throw a pillow at his chest.

he splits the sandwich.

after that, it’s back to your usual rhythm — a half-played game on the screen, your laptop open with tabs of school assignments blinking at you, and heeseung’s head slowly drooping onto your lap as if your thighs are the only pillows left in the world.

you thread your fingers through his hair absentmindedly, scrolling through your notes. he hums in approval.

“you’re not asleep, are you?” you ask.

“no,” he mutters into your hoodie. “just charging. like… emotionally.”

you glance down. “you’re emotionally charging… on my thighs?”

“yeah,” he sighs. “they’re warm. and you smell nice. and also, i’m obsessed with you.”

you pretend to be unfazed, but your ears warm up anyway. “you always get weirdly clingy when you’re tired.”

heeseung turns his face just enough to peer up at you with wide, sleepy eyes. “baby, that’s not clingy. that’s called being in love.”

you bite the inside of your cheek, trying not to smile. “you’re such a softie.”

“only for you.” he yawns and rolls over onto his back so he can keep staring at you, eyes tracing your profile while you try to concentrate on your screen.

“what class is that?” he mumbles.

“social psych.”

“oh, the one with the professor you hate?”

“yeah.”

he grins. “wanna drop out?”

“desperately.”

heeseung reaches for your hand lazily and links his fingers with yours. “cool. let’s run away. you, me, a beach, no more group projects.”

you squeeze his hand gently. “tempting.”

“we can sell bracelets on the shore,” he says, already making up the fantasy. “i’ll sing for coins. you’ll study marine biology and adopt a turtle. we’ll name it minnie.”

“minnie?” you raise an eyebrow. “that’s the turtle name you go with?”

“it’s gender neutral. very inclusive.”

you roll your eyes, laughing. “you’re such an idiot.”

“but i’m your idiot.”

“gross.”

“say it back.”

you look down at him, hair messy on your lap, eyes soft with that boyish light that never seems to dim when he looks at you.

“you’re my idiot.”

heeseung grins like he just won something.

author's note: just had this urge to write boyfie!hee while preparing my sunghoon vamp fic. send me a request • my masterpost

[emonaculate]

Emon babbles II...

Woah... you guys loved the first drabble, huh? Honestly, I'm a little shocked at how well it did, considering I only had bits and pieces of a story. Thank you for all the support! I do appreciate all the feedback! Let me know if you'd like a full-fledged fic out of this, or if you'd prefer the drabble format.

Bandmate!Gojo x Readerــــــــﮩ٨ـ

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who is five months out from the infamous Welcome Home Palooza, sits alone in the dim glow of Studio C—his favorite room to rot in nowadays. Being alone in a studio is a hell of a lot easier than interacting with people.

The walls are padded in midnight blue, the air heavy with old smoke and the hum of equipment left on standby. The only light comes from a single desk lamp that flickers sometimes, like even it doesn’t know how to stay steady.

His guitar rests against his thigh, glistening as it mocks him. He plays the same three chords. Again. And again. And again. The tempo is off. The bridge won’t land. The chorus feels cheap. Everything he writes sounds like someone else wrote it. Someone who is trying to make a cheap, straight-to-retail stores' radio cash grab.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who is supposed to be introducing a brand-new song at their biggest show for long-term fans who actually KNOW what his music is supposed to sound like.

A homecoming. A resurrection. Or a slow, public execution. He can’t tell which.

The deadlines are crawling closer. The pressure is a weight in his chest. This is the first palooza he has ever had to do with Geto. Maybe, that's why its so hard for him to come up with new material. He stares at the notebook sitting beside him—blank, accusing, waiting. He’s written nothing. He doesn’t even have a title. Just a looping mess of sounds that refuse to mean anything.

Where the hell do you even start when everything already feels like the ending?

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojostrums the strings harder. Wrong. All wrong. The riff comes out ugly. He stops. Breathes in. Breathes out. Counts to four. Still wrong. He closes his eyes and leans back in the chair, head tilted toward the ceiling, waiting for the drop of something—inspiration, maybe. Grace. A ghost. Or maybe for the ceiling to collapse and kill him.

However he is only met with the response of silence. Then—his phone buzzes. He knows it's Shoko. She's the only one who checks on him anymore. She pretends to not care, but she has always been in his corner... even when he doesn't deserve it.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo doesn’t want to answer. He wants to let it go to voicemail. But considering he has gotten no where in the past three hours, he might as well. Not like he has anything better going on. He presses accept and stays quiet.

“Still hunched over in that studio?” she asks. No preamble.

“Still smoking those cancer sticks?” he fires back.

A pause. The kind that says you win this round, bitch.

“I’ve got news,” she sighs. “About Y/n”

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo feels his jaw twitch. He says nothing. She had been an enigma in his mind since they had played together. He thought about how he looked at her and all he saw was Geto. He remembered the feeling of his heart rate spiking and palms growing sweaty as she removed the blindfold, ruining the illusion. There was something about the way she really looked at him afterwards. Like actually looked. Saw him. He panicked and bolted out of the room.

Shoko knows that silence. She keeps going.

“Execs said no. She’s out. Too new. Too unpolished. Not marketable enough. They used a lot of words to say ‘we’re scared of taking risks.’ You know the drill.”

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo doesn't answer at first. Not because he doesn’t have anything to say—but because he has too much. Y/n's playing has been stuck in his head since the audition like a melody with no name. He remembers the shape of her confidence. The fire in her voice when she said she could keep up with him—blindfolded. She turned Charmolypi into a conversation without knowing the history.

And now, just like that, he lost Geto all over again. I mean a new bassist. His grip tightens on the guitar neck until his knuckles pale.

“Say something,” Shoko pleads. “Or throw something. I don’t care. Just don’t sit there shutting me out again. ”

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo lifts the guitar again. Plays the same three chords. They don't sound real anymore with how many times he has replayed them..

“Did they give a reason?” he mutters.

“I told you. Image. PR. All bullshit.” She pauses, then adds carefully, “They don’t think she fits our sound.”

Gojo snorts. “She was our sound.”

Another beat of silence.

“You gonna fight this?” she asks.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo doesn’t know. He wants to. But there’s something heavy hanging over it all—something rooted in the song he hasn’t finished and the person he hasn’t forgiven. Y/N reminded him of Geto, that was undeniable. Obviously, not in the way she looked, or talked. But in the way she made music feel like it still meant something. Like it could still save something.

But maybe Gojo doesn’t want to be saved. Maybe he was scared to try and push for this girl to join his band because he wasn't sure if he'd be able to push aside the fact that all he saw when he looked at her was his ex-lover. His bestfriend. The one that got away. What if that line blurred and he did something terrible? Ruined another person? He seemed to have a track record for ruining the good in amazing musicians.

Shoko seems to sense where his mind is drifting. “Look. You’ve got five months to write something that doesn’t sound like a eulogy. I’m just saying—maybe the thing you need to fix this… isn’t something. Maybe it’s someone.”

He doesn’t answer. He just keeps playing the same three chords, slightly slower now. Still not right.

"Just think about it. Don't forget to take a break, though." Shoko added before ending the call.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo , who gets literally kicked out of the studio by Shoko, doesn’t argue when she tosses a crumpled ball cap at his chest and jerks a thumb toward the door.

“You need air. And a damn attitude adjustment.”

He doesn’t bother lashing back. Not because he agrees with her— hell no— but because the fight feels like too much effort. Everything does lately. Maybe he should request his doctor to up his meds?

“Don’t forget the mask,” she calls after him as he walks down the hallway. “The last thing we need is another headline about your ‘mysterious public breakdown.’”

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who’s dressed like teenage girl who just discovered streetwear's wet dream— navy blue ball cap pulled low, oversized white jersey flapping open over a long sleeve that hides his infamous yet easily recognizable tattoos, baggy cargo pants low enough to piss off any manager on payroll, and a plain black mask pulled snug over his face— blends in for once. A nobody in the middle of a city that only cares about nobodies when they become rich ass somebodies overnight.

The moment he steps outside, L.A. wraps around him— hot pavement, the smell of gas and cigarettes, the smear of sunset like an old bruise across the sky.

His phone vibrates in his pocket.

He pulls it out, scanning a few messages. One from his agent — ignored. Two from fans who somehow got his real number again — blocked.

Then… An unfamiliar number. Just a single message.

did you really feel that threatened by how much better i am than you?

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo freezes mid-step. The corner of his mouth unknowingly twitches, almost against his will—not quite a smile, more like the idea of one. He reads the message again. He’s not used to being challenged, let alone teased this casually. He didn't even question how she managed to get his number.

It’s Y/n. Has to be.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo stares at the words, chewing them over like lyrics he hasn’t quite figured out how to sing yet. The audacity. The gall. The fact that she didn’t beg for a second chance— didn’t ask anything of him. Just hit send and dared him to deal with it.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo feels his face flush for the first time in years. God, what was he, a kid in grade school? No way he is getting flustered by a girl being this casual with him. He had snake bites and a tongue piercing for crying out loud! If he could sit through that pain, he could handle some random girl texting his phone. She's not just some random girl, though.

So what she was someone who, for the first time in forever, reminded him of why he started playing in the first place. That feeling. That fire. That ache. And it wasn’t from fame. Or fans. Or ego. It was from someone showing up and refusing to shrink beneath his shadow.

It didn't mean anything. He should ignore the text. He should block her and move on and keep pretending none of this matters. But instead, his thumbs hover over the screen. He types. Deletes. Types again.

you spelled “lucky” wrong.

He hits send before he can talk himself out of it. The reply comes quick.

bitch behavior. didn’t deny it though.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who now walks the block with a barely-contained laugh behind his mask, feels that same feeling stir in his ribs that he originally felt when they played together.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, whose feet carry him aimlessly down side streets and cracked sidewalks, past tattoo parlors glowing red with neon, taco stands setting up for late-night rushes, and murals half-covered in new graffiti. It's noisy, alive — and yet, it feels like he's underwater. Everything muffled. Everyone moving too fast.

He thumbs a reply, each word deliberately careless:

deny what? that you played like a high schooler with stage fright?

But before he can hit send, he pauses. Deletes the last half. He rewrites it. Too mean.

deny what? i didn’t know confidence came with delusion these days.

He stares at it for a second. Debating. Not bad.. not too mean? Its fine. Stop over thinking it.

Then: send.

His phone buzzes back within seconds.

says the guy who couldn’t even look me in the eye the whole time i played. what’s the matter, did real talent make you nervous? or am I just that breathtaking?

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo actually stops walking this time, standing in the yellow glow of a flickering streetlamp. Is she flirting or mocking him? A couple passes him on the sidewalk, laughing softly as they brush hands. He doesn't move, doesn’t even notice.

There’s a subtle tightening in his chest. Not pain, exactly. More like friction. Pressure. Get a grip, you're Gojo Satoru. Worldwide superstar. Not some loser who has never felt the touch of a woman before. You don't like this girl; you like the fact that she reminds you of who you lost. Nothing more.

says the girl who was about to cry because her pinky slipped off the E string? don’t act like you didn’t flinch when i raised my voice. tough girls don’t blink.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo regrets the last sentence the moment it sends. Way too mean. Too much like the version of him Shoko keeps threatening to drag to therapy. But it’s already out there. Her reply takes longer this time. Five minutes. Then ten. He starts walking again, slower now. He cuts across a parking lot and sits on the edge of a short wall, staring out at the blur of headlights streaming down the street.

Finally, her response comes.

you’re right. i did flinch. because you reminded me what failure looks like. and i don’t want to end up like you. damn near passed out at the mere thought.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who has been called a genius, a god, a generational talent, sits in stunned silence, phone glowing back at him as if he looked hard enough, the message would rewrite itself into something more pleasant.

He blinks once. Twice. Then, he smiles. Not the cocky smirk, not the fake stage-grin. A real one. Twisted, bitter, maybe a little impressed.

ok. fine. show me how not to end up like me then.

The three dots bounce on his screen. Typing. Stopping. Typing again. But no reply comes. He leans back on his hands, looking up at the sky, the city lights washing out the stars. For the first time in months, he’s not thinking about Geto. Not about the way things fell apart. Not about how he ruined the relationship with the person he cared about most. Just about a girl who called him a bitch and made him want to pick up his guitar again— not to be better than anyone else. But to prove he still could.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, phone screen dims. Thirty minutes pass. Still no reply. He doesn’t like that.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo doesn’t like being the one left hanging. He’s the cliff, not the one dangling from it. The back-and-forth was fun. Sharp. Flirty without trying to be. But now that it’s quiet, all the self-assuredness he wears like cologne starts to wear thin. He checks the signal on his phone like it’s the service’s fault.

Then— buzz.

A message. No words. Just a location pin. A blue dot blinking somewhere less than a mile from where he’s perched.

wtf does that mean. hello? you forget how to type? are you luring me out to kill me bc ngl, i’d respect that.

No response. Gojo stares at the location again. He shouldn’t go. He won’t go. It’s probably just a flex. A test. A trap. ...So why is he already walking with the GPS pulled up?

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who has slipped through hundreds of backdoors in venues across the world, now walks quietly, alone, on side streets lit with strings of warm lights and the occasional flickering sign. He follows the map. It leads him to a small café tucked between a yoga studio and an old comic shop. The kind of place with mismatched tables and a chalkboard sign outside that says OPEN MIC / LOCAL TALENT NIGHT in scrawled white letters. It’s packed. People are standing shoulder to shoulder, heads tilted toward a small stage in the back, where a single spotlight beams down like a soft halo.

He doesn’t need to ask where she is.

Because there, in the middle of that warmth and color and attention, is Y/n. Alone onstage. No band. No fanfare. Just her bass slung low, her fingers moving with casual, devastating control. Her eyes are wide as she plays with a fever he couldn't describe. Her body swaying to a rhythm that doesn’t seem rehearsed, but lived in.

And the sound—God. Even her voice is pretty. It’s fluid. Gritty. Intimate. Full of breathless pauses and surprise riffs . She’s not showing off—not technically. She’s telling a story. And the crowd? They're caught in her gravity. No phones out. No talking. Just listening. She plucks a run of notes, and Gojo feels them.

Somewhere in his ribs. That little space between ache and awe. He leans against the doorframe in the back, hidden by shadows. Watching.

Y/N glances up mid-song, and for a second, her eyes flicker to the back of the room. He swears she sees him. But she doesn’t stop. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t flinch.

Just presses deeper into the melody like it’s a challenge, and Gojo swears he can hear it in the way her fingers shift: “You came.”

And something in his chest replies— “Yeah.”

The final note hums like the last breath of a storm. Y/n lets it hang, vibrating in the air for one extra beat before she slowly lifts her hand off the strings. No flourish. No bow. Just a nod— like that performance was for her, not them. Applause erupts, sudden and full-bodied. Gojo watches her give a tight smile to the crowd, say something polite into the mic, and then slip off the stage without waiting for praise.

She disappears behind a curtain for a moment. The next act sets up— two girls with matching hair clips and a shared acoustic guitar. The energy shift is immediate. But Gojo’s not watching them. Because she’s walking toward him now. Calm. Unhurried. Eyes pinned to his like she’s not even bothering to pretend this is coincidence.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who’s sat in green rooms with legends and walked off stage to standing ovations, suddenly feels too tall for his chair. He straightens up—too quickly— like he didn’t just get caught staring. Y/n stops in front of him and squints. Then, with all the flatness of someone pointing out a spilled drink:

"Your disguise is terrible, by the way."

Gojo blinks. “...You think so?”

She cocks her head, arms crossing. “You look like what an adolescent girl, too young to be on Tumblr, would climax over if she could dress her crush.”

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojosnorts— but behind the mask, it's more like a sharp exhale. She slides into the chair across from him. Her movements unceremonious, confident, like this was always the plan. Like he’s the one intruding on her evening.

"I’m surprised you made it," she says, flicking a glance toward the stage as the next act begins tuning.

“Only caught the end.” He says it casually, but the way his fingers tap restlessly at the edge of the table gives him away. “Didn’t think you were into open mic nights.”

“I’m not. But they’re into me.” She shrugs. “And this is the only place that’ll let me play without turning it into a PR stunt.”

She doesn’t say like your label did, but he hears it anyway.

A waitress comes by. Y/N orders with practiced ease, like she comes here often.

“Strawberry shortcake,” she says, pointing at Gojo with her thumb. “And an energy drink for me. Tall can. Yellow tropical.”

Gojo raises a brow. “Didn’t realize you knew my order.”

“I didn’t. You just look like you need something sweet to shut you up.”

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo opens his mouth to reply, but it’s gone— the wit, the snark. She’s leaned back now, arms over the chair, the dim café lights softening the edges of her face. Not smiling. Not trying to make him laugh.

Just looking at him. And it’s so unsettlingly… normal and easy. The waitress disappears. The music starts again— the girls on stage begin to sing something breathy and delicate about summer and loss. They sit there, saying nothing for a moment.

Then Y/n, softly speaks; her voice as sweet and light as it was during her audition originally:

"Why’d you come, Satoru?"

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo doesn’t answer right away. Because he doesn't know what would be worse— telling her the truth… or lying. That it wasn’t about rivalry. Or pride. It was because she made him feel something. Something that he thought he'd never feel again. The presence of Geto. All when she played. He could feel Geto's touch. His smell. His laughter that could echo off the walls for miles. That would be crazy to admit. Deranged. Wrong. So instead, he shrugs. Leans back in his seat.

“Wanted to see if you were as good as your ego said.”

Y/N smirks faintly, tilting the energy drink to her lips as it arrives.

“And?”

The waitress sets the shortcake in front of him. Gojo picks up the fork, breaks off a piece of strawberry, and answers with a mouthful.

"...You’re better."

They sit together for longer than they probably should.

A steady stream of local talent drifts on and off the stage— an indie rock duo with too much reverb, a slam poet who forgot half their lines, a jazz quartet that brought the house back to life. But Gojo only half-listens. His attention keeps drifting sideways, toward the girl sitting across from him, draining her energy drink and poking at the condensation on the side of the can like it’s more interesting than anything happening on stage.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who once sold out Narendra Modi Stadium in less than hour, can’t remember the last time he sat this still.

Y/n laughs at something the girl onstage says— a soft, bright laugh that bursts out of her without restraint. When she laughs, she laughs. Her whole body lifts like a wave cresting, shoulders bouncing, her nose crinkling as the sound fills their little corner of the cafe. And God, it hurts. Because she reminds him of him. Not just in the way her presence draws people in like gravity, though that's part of it. It’s subtler than that. Quieter. The resemblance is all in the details.

In the sharp slice of her eyebrow, like it was carved there by accident during a night too wild to remember. The small silver ring through the side of her nose, glinting under warm lights. The faint constellation of freckles that dust her cheekbones, barely there until she tips her face up to laugh.

And then there's her smile— wide, full, but with a crooked tooth that only adds to her charm. It's not perfect. Which is exactly what makes it unforgettable. She talks with her hands. Gestures big, like every word needs space to stretch. Just like Geto used to.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo feels it— the old ache, that space inside him where Suguru used to live. He thinks he’s gotten used to it by now. The hollowness. The silence. But watching Y/n from the side, it's like pressing on a bruise that never fully healed.

“Hey,” she says suddenly, voice casual, but her gaze is sharp. “You keep staring like that, and people are gonna start thinking you’re in love with me.”

He snorts. “If I were, it’d be purely out of admiration for your excellent fashion sense.”

“Oh yeah?” she leans in, feigning seriousness. “You trying to copy my look under that busted disguise?”

He grins under the mask, shaking his head. “Please. If I showed up dressed like you, I’d get mobbed.”

“Well then,” she raises her can in a mock-toast, “consider yourself lucky. No one here’s even bothered to ask if you’re the Gojo Satoru. Your anonymity’s doing great.”

“Thanks,” he says flatly. “I worked really hard to look this chopped.”

Y/N snickers and sits back, watching the next performer fumble with a mic stand. Then, after a stretch of companionable silence, she sighs.

“I’m okay with not being in the band, you know.”

Gojo’s fingers tense slightly against the table. Y/n doesn’t look at him. She just keeps watching the stage, her tone neutral.

“I knew when they brought me in, it wasn’t going to happen. You’ve got too much weight around that group. Too much grief. They want someone to fill a spot— not replace anyone. And I’m not trying to be a ghost in someone else’s place. I am my own person, y'know. ”

Her words hang heavy between them. Truthful. Unbothered. And Gojo, who’s spent months pretending he doesn’t care, finally admits — that’s exactly it. Suguru was irreplaceable. Not just because of the talent or the history. But because of who he was to all of them. To him.

And now here’s this girl: too loud, too honest, too damn talented; who won’t slot neatly into a role designed for someone long gone. Because she’s not a replacement. She’s herself. Gojo looks at her again and he doesn’t know what to say. But for once, maybe that’s okay. So instead, he nudges his plate toward her— one last bite of strawberry shortcake untouched.

“Wanna finish it?”

She looks at him, then at the cake, then back.

“Sharing sweets? You like me that much?.”

He shrugs. “Call it a peace offering.”

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who stands outside the little cafe, the buzz of streetlamps flickering overhead as L.A.’s night air kisses at the edges of his skin through the loose jersey he’s half-zipped. The world hums around him, but he only hears the echo of her laugh— still ringing behind his ribs like a leftover chord.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo who stands there awkwardly, one hand stuffed in his pocket, the other idly spinning the cap of his lychee soda bottle, unsure if he’s supposed to say something else—something meaningful. But Y/N’s already turning; her energy drink can tossed into a bin with a flick of her fingers.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo who watches her walk away with an effortless bounce in her step, a light skip slipping into her stride like she forgot she was supposed to play it cool.

She doesn’t look back. But he does.

He watches her—shoulders relaxed, hoodie slightly oversized, her silhouette swallowed up by the city’s amber haze. The faint clink of her bass case as it shifts against her back. That goddamn silver nose ring catching the light. The way her plump-lipped smile had lingered a little too long in his memory.

It’s nothing. It’s everything.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who sighs so hard it fogs up it heats up the masks he has on. He tugs it off in a fluid motion and pulls off the cap, running a hand through his now-damp hair.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo who kicks at a pebble on the sidewalk and mutters under his breath, “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” like the universe dared to give him another person who shines too bright and burns just as fast.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who stands still long after Y/N has disappeared from sight, feeling that annoying tug in his chest — the one that makes him clench his jaw and pretend his heart doesn’t still flinch when he thinks about Geto.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo who realizes, as he exhales and rolls his shoulders back, that he doesn’t care what the label said. Or what bullshit reason they gave. Or how complicated it might be to add her to their lineup.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojowho makes up his mind right then and there, staring into the cool L.A. night, that she’s in the band— no matter what.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who is a lot of things—a menace, a legend, a walking PR nightmare— but he’s not a coward.

He'll fight the execs. He'll deal with Nanami’s judgment. He’ll deal with his own aching, unresolved ghosts.

But he is not letting someone like Y/N slip away. Not when she might be the only person in five goddamn years to make music feel alive again.

And especially not when she calls him a bitch and still somehow makes him want to write a song about it.

[vthx]

WIP Weekend

Make me write!

Rules: Send me an emoji in an ask, and I'll write 3-5 sentences and/or paragraphs from that WIP for each emoji! No limits to the amount or kind of emojis you can request.

I'm working on knocking out rare pair projects before getting back to my other stories since they're closer to being finished (and I still owe @sourw0lfs the Steddissy sequel to the guild exchange). The Sword of Damocles has been knocked out, so now it's just:

🧚‍♀️ A Fairy's Tale (Jeff/Steve) - childhood friends to reconciled lovers

🚗 Joyride or Die WIP - sequel to the Road and the Sky (steddissy)

A snippet of the Joyride or Die WIP:

When the two of them got into the van, Chrissy put a hand on Eddie's to stop him from turning the ignition.

"One night, just for fun, and it doesn't mean anything, right?" she asked. "And you don't say a word about 'bagging a cheerleader'?"

He mimed locking his lips, rolled down the window, and threw the imaginary key out of it.

"Hm," Chrissy said. "This night's going to be pretty tricky if you can't use your mouth."

Eddie went for the door handle, fake frantic, and Chrissy had to haul him back in the van before he could pretend to search the parking lot for the 'key'.

"You really want to spend our time doing that?" she asked. He grinned at her.

"Excellent point, my lady! Shall we away?"

Dork, dork, dork. But it was a nice change. Jason was never silly with her. She should probably feel bad for, strictly speaking, cheating on him, but since she'd already decided to leave him, did it really count? She'd break up with him first thing tomorrow, so close enough.

"My all means," she said, giving it a long pause. "Princess."

His head thunked against the head rest. "That's gonna be a thing, huh?"

"Does it bother you?" she asked. "I can stop." The fun wasn't worth it if it made him uncomfortable.

"Not… exactly," he admitted. "Guess it depends on how you mean it. I'm not big into being mocked, but I've never played around with that kind of stuff—skirts, being called princess, someone else taking charge—so I'm curious." He grinned at her. "You're really hot, Chrissy. You can probably talk me into just about anything."

She was going to take her time later with detailed fantasies of everything she could, in a different world, have talked him into doing with Steve.

"I'm not mocking you. I wasn't serious when I said it, but I liked the idea after I did. I think it's off the table for tonight, though, unless you have some way into the school's locker rooms."

"That depends. You up for a little B&E?" Eddie asked, impish.

"Are you serious?" Chrissy asked.

No pressure tags:

@strangerthingswritersguild

@sevenmerrymagpies @tinytalkingtina @stellarspecter @hbyrde36 @pearynice @cloudsurfing42 @queenofshenanigans @eriquin @sidekick-hero @shares-a-vest @onirislanding @lollaika

[skibasyndrome]

Simon. I am begging. On my knees

"I want to feel you inside"

Nina!!! Hi!!! No this has not been sitting for over a month nope dkgshdf anyways, thank you so much for sending me a prompt (and also for helping me decide what to write today hehe), I hope you will like this one 💜💜💜

camping redemption; friends to lovers; my god, they are sweating

cw: nsfw

Read below or over on ao3

Once they settle down inside the tent, it doesn't take long for them to discard the sleeping bags after all. They rustle traitorously in the stuffy silence as Wille kicks them away, off to the other side of the tent, where they won't bother them for the night.

Simon lets out a pleased sigh, finding it a lot easier to breathe without unruly nylon and polyester pooling around him. Not even the proximity to the lake is making the uncharacteristic heaviness of this May night any better. Maybe it's worse. He feels like his shirt is still damp, as is his hair, their late evening swim seeming like not as much of a good idea anymore. Besides him, over on the other iso mat, Wille lets out a groan. "This was a bad idea," he mumbles. When Simon turns back around, facing him, he sees that he's tugging on the collar of his t-shirt, attempting to fan some coolness down his body. Simon doubts he's going to find any cool air, though. Not even the fact that they've only closed up the fly sheet is allowing any semblance of a breeze to enter into their tent. Simon can't quite bite back his amusement. There's something adorably hilarious about Wille when he's whiny. There's a reason why Simon's always enjoyed teasing his best friend. Even if he's been doing it less and less as they grew older, and with them, Wille's aversion to being laughed at, even in good humor. But it seems fine now, seems like they're just relaxed enough. So Simon stretches his leg, pokes Wille's shin with his toe. "Your fault," he says, and follows suit when Wille moves his leg out of the way. "Let's go camping for my birthday," Simon mocks, dropping his voice in exaggeration. "Like in the old days." At that, Wille kicks back lightly.

"I don't sound like that," he protests. But Simon can see the smile on his face, even in the dim light of their camping lantern. He's not ready to give up, not until he sees Wille squirm again. It's been too long. "Let's get out of the city," Simon quips, voice still comically low. Their legs are a tangled mess now, each of them trying to keep the other one from poking, tickling, kicking. Wille lets out another whine, but at least this one rings familiar of amusement and lighthearted frustration. "You make me sound like I'm old," he groans, raising his shirt up and over his face, covering what Simon hopes is a bright blush, as if that will make it disappear. Unfortunately, the opposite is true. Simon's retort gets momentarily stuck in his throat when his eyes drop to Wille's naked skin. Most days, Simon has no problem forgetting about the fact that Wille looks the way he does. That, under his baggy shirts, there are firm lines of muscle, and skin so charmingly pale and freckled that Simon has thought about counting the little marks in weak moments. Most days, Simon's attraction to Wille can be neatly tucked away, sitting somewhere in the back of his mind. Their friendship is too comfortable, too lived in, has always been closer than most people around them understood. Whenever Simon found the words to put to the feelings, it had already been too long, too settled for anything to change. Most days Simon feels a spark, a sting, a flare of something, and can manage to get right back to business. So he can do that, now, as well. When he averts his eyes, finding Wille's cotton-covered face again, he forces out a laugh. It sounds a little too strained to his own ears, but maybe Wille won't notice. "You make yourself sound old," Simon says, trying to wiggle his leg free from where it's trapped between Wille's. His skin feels extra warm where it's rubbing against Wille's leg hair. Another whine and Wille releases Simon's leg. The air has gotten even stuffier. Maybe it's mostly Simon's head, maybe it's mostly him being reckless and weird tonight and his focus slipping, as his eyes are slipping down again. Wille's belly rises and falls with his breathing, and, deep inside of Simon, there's the stirring of that familiar urge to... feel it, to reach out a hand and experience it up close. Wille's body, his breathing, his skin. It's an instinct he's so used to, somewhere between loving his friend and wanting to have him as close as possible and a different kind of want, sharper around the edges and more searing. Sometimes it keeps him awake at night, when he trails his hand over his own body instead, wondering, with ever dip and every crevice, what the topology of Wille would feel like under his fingertips. He doesn't usually have to face the feeling so up front anymore these days. The times of shared school locker rooms are over, most moments of nakedness defused by other friends with them. Maybe it's not just Simon's head. With a noise of discontent, Wille tugs the shirt further up, over his head. It lands where the pile of sleeping bags is resting. Simon lets out a quiet breath. He's been quiet for a moment too long, Simon realizes, when Wille clears his throat suddenly.

"Sorry," Wille says, "it's just way too hot." He still sounds lighthearted, but Simon thinks there's an edge there, hard to place. But he can't have that, can't let this get weird. Can't let what he's able to deal with perfectly fine get between them now. "No, I know," Simon says and rolls onto his back again. Thinking is easier when he's only looking a green canvas. But it still isn't helping the heat in any way. Simon decides to bite the bullet. With a sigh, he pulls his own shirt over his head and blindly throws it into the general direction of the other fabric.

Read the rest over on ao3 because otherwise the tags on this post don't work apparently :')

Feel free to send me some prompts from that list, or just make some up <3 Or read my other ficlets here

also pls let me know what you think <3

[sailorsoons]

Hi I'm a new baby carat and I wanted to ask if I should stop stanning seventeen? Like all of this boycott going on. Does this mean I should hate on them? I genuinely don't understand. English is not my first language. Can you please clarify because people are saying they are 'stepping back from seventeen' what does this mean? And your post about jeonghan enlisting and carats losing all the plot. I didn't understand that. This is my first time stanning a kpop group so I don't know what to do. I'm genuinely asking please don't think I'm mocking you or anything!

Hi, I think the most important thing to takeaway from all of the discourse going on is that you should participate in fandom and interact with Seventeen's content however you want to and however you're comfortable doing. There is no right or wrong answer. It is okay to be upset with them and still consume or read content about them. Two things can be true at once: you can be really upset with someone and not like something they're doing, and you can still like their music and listen to it because it's a source of joy for you. This isn't hypocrisy, this is cognitive dissonance and we need to be comfortable living in it.

None of the conversations right now mean you should hate Seventeen at all. No one who is upset with them hates them. I think that, unfortunately - and this applies really specifically to Western online discourse because I don't know if it's the same everywhere else - society is now unable to separate criticism from sending hate. We have reached a point where feedback, criticism, discussion and voiced opinions are considered 'being a hater' or 'sending hate' or 'unstanning' and that's really not the case at all. Providing feedback, input and criticism has always been a part of media, fandom and other industries in general, but we have really lost our way in that functionality of how communication works and it's turned into people accusing those giving feedback as 'hating' something when that is not, in fact, the case.

When people say they're stepping back from Seventeen, they just mean they need a bit of a mental break or some clarity. For a lot of us, it's an uncomfortable situation to write/produce stories about Seventeen when they are actively doing things in real life that go against 1) what you believe in 2) probably how you portray them in fanfic 3) the standards you would hold your friends to. So it puts a bit of pressure on content creators to keep writing for people who are essentially not aligning with their ethics and beliefs, on top of the fact that most of the people I know who are in fandom right now have been having a really hard year or have been really busy with life and work. So rather than try to be active in a space that is tiring them out while Seventeen is also creating some discourse, it's easier to step back and I fully support them.

My comment about Jeonghan enlisting and us losing the plot was totally a joke. It was more of me poking fun at the fact that Jeonghan enlisted and now we have a whole bunch of problems with the way Seventeen is promoting themselves and some of the people they're doing business with. I do not actually believe Jeonghan not being enlisted would have stopped that, I was just being silly!

I hope this helps give a little bit of clarity to some of your questions. Being in fandom is hard sometimes because we have a sort of pseudo-symbiotic relationship with the people we're fans of because a lot of us consume/create content made based on them, and when stuff like this happens, it causes causes because people don't know how they should respond, react, or what the right course of action is.

My advice is to take the course of action that feels right to you. The only person you have to answer to at the end of the day is you, so please do not feel pressured to do anything except what you want!

Please let me know if there's any other way I can help clarify! I know it's kind of scary to ask or figure out what the hell is going on but I am always happy to try and shed light.

[theriu]

River Reads Midnight Sun

Well met, traveler! This is the starting post for my experiment, wherein I, who have never read the Twilight books or seen the movies, read Midnight Sun (basically Twilight from Edward's perspective) and commentate for (hopefully) your entertainment! I decided it would be easiest to do this a chapter at a time, and my commentary will essentially be a summary of each chapter so people equally unfamiliar with the story can follow along. You can follow or block this experiment with the tag #river reads midnight sun.

I think that should do it! Let's get started with:

Chapter 1: First Sight

In which Edward finds high schoolers very Boring and Inane, and also nearly goes bonkers over a potential snack.

First things first: Can we talk about how gross pomegranates look? Is the cover art SUPPOSED to resemble an optical illusion between a halved pomegranate and a bleeding heart? Either way, EW.

Right, on to business!

Edward is bored, you guys. He is SO BORED. High school is so boring. Purgatory is mentioned, as well as “tedium” and “monotonous.” He really wants us to know how bored he is, even though the word “boredom” is not used until the sixth paragraph. But trust me, he’s very bored. One begins to wonder why the immortal 100+-year-old vampire is choosing to hang out daily in such a boring place, but I’m sure it will be explained.

Now we learn about his mindreading powers! This is also very boring because most of the minds he has to read are petty high school minds. By the way, the inane sheeple chatter in the school mindscape today is all about the new girl! I wonder who she could be! Ed sure doesn’t care! He can see every angle of her face via peoples’ thoughts, and he is NOT impressed. Half the “sheep-like males” are crushing on her. Edward’s disdain for them is palpable, almost as if it's not totally normal and fine for human teenagers to find new things like a new student exciting. We may be witnessing a smidge of superiority complex, which is shocking, no doubt.

Mind-reading as a way to introduce other relevant characters is handy, I will grant the author that! Of course, Ed tries not to mindread his fellow vampires out of courtesy, but he KNOWS what they are probably thinking, and boy is he ready to tell us!

Rosalie: Is either actually super hot or super thinks she is, and apparently this debate encompasses her every waking moment. She only compares herself to VAMPIRES, of course, because humans could never be comparably hot. Related to a stagnant pool. Wow, Ed.

Emmett: Hyper competitive guy who has no new thoughts because he says EVERYTHING he thinks. Compared to a glass-clear lake. I suppose that means Ed maybe thinks he has depth? Maybe? We'll err on the side of optimism.

Jasper: Suffering. That’s literally the entire description.

Alice (who can see the future) introduces herself by beaming thoughts at Ed asking how Jasper is doing. Jasper is not doing well. Apparently he is so ready to eat people that he has forgotten how to Human and is sitting in a corpse-like rigor, because it seems when you become a vampire you lose quirks like restless leg syndrome and blinking? This feels full of potential hilarity to me, but I fear such hilarity will not be realized in this Very Serious Book.

Anyway, back to Jasper, who is SUFFERING. Alice asks if there is any danger. Edward signals no. Half a page later, his exposition about Jasper's problem adds, “Jasper was very dangerous right now." Okay, so which is it?! PICK A LANE, ED

(On a genuine note, I already like Alice; she counters Jasper’s fantasies about eating a girl by telling him her name and a few personal facts in a way that shows Alice makes an effort to know her classmates as more than just The Humans. Yay empathy!)

Btw, Ed’s internal monologue indicates they’re hanging out at this school to build their strength and endurance by being around humans and not eating them, and to that I say REALLY??? You chose high school for that?! The one where you’re SUPER BORED?? GO HANG OUT AT A COFFEE SHOP OR SOMETHING

Ope, plot progression! Bella has entered the chat lunchroom. Literally everyone is thinking about Bella, including Jessica, no doubt the requisite catty high school rival who crushed on Edward previously. She has many disgruntled thoughts about Bella, Bella noticing the Cullens, everyone noticing Bella, etc. Ed, who has been doing a great job keeping us up to date on the general thought processes of the student body, takes this moment to assure us once again how much he finds all of this chatter inane AND petty AND trivial, and he’s definitely going to try harder to block them out (again).

Wait, oh my word, was that a line of HUMOROUS BANTER between the Cullens just now?! I have renewed hope for this Very Serious Book!

So Edward is the vampires' mental scout who checks for people suspecting he and his family are inhumanly weird (as opposed to acceptably weird), and naturally he does a brain scan on Bella. Oooo but he’s not hearing anything! And now they have locked eyes! Her eyes are very odd, because of the DEPTH of them! Already, Bella is very Frail and immune to mindreading and somehow has “deeper” eyes than I guess any other human Edward has met in his 100+ years? Ed, I think you need to make eye contact more.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled torrent of inane high schooler thoughts! Amazingly, they are all still focused on Bella and being attracted to or jealous of her, because of course real high schoolers are all Inane and Tedious. (The one exception is Angela, who is busy thinking about homework. I like her, she seems normal.) Jessica is being catty again, and what’s this?! Ed suddenly has this STRANGE URGE to SHIELD Bella from this nasty girl! How very odd and unusual! Especially from a guy who very clearly finds all human teenagers Inane/Petty/Trivial! Bella must be special, except she is also “very unexceptional." Also, Ed is highly frustrated that he can’t read this girl’s mind, despite him constantly reading her like a book and her having “deceptively communicative” eyes.

Rosalie breaks Ed out of his frustration-driven contradictory spiral, and they all go to class, Ed casually mentioning his two medical degrees in an internal dig at his biology teacher (again, why are you hanging out at high school???) Naturally, Bella shows up and the only seat available is the one next to Edward, because Plot everyone is subliminally terrified of him. Ed has a moment of panic wondering if not hearing one girl’s thoughts means he has a vampire disease and is gonna lose all his mindreading, and then he has another moment of empathy for Bella having to sit next to the Scary Vampire.

Then she walks in front of an air duct, and Edward is suddenly overcome with INTENSE BLOODLUST THE LIKES OF WHICH HE HAS NEVER EXPERIENCED BEFORE!!! He wants to eat her SO BAD, you guys! He spends roughly EIGHT PAGES brooding on how badly he wants to eat her, noticing how delicious she smells, crushing the underside of a desk with his intense self-control grip (but having the presence of mind to “destroy the evidence” by rounding out the finger-shaped hole he just made), analyzing the logistics of eliminating a roomful of witnesses and whether to do so before or after eating her, seeing his monstrous reflection in her eyeballs, angsting over how bad he will feel when he murders a bunch of people, plotting ways of murdering her that WON’T result in collateral damage, questioning Bella’s sanity for daring to SHAKE HER HAIR IN HIS VICINITY, angsting about how disappointed his wonderful adoptive dad Carlisle will be (aww, that’s actually sweet), stubbornly deciding “she can’t make me,” hating Bella with the fury of a thousand suns for daring to smell so delicious, and shutting off his breathing so he has at least some self-control, which does sound uncomfortable but I applaud the effort.

Then class finally ends (for him and for us), and he goes and hides in his car. Which, honestly, relatable.

The car timeout helps restore his sanity, and he determines he does in fact not need to kill her and that hating her guts for smelling like an eight-course dinner probably isn’t fair! He just needs to avoid her as much as possible. Bless your heart for your optimism, Male Lead of a Paranormal Romance Novel.

The solution he comes up with is to charm the poor secretary (who keeps having to remind herself mentally that he’s too young for her, which, augh) into switching him to a different sixth-period course. Bella chooses this opportune moment to walk in, which he doesn’t notice until her DELICIOUS SMELL is blown over him (I question why someone with such advanced senses can only notice powerful smells when he is downwind of them). Edward’s Amazing Vampire Vision kicks in, allowing him to once again see his Monstrous Face in the reflection of her eyes, despite her being over against the wall. He briefly contemplates double homicide, then . . . uh . . . gives up on changing classes so he can walk away. This doesn’t feel like a long-term solution, Ed, but Kudos for the self-control.

The chapter wraps up with him jumping into his car (it’s the end of the day, so the others are waiting for him) and breaking the speed limit out of the parking lot. Alice uses Future Sight (it’s super effective!) to see that Ed is either going to book it out of Forks (the town) or go and murder Bella in her house. I once again have reason to like Alice, who orders him not to do it, adding that it would metaphorically kill Bella’s dad. He drops them off and races away again, not yet sure if he’s going to tell Dad Carlisle that he’s leaving or going to go eat the delicious new girl. And Scene!

Well, that wasn’t as painful as I feared, so huzzah! I kind of appreciate the internal look at his thoughts and how his mindreading lets us see other characters even when they can’t talk. Got a bit long at times, especially with how Inane and Petty and Trivial high schoolers are to Edward! LOTS OF DETAIL about how badly he wanted to eat Bella and possibly murder all bystanders, which I guess does go to show how bad the bloodlust is, because dang! (But why do none of the others have this reaction to her yet? Maybe they just don’t have classes with her. You must be this close to the Bella to ride the maniac vampire train!)

And with that, I have earned a much-deserved break before delving into CHAPTER TWO: OPEN BOOK! I’m sure Edward will totally succeed in his plan to skedaddle out of Forks and never see Bella again! Stay positive, Ed! =Dd

Chapter 2->

[peachylynnie]

you make him lose his cool

word count: 900-1k per lead synopsis: in which you provoke them, and they love it. (inspired by kiss of life's igloo) contains: fem!reader x lads men (separate, non!mc), established relationship, downbad men, NSFW CONTENT MDNI (i'm talking grinding, oral sex implications, etc), song lyrics, and cursing. a/n: UPDATED WITH CALEB AS OF 2/1/25 i feel hot whenever i listen to this song. i hope you do too while reading. enjoy! do not plagiarize or translate. lads men do NOT endorse plagiarism. reblogs & comments appreciated. lads masterlist | tagged: @vvintqz (ik this is technically the reader teasing xavier but u said to tag u when i write xavier so i hope u enjoy)

caleb

What you heard? (What you heard?) But it's never what you think, trust

it's impossible to surprise caleb.

he always knows what you're up to.

whether you're just waking up from a heavenly two-hour nap or going out to get your hands on the latest edition of your favorite blind box series, he's always there.

last time you tried to cook yourself a meal (ever since you started dating, he hasn't let you lift a finger), he came home early and snatched the spatula away from you, insisting that you sit down and look pretty for him while he makes his signature braised wings.

you're not sure how he does it. maybe he has a secret camera or a tracker installed (ha). though, you don't have any complaints. you think it's fucking hot how he's never away from you.

even so, you've been wanting to surprise him for a while now. blame it on your desire to fluster him as much as he flusters you. you're going to surprise him AT LEAST once in your lifetime.

which explains why you're in an apron right now, with absolutely nothing underneath.

to be honest, you were hoping to surprise him with homemade apple pie since he's always cooking for you. but again, you want to fluster him. thus the apron, a long piece of denim fabric wrapped tightly around your waist and hung dangerously low at your chest. you can't deny how delectable you appeared when you looked in the mirror, admiring your exposed arms, legs, back, and neck—anything that would drive the esteemed colonel insane. you felt jittery just thinking about the look he would have on his face when he walked in through the door of your shared home.

however, your joy is short-lived when your phone rings while you slice up some apples in the kitchen.

"what's with the apron, pipsqueak?"

you put the knife down with a sigh. "do you have a camera installed in here or what?"

caleb chuckles into the phone. "wouldn't you like to know?"

"i would like to know so i can turn the damn thing off and actually surprise you for once, dipshit," you retort playfully as you adjust your phone between your ear and shoulder, picking up the knife to continue chopping. you suppose you should still make the pie since you already got the ingredients out.

"aw," he mocks, his voice dripping with arousal. "did my little pipsqueak dress up just for me?"

"yes," you snap, rolling your eyes. "but this little pipsqueak is about to change since you ruined her surprise."

your threat does little to faze caleb, as evidenced by his endearing laughter.

"don't be upset, pips," he teases into the phone. before you can scoff at his audacity to tell you not to be upset, your ears catch the hurried footsteps in the background of the call. it doesn't take long for you to hope your boyfriend is on his way home—on his way to you. sure enough, his next words cause heat to pool between your bare legs.

"keep the apron on. i'll be home soon."

after he hangs up, you put your phone down with a giggle, eager for what's to unfold once he arrives. however, you still can't help but wonder if he actually has a camera installed because how the fuck does he always know what you're up to? you frown as you turn your head left and right. you don't see any red flashing lights in places that could provide him an optimal view. nope. nothing in the corners of the ceilings and nothing in the walls either. before you can convince yourself your boyfriend is somehow omniscient, you notice something out of the corner of your eye.

his dog tag. seems like he forgot to put it on after putting on his uniform. you pocket it, hoping to give it to him when he gets home.

but your mind is truly one of a kind. as caleb likes to put it, resourceful during the most critical moments.

because when he's balls deep inside of you, coaxing your second orgasm out of you, you get the bright idea to fish your shaky fingers into the pocket of your bunched-up apron and put. it. on.

caleb's eyes widen upon seeing his dog tag on you. there it was, the important item he forgot this morning, resting between the delicious valley of your breasts, bouncing up and down while jingling an enticing melody.

"fuck—pipsqueak, you—" he thrusts harshly, pistoning into your sopping heat. you throw your head back at the sensation, allowing him an even better view of his chain, mingling with the beads of sweat on your collarbone. shit, he's so turned on right now. not only were your swollen, sweet lips adorning his name, but so was your pretty little neck. it filled the young colonel with pride. and enough vigor to bring you to your third release, as evidenced by the endless slamming of his hips and the clenching of your thighs.

"good girl," he helps you through your high before letting go of your waist, hoping to give you a break. "i'll go get a towel. stay here."

but when your pilot of a lover goes to leave, you wrap your legs around him and pull him to you, causing him to collide with you. caleb hisses at the contact, sensitive more than ever.

"don't push it, pipsqueak," he warns as he plants both of his arms on the kitchen counter, caging you in. "you need to rest."

"i don't think so, colonel," you prop yourself on your elbows, meeting his eyes boldly. "i don't think so at all."

caleb swears he feels his mechanical arm short-circuit because what you do next is just fucking tantalizing.

you pinch his dog tag and bring it to your mouth.

his breathing quickens substantially when your teeth take the shiny piece of metal as their prisoner. it's not long before his dog tag is trapped between your seductive canines and your thighs are tightened around his waist.

with a shameless smile, you jut your chin towards the man, signaling to him to make his move.

caleb growls, seizing the chain with both hands and bringing you to his face.

"i warned you, pips."

extra (in honor of his official installment)

as you munch on some apple pie in caleb's embrace on the couch, you can't help but ask.

"how did you know about the apron but not the dog tag?"

your boyfriend sniffs before answering, a little bit of pie still in his mouth.

"i couldn't check the cameras on the way home."

"oh that makes sense."

"…"

"wait, what?!"

sylus

Glass room, perfume, Kodak on that lilac (alright) Slipping on my short dress, know he like that (like that)

there's nothing like getting ready in sylus' bathroom. not because of the sheer size of it (it takes at least a day to explore his residence), but because of how good you look in the mirror right now. you can't help but smile as you step back to get a full look at yourself.

sylus went all out for tonight's auction.

he gifted you a tight-fitting ebony dress, its gorgeous silk straps accentuating your shoulders perfectly. he also gifted you a pair of evening gloves, its velvet fabric wrapping around your arms flawlessly. of course, the dress came with priceless jewels and heels. as you twirl in front of the mirror, the scarlet gems on your ears glimmer, and the cherry kitten heels on your feet click. oh, you look so good, you can kill.

but what seals the deal is the neck accessory he got you.

an intricate, black choker made out of lace. fucking lace. a scoff leaves your mouth when you notice the ruby medallion hanging at the center. his taste is as clear as day.

as you reach behind your neck to clip the choker, the man of the hour walks in. you meet his eyes through the mirror, your hands still at the back of your neck. "sylus."

"miss," he acknowledges in return, an unmistakable smirk appearing on his lips. his eyes trail down your figure. "you look stunning."

"thanks," you giggle as you hook the choker clasp. "you don't look bad yourself."

and you're absolutely right. although he has his usual dress shirt on, his outerwear is completely new. a gorgeous red blazer, adorned with inky brush strokes, sits proudly on his shoulders. moreover, his accessories are new (he's never worn any before). cuffed around his right hand is a sleek platinum watch, spotlighting his forearm deliciously. hanging from his left ear are silver chains, shining unashamedly. you can't help but bite your lips as you admire your lover in the mirror.

yeah, sylus went all out tonight.

catching the hazy look in your glittered eyes, he tilts his head before grinning, "like what you see, sweetie?"

you roll your eyes playfully before returning to the sink. "yes, actually. didn't know you were capable of wearing something other than black."

sylus chuckles as he leans against the wall, arms crossed. "i've worn colors other than black before."

"if you're talking about the two outfits that have the belt around the sleeve," you list nonchalantly as you pick up your lip gloss. "they don't count. they have black on them."

"i'm talking about the red cardigan, sweetie," he counters smoothly, eyeing the lip gloss in your hand.

"ah." you run the wand over your parted lips, enjoying the feeling of gloss on them. "touche," you say, bending over the sink to see if you missed a spot. you do, however, miss the way sylus' fingers tighten around his arms when your dress hikes up. smacking your lips together, you lift the wand to reapply. "but you barely even wear that. so that doesn't count either."

sylus hums, barely paying attention to what you just said. his eyes are transfixed on the wand. he's mesmerized by how it travels across your lips, slathering them with sticky, shimmery syrup, leaving him thirsty for a taste. not to mention the sounds leaving your lips whenever you press them together. sweet, squelching sounds that have him pressing against you in mere seconds, his hands gripping the edge of the sink.

at first, you were taken aback by his sudden proximity. but after feeling something prod at your back, you smile amusingly before placing the wand down. "i'm assuming," you swiftly turn around and wrap your arms around his neck, his eyes widening as you pull him closer. "there's been a change of plans." you slowly lick your lips, collecting some excess gloss. as it drips from the tip of your tongue, you ask with a tilt of your head, "how late are we going to be?"

that's it.

sylus crashes into you, his tongue desperately trying to lap up the excess gloss. his hands haphazardly roam all over your body before lifting you onto the sink, pinning you down as his lips smear your lip gloss everywhere. you moan, trying to match his fervor. the sinful mixing of breaths, saliva, and gloss floods your mind, causing you to wrap your legs around him and bring him closer to you. he welcomes the action, gasping and grinding into you.

by the time he pulls away for air, both of you are left panting like dogs, mouths and chins smothered in sheen.

your eyes never leave sylus' as you wipe your chin, a string of gloss and saliva hanging prettily from your gloved palm. with a groan, he dives into your neck and sinks his teeth into your collarbone. you throw your head back at the pain, whimpering when he soothes the spot with his tongue.

but when sylus traces a finger up your back, you freeze immediately.

why?

oh, because he's unzipping your dress.

"sorry, sweetie," he chuckles into your perfumed skin, savoring your surprised reaction when he drags the zipper all the way down. "we won't be late."

you look at him in confusion, barely processing the silk straps falling off your shoulders.

he leans in and whispers into your ear.

"we won't be going at all."

xavier

Heart attack, IV when I walk the street Vitamins that D, I'm good, I'm healthy

your starlight of a boyfriend collapses onto the bed, his legs hanging off the edge and his pants dangling pathetically from his ankles.

you giggle at the sight, wiping your lips clean of his release. as you rub a drop between your index finger and thumb, you notice the texture's a bit thick, almost like jelly.

"xavier," you call lovingly, rising from your knees and crawling on top of him. he barely responds; his eyes are screwed shut with beads of sweat trailing down his face, neck, chest, legs, everywhere. shit, what did you do to him? he can't get his chest to stop heaving, his mouth to stop watering, and his ears to stop ringing. he can't do anything. not with the way you looked so pretty on top of him, especially after making him release so intensely in your mouth.

"xavier," you repeat as you cradle his face, making his dazed eyes meet yours. "when was the last time you drank water?"

"water?" he pants. "i'm not sure. why do you ask?"

"well," you show him your fingers. he gulps, flushing a deeper shade of red. "this tells me you haven't been drinking enough water."

you get up to retrieve some water from the kitchen. xavier whines at the loss of contact. although he tries to stop you from leaving, you easily slip out of his weak embrace (he literally got his life sucked out of him; cut him some slack). after you reassure him with a kiss on his forehead, you open the door. "i'll be back soon."

he responds with a whimper before closing his eyes. before he knows it, he falls asleep.

not even five minutes have passed when you return to the room, a glass of water in your hand and a packet of vitamins in the other.

"xavier?" after placing the items down on the nightstand, you sit on the bed to admire the view. there he is, sleeping soundly with his shirt unbuttoned and pants unbuckled, his chest slowly rising up and down and his cute nose scrunching every so often. you almost feel bad when you wake him up. almost. as much as you like watching your boyfriend sleep, he needs his water and vitamins, considering how much energy he uses to fight wanderers.

"wake up, xavier," you coo. "you need your vitamins."

he stirs, peeking one eye open to look at you. cute, you think. "i'm too tired, angel." he whines before closing his eye again. "i'll have some later."

"come on," you chuckle. "at least drink some water. you're dehydrated."

hoping to keep him awake, you litter his face with kisses, repeatedly pecking his adorable features. his droopy eyelids, his button nose, his fluffy cheeks, his moist forehead, his small chin—not a single spot is missed.

his little laughs repay your efforts. before you can continue your bombardment of kisses, his arms wrap around your shoulders, successfully pinning you down to him. you're surprised by how quickly he replenished his strength.

"you're trapped," he points out cheekily. "now we can both sleep."

"xavier," it's your turn to whine. "you need to drink some water. besides," you try to get up but fail miserably due to his tight embrace. "you need to scoot up, and i need to lay down properly if we both want to sleep." still no signs of letting you go.

you sigh before poking at your boyfriend's waist, causing him to yelp.

he immediately lets go of you, rubbing the spot you just touched. taking the chance to escape, you stand up and reach for the glass and vitamins.

"meanie," he pouts. "i thought we agreed to not tickle each other for today."

"that's because you try to tickle me all the time," you retort playfully, opening the packet of vitamins. "besides, i only tickle you as a last resort. unlike you, i'm nice." you pop the vitamin in your mouth and bring the glass to your lips.

"as if." he yanks up his pants and crosses his arms. "last time i checked, being nice means letting your boyfriend sleep peacefully," he quips as he turns away from you, hoping his grumpy little act will coax more kisses from you.

instead, a hand comes into his view and grasps the sheets. furrowing his brows, he shifts back to ask what's wrong but is startled to find your face hovering above his. 

"angel, what—"

you press your lips into his, your free hand gripping his chin. on instinct, xavier opens his mouth, expecting your tongue to greet his. however, his eyes widen when he feels something pour in. oh. he greedily swallows the water and vitamin, his fingers weaving into your hair.

you pull away abruptly, a drop of water trickling down the corner of your lips. before he can say anything, you grab the glass of water and drink from it again, your hooded eyes never leaving his. xavier groans at the sight, his chest heaving for the third time today. and it's barely afternoon. oh, you're going to be the death of him.

he's sure of it when you return to his lips, water flowing into his mouth so sensually as his tongue reaches out for more. this time, you rest your entire body on top of him, allowing him to grab at your hips and thrust upward, desperately rubbing against your clothed core and seeking any type of friction that could relieve him of this growing desire you satiated with your mouth less than ten minutes ago. he never wants to drink water alone ever again.

“a-angel,” he moans when you pull away again. “why?” 

“you need more water, xavier.” you tease with a lick of your lips. “gotta make sure my boyfriend is hydrated, ya know?”

with that, you go to stand up and reach for the glass. however, the room spins as xavier pins you down, your positions switched and your wrists restrained above your head. your eyes widen, realizing you might've pushed your boyfriend too far. 

"angel," dark, cerulean eyes burn into you before glancing at the glass. “that's not enough water.”

rafayel

Yeah, white tippy-toe summer, I make him go dumb, duh He doubled down on that text, says that I'm the only one

(heads up, reader doesn't have to be mc but they know about rafayel's identity as the sea god and he calls you his beloved bride)

rafayel isn't sure how he got here.

you, on top of his bare chest, nibbling at his neck and dragging a finger down his clenched abdomen.

"c-cutie," he stammers. "someone might see."

he's not wrong. you're at the beach after all. but it's a private beach, one the artist rented for a date. so really, what's the harm in pinning your boyfriend down in the sand and showing him how much you appreciate him?

"you're the one who said this place was private, raf." you giggle before sinking your teeth into him, eliciting a moan. "besides, we both know why you suggested a date at the beach. don't tell me you forgot." you trail your finger along the waistband of his swim trunks. he jolts, his half-lidded eyes meeting your misty ones.

of course, he didn't forget. but considering the current, scandalous situation he's in right now, his memory is a bit hazy. as you twirl the drawstring with your index finger, rafayel bites his lip and tries to remember how exactly he got here.

last thing he remembers is you excitedly texting him about your package coming in.

a package, pft. no big deal, right?

wrong.

he almost dropped his phone when you sent him a picture of the package, more specifically, you wearing its contents.

a gorgeous two-piece swimsuit in the color of his hair. fuck, lavender has never looked so good on you. the way the tight, skimpy fabric hugged all the right places, making you seem so so malleable. the way you posed in front of the mirror, your face bridling with innocent excitement but your body positioned so so temptingly. shit, he hopes this exhibition ends soon because his slacks feel suffocating all of a sudden.

it wasn't long before he spammed you with a hurricane of texts consisting of flattering emojis and praises about how you're the only one he'll ever love (dramatic but heartwarming) and how he would love to take you on a date at the beach as soon as this stupid exhibition is over so you can swim in your new set to your heart's content (totally not because he wants to see the real thing).

yeah, now he remembers. he got himself into this situation. you even tried to stop him.

"uh," he recalls you hesitating through the call. "aren't you tired from your exhibit?"

"nope," he immediately answers, causing you to raise a brow. "not at all, cutie. i'm in tip-top shape. what better place for us to test your swimsuit than the beach?"

"us?" you repeat amusingly. "since when was testing a swimsuit a two-person thing?"

shit, he got caught.

"raf," you giggle at his silence. "if you want to see me wear this in person, you can always just ask, you know?"

"w-what?! no!" he acts as if you insulted his artwork. "i just thought it'd be a good opportunity for us to go on a date and to test the quality of your swimsuit! what if one day you go into the water and it gets untied or something? what if i'm not there to protect you from prying eyes? you can never be careful enough with swimsuits, especially shipped ones!"

"uh-huh," you drawl skeptically. "i'm sure a triple-knotted bikini will SOMEHOW get untied by the waves."

"come on, cutie," rafayel whines. "i know a perfect, private place! i'll even bring the food, the blankets, everything! please?" (he purposely emphasized "private" because no way in the seven seas is he going to let anyone look at you in a bikini)

you sigh before observing yourself in the mirror once more. the bikini DID look good, and you DID buy it for future swimming dates with rafayel. might as well, right? besides, you can't say no to him, especially when he begs so cutely like that.

"fine, raf," he remembers you giving in with an endearing sigh. "send me the address of the beach once you're done. i'll stop by your place to pack your swimming trunks."

and here you are, resting on top of him and drawing figure eights with your fingertips IN his swimming trunks.

he would laugh at the irony if it weren't for your provocative actions. you were the one who brought him his swimming trunks, and now, you were the one making him wish you didn't bring them so he could see how pretty your fingers looked right next to his—

yeah, he definitely got himself into this situation. he has no one to blame but himself for his predicament. it's his fault he's currently twitching and throbbing underneath you as you breathe into his neck and tease doodles into his thighs.

"oh fuck, cutie—" rafayel jerks his head back when you suck on his adam's apple. your mouth felt so good. you felt so good. 

after pulling back with a 'pop,' you trace the red mark with your free hand, admiring your artwork on your artist of a lover. unfortunately for him (fortunately, really), this causes him to squirm uncontrollably. the simultaneous stimulation from your right hand on his thigh and your left hand on his neck was just too much for the lemurian. he swears he's this close to bursting all over the sand like a messy, wet bubble. 

suddenly, you stop, withdrawing both of your hands from his body. 

"c-cutie?" he lifts his neck to look at you but finds himself confused as to why you're sitting up. though, his confusion is quelled when you reach behind your neck. 

oh. 

your hands come into view, each one tugging on the strings of your top.

oh fuck. 

he doesn't even see your top fall. no. he's completely frozen (and hard) when you lay back down on him, smushing your now-exposed chest into his abdomen, allowing him a view that brings roses to his cheeks. (he can feel your nipples rubbing against him).

"oh, god of the tides," you purr with a smirk as you press your ear into his chest, relishing in his rapid heartbeats. "you promised you would test this swimsuit with me." before he can deny your reminder of his mistake from the earlier call, you grab his hand and bring it to rest against your swimsuit bottoms, causing his breath to hitch. "won't you make good on your promise?" 

rafayel swallows shakily before nodding. 

"anything for my beloved bride." 

zayne

Mm, yeah, I make him lose his cool Yeah, I make him go mmmmmm ah! ah!

doctor zayne, the epitome of calm and control, reduced to this.

a red-faced mess, losing his cool in a rocking chair, thanks to his lover shaving his chin on his lap.

his lover, who just so happens to be wearing a nightgown, a silk, sapphire nightgown with lace ruffles and ribbons that drove the man insane.

to make matters worse (better), your bare thighs were on either side of his hips, caressing and stroking him whenever you would move to shave his chin.

don't even get him started on the fact that you're sitting right on top of his crotch. he prays to any merciful soul out there that you don't feel him growing down there-

he inhales sharply when you reach behind him for a towel, your chest mere millimeters from his face.

"you okay, zayne?" you ask with faux concern.

"yes," he clenches his jaw. it's taking him everything to not dive in and lick, suck, bite—anything to relieve him of this torment. "please hurry."

"hurry?" you pout with a tilt of your head. "but why?" you lift his chin to wipe some excess shaving cream. "do you not want me to shave you?"

"no, darling. it's just—" his hands fly to your waist for stability when you place the towel back in its place. shit, every time you lift yourself onto your knees to reach behind him, the chair moves more and more, resulting in a pattern where when he leans back, you press into him, and when you lean back, he presses into you. it's not helping that this pattern deliciously resembles a certain rhythm in bed.

"it's just?" you repeat to him, stroking his jaw to inspect for stray hairs.

he doesn't say anything. how can he? he can't just spill about how badly he wants to kiss your sweet lips, squeeze at your delectable chest, rip your enticing nightgown apart, and take everything you have to offer. no, he can't. not when you approached him so innocently with a cute smile on your face after he came home, asking if you could shave him. (he almost fell to his knees when he saw what you were wearing). not when you look so beautiful gazing at him from above, handling his skin with addictive yet gentle touches, and glowing underneath the moonlight from the open windows. shaking his head, he grips your waist with renewed resolve.

"it's nothing," he closes his eyes. "please continue." he would rather drink alcohol than misinterpret your innocent intentions.

except there was nothing innocent about your intentions at all. you admit, it's fun to tease zayne like this. the way his lips would chase after your fingers whenever you traced them, the way his eyes would falter whenever you leaned in, the way his breath would hitch whenever you moved your hips, oh it all made you feel wanted. and who could want more than a gorgeous, capable doctor who looks at you as if he's going to die if he can't have you?

you. you want more. you WANT him to have you, take you, right here on this rocking chair. you thought teasing him with a few shifts of your hips and some purposeful closings of distances between his face and yours would relay the message. but no. he's either completely oblivious or has the will of a steel that's been fortified ten times over. because even though he's made it incredibly clear that he wants what you want (his blushing cheeks and shortage of breaths are hard to miss), all he's done is sit there and take your teasing.

you frown, retracting your hand. what's it going to take for doctor zayne, the epitome of calm and control, to give in?

a lightbulb flashes in your head.

"hang on, i missed a spot," you lie, lifting yourself up once more to reach for the shaving cream next to you. "i'll make this quick."

and with that, you slam your hips down.

he groans out loud, eyebrows furrowing and fingers tightening around your hips. he still hasn't opened his eyes though.

"are you sure you're okay, zayne?" you ask innocently, twisting left and right. "i'm worried about you."

"w-why," he starts hoarsely, his fingers gripping for dear life, trying to stop you from moving so damn much. "why would you be worried?"

"oh, i don't know," you smear shaving cream all over his jaw before trailing your fingers down to his neck. "you just seem so…" you slowly trace a heart on his collarbone, eliciting a pretty gasp from him. "out of it."

zayne's eyes jerk open, glaring at you with unprecedented focus. you smile cheekily before pressing yourself deeper into him, eager to bear witness to what he'll do and say since he finally opened his eyes.

though, your smile doesn't last long. in an instant, his hands pin yours behind your back, causing your back to arch and your lips to part.

"i'm starting to think," he secures your wrists in his right hand and brings his left to his face, wiping away the mess you made. "you're doing this on purpose."

you grin. finally. he finally got the message. unable to hide your excitement, you lean in next to his ear and whisper, "what are you going to do about it, doc-tor?"

he inhales sharply, yanking your wrists.

"perhaps," he growls. "it's time you get a taste of your own medicine. prescribed by yours truly."

[piracytheorist]

Idk I just really like that Twilight's reaction to being told "Your wife used to be a prostitute!" is to go like

and proceed to say how honourable and worthy of respect her dedication, self-sacrifice and mental fortitude are, and how we're shown he actually means that.

And then my girl Yor sees his reaction and hears his words and for the first time in her life she goes like "This is a man who literally just met me and has no connection to me yet he not only understands my position, he's also willing to bring himself out there and have my back when other people have free bait to judge me" and like damn how important that was to her, to have someone (who doesn't owe his survival to her like Yuri does) actually see her and respect her choices and have the absolute BEST of faiths in her. Like, what Camilla says there has the societal power to make her look like a pariah. Yet this dude comes over and without knowing anything about her, he vouches for her and immediately assumes her reasons were noble and altruistic. And though he doesn't know what profession he's actually vouching for, he's completely right in his assumption about her intentions, and considering how easily the general public judges sex workers, it's no surprise this support gives Yor the courage to believe Loid will understand her and won't think bad of her if she ever disappears on them due to her work, because he's open-minded enough for his first and immediate assumption about her is that she has good intentions.

And I just wanna SCREAM because she has absolutely no idea how little he will judge her about her assassin gig. She already considers herself lucky she's come across someone who is compassionate enough to think the best out of someone who works in a profession that is not considered "morally acceptable" by the public. But she has no idea the actual jackpot she's hit, because his own profession is far more dark and sinister yet he still has the kindness and empathy in his heart to understand people who do the same as he does.

Like, that's it with her character, isn't it? She sacrificed her own youth and morality to help Yuri grow up and be educated, and that caused him to idolize her, and because he was the only family she had left, she has been desperate to not cause any of her ties with him to break. But it also caused her impostor syndrome, and she had no confidence in any of her abilities aside from killing and cleaning up after her work, because she lives in a misogynistic society that is suspicious of unmarried women (like, that judgment alone, considering unmarried men don't experience such scrutiny, can be enough to damage a woman's psyche) and because she has been working under a man cruel enough to hire orphaned teenagers as assassins and nearly kill them in tests of their abilities ever since she was a teenager. For her it was either "I'm either perfect in something or I'm completely useless and I deserve people's judgment". Because if Yuri sees she doesn't have the perfect record, she thinks he will be horrified and she'll lose the ties to her last remaining family. And she will think she deserved that. If her killing skills waver in the slightest, she will be killed, either by enemies or by the Shopkeeper doing his little "tests". And she will think she deserved that. And if she doesn't abide by the society's expectations, she will at best be judged and mocked (for not cooking at home) and at worst get arrested (for being suspected as a spy). And she will think she deserved that.

Yet again, this stranger comes along, is told she's worked a socially shameful profession, knows she's shy and with so few connections that she can't even find someone to act as her pretend boyfriend for a party, and he supports her. And then he finds out how socially unskilled she is, how terrible she is at cooking, how she can't even pretend to kiss him for their mutual benefit, how she has the tendency to get so drunk she accidentally kicks him unconscious... And those things that she considers fatal flaws of her, he says are parts of her that she doesn't need to pretend don't exist. That's who she is, and there's nothing to fix, and she can just accept them without feeling bad or ashamed of it, that pretending she's someone else, someone perfect, will only make her miserable and exhausted.

And like... fuck. How can she not feel glad she got to marry that guy?

And how much will her heart break when she finds out he's a spy and will immediately doubt all the supportive words he's told her? And how astonishing will it be when she finds out that he actually meant pretty much everything he's told her, and that he really resonates with her and believes in her?

(anime only here, don't spoil me for the manga)

[lostalioth]

𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡

→ premise: logan was obsessed, he was from the moment he met you. he didn’t get crushes, but you’ve turned the big bad wolverine into a depraved puppy and he’s had enough.

→ pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader

→ warnings: 2k words, smut | 18+, obsession [not dark, just like a big crush, idk how to actually write obsession well], belly bulge, unprotected sex, nicknames [baby, princess, pretty girl], creampie, I visualized like x1-3 logan when writing but you can imagine whichever logan era.

→ a/n: kinktober 09

Logan was utterly obsessed, entranced by your entire being. If he didn’t already know what your mutation was, he'd swear you were a witch that cast a love spell on him so he goes starry eyed and dulcet when you walk in a room. He wasn't the kind of man to get crushes, he did one night stands to satiate his needs and yet now he can't bring himself to want anybody but you.

You and your pretty eyes that sparkle when you look at him and flutter your eyelashes to get what you want. You and your tendency to brush against him or run your hand down his arm when you walk around him making his brain go fuzzy and getting him all flustered. The whole team could see how smitten and enthralled he was with you, mocking him and calling him a love sick puppy especially when you go away on mission and he mopes around the mansion. He’s had enough of the little flirting back and forth and nothing coming of it, he was desperate for you and his crush was only getting stronger as the months went on.

You had just gotten back from a short mission with Storm and Jean when before you could even say hi to everybody Logan is grabbing your hand and pulling you away down the hall. “eh- hey! Lo slow down” you squeal out as he drags you along behind him, heart racing at the feeling of his fingers intertwined with your own. The nickname you've resorted to calling him as the two of you have gotten closer makes his ears ring. He loved when you called him Lo you were the only one allowed to, anybody else who tired got glared at.

“Need to talk to ya’ now, right now” he grumbled out, his signature, you swore permanent grumpy scowl plastered on his face. He continues to tug you down the long hall towards your bedroom. Your eyebrows knit together in confusion at where he's taking you. Pushing open your door, he turns around and yanks you inside. Shutting the door, his body now facing you. His grip on your hand is still tight, he didnt wanna let go especially not when you haven't said anything about the fact he’s practically holding your hand.

“What is it? Is everything okay Lo?” You question in that sweet concerned voice you give him when he tells you he didn't sleep well because of another nightmare. “Do you want me?” He blurts out so fast the words practically blend together. You think you hear his question and it makes your head spin in more confusion but you needed him to repeat it. “What’d you say” you question as your gaze stays fixed on Logan, his own glued to your face watching for reactions. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves he starts again “Do you want me?” He questions in a slower softer tone.

Now your head really was spinning and slick settled in your core at his wording, he wasn't asking if you liked him, no he was asking if you WANTED him. your eyes that were on him are now darting around the room like it's the most fascinating thing. Through the fogginess of your brain all you can manage to eat out is a “What..?”

Pushing forward Logan backs your body up against your shut bedroom door, his frame looming over you and blocking you in. The hand that is not entangled with yours comes up to your chin to grab it and make you look at him. “Do. You. Want. Me? I'm not repeatin’ myself again pretty girl” he growls out, punching out each word of his question. He was losing his patience especially after the sweet scent of your arousal fills his nostrils and makes his cock twitch. “Cause i want you princess, have wanted you for fuckin’ months. And it's killing me, you’re killin’ me pretty girl” he groans out in frustration.

“Do you even know what you do to me? What my crush on you is doin’ to me princess? All our flirting and lingering looks, everybody always mocking me for how I act round you” he continues to ramble on, pulling your face closer to his as he waits on an answer to at least one of his questions.

“Yes..i want you Lo” you mumble out breathlessly and low. A big lopsided smirk spreads on Logan’s face as your words register in his head. “What was that baby?” He teases, needing you to repeat it just so he can hear it again.

“I want you Logan, really fucking bad” you whine out as your core aches for attention, your hips gravitate towards his to push against him. “Shit- fuck it” he groans out and grabs ahold of your waist and crashes his lips agaisnt yours, he knew the two of you should’ve gone back to the team. You needed to give Charles a debrief of the mission but Logan could care less at the moment. You kiss him with the same amount of passion and fever as your arms wrap around his neck pressing your chest to his. You hum and moan into the kiss sending vibrations through Logan’s body and straight to his confined cock that was begging to be released. “Jump and wrap ya’ legs around me baby” he instructed, his words mumbled against your lips but clear enough for you to understand. Jumping up a bit, Logan catches you by grabbing onto your ass as your legs wrapped around his waist. “Atta girl princess” you smile against his lips at the praise while he walks the two of you over to your plush bed.

Laying you down on your back, he keeps his body between your spread thighs as his mouth pulls away from yours and drifts down to kiss at your neck. His hard cock pressed right up against your leaking cunt in this position, his large hands rubbing and groping all over your body. Running over your hips and waist, palming over your tits and grabbing at your ass, anywhere his hands can reach, indulging in the fact you're allowing him to touch you like this. “Mhmm Lo, baby please i need you” you whine out and buck your hips against his, grinding your core against his bulge. “Yeah? Whatcha need baby? Huh princess? Use your words” he doesnt pull away from your neck, continuously kissing it and along your collarbones and chest as you were wearing a low cut top, even sucking and biting at your skin to form hickeys.

”Need you, need you to fuck me Lo please” you whimper out and tug at the wasit band of his jeans as well as push up at his white tank top. “Yeah i can do that baby fuck” he grunts out and sucks in a breath, a shiver going down his back when you strach at his lower stomach and happy trail. The feeling of your hands on his bare skin makes his body tingle and skin feel on fire.

His movements are frantic as he is quick to strip off his shirt and yours. Pulling your pants down and off your legs alongside your panties, leaving your bare pussy exposed to the cool air. “Oh fuck~ shes so pretty” he mumbled out under his breath seemingly to himself, you werent sure if it was aimed at your cunt or you. in his haste he just barely pushes his jeans and boxers down enough to free his cock. His throbbing cock springs free, making you gasp at his size, he didn't feel nearly as big when it was hidden as he looks now. His cock long and so deliciously thick that it has your mouth watering wanting a taste. You knew your jaw would burn to accommodate his size; you couldn't imagine your cunt fitting him. “Lo i don't know if it’ll fit” you whine out, looking into his lust blown eyes with concern.

“Pretty girl if you’re as wet as ya’ smell i’ll slip right in” he chuckles softly, grabbing himself at the base and nudging his mushroom tip to open your slit and rub it through your soaked folds. Your slick collects and mixes with the precum leaking from his cock lubing up his shaft and tip. Your hole clenches around nothing everytime he brushes over it making your hips twitch and thrust up trying to get him to push inside already.

“Mmm Lo..please just fuck me already” you whine out and squirm. His brows furrowed in concentration, gaze locked on where your bodies meet, trying his hardest not to already blow his load as he lines his tip up at your entrance. Just rubbing over your pussy with his cock was causing his balls to tighten, your pussy felt heavenly and addicting. This moment was 10 times better than any of the hundreds of wet dreams he had late at night where he’d wake up with a wet spot forming in his sweats.

He lets out a broken gasp that morphs into a string of curses when he finally slowly pushes into the wet heat of your cunt. “Oh fuck~ shes already squeezin’ me so tight baby” he grunts as he finally bottoms out buried to the hilt, his hips wasting no time in finding a rymth and thrusting deep inside you. the sting of your pussy stretching to take his cock makes your head go hazy, eyes screwing shut in bliss.

You clench around him and Logan cant stop himself from thrusting harder and faster, a slurred pussy-drunk mess of sentences fall from his mouth.

“Fuck youre so hot princess, s’good for me” “Cant believe ya’ letting me do this to you, fuckin’ you like this” “Dreamt’ bout’ this for so long, been fuckin’ obsessed with ya’ for forever” he whines out in a long run on setenace as his hips slam against yours, the filthy squelching sound of your cunt and your moans and whimpers fill the air in your room. You didn't care that you were being loud enough that anyone who walked past your door would definitely hear you and know what was going on. the knowledge of that seemed to be spurring both you and Logan on more.

His eyes are locked at where your bodies are connected, his cock creating a bulge in your lower stomach every time he thrusts all the way in. “Fuck baby, look at that, my cock s’big its making a bulge when im buried inside” he groans out and presses down on your lower stomach making your cunt clench down harder on him, your body trying to milk his release out of him. Tipping your head down you open your eyes to watch as his cock thrusts in and out of your throbbing pussy, his tip driving right into that spot deep inside you making you see stars. That spongy spot that your toys could never reach just right when Logan would get you all worked up with his flirting, not like his cock currently is.

“M’gonna cum Lo- baby, Fuck- mhm~ wanna cum with you please” you moan out, your sentence coming out broken up as your climax was teetering on the edge. “Im gonna cum too baby don’t worry pretty girl” he hissed out as his fingers dig into your hips, his own flattering in there thrusting as his cock twitches inside you. “Cum on my cock princess, gonna fill this pretty up makin’ it all mine-” you cut off his sentence by grabbing ahold of the back of his neck, pulling his face down to kiss him desperately.

“Already all yours Lo, i been yours the whole time” you whine against his lips as your high washes over you, cumming on his cock as his thrusts speed up one last time.

Your cream coating his cock acts to further lube up his thick cock as it jackhammers into you, before your cunt milks Logan’s cum out of him in thick ropes that fill you. “Ya’ 100 percent all mine now baby” he hums into your mouth, lazily kissing you while he catches his breath, your hips grinding on his cock as you both ride out your highs.

→ a/n: fully meant to post this yesterday but i barely had anything written for it then and couldnt bring myself to write more. Im doing better than I’ve done the past 3 years with kinktober tho, gotten further than any other times.

[nochepsicodelica]

"Gentle," you murmur, lips curled softly in amusement as you watch Toji plant kisses all over your bare thighs. "Geeentle," you repeat, when he starts inching closer to the inner part of your thigh. Then you see it, the hyper focus he holds on the plush area of your legs. You watch as he prepares to strike, his mouth widening while he starts leaning in closer.

"Gentle, gentle, gentle-- Wait, Toji-!" You blurt, needlessly, since he didn't make any attempt to slow down once he set his plan in motion. Your laughter interrupts the stillness of the once calm room, while Toji is just there with his teeth, harshly, sunken into your thigh. It's warm, it's wet, but most of all, it stings.

After relaxing his jaw, his grip on your delicate skin loosens, and he pulls away, before taking his sweet time to admire his newly created masterpiece. He rubs the temporary impression he left on you, eliciting an expected but still mildly unpleasant soreness with every press and drag of his fingertips.

"That was a good one, huh?" Toji murmurs, a smug grin on his face as he leans in to leave a much gentler brush of his lips on the "affected" area.

You scoff and roll your eyes, but agree nonetheless. He doesn't need to know that, though. "Pshhh, it was alright. I'm not missing a chunk out of my leg or anything, so..."

"Mm..." he hums, like he got your message loud and clear. "Let me try that again, then."

"Wait, no, please! No! Oh god, please, no! Please don't," you cry out, like you're auditioning for the most dramatic TV series. He laughs at the way your legs shuffle before he can get another good bite on you.

"I didn't even do anything and you're already crying," he says, unfazed but stilled entertained, as usual. He's used to your dramatics, by now.

"Ahh! That's what you say to me every night."

"Damn right," he says, proudly, in agreement, reciprocating your menacing grin. "You're chicken, baby," he fires, dropping the grin almost instantly.

"You're chicken, baby," you sling back, turning his insult on him.

"If you let me get another bite in, I'll take it back," he says, bringing your legs back to where they rested before, carefully, so that you don't pull away again.

"But, but, but-"

"But, but, buuuuuut," he mocks, sounding like a mosquito and snickering when you deadpan.

"You're not funny," you say, your voice icy. It's hard to stay serious in the moment, considering how ridiculous the whole situation is.

"Look at you. You wanna laugh. Aaaand your lips are twitching. They're starting to curl."

"Stop narrating my movements, damn it," you chide, giving into the laugh he witnessed slowly unfolding.

Chomp.

Your laughter doubles down, and you swear you feel the breaths coming from his own chuckle on your skin.

"Oww," you wail, pushing at his head to try and shake him off, but he's like a dog with an object it refuses to let go of. "Toji, i'm gonna scream in three... two..."

He loosens his hold on your skin, pulling away completely to avoid setting off the siren that is you, his very lovely lady.

"Don't," he strictly instructs.

"Hm, maybe I should do it, anyway. I'm in so much pain."

"Is that a threat, baby?" Toji asks, scarred side of his lips curling. He watches you shrug in response, followed by a sassy tilt of your head, as if to say, 'what are you gonna do about it?'

"Be good."

"Be nice," you retort.

You both just stare at each other for a couple seconds, eyes never separating from each other. It's a brief moment between lovers who enjoy these little showdowns and how they almost always immediately come to an end when both of you inevitably crack.

Starting with you...

Your lips being tightly pressed together does nothing to suppress the loud snicker that cuts through the silence you both created. Toji follows almost instantly, unable to hold back his own entertained grin as he leans down to leave gentle, soothing kisses on the new impression he made on your thigh.

"You're nutso," you say, nothing but love in your tone, as you delicately run your fingers through his hair.

"You love it," he responds, caressing your thighs in his warm hands as he continues to soothe your tender skin with his lips.

[rinsnumber1fan]

MDNI 18+

When bllk men think you're cheating but you're really just reading smut. But when they catch you? You're cooked.

Featuring: Itoshi Rin, Itoshi Sae, Michael Kaiser + smut.

Itoshi Rin:

Rin has been watching you for a few days now. Giggling on your phone, thighs pressing together to avoid being caught wet, biting your lip, cheeks red and thousands of other signs.

But he played dumb for now.

Rin knew it was a man, it was his instincts, he called isagi once and asked him about it and isagi tried to be logical "Maybe she's not cheating. It could be anything just because she laughs---" blocked. How dare he not agree with rins opinion?

It got to a point that you would hide your phone behind your back everytime he'd enter the room. And if he spots your phone you flip it to the other side.

You were lying on rins apartment bed, it was a day off and rin had gone to practice so you had the room to yourself. A smug grin forms on your lips as you open ao3 whilst listening to music on Spotify. Your legs and thighs pressed close together as you scroll through the pages, reading through every little line: he grabs a chunk of your hair making you moan in pleasure, "fuck.. I didnt know you were into that."

You didn't even notice when Rin got home, he was standing right behind you his tall frame hovering over yours casting a shadow over you and you still didn't notice. He leans down glancing at your phone and his brows furrow in confusion, "bondage? What the fuck." He asked loudly enough and you screamed. You jumped back, pulling your headphones off and looking at him wide eyes and flushed cheeks. "Y-you-- why didn't you tell me you were home??" You paced and he scoffed, "what the hell are you reading?" He somehow snatches your phone from your hands and has you frozen in embarrassment. "No..." you murmured as you watched his eyes trail left and right over the text on your phone. "NOOO!! I-it opened on accident!! See I was watching a movie and uh it was a pop up ad!! So I clicked and it led me to this strange website!!!"

Rin glanced at you and back at the screen,

Bondage, pet play, breeding kink, degradation, spanking, hair pulling, exhibitionist, public teasing, corruption kink...

"So that's what you've been doing." Rin said, his voice low and raspy as he puts the phone down on the side table. You knew you were absolutely fucked when he leaned closer. You pulled back, trying to slide off the bed but he grabs your ankle quick and pulls you back towards him. "That's what you were into?" He laughed, not in happiness or whatever but in mocking. You couldn't speak. You remained quiet. "So this is what you get off on? Books..?" He furrowed his brows "fucking pervert."

He obviously wanted you to feel atleast a little ashamed but you were a goner at this point. Hearing him call you a pervert made you hornier. Made your thighs shut tighter. Made you feel humiliated. And he noticed it, very well. He blinked once, twice, "are you kidding me?" He rubs circles on your ankle "you like it when I humiliate you? God, there's no saving you. And here I thought you were a good girl." He pulls you towards him, leans down, and grabs your jaw, "you like being humiliated? being a slut?" His words were like weed to you right now and you gasped lightly "yes- yeah.. i-" you panted, "i like it." And he shoves you down, sliding your panties to your side and pulling his shorts just low enough.

"Then be a good girl and take it." He groaned, pushing into you and making you scream loudly, "shut the fuck up. You want someone to hear?" He slaps the surface of your thigh making you squeal.

You lived off of being humiliated by him. "Freak." Is all he said to you, leaning down to whisper in your ear and you came. Hard.

His eyes widened slightly and he spoke "just from that, huh?" He grinned. "I'm gonna have fun with you."

Itoshi Sae:

Sae loved you. But he noticed things about you more than he loved you. Like how you always hide your phone from him. Today he's going to confront you.

You're on your phone again, in a restaurant date. He went off to the bathroom and meanwhile you opened up your phone to check some stuff and while you did, you ended up going back to wattpad to read something.

Sae had returned, your phone was in your hand, and when he sat down? You almost threw your phone away in panic. You didn't sense him coming. Sae blinked, "what is it that you're always doing on that phone?" He glanced at you and you stammered "Uh well.. lots of stuff like-" "let me see your phone." His words made you pause, smile almost run away. "W-why?" "Because I asked you to."

You grab your phone hesitantly and licked your lips. "Okay but why?" You sighed and he deadpanned "because youre cheating on me."

"WHAT?!" You said it out loud, heads turned and you turned red in embarrassment. "I'm not cheating on you, I'd never!!" You put your phone in his hands immidently "then what are you always hiding?" He frowned and you pouted "um..."

He scrolls through your phone, opening up one of the apps called wattpad. "What's this? Book app?" And you froze. Ready for the humiliation, he went through your reading lists. Smut..?

"It's not what it looks like!!" You said in a loud whisper and sae blinked. "Wow." He said, "I didn't know you were into.. cnc." You almost crumbled.

"Sae I'm- no. I'm uh" He tilts his head, "do you like it when I force you?" Your brain stopped functioning at this point and you leaned back and cleared your throat.

"N-.. y-..yes'nt?" You replied and he paused his hand trailed on your thigh for a moment. "You wanted that you couldve just said so" He leans his head down to your level. His hand playing with the hem of your skirt. He puts his hands through, pulling your panties down, just a little bit. "Sae.. what if someone-" "that's better." He cuts off, his hand going through your inner thigh to cut through your walls. He let's his fingers get sucked in as he twists them in a way he knows you'll like. You whimpered, clinging to his arm helplessly with a red face "S-sae..." and he glances down and back up at you, "dont make too much noise." He glances at you. "You didn't want anyone to hear right?" He goes in and out and you hide your face into his arm. "S-saee..." you whimpered as you reached your down, came all over his fingers. "Let's finish this, hm?"

Michael Kaiser:

You thought you were careful.

Reading your spicy books under the blanket, screen dimmed, thighs squished together in a pathetic attempt to be discreet.

But Michael Kaiser? He noticed.

He noticed everything.

From the way your breathing changed.

To how your eyes would go glassy.

To how flustered you got when he walked in suddenly.

So one night, when you’re curled up on the couch, knees pulled up, phone close to your face...

He snatches it.

Just like that.

“What the hell—KAISER!”

“Relax,” he says smoothly, holding the screen up as he scrolls.

Then he stops.

Grins. Slowly.

“spanking?”

You freeze.

“Give it back.”

He doesn’t.

He reads aloud.

“‘He slapped her face and told her to say thank you like a good girl.’”

His voice is mocking. Drawling.

“...Aww. y/n.” He glances at you over the screen.

“You like that shit?”

Your face burns.

“N-no—wait, it’s not like that—”

“Nah, no need to lie now.” He tosses the phone onto the table and stalks toward you. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

You try to scramble away.

He catches your ankle and drags you into his lap, caging you there with his arms.

“Cute little girlfriend, always trying to act innocent, gets off on being called a dumb, used-up whore?”

You squirm. Whimper.

And that’s when he notices:

You’re wet.

“…No way.”

His voice drops.

He presses his fingers over your soaked panties and laughs.

A dark, wicked laugh.

“Oh, this is perfect.”

“You’re actually getting turned on right now.”

You try to push him away, humiliated beyond belief, but he grabs your jaw and forces you to look at him.

“What else do you read?” he hisses against your lips.

“Getting tied up? Slapped? Filled with a stranger’s cum? Is that why you get all shaky when I’m mean?”

You tremble.

And that’s all the confirmation he needs.

You’re His Now. His Little Pervert.

He doesn’t even give you time to think.

Pulls your panties to the side. Pushes two fingers in.

“You know what this means, right?” he breathes against your neck.

“You’re mine now. My little toy. My filthy, depraved, closeted freak who’s gonna say please when I make her crawl.”

You whine. Already falling apart.

He’s relentless.

He Makes you read out loud from one of your bookmarked smut scenes while he fingers you.

“Slower. Louder. If you can read it, you can take it.” he spanks you when you get shy or stumble earning a whine

Marks you. Everywhere. Neck, chest, inner thighs.

“You don’t need books anymore. I’ll give you everything you want, baby.”

You thought he'd stop soon maybe, maybe.. but no.

He Breaks You In.

Kaiser takes full control.

Choking. Spanking. Praise mixed with filthy degradation.

He grabs your face, makes you look him in the eyes as he thrusts deep inside you.

“You’re mine.”

“Say it.”

You choke out: “I’m yours.”

“And what else?”

“I’m… I’m your pervert.”

He smirks. Kisses you deep and slow.

“Good girl.”

“Now moan for me like you do in your head.”

A/n: HII GIYS IM WORKING ON THE REQUEATS IGOT BUT I HAD THIS IDEA AND I D3VIDED TO OOST IT DONT WORRY THO IM GONNA TOTALLY POST THE OTHER REQS TOO SO YEAH AND PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT AND ALIKE BECAUSE 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 JUST BECAUSE.

[lustlvii]

Ateez members when you squirt. Ft hyung line

Including: Hongjoong , Seonghwa, Yunho, Yeosang x fem!reader (all separate!)

Warnings: studio sex (hongjoong) dirty talk, squirting, name calling (slut, dumb little thing), mean! seonghwa, porn no plot, overstimulation, possessive! yeosang, unprotected sex, choking (yunho), size kink (yunho), Daddy kink (Yunho), dirty dirty dirty just dirty so prepare yourself, lmk if I missed anything

Authors note: I'm so happy the maknae line received lots of love 😚 here's the hyungs!!! I love yunho btw 😋

Hongjoong.

“Don’t move.” His voice cut sharp through the low hum of the studio monitors, barely audible over the looping instrumental still playing in the background.

You were supposed to be here for feedback on a demo. Just to sit pretty in his lap while he worked. But then he slipped his hand between your legs during playback—just to “check something.”

And now you were panting, lips bitten raw, clinging to the armrests of his black studio chair like they were the only things keeping you tethered to earth.

Hongjoong’s fingers were coated in your slick, his knuckles deep inside you while the pad of his thumb rubbed quick, unforgiving circles over your clit.

“Look at you,” he murmured into your neck, voice low and dangerous. “So fuckin’ wet in my chair. Acting like you didn’t wear that skirt just so I’d do this.”

“Joong—p-please—” you whimpered, voice cracking, not even sure what you were begging for. To stop? To keep going? You didn’t even know anymore.

“You feel that?” he whispered as he crooked his fingers just right, curling them up against that spongey spot inside you that made your legs kick. “You’re close, aren’t you? So fucking close.”

Your hips bucked. The coil in your belly was snapping tighter and tighter and—

“Oh my god—!”

In a split second, his hand slapped over your mouth, muffling your cry as a gush of wetness spilled out of you, soaking the front of his sweats, the leather of his chair, and dripping down your thighs.

You squirted.

All over him.

Hongjoong stilled. His fingers still nestled deep inside your pulsing heat, the other hand still clamped over your mouth. His breath was shallow. And then he laughed.

“Holy shit.”

You squirmed, blinking hard, barely able to see through the tears blurring your vision. “I-I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry I—”

“Don’t apologize.” He pulled his soaked hand back slowly, glistening in the dim LED light, watching your cunt twitch around nothing now. “Fuck. That was beautiful.”

You flinched when he leaned down and licked the mess off his own fingers, groaning like he’d just tasted the best meal of his life.

“You made a mess, baby,” he mocked sweetly, palming the soaked fabric of your panties now stuck to your skin. “Didn’t think I could make you squirt, huh?”

You shook your head, cheeks burning.

Hongjoong gripped your chin, forced you to meet his gaze—intense and hungry, his pupils blown wide with lust. “You’re gonna do it again,” he said simply, like it was fact. Like you owed him that.

“W-what? I—I can’t—”

“You can.”

He dragged you off his lap, bent you over the mixing console, careful not to press any buttons—though at this point, you wouldn’t have noticed if the whole song deleted itself.

“Gonna fuck you now,” he growled, freeing himself and shoving back into your soaked, trembling hole. “And this time, you’re gonna squirt on my cock like a good little slut.”

The music kept playing. The beat rolled on. But all you could hear was the slap of skin, the lewd squelch of your wetness, and Hongjoong’s filthy voice in your ear:

“That’s it, baby. Dumb little thing. Cumming again already? God—you really are mine.”

And you did. Again. And again. Until you couldn’t even cry anymore, only whimper and shake and thank him with slurred babbles.

The studio was ruined.

He didn’t care. He kissed the crown of your head and whispered with a devilish smirk:

“Let’s get that on the next track.”

Seonghwa.

Seonghwa was so pretty when he was gentle. The soft-spoken voice, the feather-light kisses, the way he tucked your hair behind your ear like you were glass.

But that wasn’t the version of him hovering over you now.

His hands were planted beside your head, and his hips were deep—so deep inside you, your belly ached. Sweat glistened down his neck, damp strands of hair stuck to his forehead. And his dark eyes… they weren’t soft anymore.

“Thought you said you could handle it, princess.” He thrust in once, slow but devastatingly deep. “So why are you crying?”

“I-I’m not—ah! Hwa—!”

Your voice pitched up into a sob as the next thrust knocked the breath from your lungs. You could feel yourself getting wetter, feel your thighs trembling and twitching as he pulled back and slammed into you again.

“Liar.”

He dipped his head low, kissing the tears from your cheeks while his cock bullied your walls open all over again.

“You said you could take it.” A hand slid under your leg and pushed your knee up to your chest. “You begged for it, remember?”

You nodded weakly, fingers gripping the sheets, eyes rolling back.

His pace was cruel now. Calculated. Your slick coated his lower stomach, smearing against his skin with every thrust.

“God, this pussy’s filthy. You’re fucking dripping,” he hissed. “Look at you. You're making a mess on me.”

“H-Hwa—please, it’s too much—!”

“Too much?” he echoed, mocking, as his thumb found your clit and started circling fast, relentless strokes. “This too much? Or this?” He pressed harder.

That’s when it happened—your entire body seized up and then released.

Warm liquid gushed out from you, soaking his thighs, your own skin, the sheets. You squirted so violently it splashed his hips.

Seonghwa didn’t stop. Not even close.

He growled low in his throat and pulled out for a second just to watch it. Watched your cunt pulse and gush and spasm like you were ruined from the inside out.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered, voice husky and hoarse. “You squirted for me.”

You could barely breathe. “I—didn’t mean—”

“Yes you did,” he cut in. “You wanted to. Your body begged for it. Don’t pretend you’re not a little slut for it now.”

You whimpered, biting your knuckles.

Seonghwa climbed back between your legs, cock still hard, dragging it up and down your soaked slit. He didn’t slide in yet—just rubbed his tip against your clit, teasing, tapping. Watching you squirm.

“Wanna do it again.”

“I—I can’t,” you breathed out, voice hoarse from moaning.

“You can. You will.” He finally pushed back inside—too slow, too deep—and your eyes immediately crossed.

“There’s my girl,” he purred, kissing your jaw, then nipping it. “Gonna fill you up this time, make you squirt while I cum in you. Don’t stop till you do.”

And he fucked you through it, again and again, until the only words you could say were half-spoken sobs and the sound of your own squirt hitting the ruined sheets.

Yunho.

“Holy shit.”

Yunho froze for a half-second, blinking down at where you lay trembling beneath him—your thighs shaking, your pussy gushing.

Clear liquid sprayed from between your legs, soaking his stomach, his cock, and the sheets beneath you both.

He stared, wide-eyed, lips parted. Then his expression twisted.

Into a grin.

“Did you just fucking squirt?”

You let out a choked sob, covering your face with your hands in pure embarrassment.

“D-Don’t—Yunho—”

“Oh no, no,” he laughed darkly, reaching up to yank your wrists away and pin them to the bed. “You don’t get to hide from me now, princess.”

His cock was still buried inside you, twitching, hot and hard and pressing deliciously against the spot that had just made you lose control.

“You squirted all over me, baby. That’s what this pretty little cunt does when it gets really full, huh?”

You couldn’t even talk. Just moaned, legs weak, cunt still fluttering from the orgasm that wrecked you.

“Was it too much?” he cooed mockingly, thrusting his hips once—slow, just to feel you twitch again. “Can’t handle it?”

You shook your head. “C-Can… but—”

“But what?” he leaned closer, lips brushing your ear. “Wanna do it again?”

Your moan gave you away.

He groaned, like he was the one about to fall apart.

“Fucking knew it,” he growled. “Knew this pussy would be obsessed with me. Can’t even stop leaking.”

With your legs still spread open and held wide, Yunho started to move again. More deliberate this time—less punishing, more controlled. Watching you the whole time like a man obsessed.

And when your thighs twitched again—when your moans pitched up, when your hips tried to wiggle away from the pressure—

He sped up.

“Don’t you fucking dare run from it,” he hissed. “Wanna see it again. Wanna feel you gush around my cock, baby.”

“I can’t—! S’too much—”

“You can. You’re gonna squirt for me again, just like the messy little thing you are.”

Your toes curled. Eyes rolled. The pressure hit you even harder than the first time—like a dam about to break.

And then—

“F-Fuck—Yunho—!”

It happened. Again.

Your second squirt hit his thighs, his cock, your belly, everything.

Yunho’s laugh was breathless, wrecked. He kept fucking you through it, holding your legs in place, watching you fall apart with complete awe and total pride.

“That’s my girl. That’s my dumb, messy girl.”

You were crying by the time your third orgasm hit.

And he didn’t stop. Not even close.

“Not done ‘til you’ve soaked the whole fucking bed.”

Yeosang.

You had always assumed Yeosang would be soft.

Gentle. Polite. Almost shy.

But now you were underneath him—spread open, legs over his shoulders, dress bunched around your waist, his cock buried inside you—completely wrecked and shaking.

And Yeosang?

Yeosang hadn’t said a word.

Not one.

Just stared down at you with that unreadable, infuriatingly calm look on his face while he fucked you slowly—so deep, so controlled, so consistent it was driving you insane.

Your fingers twisted in the sheets. “Y-Yeo—can’t—”

His hand came up to your throat—gently, but firm enough to make your next gasp catch—and his hips rolled again.

Right into that spot.

Right into that place he kept hitting again and again and again.

“You can,” he finally said, voice quiet but sharp. “You can take it, baby.”

You whined, vision blurring. “M’gonna—f-feels—”

Yeosang looked down between your bodies, his brows twitching ever so slightly when he saw it.

The wet.

The way your pussy clenched hard around him and started gushing—clear liquid spraying with each helpless jolt of your hips.

You squirted.

You didn’t mean to. Didn’t expect to. But it happened.

“Oh.” His voice dipped lower. Still calm. Still steady. But different.

“You’re squirting?” he murmured, more to himself than you. “That’s how good it feels?”

You covered your face. “I-I—Yeosang—”

He reached down and pulled your hands away, grabbing both wrists and pinning them above your head.

“Don’t hide,” he said, and this time there was a flicker of something smug in his eyes. “Let me see what I did to you.”

You shuddered.

And then he did it again.

Same angle. Same roll. Same deep thrust right against the spot that made your body jerk.

You squirted again.

“Mm.” He tilted his head, blinking slowly. “So messy. What a cute little thing you are.”

“Yeo—Yeosang—too much—!”

“Then cum again.”

That deadpan. That almost disinterested tone as he kept pounding into your soaked cunt, no change in pace, no hesitation, just quiet confidence as he made you come again—

—and squirt again.

The sheets were soaked. Your thighs were shaking. You were gasping, clawing, babbling.

And Yeosang was still looking at you like you were his favorite fucking experiment.

“Didn’t know you could do that,” he murmured, licking his lips. “Guess I’ll have to keep making it happen. Over and over. Until you can't even blink without dripping all over me.”

Writing by @lustlvii please do not translate or publish anywhere

[writersblockiskillingme]

Russian Roulette | The Salesman

Pairing: The Salesman x fem!reader

Summary: After doing everything in your power to find the salesman who got you and Gi-hun into all this mess, he unexpectedly shows up in your motel room.

Warning/s: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2!!, angst, unspoken feelings (until now), guns, playing Russian Roulette, threatening, mocking, blood, character death, cursing (maybe, idk), tears, talk about the games, tension, reader gives off femme fatale energy, also reader has longer hair to fit into a braid but if you don't just ignore it please, possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: I just watched the first few episodes, and for a little while, I got out of the writers block. NO SPOILERS, PLEASE!

Prequel to this fic here!

Rain was pouring down like crazy, wind blowing around as I drove my black car with full speed as I tried to get to the Pink Motel that Gi-hun and I co-owned as fast as I possibly could after today's events. Gun that was placed on the seat next to me was jumping slightly as I drow down the road every time I hit a bump or such. My left hand gripped the steering wheel til my knuckles turned pure white as my right hand gripped the phone to the same extent.

"I found bloodstains there!" I practically shouted into my phone as I came to a stop, the images of blood seeping down the trash bags and the knife thrown on the ground never really leaving my mind. "Gi-hun is still looking, I'm sure they didn't get far from that alley."

"What do we do, miss?"

"Check all the CCTV and dashcam footage you can collect from the area and keep asking around." I continued to practically shout for him to hear me over the rain on the street, my braid swinging over on my left shoulder as I got out of the car, running towards the entrance to the Pink Motel.

"I'll join you soon." And with that, I ended the call, quickly putting my phone in the left pocket of my jacket.

I roughly pulled loose threads of hair that fell on my eyes as I quickly took out the key. However, I came to a sudden stop. Something wasn't right. I found myself freezing as I slowly moved my head to look around. That's when I noticed. The sign of the Pink Motel was lit up.

Someone is here, and they want me to know that.

I stood there in the rain for a little while before I decided to take a deep breath before entering. I walked up all the way to the fourth floor before entering, the light going on as I did. I walked into my bedroom as quietly as I could. But even before I could prepare myself for what I was about to see, just as I walked to the end of the first corner, I saw him.

After three years of endlessly, tirelessly trying to find him, he was here. Right in front of me. He was standing in front of my wall, a shining black gun in his hand, looking at the calendar on which I crossed the dates with red marker every single day for three years. Next to in was a map of the underground, every single route mapped out, drawn on, and my handwriting shone on it to.

"It's been a long time, Miss."

For a while, I said nothing. I was just standing there, soaking wet, the rain that I took with me inside dripping on the floor. I was staking in his appearance for a moment. He was just as tall as I remember, standing there in his suit. For a moment, it seemed like he didn't change one bit, like nothing changed from the moment that I fist saw him on the train station three years ago.

But it did.

His hair was longer, I won the games alongside Gi-hun, we weren't on the train station, but in my Motel room, he wasn't holding a briefcase, he was holding a gun and I didn't.

But his voice was the same, he was still as tall as I remember, I suppose his smile was the same, too. And maybe, just maybe, he was feeling the same feelings he did three years ago before I gained and lost it all.

I just sighed and moved towards the table I ate. There was a towel that I threw last night. I started to pat my hair, trying to dry it off as I looked around for some dry clothes.

"You should've gotten on that plane that day." He said, looking over at me as I paused.

"I changed my mind when I saw you there." I said before continuing to dry myself.

The moment of quiet continued as I put the towel away. He tapped the map with his gun before he started to speak again. I truly didn't know how to feel. After I wasted three years trying to find him, he just shows up at my motel room. Funny.

"It looks like you've been trying hard to find me, darling." I could just hear that ignorant smirk in his voice. Motherfucker.

"Don't let it get to your head." I told him slowly, my voice completely calm. "I just wanted to thank you." I said as I took off my wet jacket, throwing it in the corner.

"Thank me?" He asked as he sat down on one of the sofas by the table next to my bed. I turned to look at him slowly, a dry jacket in my hand. That's when I noticed blood on the collar of his suit and his face. Motherfucker.

"For inviting me to the game." I said as I approached him, his eyes on me as I sat down, opposite him. "I won and took a bloody fortune with me."

He kept quiet, listening to me, his dark eyes flickering all over my face as I spoke.

"So the decent thing of me to do would be to thank you for it."

"I'm just a messenger who delivers invitations." He smirked, but before he could say more, I continued, all off my anger resurfacing.

"And just who had you deliver those invitations, handsome?" I spoke, venom infecting my every word. "Let me meet him. I have something to say to him."

"Give me the message, and I'll pass it along." He continued, giving me a smile at the end. It appears that I was right. His smile is the same.

"Oh, dear." I mockingly pouted as I crossed my legs. "I'm afraid that it's not something I can discuss with an underling like you."

His smile quivered as he raised his eyebrow. Waiting on me to continue.

"You prey on people who are hanging by a thread and corner them at subway stations." I could feel myself slowly starting to shake from anger and despair. "Someone like you wouldn't be able to understand what I'm trying to say, of course."

For a while, there was silence yet again. We were just looking at each other. Our eyes never leaving each other's.

"You know what the funniest thing was?"

"What, miss?"

"For a moment, when I was hunting you down, I was just delusional enough to think that we could actually team up. You know? Take down the games and whoever was behind them. I liked you. And I liked to think that. But now I realize just how wrong I was." I whispered, turning away from him as I spoke. Yet I still felt his eyes on me. "And boy was I wrong. You will never change. You like the monstrous things that you are doing."

"How do you think I got to where I am now?"

"I don't fucking care." I spat at him as I turned to look at him again, his expression unreadable. "I don't care how you became their dog. I just want you to bring me your master."

He looked down, sighing as he cracked his neck, gun still in his hold. After a while he spoke again.

"I used to work in the games when I was younger. I removed and burned the bodies of countless people like you."

He was the pink guard once.

"'These things aren't human. They're just trash utterly useless in this world.' I kept telling myself that and worked hard for a few years." He spoke, suddenly smiling again. "Then they gave me a gun."

The triangle guard.

"It felt pretty good." He said as he lifted up his gun, examining it. "Like my existence was acknowledged for the first time in my life. I don't know which year it was, but one day, I was about to shoot a man who had lost a game. The guy seemed familiar. Guess who it was."

I kept quiet.

"My dad." He finally said. "My dad was suddenly standing in front of me. He was in tears, desperately begging me to spare his life."

He suddenly moved his hand, placing the gun in front of my forehead, but his suddenly, quick movement did not startle me one bit. I was used to it.

"I shot him right in the middle of his forehead, and realized, 'Ah. I'm cut out for this job.'"

He was looking straight at me, his dark eyes mad. I narrowed mine at him. Was I supposed to feel sorry for him? Maybe, but I didn't. Not only did he enjoy it, but he also has no idea how it was like for me. All the things Gi-hun and I went through. All of people we lost along the way... Ali... Sae-byeok... Sang-woo...

"Whether you shoot people in there or con them outside, it doesn't change anything." I said, slowly leaning over towards him. "You have always been nothing more than their dog."

He clicked his gun, putting his finger on the trigger, his expression darkening.

"Miss." He started, his hand shaking slightly as I kept completely still. "Do you think you're special because you won the game?"

I said nothing. My expectation still as I leaned forward just a bit more, pressing my forehead directly on his gun. His dark expression broke into one of shock.

"Someone like you could never know or understand how I made it out of there alive. And how it feels to play the games."

Suddenly, he pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. My expression barely changed, yet I could he on his face that my eyes old him every. Shock, disappointment and sadness.

He sighed before leaning over to me on the table that until now kept us at a distance. He was quiet for a while. I suppose he has always been that way.

"Let's play a game." He smiled at me.

I didn't say anything. He pulled out his phone and placed it on the table, letting a song play.

Time to say goodbye.

He leaned back against the seat as he lifted up his gun.

"I'm sure you've seen this in the movies." He started to explain, never breaking eye contact with me. "It's called Russian Roulette."

Motherfucker.

"Usually, you place one bullet in the gun, spin the cylinder, and pull the trigger." He said, clicking the gun in its place before pulling the trigger, explaining the game as he showed me what to do. "And before the next round, you spin the cylinder again. It rests the odds back to 1 in 6."

"I know." I mumbled and he smiled.

"But I'd like to make this game a little more serious." He smirked. "Because you're truly special, love."

"Cut to the chase." I glared at him and his stupid antics. He blinked at me and continued.

"We'll take turns pulling the trigger without spinning the cylinder again. The bullet will be fired within six attempts, and the game will be over." He paused. "What do you say?"

"Spin the gun." I frowned.

He smirked before gently placing the gun on the table. This could end badly on both sides, but for a moment, I found myself being selfish. Maybe, just maybe, if I lost this game after everything I went through, I could die and find peace with the people I lost. I could join them and leave with the feelings I have for him, that he possibly realized, unsaid. I could finally end it all. The night terrors, the time I spent searching for him, my cigarette addiction, mourning what I lost and what I couldn't have, yet at the same time not enjoying the money I got form the games. Who could enjoy that? Who could possibly enjoy living the life that I live.

He spinned the gun, and its tip pointed at me. Without a second thought, I took the gun and placed it by the side of my head. A few seconds later, not looking away from him, I pulled the trigger. Noting happened. That chamber was empty.

I put the gun on the table. I barely had time to move my hand before he took the gun, placed it by his head just like I did and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He sighed in content as he placed the gun back on the table, smiling at me almost lovingly. I knew.

I took the gun and placed it by my head again, but before I could just pull the trigger he spoke up.

"I've always wondered how you made it out of there alive." He smiled before he laughed a little. "For, one thing, you were even terrible at ddakji."

I said nothing, glaring at him. I pulled the trigger. Nothing happened once again.

He looked at me, impressed by my luck so far. I looked him straight in the eyes as I threw the gun on the table. It slid over on the other side, right in front of me.

He took the gun after he took a moment to just look at me. Not breaking eye contact, he took the gun. Leaned over to me until he was basically touching me, pointing the gun at me. Then he did something that I did not expect at all. He put the gun in his mouth.

Motherfucker.

He pulled the trigger. I winced a little. Nothing again. He laughed at my expression as I tried my hardest to keep myself composed. He slowly took the gun out of his mouth before sitting back, putting the gun back on the table.

I took the gun and as I was about to place it by my head he spoke up again.

"What's the matter?" He asked me, raising his eyebrows. "Is your mind starting to race?"

I scoffed slightly.

Motherfucker.

"Now your odds of death are 1 in 2." He nodded. "That's pretty high indeed. I'm sure you're afraid, darling. Lots going through your mind."

I said nothing.

"Let me guess what you're thinking right now." Motherfucker. "'The gun is in my hand. Screw the rules. Pull the trigger once or twice, and I can blow his face off.' Isn't that right?"

I kept looking at him, glaring as I did. All while he spoke. "If you and Gi-hun want to meet the person you mentioned earlier, the key is in my pocket." At that I allowed my eyes to travel all over him. "You can simply shoot me with that gun and take it. But I'll have you admit one thing."

He took a moment to pause, my hand still holding the gun by my head. He leaned over once again.

"That you're a piece of trash, just like Gi-hun, just like everyone else that was in the games." He leaned over more closely, our lips practically touching as he spoke. "A piece of trash who got lucky and made it out of the dumpster."

He laughed as I pressed the gun against my head, our lips barely an inch away from each other's. This was it, I thought to myself. This round will determine if I live or die. I tightened the grip on the gun, my knuckles turning white again. I pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

He looked at me, then at the gun and then back at me. I started to chuckle lowly, like a maniac. Perhaps I was one. I watched his face closely as I pulled the gun away from my head. The grip on the gun still tight as I pointed it at his chin before slowly opening up my palm, waiting on him to take the final, real shot.

His hand touched mine. I felt him and myself freeze at the contact as he took the gun from my hand. I pulled my hand away as he looked at the gun.

"What's the matter?" I taunted him, my face mirroring the smirk that he always wears. "Is your mind starting to race?"

He said nothing as I spoke to him.

"That's right. Screw the rules. Now, with a single pull of the trigger, you could kill me." He looked pale at my words. "But... before you leave me forever this time. I'll have you admit two things."

He looked at me as I brought my hand at his cheek, wiping a little bit of blood on his face.

"You put a mask on your face and do whatever your master says. You run, bark, and wave your tail for them. You're nothing more than their dog." I told him before my voice became gentle.

He waited on me, his eyes soft.

"And regarding this." I said as I waved my hand slightly between the two of us. "You really are a dog. A dog that loves me. And... perhaps I am a fool, too. Because I love a dog that could've made it all work out for us but was too much of a coward to do so."

I leaned over to him, my hand landing under his chin, holding him.

"Admit it." I whispered as we looked each other in the eyes. "Admit that you love me, that you did ever since you gave me that fucking card."

For a moment, there was silence. His tortured eyes, looking at me. I knew. I always did. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, for a moment. This would be the last time that I spoke to him, that I could look into his eyes.

"I love you." He whispered.

All of a sudden, there was a loud sound followed by blood spraying my face as his body fell backward.

I stood up and walked over to him. I don't know how long I stood there, but after a while, I felt a tear sliding down my cheek. My hand touched my cheek as I whipped it away.

Motherfucker.