#d1 be the one ➵ masterlist | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

koqabear · 1 year ago

Note

For the 2k event I would love to see football player!taehyun x cheerleader! Y/N and idc what the scenario is I would just love to see some spicy smut 🥵🥵 thank you!

[2K Masterlist]

"How not to scare off the stupid flirt that won’t leave you alone."

football player!Taehyun x fem!cheerleader!reader // wc: 5.7K // genre: college au, one-sided enemies to lovers, smut, MDNI.

warnings: i glanced over it does that count as a proof read, slight himbo tyun, (?!) mans a munch, switchy/kinda sub leaning service top! tyun (!!!?), switchy/dom leaning! mc, strength kink, degrading, praise, oral (f. rec.), dry humping, hair pulling, begging, bondage, creampies, overstimulation, lmk if i should add anything!

notes: went just a bit overboard rawr

Taehyun— star player of the football team, a total womanizer and flirt— has taken an interest in you.

It was only a matter of time before he set his sights on you, wasn’t it? The cute cheerleader who was nothing short of energetic and endearing, waving your pom poms excitedly and sporting a bright smile on your face that never ceased at every game— you were easily the smartest person there, given a full-ride scholarship and spending your weekdays cooped up in the library studying, a complete switch from the preppy persona you put on display for the students and families in the bleachers, never giving anyone the time of day and focusing solely on your studies— in short, you were entirely unattainable.

Which only served to entice Taehyun more.

You never gave in to any of Taehyun’s advances— every wave, greeting, or call of your name was strictly ignored; any attempts to be friendly with you were thrown straight into the gutter by a single glare of yours, and Taehyun found himself lucky on the days you would even look at him willingly.

Of course, your withering glares and upturned nose as you walked away from every approach would have any sane person tucking their tail and giving up immediately— but Taehyun wasn’t just anyone, and he found that it was quite fun to try and rile you up whenever he saw you— in and out of uniform— and it made his friends wonder if he was simply a masochist.

“Dude, she looks like she’s ready to blow you up with her mind every time she sees you,” Yeonjun told him once, recounting the way you sneered at Taehyun the moment he tried to interact with you after the game, yet another successful win under their belts, “you mean to tell me you’re into that?”

Taehyun never bothered to deny such accusations; why would he, when he felt himself smile a little wider every time you told him to get lost, or would feel himself eager to chase after you when you would simply turn on your heel and walk the opposite direction whenever you made eye-contact with him? And if he spent nights staying up and thinking about the way your bright smile lit up the stadium and the bow on your head would bounce cutely with each stunt you performed, that was no one else’s business but his own.

To Taehyun, you were the most refreshing part of every game; to you, Kang Taehyun was a stupid tick you just couldn’t get rid of.

All charming smiles and smooth flirty lines— you were warned of him by your team, you knew that he was nothing but trouble the moment the rumors of his reputation started swimming around from ear to ear— a cocky D1 athlete that couldn’t stick to a single girl for more than a few days.

So how is it possible that he’s still bothering you? He’s been after you since the season started, following you around dumbly and trying to get you to cave with even dumber lines you know he’s used on other girls. You never even bothered to bat an eye at him— you’ve never spoken to him past a snide remark telling him to get lost; you’ve shown negative interest in him, but even so, you still catch him staring at you with stars in his eyes.

“Hey,” Taehyun says, managing to catch you after the home game has ended; still in your full face of makeup, so tired that you haven’t even bothered to change out of your uniform yet— you sneer on instinct, turning on your heel and walking the opposite way you were heading, even if it meant taking the farther exit— but Taehyun simply runs after you, not fazed in the slightest at your behavior, “Great game today, right? You guys were awesome. Your routines were super cool.”

“They’re the same ones we’ve been doing for a while now.” you comment dryly, tugging your duffle bag’s strap over your shoulder more; Oh, you can hear Taehyun mumble softly— you wonder if this is the moment he decides it's no longer worth it to pursue you. But again— things are never that simple for you.

“Still, I just never get tired of watching you.”

You falter; Taehyun senses it, just like you sense his searing gaze on your face.

“You’re not supposed to be watching me,” is all you’re able to say, albeit softly, a lot weaker than your usual dismissive tone.

“I know,” Taehyun hums softly, tilting his head as he continues to watch you, analyzing your expression acutely, “it’s just hard not to.”

Alright, you find yourself thinking, coming to a complete halt the moment you feel your heart fluttering hopelessly, this has to stop.

“Wow. Smooth,” you say apathetically, pursing your lips in distaste and observing the man before you— his relaxed, cocky demeanor, the lazy smile that pulls at his lips, his head that tilts curiously, grown out hair covering his eyes and hiding what he might be thinking— and you scoff, voice dripping with distaste as you continue, “how many girls has that line worked on already?”

“None. One, maybe,” Taehyun quickly says, taking a step closer to you, until you’re able to smell him, the natural musk mixed with the fading scent of his cologne, “if she decides to give me a chance.”

Your lips press together, your face unimpressed; he raises a brow at you, as though asking for an answer— swiftly, you roll your eyes and ignore his silent queues.

“Not happening.” you’re turning around again, your pace must faster now, “go bother someone else who’s willing to be part of your roster.”

“I don’t want someone else,” Taehyun groans, jogging after you and placing himself in front of you, just so you’ll actually give him the time of day, “I just want you.”

“Oh really?” you laugh mockingly, entirely unconvinced by this act he seems to be putting up, “So if I fuck you, will you finally stop throwing a tantrum over something you can’t have?”

He’s stunned; with hands on your hips, you step closer to him, getting up in his face as you continue to taunt him.

“Are you gonna get bored and dump me after? Hmm?” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest and taking a step back— Taehyun remains bewildered. “You’re probably not even worth it, actually.”

Just like he did earlier, you raise a brow; mocking him, waiting for him to respond as you tap your foot impatiently— instead, he remains silent, eyes scanning your face, as though waiting for you to say something else— you roll your eyes and shake your head, more than ready to push past him and finally go shower in the comfort of your own apartment.

Your shoulder almost pushes against Taehyun’s body as you go to leave— but you’re stopped in your tracks before you can get the last say, a strong grip on your bicep keeping you still and turning your body around roughly— your duffle bag swings and the strap falls down your arm at the action.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” Taehyun says, leering down at you with dark eyes— he’s irritated, teeth gritted and brows knitted together as he speaks.

“Awh, is your ego wounded now?” you ask, pouting and batting your eyes at him, feeling his fingers dig into your skin as a result, “does it hurt your big macho pride to get rejected?”

Taehyun doesn’t say anything to that— his eyes seem to do the talking for him, narrowed dangerously at you, but even so, you still don’t care to take the hint.

“Or— don’t tell me,” you make a point to lower your voice to a whisper, looking around skeptically for anyone else that could hear— but, the stadium was empty at this point, “did I hit too close to home? Oh no, are you that bad of a fuck?”

Taehyun’s jaw is clenched; he takes one look at your pouting, pitied face, at his fingertips that dig into the muscle of your bicep, and inhales slowly— and with one last glance around the area, he turns away and begins to roughly tug you along.

“Woah— hey– hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing—?!”

You’re yelling and bitching at him, slapping at his shoulder and calling him names he could never come up with himself— and yet, you stumble along, refusing to take your arm out of his loosening grip— your actions speak louder than your (abrasive yet creative, Taehyun will admit) words; you’re curious, and Taehyun can already picture the look on your face the moment he finally brings the two of you into the empty locker room he previously raced out of just to look for you.

“What the hell man?” you yell, allowing yourself to be tugged further into the room, straight to a secluded corner that you immediately get backed up in; his hands are on your shoulders as he presses you firmly against the metal lockers, your back arching to get away from the uncomfortable feeling— he’s got you caged in with his body, unable to do anything more than press your hands against his chest in an attempt to keep your distance. You reluctantly take note of how firm his muscles feel.

“What’s your deal?” you roll your eyes, noticing that he has yet to explain himself, resorting to glaring down at you with his stupid, big brown eyes, “Is this all you can do? Don’t know how to use your big boy words so you resort to force instead?”

“I should be asking you the same thing,” he suddenly says, his voice quiet and restrained as he eyes you carefully; your eyes widen, as though you weren’t actually expecting him to say anything, “all that talk for someone that doesn’t wanna be here.”

Your body heats up instantly at his words; you feel like a fish out of water with the way your mouth opens and closes, trying to find your rebuttal yet faltering under the heat of his gaze— he looks pissed, as though he’ll pounce on you the moment you say something wrong.

“I don’t,” you finally say, the words not as confident as you wish they were, “you were the one that dragged me here.”

“Really?” he asks, raising a brow at the way you scoff and glare at him, standing your ground even if you both know you’re lying; his hands fall from your shoulders and he takes a step back, watching as you simply remain there, shocked.

“Then leave.”

The look on his face is much too smug for your liking. He crosses his arms and smirks, taking another step back and nodding to the other side of the room, telling you that “the exit’s over there.”

You take a step forward, only to hesitate. Your eyes narrow at the sight of him, deep in thought before you finally kiss your teeth in distaste.

“God, you’re so fucking insufferable.”

Taehyun doesn’t get a chance to say anything to that because you’re all but leaping onto him after— you’re taking hastes steps to him and your hand reaches out for his nape, digging into his hair before pulling him in towards you for a kiss; to say he was expecting this would be a lie, but he’s more than prepared to melt into you anyway.

You’re nothing like the sweet and innocent persona you put up for the stadium; you’re insatiable, kissing Taehyun like you were starving, a hand reaching up to place itself on his chest, the feeling welcomed until he realizes something— you’re pushing him back, and before he knows it, he’s the one slamming back into the lockers.

His hand falls onto your hip, the other coming up to cup your jaw; his fingers wander endlessly, going from the pleats of your skirt to the elastic waistband, sly fingertips sneaking beneath before he’s pulling away and reaching down to cup your ass— he’s groaning into your mouth at the feeling, your teeth sinking in retaliation to him groping you like a bitch in heat.

Taehyun’s mind is racing a million miles a minute; he never actually thought he’d get here, but now that he did, he’s found himself to be feeling ridiculously antsy— he wants to feel you, take his time to memorize every detail of you, but he also wants to perform ever fantasy he’s ever had about you, bad.

And if he thinks he’s good at masking his desperation from you, he’s wrong. Very, very wrong. You could feel it from the way he kissed you back to the way his dick hardened in what you think is record time, his motions growing hasty as he couldn’t stop feeling you up, as though he’d die if he didn’t go from venturing up your shirt to grabbing at your ass, going back and forth and fucking up your balance completely— at this point, Taehyun was only left against the lockers because you were full on leaning on him.

When you pull away from the kiss, lips swollen and entirely out of breath, Taehyun chases after you; his eyes are low lidded and dazed as he looks at you, confused on why you look at him as though you’ll start laughing any second now.

“Where’s that smooth guy from earlier?” you taunt, punctuating your words by pressing yourself firmly against him, listening to the quiet hiss you get in return, “you almost made me think that your reputation was actually true.”

God, he’s so predictable. You can barely hold back the smile that tugs at your lips, watching Taehyun’s reaction intently; it was like a light finally turned on in his head, glassed over eyes finally becoming conscious as he blinks at you, words registering in his head and grip slowly become harsher; his hand falls from your face and down to the small of your back, pulling you close and raising a confused brow at you.

“What reputation?” he asks, the faux innocence making you roll your eyes.

“Oh y’know, just some girls saying shit. That you fuck the living daylights out of them, or whatever,” your hand that was braced against his chest trails up, fingertips going to the underside of his chin to flick his head up playfully— his eyes are pinned on you the entire time, and you giggle mockingly. “But all I see here is a horny teen that gets hard over a little bit of kissing.”

You’re baiting him— it’s so obvious and you both know it, but that doesn’t stop Taehyun from biting the said bait shamelessly, dark eyes glaring daggers at you challengingly as stares you down.

It all happens too quickly for you to process; your positions are being flipped around yet again and your back is slamming into the lockers, letting out a small yelp at the feeling— but it’s all washed out by the sight of Taehyun falling to his knees, pushing your legs open before he’s settling himself between them comfortably— his eyes sparkle under the lights as he looks up at you, the crude contrasting bringing a wave of heat throughout your body.

“You have no idea how long I wanted to do this,” Taehyun rasps, grabbing your leg before he’s lifting it up, feeling your hand on his shoulder at the unexpected action; he merely chuckles, placing slow, wet kisses from your inner knee before he begins to trail in— once he’s at your inner thighs, he slings your leg over his shoulder leisurely, sucking and biting at the skin before mumbling against it, “fucking dreamed about this.”

His words are pathetically effective— your panties feel uncomfortably stuck to your cunt, and the anticipation of feeling Taehyun’s mouth there definitely isn’t helping.

“Bullshit,” you grit, your free hand reaching down to lace into his hair; your nails scratch along his scalp and pull at his roots, and Taehyun shivers at the feeling, “god, do your other hookups like it when you say this shit?”

Beneath your skirt, he shakes his head, fingertips digging into your thighs at the thought. You’re trying to provoke him, it’s obvious, yet Taehyun can’t help but get irritated at the fact that you seem to be focusing on everything but him. “You’re the only one I’ve ever talked to like this,” he says, pulling out from under your skirt to bring your panties down, dragging them slowly until they’re finally off— you note with wide eyes that he immediately pockets them. “I’m usually not much of a talker.”

“But if you hate it that much, I can be quiet,” he murmurs, beginning to go back to your cunt again, bunching your skirt at your hips so you can get a good view of him— his doe eyes flicker up at you, and you swear he must know what that does to you as he continues. “I can be whatever you want me to be.”

The dry laugh you let out comes out shaky and breathy; his affect on you is so obvious, yet you still seem to want to hide it all under this persona of yours, digging your heel in his back and tilting your hips closer to his face— he oggles at how visibly wet you are, a soft hiss leaving his lips as you pull at his hair, not giving him a chance to react before you’re pushing him in to where you need him the most.

If you’re finally gonna give in to this stupid student athlete, it’s going to be on your terms. At least that’s what you tell yourself, a shaky moan escaping you and your grip tightening on Taehyun’s hair— he really doesn’t want to waste any time, you note.

His mouth feels like heaven; he’s quick to lick a stripe across your cunt, tongue digging at your needy hole before he comes up to your clit, licking at it teasingly until he finally hears you whine. His lips are soft and plump as he places messy kisses at your clit, his hands digging into your thighs in an attempt to stop you from shifting around so much— if anything, his bruising grip only serves to rip out another moan from you.

“S-shit, Taehyun— just like that, ah,” your moans are just as pretty as you— Taehyun feels like he’s in a daze as he presses closer against you, sucking your clit harshly and listening to the sweet whine you let out— he can feel his cock twitching pathetically in his pants, hips bucking at the air as his mouth moves down to your entrance.

“Fuck!” your eyes screw shut as you feel Taehyun’s tongue enter you, the tip of his nose pressing against your clit as he nuzzles into your cunt, as though he could get further inside your pussy. The sighs and grunts he lets out aren’t lost on your ears either, cunt clenching desperately against him as you begin to wriggle out of his grip without realizing.

“Mmmh, pretty face was meant to get fucked,” you groan out, the words slipping out of you without control. Your hips rock and grind against him, dazed eyes watching as his hold on you loosens and his tongue lolls out; watery eyes flicker back up to look at you, glowing from your compliment.

Taehyun thinks that he could die happily like this. Your cunt is so sweet, so wet, the glide of it against his face enough to have him throbbing painfully in his pants. His jaw aches and it’s getting hard for him to breathe, but even then he refuses to stop— the sight of you is like a dream come true for him to pull away now.

You’re so close— it’s evident by the way your hips start bucking against his face harshly, nails digging into his scalp as you push him closer, impossibly close— your mouth is left open, soft moans turning into curses as your leg tries to hook him in further, pressing against the firm muscles of his back— Taehyun’s eyes flutter shut, and before he can really second guess himself, he pulls away.

The wet sound of his mouth leaving your dripping cunt should have you curling away and cringing in embarrassment. Instead, the only thing you can muster is a cry of his name, the sound venomous and disappointed as you glare down at the boy.

“Sorry,” he says, voice broken and raspy, a panting and blushing mess, “I just— fuck, I need you.”

You’re left speechless at his desperation— but Taehyun doesn’t seem to mind, getting back up to his feet before he’s grabbing at your waist and leaning in to kiss you; you can feel how hard he is against you, and it allows you to snap into your senses as you go up to place your hands against his chest once more; pulling away, you push against him in order to get him to walk— he obeys immediately.

“Geez, you give a guy a chance and he starts acting like a little virgin,” you sneer, noting with a flip of your stomach that Taehyun only grins, unaffected by your jab. You’ve led him to the edge of the bench set in the middle of this small area, pressing down on his shoulders and getting him to sit down; he watches with stars in his eyes as you straddle his lap, sitting your dripping cunt over his bulge firmly. “Am I gonna have to put in all the work here?”

“I mean,” Taehyun trails off, his hands finding purchase on your ass and beginning to guide you to rock against him; his teeth sink into his lip and his eyes darken as he takes in the sight, drawing a gasp out of you as he bucks his hips up. Looking back up at you, his face is happy and sweet. “You really don’t have to. But it’s kinda hot to get bossed around by you though— just thought you were more into that.”

Your jaw ticks. Without warning, you push him down against the bench, hovering over him and placing your hands on his waistband as you begin to undo his jeans.

“Quite a weird way to try and play off that you’re my bitch,” you grit out, tugging at his boxers and watching his cock spring out— he groans, hips bucking up at the feeling, his tip a pretty pink that throbs and leaks pathetically.

Taehyun laughs softly, watching with awe as you spit in your palm and slowly begin to stroke him; his head falls back and his eyes screw shut, noting with coy satisfaction that your hand doesn’t fully wrap around him.

“Yeah, I’m your bitch,” he sighs out, his hands flying to your waist and getting him to sit on his thighs, “fuck, you’re too good at this.”

God, he’s so stupid; giving in to all your taunts without much of a fight, sucked in entirely by the feeling of your hand that pumps his length so slowly, tightening your hold on him and twisting, squeezing his tip teasingly— his hands reach up to cover his face before he can stop himself, pretty hands obscuring his heated face and parted lips that let out soft sighs of pleasure.

“Don’t hide from me now,” you say, reaching up to pry his hands away, his eyes fluttering open before locking with yours, “you look so good like this.”

His eyes widen, the tips of his ears reddening with a cute blush; your praise is so unfamiliar, yet it renders him weak and needy for more, reaching out to grab your waist to scoot you up more— your cunt is touching his length by the time you scold him to stop, though he doesn’t seem to care much for your orders as he begins to fuck his hips against you.

“C’mon, just fuck me already,” he groans, your eyes as big as saucers as he continues to whine and beg. “Aren’t you supposed to like, use me and stuff?”

This… is not what you were expecting from him.

You’re sure the words are written across your face too, the incredulous look you give him making him shrink slightly, as though he was just now realizing what he was saying.

But before he can backtrack and say something monumentally stupid to cancel it out, you grin, hovering over his lap and grabbing at his cock, lining it up with your entrance and taking in the way he visibly shudders.

“You sound so cute when you’re begging,” you say, running his tip along your slit, allowing it to collect your growing arousal, the sound loud to both of you, “y’know, I would’ve given you a chance much earlier if you acted all nice and cute like this from the start.

“That player persona of yours wasn’t really my thing.”

The head of his cock finally breaches your entrance; Taehyun moans at the feeling of you finally sinking on him, able to feel the way he stretches you out the further you take him in, wet and warm walls fluttering with each gentle push.

“Mmh,” your brows are furrowing at the feeling, not expecting him to be so damn thick— but you took him in regardless, putting on an apathetic front even if you were on the verge of melting on top of him— you can feel him twitch inside you, a weak whimper escaping you as his hands dig into your thighs, digging into the flesh cruelly once he finally bottoms out.

“God, you’re fucking perfect,” Taehyun breathes out, hissing through his teeth once you finally start moving; your hips are methodical, your movements cruelly calculated as you rise slowly, leaving him waiting for a second before you slam back down— his legs jump, your body bouncing from the motion.

You can’t help but laugh at the sight of him; he’s the definition of fucked out, sweat that beaded at his hairline causing strands of hair to stick to his skin, chest heaving and teeth digging into his lips with every bounce on his cock— when you start to set a pace, you note with annoyance that Taehyun just can’t stop trying to take over, his hands traveling to your waist to try and guide you, his hips fucking up to meet your pace. It’s endearing, for a moment, but then you find that he begins to get too handsy, his hands now lost underneath your shirt and trailing over your breasts curiously.

“Okay now, don’t get too ahead of yourself,” you chide condescendingly, stopping your pace and sinking onto him, your weight fully on him as you swat his hands off. Taehyun begins to protest immediately, groaning about how mean and unfair you’re being. His hands attempt to go back to your waist, but you slap them off again, giving him a glare that makes him pout at you.

Thoughts on how to get him to listen to you course through your mind, unsure of what to do until one hits you like a freight train.

Taehyun watches in confusion as you reach for your hair, unsure of what to make of the sly smile on your face— it’s only once he sees the pretty bow unravel from your head that his eyes widen in understanding.

“Oh no,” he mutters, your smile only growing wider as you reach for his hands— he retaliates, bringing his wrists together and just outside your reach, “oh hell no, c’mon!”

“Give me your hands,” you huff, lips pressing together in annoyance as he shakes his head and puts them over his head instead, just out of your reach, “give me your hands or I walk out right now.”

Taehyun knows how you are. You’re completely serious about that.

“C’monnnn,” he groans, reluctantly offering his hands out for you to take. He watches with a petulant look as you wrap the ribbon around his wrists, tying them together so quickly he’s barely able to process what you’re doing, “please, I just wanna touch you.”

You ignore him, adding the final touch with careful hands; the bow on his wrists is just as pretty as the proud smile on your face, he notes bitterly.

“Perfect,” you murmur to yourself, pushing his bound hands against his chest, holding onto them for leverage as you begin to move again; you can practically see all the thoughts leave his mind as he feels you around him, sucking him in and clenching with each prod against your sweet spot, hips angling so you’re hitting it perfectly.

With a cruel curiosity, you shift on top of him, a hand holding his wrists down while the other drags his shirt up— though expected, you can’t help but whistle at the sight, running a hand over his abs, watching eagerly as he flinches from the contact. Without much of a thought, you bend down to place a kiss on his stomach, laughing at the soft whine you get in return. Sitting back up, you go back to the pace you set before, satisfied by the flustered man you see beneath you.

Your nails are digging into his wrists; the orgasm he took from you is quickly building back up, your lips swollen and shining from how bitten they are— your cunt gushes around him, a ring beginning to form at the base of his length; Taehyun’s eyes roll back at the sight.

The pretty moans you’re letting out and the tight grip your pussy has on him is making it impossible for him to last— he’s only a bit behind you as you feel your knees begin to become weak, your pace inconsistent as you grind on him in search of more.

“M’close… fuck…” you breathe out, hovering over Taehyun and caging him in— the roles have been reversed now, your elbows on each side of his head holding you up as you press yourself against him, your pace agonizingly slow as you lean down to kiss him— it’s sloppy and neither of you are entirely in your right minds, pathetically moaning into each other’s mouths the closer to your peak you get.

It’s nice to feel the heat of your body against his, but what you’re doing now simply isn’t enough for Taehyun. And though he knows you strictly forbade him, he can’t help himself from reaching down to grab your side, startling you and forcing you to sit up in confusion.

“Sorry, I just— I’m so close, I need more,” he says, fingers digging into your side and thighs flexing beneath you— his brows furrow in concentration and next thing you know, he’s fucking up into you.

The yelp you let out only makes Taehyun’s cock twitch inside you— you sound so good like this, overwhelmed and ruined, unable to stop or control the way he bucks his hips up into you, his hands on your side forcing you to come down on him with every thrust— you’re falling forward and pressing down on his chest in an attempt to not lay on him entirely, and Taehyun thinks that he might’ve just gotten the sight of you bouncing on top of him ingrained into his mind now.

“Oh fuck, you keep fucking squeezing me— are you close? Yeah? I am too,” he moans, watching as you hang your head and dig your nails into his skin— you’re both soooo close, Taehyun can feel it— and before he can second guess himself, words spill from his mouth in a desperate haste.

“Can I cum inside you?” he asks, your eyes snapping open at the question— they meet his stupid, shiny round eyes, turned completely glassy as he tilts his head, his pace never ceasing for a second. “Can I, can I please? You’re so pretty, feel so good, c’mon, just wanna fill you up like you deserve—”

“Shit, yeah,” you whine, not needing much convincing in the first place to agree. “Fill me up, c’mon tyunnie, wanna be full—!”

The sound of the cute nickname coming from you sets Taehyun off instantly; his cock bottoms out and his hand slams your body down, your faint gasp barely registering in his mind as he finally cums— and it’s so much, spurts and spurts of warm cum filling you up and setting you off seconds after.

When Taehyun feels your cunt fluttering around him, he helps you ride it out; even if it means his eyes get watery and his cock hurts with every thrust into you. He still does it, the overstimulation a small price to pay for being able to watch you fall apart on top of him, moaning out his name so nicely that he never wants it to be said by anyone that’s not you from now on.

You’re an out of breath, sweaty mess by the time you finally come to your senses— well, kind of. You’d still rather not accept that womanizing student athlete Taehyun finally succeeded in getting in your pants. Maybe now he’ll finally leave you alone; you try to ignore the disappointed pang you get in your stomach from the thought.

Beneath you, Taehyun simply pants, eyes closed in a sweet bliss; when they open back up, he looks at you with such fondness you can’t help but startle.

“Can I take you out on a date?”

Your eyes widen, and you try to pretend as though the question doesn’t immediately lift up your mood. (Though the way your lips quirk up in an amused smile is definitely a giveaway.)

“You ask this now?” you say, crossing your arms and letting out a soft tsk, “I feel like it’s supposed to go the other way around.”

Taehyun smiles, and you can’t resist the contagious sight.

“I know. Sorry for being so irresistible.”

Your smile drops.

“Just for that, I’m saying no.”

“Waitwaitwait—” You make a move to get off Taehyun, but are stopped immediately with his hands on your side, forcing you to stay put the best you can— he tugs you back into him, cradling your face and ignoring your protests to let go.

“I lied, I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry,” he coos, smiling at the way you continue to glare at him; so cute, he thinks, unable to stop himself from craning his neck up and placing a peck on your lips— you melt instantly, giggling softly and placing a peck of your own on the tip of his nose.

“I’ll see you after practice then.”

#txt fanfic #txt fanfiction #txt imagines #txt oneshots #txt ff #txt x reader #txt smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #taehyun smut #taehyun ff #taehyun imagines #taehyun oneshot #taehyun x reader #taehyun fanfic #taehyun fanfiction #[2K event!]#[the mic is yours]#[nsfw]

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demie90s · 4 days ago

Text

And The Crowd is…Concerned?

꒰ 🍒 ꒱ UConn!Team X READER ꒰ 🍒 ꒱ MASTERLIST

Part 1, Part 3

⭑ pairing: UConn!Team x reader (funny!fem!reader)

⭑ summary: Geno tries to do a safety meeting, but the team can’t focus after watching your unhinged late-night driving rant go viral. Again.

⭑ genre: comedy, hood wisdom, full delusion

⭑ warnings: chaotic energy, unfiltered language, Geno’s rising blood pressure

⭑ word count: ~

It’s the first week of preseason and Geno’s already fed up.

The whole team’s stuffed into the film room—hoodies up, edges sweated out, breakfast burritos halfway eaten. Nobody speaks. The screen up front says “2025 UConn Preseason Safety and Conduct Review.”

Azzi’s already whispering. “Watch, he gon’ bring up my milkshake in the cold tub again.”

Geno walks in. Silent. Clicks the remote.

“This year,” he says, slow and tired, “we’re doing it different.”

The projector blinks. First slide? “DO NOT DO THIS.”

Then: photos.

KK nearly busting her knee on a Bird scooter.

Aubrey in mid-air falling off the bench while TikToking in socks.

Paige with a Hot Cheeto bag balanced on her leg mid-stretch like a sorcerer of chaos.

Then it hits.

Your photo.

Full 4K, unholy clarity.

You. On Instagram Live. Driving. One hand on the wheel, the other out the window flipping someone off. Pinky up. Sunglasses on. Mouth mid-rant.

The room EXPLODES.

Nika drops her protein bar. Ayanna starts wheezing. KK screams “NO WAY.” Geno? Geno clicks again. It’s a video now. Volume up.

You on live:

“Y’all so today I’m going shopping—”

HONKKKK

“—and you just gotta be true to yourself cause—BITCH HIT MY CAR I DARE YOU. I DOUBLE DOG DARE YOU. I’MA BE ON YO ASS LIKE STANK ON SHIT.”

Another honk. Tires screech.

You: “Anyways y’all but yeah, no. Life’s really about gratitude.”

Geno doesn’t even speak this time—he just rubs his eyes and mutters, “Lord, give me strength.”

On the screen: a screenshot. YOU. Mid-sentence. Mid-swerve. Edges laid, lashes still on from yesterday, UConn hoodie zipped halfway and one AirPod in. You look beautiful, dangerous, and legally unfit to operate a vehicle.

The caption on your Instagram Live?

“driving 2 heal ❤️‍🩹”

The clip plays:

You: “So y’all I was at Target right, and this man—THIS MAN—gone reach across me like I was a damn display. I said sir… sir, don’t do that. I am not the lotion aisle. I will fold you like a fitted sheet—”

HONKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

You: “—BITCH HIT ME IF YOU WANT. I BEEN WANTIN’ SOMEBODY TO TRY ME TODAY. TRY ME SO I CAN PRAY IN HANDCUFFS. I’M READY TO MEDITATE IN THE HOLDING CELL. AIN’T NOBODY IN THERE BUT ME AND MY SPIRITUAL GROWTH.”

camera shakes violently

You: “Oh wait… Chick-fil-A on the left lemme—” tires screech “—LORD IF I HIT THIS CURB I’M STILL GONNA EAT GOOD.”

The team is absolutely done.

Paige is crying in her hoodie. Nika wheezes and grabs your leg. Azzi says “nahhh” so many times it starts to sound like a remix. KK’s on the floor. Ayanna is filming them filming you.

Geno? Geno’s standing in the front like he’s witnessing the fall of Rome.

He yells, “WHO IS HOLDING THE PHONE WHILE DRIVING? WHO?!”

You: “First of all… why am I under attack?”

“You were LIVE.”

“I was telling a story!”

“You hit a curb!”

“And I bounced back. That’s resilience.”

The video keeps rolling. You’re now mid-lane-switch with no signal.

You: “Sometimes y’all just gotta stop arguing with people and run them over with grace. Like—gracefully. Not petty, just powerful. There’s a difference. Be the bigger person but also make sure they know you’ll stomp they ass out behind a tinted window if needed.”

honks in the distance

“Anyway y’all, I’m healing.”

⸻

The comments under the clip are unhinged:

“She the MLK of hood wisdom.”

“Not ‘meditate in the holding cell’ 😭😭😭”

“If she’s not mic’d up for every game I don’t want it.”

“Geno bout to have a stroke fr.”

“This the female IamZoie but make it D1.”

“You were wearing UConn gear. Public Instagram. Driving like it’s Need For Speed: Hood Edition.”

“Freedom of expression,” you shrug.

Later that day, the UConn media team posts the clip with dramatic violin music under it. The caption reads:

“Preseason Conduct Review: Certified Hood Behavior ❌”

The comments are already insane:

“She said ‘life’s about gratitude’ while threatening to end a man’s bloodline.”

“No but she’s the main character fr.”

“UConn got the craziest athletes I fear.”

“WHERE’S THE FULL LIVE FOOTAGE 👀”

“Geno is gonna retire early cause of her.”

You repost it to your story with a halo emoji and “healing journey 2025💕.”

#wbb uconn #uconn x reader #paige bueckers uconn #uconn wbb #wbb x oc #wbb imagine #wbb x reader #ncaa wbb #paige bueckers x reader #paige x oc #kk arnold x reader #nika muhl x reader #azzi x reader #funny #wnba imagine #wnba x oc #wnba x reader

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nylqnder · 5 months ago

Text

3, 2, 1! LUKE HUGHES

— event masterlist !

pairing: bratt!sister!reader x luke hughes

summary: amidst the glittering chaos of a new year's eve party, you attempt to find closure with the boy you've been crushing on since you came to new jersey.

warnings: bratt!sister, jespers younger sister, brief mentions of drinking, a big ol' kiss

wc: 1.31k

notes: 11 of 12 in my xmas celebration! not technically christmas but i love new years first kiss plots!!

The evening begins in a blur of anticipation, a mingling of nerves and excitement that coils in your stomach like a restless storm. New Jersey isn’t where you thought you’d find yourself spending the holidays, but with Jesper’s insistence and the comfort of your brother’s familiar presence, you had stayed. And now, you’re en route to the Devils’ New Year’s party, clad in a deep navy sequined mini dress that glitters like the night sky, trying to pretend your heart isn’t racing for reasons that have nothing to do with the party.

Jesper’s hands rest casually on the steering wheel, but his eyes flick towards you every so often, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re nervous,” he says, breaking the silence.

“Am not,” you reply too quickly, fiddling with the rings that adorn your fingers.

Jesper huffs a laugh. “Right. So, who’s the lucky guy you’re hoping to kiss at midnight?”

You roll your eyes, fighting the flush creeping up your neck. “No one. I’m just going to celebrate and have fun, okay?”

He hums thoughtfully. “Not even Luke?”

The name hits you like a slap, your head snapping towards him. “Why would you bring up Luke?”

Jesper grins now, openly amused. “Oh, come on. Just because I didn’t go to fancy, smart people school like you doesn’t mean I’m stupid. You should see the way you two look at each other. It’s… gross.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you cross your arms, leaning back into the car seat as you glare at Jesper. Moving to New Jersey for hockey, and heading to Princeton to play D1, had been a whirlwind in itself. You hadn’t anticipated the move would also bring a perfectly sweet and charming boy into your life as well.

Every interaction with Luke had an undercurrent of something that felt almost electric. His teasing remarks always carried a hint of sincerity, and his soft smiles lingered just a second too long. You weren’t blind to the way his gaze would find you across a room, or the way your pulse quickened whenever he was near. But neither of you had crossed the invisible line between harmless flirtation and something more, leaving you in this frustrating limbo of uncertainty.

Your throat tightens as you fumble for a rebuttal, but nothing comes. He notices.

“Exactly,” Jesper says, his voice laced with triumph. You open your mouth to retort, but Jesper cuts you off. “Look, all I’m saying is that you’ve got an opportunity tonight. New Year’s Eve, champagne, fireworks—literally the most romantic setup possible. If you like him, just… do something about it. It’s not that hard.”

You bite your lip, Jesper’s words rattling around in your brain. Could you? Could you really make the first move? Or, more terrifyingly, what if you were wrong? What if Luke didn’t feel the same way, and you ruined everything?

As the car pulls up to the party, Jesper glances at you, his usual grin softened into something gentler. “Trust me,” he says as if he could read the little thoughts of uncertainty running through your mind. “He likes you.”

The party is already in full swing when you walk in, the hum of music and the buzz of conversation creating an atmosphere thick with celebration. The room is a wash of twinkling lights, champagne flutes, and laughter. You smooth your hands over your dress, the sequins catching the light with every movement, and try to swallow the lump in your throat.

Jesper winks at you before disappearing into the crowd, leaving you to navigate the throng of people on your own. And then, almost as if drawn by some magnetic force, your eyes find him.

He’s leaning casually against the bar, dressed in dark jeans and a Ralph Lauren sweater that fits just right—effortlessly polished yet entirely approachable. His brown curls are longer than when you last saw them, sitting in a boyish heap on top of his head, and his expression is easygoing as he laughs at something one of his teammates says. But the moment he catches sight of you, his face changes. His posture straightens, and a flicker of something — relief? Awe? — crosses his face. His gaze sweeps over you, lingering a beat too long on your dress, and you feel heat rising to your cheeks.

But before either of you can act, someone claps a hand on Luke’s shoulder, pulling his attention away, and a cluster of teammates intercepts you. The moment is gone.

The night becomes a frustrating dance, a game of cat and mouse where you’re always just out of reach. You catch glimpses of Luke across the room, his head turning as if searching for you, but something — or someone — always gets in the way. One time, you enter the lounge area and spot him on the other side, his eyes lighting up when they meet yours. But just as you step forward, someone grabs your arm, pulling you into a conversation about your studies at Princeton. By the time you politely excuse yourself, Luke is gone. Again.

You find yourself checking the clock more often than you care to admit. Time feels like sand slipping through your fingers. The minutes tick closer to midnight, the air buzzing with anticipation as people gather their champagne flutes and prepare for the countdown. Your heart sinks with every passing second you don’t see him. You resign yourself to the fact that this night might end like so many others — with a lingering sense of what could have been.

The final countdown begins at thirty seconds. The room erupts in excitement, voices growing louder with each passing number. You lean against a high-top table, frustration seeping into your bones as you watch couples and friends gather in anticipation. Your chest feels tight, disappointment creeping in as the seconds tick closer to the new year.

10… 9… 8…

You scan the room one last time, half-hoping, half-defeated—until you see him. Luke bursts into the room, his expression frantic as his eyes search the crowd. When they finally meet yours, a visible wave of relief washes over him.

7… 6… 5…

He’s moving toward you now, weaving through the throng of people with long, purposeful strides. Your breath catches as the crowd seems to part for him, every other noise and movement fading into nothing.

4… 3… 2... 1...

He reaches you just as the final seconds vanish, his hands finding your hips, pulling you flush against him. The room erupts in cheers, a cacophony of “Happy New Year!” echoing around you, but all you feel is Luke. His lips crash against yours with a fervor that takes your breath away, his hands anchoring you to him as though he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You kiss back without hesitation, your arms winding around his shoulders to pull him closer, your fingers curling into the soft fabric of his sweater. It’s a kiss that’s been building for months, maybe longer, and it’s everything—soft and urgent, sweet and electric.

When you finally break apart, the world feels fuzzy around the edges, the noise of the party and the faint sound of Auld Lang Syne fading into a distant hum. Luke’s forehead rests lightly against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he searches your face.

“We’ve waited too long for that,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

You don’t trust your voice to respond, so you nod, your fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater.

The corners of Luke’s mouth lift into a soft smile. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year,” you manage to whisper back, your lips brushing his once more as the words leave your mouth.

Around you, the party rages on, but in this moment, it’s just the two of you — finally on the same page, finally saying all the things your hearts had been trying to tell each other for months.

#˚₊۶ৎ˙⋆ nylqnder #luke hughes #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes x reader #nhl #nhl imagine #hockey #hockey imagine #new jersey devils #lh43 #clover's twelve days of christmas!

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spiicii · 7 months ago

Text

jey uso / possessive

x fem!reader word count → 3.7k summary → it was a cute skirt, but jey had made it clear it was too short for you to wear without him. you promised him you’d wait until your next date night to wear it, but it’s just too cute to leave in the back of your closet. surely he wouldn’t be mad if you wore it while you visited him at work? links → masterlist tags → jey likes to spoil you, possessive behavior, hickies, hair pulling, spanking, dirty talk, light choking, jimmy is a d1 instigator

“Whoa, whoa, where you think you’re going?” Jey’s tone was playful, his arm snaking around your midsection and pulling you closer to him beneath the sheets.

“Babe, I gotta get ready,” you groaned, though you didn’t struggle as he pressed your body to his, his arm now securely fastened around your waist.

“Nah, you ain’t going nowhere.” He rumbled in your ear, though you could hear the smile in his words.

“Jey, please, I promised the girls…”

You trailed off as he reached up and captured your chin between his fingers, pulling your face close to his so he could kiss you. You melted into the kiss, allowing his other arm to wrap around you and press you even tighter against his toned chest.

He chuckled against your mouth, his grip on you unyielding as he kept you close.

“Whatchu even doin’ today? Why can’t you just stay here all naked and sexy for me until I come back?”

You rolled your eyes. “Keeping your bed warm isn’t my only job, you know.”

He leaned back to stare at you incredulously, though he was still smiling. “Oh, but wracking up my credit card bill is? That’s all you doin’ with your girls today, isn’t it? Shopping?”

You offered him a cheeky smile. “Maybe. They just wanted to check out that new store downtown.”

Jey shook his head. “Yeah, yeah, sure. New store. Next thing you know you’ll be going to the store next door. Then the one beside it. Then the one beside it…”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” you laughed, still making no effort to leave the warmth of his embrace, your legs still tangled together under the sheets. “But you don’t have to give me your credit card. I mean, if it’s really that big of a deal…”

“Whoa, now. Ain’t nobody say all that.”

“No?” You raised an eyebrow at him. “I got my own money.”

His frown at you was playful. “No girl of mine is gon’ be spending her own hard-earned money. It’s my job to spoil you.”

“You spoil me then complain that I’m spoiled,” you giggled, watching as a goofy smile spread across his face.

“You are spoiled,” he laughed, leaning forward to press kisses against your neck. “But you right. I do spoil you. Probably too much.”

You let out a sigh as his hands roamed your body, his lips warm and gentle against the hollow of your throat.

“Take back the credit card then.” You breathed, goosebumps rising as his beard scratched across your exposed skin.

“Never.” He murmured, his mouth beginning to latch onto your throat, his fingers curling into the soft flesh of your thighs. His breath was warm behind your ear, his long legs wrapping around yours like vines.

“No hickies,” you pleaded, even as you continued to bare his neck to him willingly, not even trying to push him away.

“Just one.” He gasped against your neck, his fingers digging deeper into your flesh as he struggled to resist the urge to mark you.

It was a game the two of you often played. As much as you adored his marks on you, it was too hot for turtlenecks and they were a pain to cover. He always begged you anyways, some deeper, more primal instinct inside him itching to mark you as his. It was getting harder and harder to tell him no, especially when you enjoyed wearing them so much.

“Just a small one. Not too noticeable. Please, Jey…” But your plea was cut short by the feel of his lips closing around the delicate skin behind your ear, grill nipping against you as the bruise blossomed beneath his mouth.

You wanted to tell him to go easy, but you felt your body relax in his hold, even as the bruise deepened and his grip on your thighs became punishing.

You whimpered and he finally let you go, his eyes dark as he stared at the bruise rapidly forming high on your neck, half hidden by your hairline. His grip on you was still tight and you knew it was taking all of his willpower not to give you another one.

“Jey…” you breathed and the intensity of his eyes meeting yours made your body feel weak, butterflies now in your stomach. “I…I have to get up.”

His gaze was unblinking at you, almost as if he were weighing his options. You knew him too well. He was thinking about rolling you over for round two, adding more hickies to the one behind your ear and pounding into you until you were seeing stars.

You softened beneath his gaze, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. “I have to go. And so do you. You agreed to meet Jimmy early this morning.”

At the mention of his twin, you watched as Jey blinked, seemingly shaken from his faraway thoughts. His face broke into a smile.

“He can wait.”

You shook your head, a breathless laugh on your lips. “You’re ridiculous. Come on, let me up.”

You moved out of his embrace and was surprised that for once he didn’t resist, allowing you to untangle yourself from his long limbs. He stared at you adoringly.

“You’re lucky I care about my job, little girl,” he growled, watching as you stood and stretched your arms above your head. “Or else we wouldn’t be leaving this bedroom all day.”

You giggled, shaking your head again. “If you had it your way we’d stay here forever. Except maybe to go to Waffle House.”

You tried not to laugh as he perked up at your words, the move far too similar to a golden retriever who just heard the word walk. “You wanna go this morning?”

You picked up his discarded shirt from the floor and threw it at him. “With what time? Besides, aren’t you on that juice cleanse with Jimmy?”

Jey scowled, sitting up in the bed to lean back against the headboard. “That was his dumbass idea, not mine.”

“You’ve barely even started it!” You chided, moving to the closet to pick out some outfits for the day. “Besides, he’ll know if you cheat.”

Jey scoffed. “No way. And I’ll bet he cheatin’ on his own anyway! That fool can’t ever say no to Whataburger.”

You laughed as you got dressed, watching him in the full-length mirror as you moved around the room. His posture was relaxed, legs sprawled out beneath the white sheets, his arm slung lazily behind his head as he leaned back to stare at you with hooded eyes.

“Whatchu gon’ wear today?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. What do you think of this?” You held up a simple sundress and he whistled. “Girl, you better not wear that shit ‘round me. I’ll be hiking that thing up and fucking you raw.”

“Jesus, Jey!” You admonished, though you couldn’t hide your pleased smile. “Fine. No sundress. But are you gonna get up? You’ve got like ten minutes max to get out the door before Jimmy starts blowing up my phone.”

Jey scoffed. “Pshhhh forget him. I wanna see my girl try on some outfits for me.”

As if on cue, Jey’s ringtone shattered the peaceful air of the bedroom, the sound muffled beneath the sheets. He cursed as he fumbled to look for his phone.

“Why the hell you callin’ me, fool?” Jey answered and you heard Jimmy’s laughter echo through the speaker phone.

“Because I know you ain’t up, fool. You gon’ be late. Again. If I didn’t call you’d be curled up in bed with yo’ girl all day.”

“He’s right, babe,” you teased, clasping on a bra. “You need to get up.”

Jey scowled as Jimmy laughed at your words. “See? Now get yo’ ass up. I’m five minutes out.”

“Man, I’m done with y’all,” Jey grumbled, but you were happy to see that he was beginning to climb out of bed.

“And before you even ask, no, we’re not stopping for breakfast.” Jimmy continued, undeterred by his brother’s grumpiness. “I know you wanna cheat on this cleanse but we gotta stay strong, uce.”

“Get outta here with that bullshit,” Jey groaned. “My girl already said no to Waffle House.”

“Good! We still got a week to go! If you cheat you gotta start all over.”

“Like hell.” Jey muttered, grabbing some of his discarded clothing from the floor and heading towards the bathroom. You could still hear Jimmy’s voice as the two of them continued to bicker.

Meanwhile, you were still trying to decide on what to wear for your day out. The weather was mild enough for a thin long sleeve, but not for pants. After some thought, you decided on one of the new skirts you’d bought last week. It was short, much shorter than you usually wore, and you knew it would drive Jey crazy knowing that you were out and about with it on.

You had just finished pulling the skirt above your hipbones when you heard Jey conclude his conversation with Jimmy and walk back into the bedroom. He was dressed now, his face freshly washed and a toothbrush hanging from his mouth.

“Hey, babe, I-” He stopped mid-sentence at the sight of you in front of the mirror. You flashed him a cheeky smile.

“What do you think? I bought it last week. Isn’t it adorable?”

He seemed to have trouble speaking, his eyes glued to your body, a dollop of toothpaste falling from his still open mouth onto his shirt.

You giggled and twirled, just to tease him. “I was going to save it for date night but today’s the perfect day to wear it, don’t you think?”

He finally removed the toothbrush from his mouth and tried to speak.

“You…where you think you goin’ looking like that?”

You pouted. “What do you mean? You don’t like it?”

His eyes darkened. “You know exactly what I mean, little girl. Ain’t no way in hell I let you out this house with your ass hangin’ out.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “It is not hanging out. It’s not even that short.”

“Not even…?” He scoffed, grabbing a towel from the bathroom to wipe the toothpaste from his shirt. “I know you ain’t for real. You know damn well that skirt is too short.”

You did know, but you liked getting him riled up. You turned your back to him to sit down at your vanity mirror. “Well I’m wearing it today. It’s cute and I like it. I’m sorry you don’t.”

His phone rang from his pocket again and he cursed, returning to the bathroom to rinse out his mouth. When he returned you heard Jimmy on the speaker again.

“Uce, if you don’t get yo’ ass downstairs I swear to god I’m coming up there.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” Jey grumbled, quickly grabbing his things. “I’m coming.”

You watched as he fumbled around the room, phone still in hand as Jimmy continued to gripe on speaker. You watched him in the mirror with a raised eyebrow, unmotivated to help him find his wallet and keys. Your eyes met in the mirror and his gaze was hard.

“You listen to me,” he growled, his finger pointed at you menacingly. ”You ain’t going out in that. You take that shit off and save it for date night. Understand?”

“Oh, shit. What she got on, uce?” God, Jimmy was nosey as hell.

“Man, shut up!” Jey snapped. He looked back at you. “No arguments, little girl. You go out lookin’ like that I’ll bend you over my knee when I get home. You understand?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, okay. Fine.”

He seemed satisfied with your response, still frantically searching the room for his belongings.

“Uce, we already late.” Jimmy sounded annoyed. “Our trainer’s gon’ kill us, man.”

Jey was still frantically searching the room. “Fuck, babe, where my keys at?”

You sighed. “They fell behind the bedside table, remember?”

“Shit, you right.”

Once he finally retrieved his keys, he sprinted to your side, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “See you later, baby.”

You smiled as you watched him run back towards the door, throwing one last goofy smile over his shoulder at you. “Love you!”

You chuckled. Jey was always a whirlwind. “Love you too!”

***

He forgot his juice in the fridge. Of course he had. He’d been so frazzled this morning you weren’t surprised. But you hadn’t expected him to text you asking if you could bring him something from the local juice bar downtown. And normally this wouldn’t be a problem. You and the girls were done shopping anyways and you already were downtown, but there was just one problem…

You hadn’t taken off the skirt like you promised.

After Jey had left, you’d considered listening to him. You really had. But ultimately it was just too cute to put back in the closet. You tried to tell yourself that was the only reason why you were flouting Jey’s wishes and going out in the shortest skirt you owned. It definitely had nothing to do with the small thrill you felt knowing you were being bratty, directly disobeying him just to get him riled up.

As you picked up his juice and drove to the training center, you started feeling nervous. He was normally used to your antics, but what if this had been a bad idea?

It was too late to turn back now. You’d already parked and forced yourself to make the walk to the twin’s locker room. You tried to push down your nervousness, but by the time you made it to the locker room, your heart was fluttering in your chest. It took all of your courage to push open the door and head inside.

At first, the room looked empty, but then you heard a low whistle, your heart instantly in your throat.

“Damn, girl. Jey let you leave the house like that?”

You let out a breath. It was only Jimmy. He was sitting in the corner, wiping his sweaty face with a towel as he watched you with a raised eyebrow.

“Or is that the skirt he told you not to wear without him?” Jimmy’s tone was far too smug for your liking.

You scowled. “Leave it alone, Jimmy,” you hissed, quickly moving across the room to shove the juice into his hands. “Here, give this to him.”

Jimmy took the juice from you, though a knowing smile was beginning to tug at the corners of his mouth. “What? You don’t wanna give it to him yourself?”

You glared at him. “You know damn well I don’t. I’m going home. Not a word to him about the skirt. Promise?’

“And what am I supposed to tell him when he asks why you left?”

“I don’t know! Figure something out.”

Jimmy laughed, but thankfully he didn’t seem too bothered. “Whatever, girl. You crazy though. Better hope he don’t catch you on your way out.”

“Thanks,” you muttered, turning away. “See you later.”

Before you could make it to the door to leave, you heard Jey’s familiar voice on the other side and your heart dropped at the sound.

“Yeah, yeah, give me two seconds!” He was yelling at someone, presumably one of his trainers, before you watched in horror as the door opened and he entered.

The second his eyes landed on you, his eyes lit up, a goofy smile already forming on his face. “Hey babe!” He sounded excited to see you. “Did you bring the juice?”

He moved towards you, as if to give you a hug, but stopped in his tracks as he noticed what you were wearing. His eyes widened in realization, his smile quickly dimming as his gaze raked across you. You felt your ears burn, subconsciously reaching down to tug at your skirt, as if that would help cover the tops of your thighs.

“Oh shiiiiit,” Jimmy, ever the instigator, couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “You got the worst luck, girl. If you’d left just a few seconds earlier, you woulda missed him.”

Jey’s gaze at you was positively fiery, his smile gone, as if blown away by the wind. His dark eyes simmered, his lips now set in a tight line. He took a step towards you, and you instinctively took a step back in response, unable to meet his eyes.

“I know you not wearing what I think you’re wearing,” Jey’s tone was dangerous, but you couldn’t deny the small thrill that ran down your spine at his words.

You cringed at Jimmy’s laugh behind you. “Damn, uce. You let yo’ girl leave the house like that?”

God, couldn’t Jimmy mind his business for once? Jey seemed to agree. “Man, get the hell outta here.” He hissed, his fiery gaze now directly at his brother.

Jimmy laughed again, clearly amused. “Fine, fine! I’m leaving.”

He sauntered past, a towel slung over his shoulder as he threw you a wink. “Good luck, girl.”

You wanted to strangle him.

When the door slammed shut behind him, Jey turned his full attention back to you. He motioned to your skirt. “What the hell did I tell you about leaving the house dressed like that?”

You looked down at the floor, chewing on your bottom lip in nervousness.

When you didn’t answer, Jey’s hand shot out to grab your wrist, tugging him roughly towards him. You let out a gasp, colliding with his exposed chest, his skin still slick with sweat from training.

You didn’t have the courage to meet his eyes, so he reached up and threaded his fingers into your hair, tugging to force your head up to meet his gaze. Being this close to him, his eyes dark and smoldering as he stared down at you, you felt sparks of arousal shoot down your spine, your thighs instinctively closing as you felt wetness beginning to form between them.

Jey’s hand curled deeper into your hair and he tugged again, your lips parting at the delicious feeling and a small moan escaping. He quirked his eyebrows up at the sound, his other hand still closed tightly around your wrist.

“You fucking serious right now?” His tone was low, but you could hear the dangerous undercurrent beneath it, the sound going straight to your core. “Why’d you wear this shit? I told you not to. Answer me.” His tone brokered no room for argument.

“I…” You weren’t sure you could find the words, not when his hands felt so good on you, the tugging in your hair bordering between pleasure and pain. “I wanted…you to see me like this.”

Jey’s grip on your hair tightened. “Why?”

He knew why, the fucker, but he wanted to hear you say it. Wanted to hear you beg for it.

“I wanted you to punish me.” The words were barely a whisper passing your lips, your cheeks turning red in embarrassment as he glared down at you. “I wanted you jealous.”

Jey curled his lip at your words. “What’s the matter, little girl? I don’t give you enough attention? You gotta wear this shit out and about to get it?”

You shook your head vehemently. “No, no! I wanted you to-”

“And now every man who seen you today has seen this ass.” He released your wrist to reach around you and hike up the skirt, grabbing a handful of your ass still covered by your panties. “My ass. This belongs to me, doesn’t it, girl?”

You nodded, leaning into him as his fingers curled deeper in the flesh of your ass. He tugged on your hair again, forcing your head back so he could press a possessive kiss to your parted lips, his tongue a hot brand inside your mouth as he claimed you. You relaxed in his hold, even as he tugged your panties down and placed a smack across the exposed skin.

“It’s mine.” He growled against your mouth, the grip on your hair unforgiving. “All of it. And what do you do? You flaunt it all over town, letting any horny motherfucker see what belongs to me.”

Tugging you by the hair, he dragged you across the room to the nearest chair, taking a seat and throwing you across his knee without warning.

“Please, please,” you heard yourself begging even though you weren’t sure what you were begging for. “Please, Daddy…”

“Don’t even try with that sweet talk, girl.” He snarled, his hand colliding with your ass with such a force that you yelped. “I told you I would bend you over my knee if you wore this shit so that’s what imma do.”

“Please, Daddy, I’m-” He spanked you again, this time on the other cheek. “Please, I’m sorry!”

“Too late for sorry, girl,” He snapped, continuing to abuse your ass. “You knew whatchu was doin’. You wanted this. So shut up and take it.”

It hurt, but he doesn’t slow down, his large hand covering both sides of your ass with stinging hits. You feel tears prick at the corner of your eyes, beginning to squirm in his lap until he reaches around and uses his free hand to close around your throat, keeping you still.

“You got a safeword,” he gritted out, continuing to administer blow after blow against your reddened ass. “And you know how to use it.”

He was right, of course. You could stop this if you wanted, but right now that was the last thing on your mind. The feeling of his hand on your throat felt too good to even think about stopping, no matter how much your ass stung.

“But we both know you don’t want me to stop, don’t we, baby?” Jey’s words were scalding you from the inside out and an embarrassed whimper slipped past your lips. Jey let out a mocking laugh, even as he continued to spank you. “You making a mess between those legs. I can feel it. You love it when I do you like this, don’t you?”

You wanted to protest, just to save some of your pride, but you couldn’t find the words. Not as the tears started to stream down your cheeks, small huffs of breath escaping from parted lips as he continued to rain down smack after smack against your ass.

“You won’t be able to sit tomorrow without remembering this, girl,” he growled, his fingers still wrapped deliciously around your throat to keep you still. “And maybe then you’ll behave.”

#jey uso #jey uso x reader #jey uso fic #jey uso imagine #jey uso fanfiction #main event jey uso #wwe #wwe fanfiction #wwe fic #wwe imagine #jimmy uso #jey uso x you #jey uso x y/n

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sl-vega · 3 months ago

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SWEET N’ SOUR ! - a scaramouche celebrity smau

˚୨୧⋆｡ synopsis: the bright lights of fame and fortune aren’t for everyone, and you’re starting to think you’re part of that majority. You just can’t seem to catch a break! Every movie you’re in goes straight to DVD, every album you drop just barely gets any streams. From child star to sub par popstar, it seems clear that the world has some kind of vendetta against you and you love to blame it on a certain rising musical sensation; Scaramouche. Thanks to your godforsaken luck you happened to go out with the wrong guy at the wrong time because he just so happened to be Scaramouche’s ex, next thing you know you wake up to truck loads of death threats, your record label dropping you, AND a whole album labelling you as the ‘other woman’! After what seemed like a never ending onslaught of straight bullying and harassment, you had long since retreated from the limelight, the only thing left from your music career being ever so occasional covers on YouTube that only your few close friends watched religiously. However, after writing a heartfelt original piece and uploading it from your humble bedroom, it goes viral! A single song has thrusted you head first into stardom once more, and face to face with the person you ruined it for you.

genre: rivals to lovers, enemies to lovers, enemies/rivals to friends (?) to lovers, celebrity smau, singer smau, social media au, modern au, gn! reader

warnings: cursing, kms/kys jokes, mentions of death threats, brief slut shaming, just parasocial fans and weird behaviour towards celebs in general (much like irl unfortunately), photos are used as placeholders and are not meant to depict reader's appearance

status: ongoing!

side ships: lumine x ayaka, beidou x ningguang, kokomi x gorou

additional notes:

so um, THIS smau will get consistent updates trust me this time (no click bait)

i actually had to physically restrain myself from posting this the second I made it, so by the time the masterlist is out i'll probably have most of the first act planned out/maybe even fully planned out

inspired by the sabrina carpenter and olivia rodrigo drama!

^^ not a one to one creation ofc I obviously took some creative liberties

i'm aware this isn't really a trending topic anymore, but I thought it would make a damn good fic!

taglist is open! comment/ask to be tagged!

[🍬] means the chapter contains written content!

PLEASE let me know if I can use your username as a fan, the main reason I can't mass produce chapters is cuz I need fan names T^T

dividers by @nicodefresas and @aquazero

-> OPENING ACT

TEASER 001 // TEASER 002 // PROLOGUE

˚୨୧⋆｡ STARRING:

0.1; winx club on crack // 0.2; d1 y/n haters

ACT ONE; that's that me espresso!

01; it's brutal out here // 02; caffeine high // 03; hot cacao in hotter weather - [🍬] // 04; have you ever tried this one? // 05; you'll just have to taste me // 06; in my good graces - [🍬] // 07; bleeding me dry like a vampire // 08; not in my time zone but you wanna be // 09; it's been a cruel summer - [🍬] // 10; good 4 u // 11; dancing with the stars - [🍬] // 12; two steps back // 13; twiddling my thumbs // 14; looking at me - [🍬] // 15; in another life - [🍬] // 16; on air! // 17; don't just stand there staring honey - [🍬] // 18; floatin' through the memories // 19; short and sweet - [🍬] // 20; maybe we could've been friends

ACT TWO; girl, so confusing

21; - // 22; - // 23; - // [TBA]

ACT THREE; i'm so obsessed with your ex

[TBA]

ACT FOUR; you make me wanna make you fall in love

[TBA]

🍬 (open) taglist: @shrii-kk @freyao7 @analiee6 @thetwinkims @bellflower1257 @blvdmrcnry @bloukoup @yuan1819 @yourstrulymauki @fungaltoehehe @enrions @atlatcaheart @mywillt0live @myeomiz @adornavia @automaticpatroltragedy @scaraenthusiast1 @sesamemin @syunifu @blueberrybxba @fishii28 @a-sorrowful-tune @emvss @jiminscarmex @mwaiu @lloversss @d4y-dr3am3r @usagiarchive @idaissupercool @raytoebiter @lizzie-harper @anqelkoz @blue-moonies @lalalaloveallmydays @jinjjjia

#🍬 SWEET N' SOUR #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x y/n #wanderer x reader #wanderer x you #wanderer x y/n #scara smau #scaramouche smau #scaramouche #wanderer #genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #genshin smau #genshin x gender neutral reader

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alcyneus · 2 months ago

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SOFT BLOCKED・following @.alcyneus

ok but r u single

1:59 AM ・ 04/15/2025 ↳ 45.7k ♥︎ 349k ↻ 67.1k ılıl 892.2k ➢ 100.3k

taglist is open @.pmgranate・3h swearing, kageyama being a d1 hater, d1 crashout, and d1 yapper, kageyama is not allowed to say the f word ever, oikawa is still…oikawa, the s in sassy man apocalypse stands for shoyo hinata, crude humor, kys/kms/die jokes, generally just the humor of a 13 yr old boy, who would i be if i didn’t make oikawa an absolutely pathetic sob? one (1) mention of drinking game

view more replies (back to masterlist)

i have insane writers block rn guys my bad el em ay oh

@mayyhaps @thea-herondale @eoniiian @kukkurookkoo @bokutoko @sunarots @renardiererin @lavender-pink-socks @heyhihellowhatsup @sahrberrii @grlcrash @your-mum3000 @kawoala @shozuken @nscuit @folksmione @angeleilee @personally4runa @stxrsberkshire @literallyushiwaka @frootloopscos @x3nafix @rilakkumabubbles @oneanabillion @anqelkoz @thatmf-jay @sophiahearttss @radlightfire @captaincyberqueen

𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐲𝐧𝐞𝐮𝐬, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓

#the scribe’s relics #haikyuu oikawa #hq oikawa #oikawa tooru #oikawa toru x reader #oikawa x reader #toru oikawa #toru oikawa x reader #hq smau #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader smau #haikyuu x reader #<- wow i add two more new tags omg

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laursdomain · 1 month ago

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ridoc gamlyn as your boyfriend...

pairing: ridoc gamlyn x fem!reader

synopsis: sfw & nsfw boyfriend headcanons for ridoc

warnings: nsfw, mdni, 18+

ྀིridoc gamlyn masterlist

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

sfw 𐦍

Talking. Most of the time you two are together, it is spent with Ridoc talking. He is a D1 yapper. Even when you are slowly drifting off to sleep, his voice is a constant lullaby for you, his stories of his day or whatever thoughts are in his mind comforting for you.

Banter. Before you two got together, you two had a lot of banter with one another. The snarky comments and jokes to each other across the quadrant didn't go unnoticed by the cadets in Fourth Wing, and you two most definitely didn't notice them making bets on how long it'd take for you two to get together. Even in a relationship, you two still keep up the banter, though it is more flirtatious now, earning multiple groans from Imogen.

Protective. Ridoc may only be 5'6, but he is not afraid to throw himself head first at anyone who messes with you. Even though you most definitely can handle yourself, Ridoc loves messing with them, annoying them to the point they walk away grumbling. He may not be all height like Xaden and Liam, but he knows how to annoy someone to a T.

Putting you first. We know this man definitely puts you first with the way he did so with Violet. He's always team you, supporting every decision you make, but still making sure you are mentally and physically okay. He'll only intervene if he feels a decision or thought-process of yours is compromising you.

PDA. Ridoc comes off as the type of person to love PDA to the maximum level, but he definitely is more chill than expected about it. Yes, he'll constantly have a reassuring or possessive hand on you at all times. He also gives you a kiss every time before you two part before every class. Before climbing your dragon for flight maneuvers? Kiss. Before he has to go study with Sawyer? Kiss. He laughs every time one of yours or his friends groans at you two, enjoying being able to annoy them and kiss you at the same time. His two favorite things.

Physical touch. As said before, he always has a hand on your body. Mostly because he needs to be touching you, it helps ground him while in the middle of a war. Although, being able to show off that you are his is his favorite plus. Though, he knows when the touching becomes too much, not wanting to overstimulate you.

Dates. Going on dates in the quadrant is probably the most difficult thing to do at a war college. That doesn't falter Ridoc, who finds creative ways to have dates with you. His personal favorite is using his ice wielding to create a makeshift ice skating rink, holding both your hands as you two glide around. Your personal favorite is when you two fly together, landing on an abandoned cliffside as you watch the sunset or the sunrise, cuddling together as you bask in each others presence.

Jealousy. Ridoc is the last person to get jealous of someone else trying to take you. Because, the truth is, they should be more worried about you than him. He'll watch with an amused look on his face as you either yell at the man or simply fight him until he yields, giving the other man an I told you so look. He turns his head with that same look on his face when you stomp away, grabbing Ridoc's hand as you drag him to your room.

𖤓 nsfw

Switch. I will die on this hill, but Ridoc is a switch. He loves being the one in control, being the one to bring you your pleasure as you tip over the edge, time and time again. But, he wouldn't be lying if he said he enjoyed it just as much being under your control, being forced to keep his hands to himself as you use him for your pleasure. The few times you're in control is when you are overly frustrated and in need of release, jealous, or simply because you want to. He would never tell you, but Ridoc secretly looks forward to whenever your in charge.

Kinks. Ridoc's favorite thing to do when he's the one in charge is ice play. The look of absolute ecstasy on your face as he pinches your nipples, the feeling of them hardening under the feeling of his ice-cold fingertips absolutely mesmerizing for the boy. And when he fingers you? You come faster when he uses his ice wielding from the sheer feeling of it.

Oral. Ridoc loves going down on you. He loves sinking his fingers inside of your dripping cunt, curling his fingers as he feels your spongy walls clench around his digits. He'll leave bite marks all over your inner thighs, letting you know that you are his. You beg him, every time, to suck your clit, loving the way he lightly nibbles on it, giving you the stimulation you've been desperate for.

Jealousy. After you pull him away from the man who attempted to hit on you, he's in for a treat. He'll let you do whatever your pretty face wants to do, and knows he's in for it when you push him onto the bed. You straddle his hips, bringing him in for a searing kiss that is hot and messy, but everything Ridoc loves, as you grind your clothed cunt against his. Ridoc loves and hates your teasing, simply because you take too long to remove your clothes but the feeling of your cunt grinding against his cock is perfect.

Weakness. Ridoc's weakness in the bedroom is your noises. When you first slept together, you weren't as noisy, but the moment you did when you were getting close to your high, Ridoc immediately folded. Now, every time, you never hestitate with your sounds, loving the way Ridoc drops his head into your neck when you do, marking the skin there. The other alternative, though, is your sounds will spur him on to go faster and deeper, making your sounds even louder, sending Ridoc tumbling over the edge with you.

Marking. Ridoc marks you up like it's nobody's business. He doesn't care that you'll scold him the next morning when you notice your neck is littered with mouth-shaped marks, ones that suspiciously looks like his. A shiver goes down your spine and settles into your core when you hear him say, "I want everyone to see who you belong to." You ignore the cocky smirk on his face when you proudly wear the marks on your neck like a patch on your flight jacket.

Positions. Ridoc doesn't care what position you two are in, as long as he's able to give you pleasure. Your go-to positions are missionary, cowboy, and doggy as you both thoroughly enjoy the feeling you receive in that position from Ridoc's cock. Though, it doesn't take a lot of convincing from Ridoc to let him take you against the wall, the desk, the chair, or literally any other piece of furniture.

Aftercare. Ridoc isn't overly-crazy with aftercare like the other boys, but he still does it! Once you two have finished, he'll lay there for a couple of minutes with you until your breathing calms, soothing your hair down and rubbing circles into your back. Once you're back with him, he gets up despite your protests, getting a warm wet rag and cleaning you both up. He keeps a pile of clean underwear just for you in his room, giving you one of them and one of his shirts to wear as he cuddles you to sleep.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

#laurs⁴⁴⁴ fics #ridoc gamlyn #ridoc #ridoc fourth wing #ridoc x reader #ridoc gamlyn x reader #fourth wing #iron flame #onyx storm #the empyrean #rebecca yarros #bf headcanons #headcanons

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celestie0 · 1 year ago

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gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.1 gojo satoru sent you a message

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 1/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 1.3k (short one to start off, but the rest are longer)

a/n. welcome to this pilot chapter! this was originally going to be a one-shot but i got way too carried away and ended up planning out a whole series. i hope you enjoy!

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

|| 2:13AM Gojo Satoru has requested to follow you

You blink the sleepiness in your eyes away as the harsh light of your phone hits your face. Somewhere in the middle of the crazy dream you were having, you heard your phone incessantly pinging and eventually woke you up to make you realize you forgot to turn the ringer off before going to sleep. Among all the spam email, iCloud storage warnings, and news headliners, there was one notification in particular that had you wondering if you were still dreaming.

“Ugh…y/n, please, turn your phone off,” you heard your roommate Mina mumble in the twin sized bed at the other end of the room as she shuffled her pillow above her head so that it covered both of her ears. You glance out the window of your shared apartment, peering at the pale moonlight, before your tired and heavy eyes travel back to your phone and press on the Instagram notification.

Suspecting this was maybe some prank account, you clicked on the small icon in your inbox that took you to a profile page. Gojo Satoru, Senior at University of Tokyo, Business Major, D1 Soccer #10, SAE. 12k followers, 172 following, 38 posts.

Still thinking you’re dreaming, you accept the follow request and watch as the number on his following increases by one, now 173. Your thumb swipes up on your phone as you take in the square images of his profile. Pictures of him and his friends recreating memes…food that he’s eaten recently…frequent vacation posts in exotic countries…and a whole lot of what seemed to be professionally taken soccer photos of him striking goals and hitting balls with his head in mid air. You have put a lot of effort into your own Instagram photos (despite your modest 464 followers), mostly posting compilation slideshows of your favorite film photos that you’ve taken recently, yet somehow his feed looks much more inviting than yours.

You turn onto your side and continue to look through his photos. 624 comments, 373 comments, 958 comments. Many were from his friends trying to embarrass him, and many others were from girls that probably wanted him to notice them. You noticed he only really replied to comments from his friends.

You knew who he was, of course. Gojo Satoru was one of the most, if not the most, popular guys on your college campus. When you got to college, you thought the whole “social hierarchy” thing would be over but it still seemed like there were certain groups of people that almost everyone knew about, "elite" individuals who other students could only dream of associating with. At UTokyo, the fraternities and sororities practically owned the place so of course Gojo was well-known since he was a member of the school’s most iconic frat, SAE. Not to mention, the school adored its soccer team–undefeated since 2012–and Gojo Satoru was the most talented center forward the division has seen in years.

But as for why he requested to follow you, a film major that doesn’t play any sports and isn’t even in a sorority, well you’re just not sure.

It’s then when you get yet another notification.

“Oh my god, y/n, turn it off!” Mina mumbles into her mattress. You click the side button to turn off the ringer.

|| 2:24AM Gojo Satoru sent you a message

Your heart starts to beat a bit faster as you quickly slide to your DMs page. You notice three unread conversations from a few of your friends, probably from when they decided to send you their entire explore page, and then you see a little (1) next to your message requests box. When you open it, you see his icon in your inbox. It’s a simple picture of him in his soccer jersey, his smile wide as one of his team members who was mostly cropped out of the photo seemed to be putting him in a headlock. You see the first few words of the message.

|| 2:24AM Gojo Satoru: Hey, sorry if this is weir…

You’re about to click on it when you stop yourself. It was really late at night and you didn’t know if you wanted to entertain a conversation with this man you knew literally nothing about (at least on a personal level) and weren’t even sure why he was messaging you in the first place. Plus, he would see that you’ve read it and so you would feel anxious to respond. But there was no way to see his full message unless you opened it. Even though you considered this to be weirdly intimate since it was a message sent at two in the morning, you figured that was probably normal for the likes of people like Gojo Satoru, who probably were out drinking and partying until five in the morning every night, regardless of any 8AM lectures or not.

But unfortunately, curiosity always kills the cat (that’s the expression, right?) and so you click on his message.

|| 2:24AM Gojo Satoru: Hey, sorry if this is weird…I don’t think we’ve ever met before, but my buddy’s really into your roommate, and he’s tried to invite her out to our frat’s house parties but he’s had no luck. Think you could convince her to come this weekend? You’re welcome to come too, of course

You blink in surprise before rolling your eyes, not entirely sure why you were expecting any different. Maybe Mina wasn’t budging on his friend’s advances because she wants to be asked out on an actual date, and not to some house party. But you figured frat guys wouldn’t really understand that. Besides, how did he know that you were her roommate? You’re just about to type a response when you see three little dots in the left side corner, indicating he was typing, and you hold your breath.

|| 2:27AM Gojo Satoru: Here are the details

And then he sends you a post from what looks like his fraternity’s Instagram page. There’s an address, a time, the name of the DJ and girls get in free bolded at the top. You realize you’ve never even been invited to a fraternity’s house party until this very moment.

You briefly consider not responding to him and just setting your phone back down on your nightstand, rolling over, and falling asleep. But you find your fingers moving on their own to type.

|| 2:31AM You: you’re messaging me to help your friend get with my roommate?

There’s an uncomfortable two minutes where there’s no response from him and for some reason your anxiety is through the roof. You remember the countless times you’ve heard people describe Gojo Satoru in passing: there’s just something about him that demands your attention.

His notification pops up at the top of the Instagram app when you were scrolling through reels to distract yourself and you accidentally clicked on it too fast.

|| 2:33AM Gojo Satoru: Uh, yeah?

You sigh as you ponder the proposition. You don’t even know for sure why Mina wasn’t really responding to his friend’s advances, maybe the guy was a creep or just not her type. And even if she was somewhat interested in him, she’s already refused to go to any of their frat’s house parties, so how would you be able to persuade her?

You finally convince yourself you’ve had enough of Gojo’s messages for the night and you’ll choose whether or not you want to revisit the topic again in the morning, until another message flashes across your screen.

|| 2:38AM Gojo Satoru: What can I do to get you to convince her to come this weekend?

You bite down on your lip at his question, and an idea flashes through your mind.

|| 2:40AM You: i’ll find a way to convince her. my terms and conditions will come later

He responds in a second.

|| 2:40AM Gojo Satoru: Deal

a/n. dude literally slid into your DMs lol. thank you for reading! i also post this story over on AO3, if you're more into that format, but i just wanted to start posting over here on tumblr too. hope to see you in the next one!

➸ take me to chapter two!

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goldfades · 1 year ago

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★ RIZZLER P ─── PB⁵ (part 2/2)

౨ৎ ─ summary | part one -> y/n is a youtuber and on the cancelled podcast, she reveals she has a crush on paige bueckers. y/n gets invited to her first game of the season and they have a lot of fun! part one!!!!!!!!!!!

─ warnings | literally nothing but banter and fun, slight paige slander (but its from kk and ice so its ok), idk what else. oh brooke and tana being protective but its in a sweet way. also i love this mini series i loved it

─ ev's notes | sooo im trying out a semi-new format, lmk if yall like it!!!!!!!

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my wcbb masterlist!

Paige 💕 (paigebueckers) started following you.

Paige 💕 wants to send you a message. Hey, I heard you were into D1 basketball players? 😉

The message stuck out to you, your stomach dropping as you read the message request. You couldn't help but grin as you read her playful message, the nervous energy in your stomach now morphing into a thrilling anticipation. With shaky hands, you tapped on the message request, your heart pounding in your chest.

You couldn't believe Tana's advice had actually worked ─ talking about them on a podcast was the best rizz, apparently.

With trembling hands, you typed out a response, trying to come across confident despite the fluttering of nerves in your stomach.

Y/N 🎀 hi, you saw the episode?

Y/N 🎀 god i'm so embarrassed, sorry if you keep getting bombarded with questions from my fans lol. they mean well i swear 😫

You exited out of Instagram and tapped on iMessage, quickly getting into your group-chat with the girls.

we ❤️ white claws

y/n | GUESS WHO DM'D ME

tana | PAIGE BUECKERS???????

brooke | it better be paige or ur just blue balling us atp

y/n | yes it was paigeeee! *sends screenshot*

brooke | omgggg she's flirting with you!!!!

tana | what did i say bro?? what did i say?????

y/n | tysm tana ur literally the fucking best

As you were typing out your message to the groupchat, your phone buzzed. You looked up at the message, a smile spreading on your lips.

Paige 💕 Haha, yeah, I saw the episode. Don't worry about it, it's all good :)

Paige 💕 And no need to apologize, ur fans are really funny lol

You closed your phone, shutting your eyes as you swallowed a squeal of excitement.

The thrill of talking to Paige was almost overwhelming, but in the best possible way. You'd thought she was attractive since you'd first gotten into basketball back in high school (yes, it was because of your ex but that's besides that point), and it was surreal now that she was not only talking to you ─ she was hitting on you.

──

It had been a few weeks since you'd began talking to Paige and since then, you'd exchanged phone numbers and were talking every single day. She was sending you good morning texts, she made sure to do an fit check every morning, and you found yourself eagerly awaiting each message from her. The thrill of talking to Paige hadn't faded; if anything, it had only intensified as you got to know her better.

However, you knew since the season was beginning she wasn't going to be as free as she was before. You didn't mind, of course ─ you were just happy you were able to talk to her at all. These last couple days had been busy for her and you hadn't been able to talk to her, but this morning you'd gotten something in the mail that you were sure you didn't order.

You ripped it open to reveal Paige's jersey, and it was even signed at the bottom. You couldn't believe it, your heart swelling with warmth at the unexpected gesture from her. Holding the jersey in your hands, you couldn't help but smile at the thoughtfulness behind her gift.

As if on cue, your phone began buzzing in your pocket and you pulled it out. You quickly accepted the Facetime, a grin on your face as you answered.

"Oh my god, you're insane."

"What? You got the jersey?" Paige feigned shock, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she grinned at you through the screen. "I have no idea how that got there."

You chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief. "Yeah, I got it. Thank you so much, Paige. It's... it's amazing."

Paige's smile softened, her eyes warm with affection. "You're welcome. I just wanted to show my appreciation for you, you know?"

You felt a swell of warmth in your chest. "Well, it definitely made my day. Thanks, P. I really mean it."

Paige smirked as she took you in through the Facetime. "So, I guess you'll have to wear it to my games now, right? You can't let this signed jersey go to waste."

"Is that an invitation, P?" You teased, raising an eyebrow playfully as you grinned at Paige through the screen. The idea of attending Paige's games in her signed jersey filled you with excitement, and you couldn't wait to cheer her on from the stands.

Paige chuckled, her smirk widening. "Yeah, you down? You know our first game's on Thursday night, I'll get you floor tickets and everything."

You didn't think she was serious but the more you thought about it, the more you realized she might actually be serious. The excitement bubbled up within you at the thought of attending Paige's game, especially with floor tickets.

"Are you serious?" you asked, a hint of disbelief in your voice.

"Well, uh. I know it's a long flight but I wanna see you. I'll fly you out, I'll show you around and we can spend some time together, and stuff." Paige's usual confident demeanor was replaced with a touch of nervousness, her eyes searching yours for a reaction.

"Paige, are you sure?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The idea of spending time together in person was both thrilling and nerve-wracking, and you couldn't believe that Paige was offering to fly you out just to see her.

Paige nodded, a shy smile tugging at her lips. "Of course, I would. I mean, if you want to."

"Yeah, of course I would. You're sure?" You spoke softly but earnestly. Flights were expensive, especially when they were as last minute as this.

Paige let out a dramatic sigh as she nodded. "Yes, bro. Yes or no?"

"Yeah, of course. Gosh, so impatient." You teased as Paige laughed through the Facetime.

Paige chuckled, her laughter filling the screen as she rolled her eyes playfully. "Okay, good. Now show me how my jersey looks on you, put it on for me."

You blushed slightly as you nodded, taking the jersey as you walked up the stairs of your house. You couldn't believe it ─ you were flying out to meet Paige in less than a week. You were going to meet Paige Bueckers in less than a week.

──

"Y/N L/N is flying out to see your ass?" KK's voice sounded shocked as sat up on the bed, her eyes wide and her jaw slightly dropped in disbelief.

Paige kept her eyes on her phone as she nodded slowly, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. She tried to keep the whole nonchalant thing going up but her friends could see right through it.

Paige couldn't help but smirk at KK's shocked reaction, though she attempted to maintain an air of nonchalance. "Yeah, she is," she replied casually, her fingers tapping away on her phone.

"She's coming to watch us play, like on Thursday?" KK repeated slowly as she tried to process the information, her eyes still wide with astonishment. "Seriously?"

Paige shrugged, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Yeah, seriously. Why is it so hard to believe?"

Ice, who had been lounging next to KK, chimed in with a smile. "Sounds like you're getting serious, P. Bringing her to a game? That's basically a relationship milestone."

Paige rolled her eyes playfully at Ice's comment. "It's not like that, Ice. We're just friends."

"Does she know that? You're such a fuckboy, Paige." Ice rolled her eyes as she exchanged a look with KK.

Paige couldn't help but laugh at Ice's teasing, though she couldn't deny the warmth spreading through her chest at the thought of you. "Trust me, Ice, she knows. And I'm not a fuckboy, I'm just... being a good friend."

KK chuckled, nudging Ice playfully. "Come on, Ice, let's not scare Paige away from the relationship talk."

"Bro, fuck off," Paige groaned as she sighed, leaning back in the gaming chair.

Paige knew she liked you but at this point, she'd only been texting you for a month and before she could be official with you, she'd have to spend time with you in real life. Plus, you lived in California and long distance was not the ideal for her.

"Are we getting those live show tickets or..." KK began as Paige sent her a glare. She put up her hands in defense as Ice let out a small laugh, shaking her head in amusement.

"Don't worry, we can ask her Thursday," Ice teased as she leaned back in the bed, her grin widening.

"Bro, you better leave her alone-"

"Ooo, she's getting possessive already. You have to remember it's Y/N, bro, she's definitely going to have some fans too." KK laughed, joining in on the teasing with a playful smirk.

Paige rolled her eyes at her friends' banter, though she couldn't help but feel a hint of amusement at their antics. "Guys, come on. Let's not make a big deal out of it."

KK chuckled, nudging Ice with her elbow. "Oh, come on, Paige, we'll behave."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Paige retorted as the girls laughed.

──

Y/N 🎀 posted on her story !

You were incredibly nervous and the noise of the crowded stadium didn't do much to calm your already frayed nerves. It was your first time meeting Paige in person, and the anticipation had been building up inside you since the moment you boarded the plane to Connecticut.

The plan was to originally go to a pre-game dinner but it didn't really work out because of the traffic and the hectic schedule leading up to the game. Instead, Paige suggested meeting directly at the stadium, where she would give you a tour and introduce you to some of her teammates before the game started.

As you made your way through the crowds, your heart pounded with nervous excitement. Thoughts raced through your mind, wondering if Paige would like you in person as much as she seemed to over text, if you would have enough to talk about, and if you'd be able to keep your nerves in check. You were a nervous wreck, your stomach twisting in anxiety.

You couldn't help but feel a knot forming in your stomach as you scanned the crowd, searching for Paige among the sea of faces. Suddenly, you spotted her standing near the entrance to the court, her eyes scanning the crowd with a look of concentration. Your breath caught in your throat as you made eye contact, and a wave of relief washed over you.

God, she was even more attractive in real life. Her hair was in her signature braided ponytail and had worn some light make-up, her lashes long and her cheeks pink with blush.

Paige's face lit up with a bright smile as she caught sight of you, and she began weaving her way through the crowd towards you. Your nerves melted away as she drew closer, and before you knew it, her arms wrapped around you in a light embrace.

She was even taller than you expected ─ she practically towered over you, but her embrace felt warm and comforting. As she pulled back, you couldn't help but admire the way her eyes sparkled with excitement as she scanned your outfit.

"You're wearing the jersey!" She exclaimed as her eyes took you in, she had no shame in the fact she was checking you out. You didn't miss the way she bit her lip and how her eyes lingered, your face flushing with warmth at her gaze.

"Yeah, I wanted to show my support," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fluttering of nerves in your stomach. "Plus, it's pretty comfy."

Paige grinned, her smile widening at your response. "Well, you look amazing in it. Maybe even better than I do," she teased, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

You couldn't help but laugh at her teasing, your blush deepening as you looked up at the taller girl. "You're such a flirt,"

Paige bit her lip as her head fell back as she laughed, her laughter filling the air around you and sending a shiver of excitement down your spine. "Nah, I wasn't even trying that time."

Before you could reply, you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned around to meet the gazes of two girls and a boy, their expressions nervous and excited. "Oh my god, we are such big fans!"

You smiled instantly as you turned your attention toward them. "Aw, thank you, guys. That means the world, would you like a picture?"

The trio's faces lit up with excitement as they nodded eagerly. "Yes, please!" one of the girls exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement.

"Can she take the picture?" One of the girls asked as she gestured toward Paige. She looked like a deer caught in headlights, her hands in her pockets as she exchanged a glance toward you.

"Uh, sure."

You and the fans gathered closer, posing for the picture as Paige stepped back to frame the shot. With a quick press of the button, the photo was taken, capturing the moment. As the fans thanked you both and walked away, chatting animatedly amongst themselves. You glanced toward the blonde as she began laughing, shaking her head.

"What?" You asked as she drew closer to you.

Paige shrugged. "I just kinda forgot you're like famous, or whatever. It kinda gives me like... an ego boost, not gonna lie."

You couldn't help but laugh at Paige's comment, her candidness adding to the lightheartedness of the moment. "Why?"

"You're like this really pretty girl who's super funny and has like, a whole fanbase. And you flew out to see me, you told everyone on your friend's podcast that you had a crush on me and now you're here, just casually hanging out with me, wearing my jersey like it's no big deal," Paige explained, a playful smirk tugging at her lips.

You laughed at her explanation, feeling a warmth spread through you at her words. "Well, to be fair, you're also this incredible basketball player who's basically taking the WNBA world by storm. And you invited me to your game, so I'd say we're pretty even."

"You're boosting my ego even more though, I hope you know that," Paige replied with a playful grin, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

You chuckled, feeling a sense of ease settle between you. "Just returning the favor," you teased, nudging her playfully.

"Okay, I'ma let me show you around now," Paige grinned as she gestured for you to keep walking. Her hands found your waist and began guiding you through the halls, her touch unexpected but undoubtedly welcome.

You couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement at the contact, her touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. With Paige's arm around your waist, guiding you through the busy stadium corridors, you felt a sense of intimacy that was both thrilling and comforting.

──

As you sat in the stands, surrounded by cheering fans and the energy of the game, your heart raced with excitement. You stole glances at Paige on the court, marveling at her skill and grace as she played. Despite your nerves, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride knowing that you were there to support her.

She was so attractive (even while running around and sweating), she reminded you how much you loved hoopers. The way she moved, the intensity in her eyes as she focused on the game, it all captivated you. Even in the midst of competition, she exuded a confidence and poise that was undeniably attractive.

Your eyes stayed on her the entire game, not paying much attention to anything else. You were so enamored with Paige that you hardly noticed the passage of time. Every movement she made seemed effortless, every shot she took seemed destined to find the net.

As the game reached its end, with the score neck and neck, Paige seemed to rise to the occasion, her determination shining through in every play. And when she sank the winning shot in the final seconds of the game, the crowd erupted into cheers, the sound reverberating throughout the stadium.

You couldn't help but leap to your feet, cheering along with the rest of the fans as you watched Paige celebrate with her teammates on the court.

As the crowd began to disperse and the energy of the game slowly subsided, you made your way down to the court, eager to congratulate Paige. As you approached her, a wide grin spread across her face, and she pulled you into a tight hug, the euphoria of the win still palpable in the air.

Paige didn't care if people took pictures or if people decided to gossip about it later; all she cared about was you being there in that moment.

"You looked really good out there," the words came out of your mouth before you could really process them. Paige pulled out from the hug with a laugh, her arms still around your shoulders.

"And you looked really sexy in the stands, wearing my jersey." Paige smirked playfully, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she teased you.

"I felt like a NBA trophy wife, I was clapping all cutesy cause I knew people were taking pictures of me," you quipped, feeling a rush of excitement at Paige's playful banter. Her laughter was infectious, and you found yourself grinning in response.

Paige chuckled, giving you a playful nudge with her shoulder. "Well, you definitely looked the part," she teased, her tone affectionate as she leaned in closer to you.

You laughed along with her, feeling a sense of warmth and comfort in her presence. "Guess I'll have to start practicing my trophy wife wave for next time," you replied with a playful wink.

"Ooo, next time? Does that mean you'll visit me again?" Paige teased, raising an eyebrow playfully as she looked at you.

You couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for her at her words. "Of course," you replied, your voice filled with sincerity. "But only if you make me a WNBA wife, P."

She squinted as if she was thinking about it, earning a playful shove from you. "I'm just playing, you're the only girl."

"I'd hope so," you scoffed as you playfully rolled your eyes, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

Paige grinned, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Well, lucky for you, you're my favorite girl," she replied, her tone soft and affectionate.

"So there are other girls?" You teased as she groaned playfully, earning a laugh from you. "I'm just your favorite-"

"That's not what I meant, you're the only one who's wearing my signed jersey, that I sent directly to your house and you're the only one who gets good morning texts and fit checks." Paige countered, her playful smirk widening into a genuine smile.

You couldn't help but laugh at her response, feeling a sense of warmth and happiness fill your chest. "Yeah, I guess you're right," you replied, your tone light and teasing.

Before Paige could reply, she saw Ice and KK approaching from behind you. She sighed as you turned around, meeting their excited gaze.

Paige sighed playfully as she turned to greet Ice and KK, who were clearly eager to join in on the conversation. "Hey, what's up, you two?" she greeted them with a smile, her eyes flickering with amusement.

Ice and KK exchanged a knowing look before KK grinned mischievously. "So, are we interrupting something here?" she teased, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Paige rolled her eyes, but couldn't hide the smile tugging at her lips. "Y/N, this is KK and Ice. Don't worry about them though, they're just stupid freshman who think they're the shit-"

"Bro, says you!" KK shouted as you laughed, exchanging a smile with Ice.

"I know who you guys are, P talks about you a lot," you said, offering a friendly smile to KK and Ice. "Nice to finally meet you both."

KK's eyes lit up with excitement. "Oh, really? What does she say about us?" she asked eagerly, leaning in closer with a playful grin.

Paige let out a groan, shooting you an amused glance before replying, "Only good things, I promise."

"Yeah, she loves you guys." You smiled as you glanced between Paige, KK, and Ice. "Always talking about your antics and how you keep things interesting."

"She talks about you too, like nonstop." KK began before she earned a shove from a very flustered Paige.

Ice continued, "We thought she was lying until we watched your episode with Tana and Brooke, then we were confused cause you like Paige?"

"Why are you saying it like that? Paige?" Paige mocked Ice, earning a laugh from you and KK.

"Cause Y/N's like a whole baddie, like a 20/20 and you're just like... mid at basketball," Ice explained as Paige sent her a playful glare. "People are gonna be really confused until they see how much you make, then they'll be like ohh,"

"Shut up, bro," Paige replied, but there was a fondness in her tone as she exchanged playful banter with Ice. "It's not about basketball skills, it's about the person."

"Sure, sure," KK chimed in with a grin. "We all know you're a catch, Paige. But hey, if Y/N's into it, who are we to judge?"

You laughed at the girls banter, exchanging a smile with Paige as Ice and KK did the same. "Y/N, we have a question."

"Oh no, bro," Paige groaned as KK nudged her slightly, telling her to be quiet as you nodded, laughing softly.

"Can you get us tickets to Tana and Brooke's shows? Please, we really really wanna go," KK asked, her excitement palpable.

You couldn't help but chuckle at KK's eagerness. "Sure! I'll reach out to them get you guys some," you replied with a smile, already mentally making a note to message Tana and Brooke about it later.

Paige rolled her eyes playfully. "Great, now you're getting my girl to do favors for you," she joked, earning a laugh from both you and KK.

"Your girl?" Ice responded as she raised her brow. "Okay, I see you P, already locking it down."

Paige's cheeks flushed slightly as she playfully nudged Ice. "Shut up, Ice. You know what I mean."

KK leaned in with a mischievous grin. "Oh, we know what you mean, Paige. You're just too scared to admit it."

"Okay, well. Thank you so much, Y/N, you're even more stunning in person. I'll leave you guys to it, now," Ice smirked as she grabbed KK and began walking off the court, toward the team.

Paige let out a sigh before she turned over to meet your eyes, a softness to softness to her expression that made your heart flutter. "Sorry about them, they're like that all the time," she said with a chuckle.

You shook your head with a smile, feeling a sense of contentment settle over you. "No, no, they seem really sweet. They remind me of Tana and Brooke though," you laughed as Paige nodded.

"Uh, sure!" Paige teased as you shook your head in amusement. "I need to go take a shower but um, maybe you can come over?"

Your smile widened at the request as you nodded. "Yeah, sounds like fun."

Again, her hand found the small of your back as she led you toward the team. She was soon reminded of a team celebration they were planning on doing later and the girls insisted on bringing you, she realized that you had become their favorite, too.

But she couldn't blame them, you were perfect.

──

tana mongeau (tanamongeau) started following you. Brooke (brookeschofield) started following you.

tana mongeau wants to send you a message. hurt her and you die, got it blondie ?? not joking btw

Brooke wants to send you a message. Heard you & Y/N had a fun time this weekend! You seem like such a sweet girl, would love to have you on the pod sometime. Promise we'll keep it PG 🤗

Brooke Oh and go huskies!!!! 😁

Paige glanced at her phone with a slight groan, shaking her head. "Oh, you've gotta be kidding me,"

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

1K notes · View notes

m1ckeyb3rry · 4 months ago

Text

Synopsis: Sunday is your mirror, as you are his — or, how meeting him spells your doom, just like losing you spells his.

HSR Masterlist

Pairing: Sunday x Reader

Word Count: 7.2k

Content Warnings: female reader, second person in some parts and third person sunday pov in others, religious themes because…it’s sunday…, not canon compliant because idk wtf happened in penacony and i don’t feel like figuring it out, not lore compliant either because i’m #toocool for that, ooc because i wanted to make sunday a freak, major character death but not really on screen just mentioned/implied, unreliable narrators, halovians are Very Different (both from their canon depictions and from humans in general), robin mentioned but she’s also probs ooc idfk i’ve never written for honkai star rail and i’ve played for like a month tops, sunday is a d1 piner, sunday loses it, sunday crashes out, weird narrative structure, very nonsensical, in terms of endings we have no endings (it’s like open to interpretation ig), m1ckeyb3rry’s monthly drop of MID

A/N: i wrote this really quickly for my beloved illu’s birthday!! unfortunately i didn’t get the idea until like two days after the date itself so it’s a bit late LMAOO also it sucks but. it has SUNDAY !! my first foray into the hsr verse…hehe…anyways illu i could go on about how much i appreciate you and how glad i am that we’re friends but for the sake of conciseness i shall leave it at HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY GOAT @milksnake-tea I LOOK FORWARD TO ANOTHER YEAR OF CRASHING OUT TOGETHER 🙂‍↕️💖 LOVE AND KISSES I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS A BIT!!!

There is a ghost waiting for him in the confessional booth. Velvet curtains cover the latticed wood, obscuring its contents from his view, but the effect comes to nothing. He knows she’s there, he always does, he can feel her presence. It’s a chill seeping into his bones as he kneels — he doesn’t need to kneel, of course he doesn’t need to, but it’s a habit he’s yet unwilling to break — and clasps his hands together. It’s a supplication for something, but it isn’t until his mouth is opening of its own volition, his wings fluttering in alarm and his eyes widening as the words are wrenched from his lips, that he realizes what he’s begging for.

“Please,” he whispers. His voice echoes in the empty room, mocking him, teasing him. Please. Please. What right does he have to ask her anything? He’s sure that’s what she’s thinking. He’s sure she’s laughing in that odd way of hers, and his throat constricts at the image. “Please—”

Forgive me? It reverberates in his mind, that fragment of a thought, jagged at the edges, sharp like a blade and twice as cruel. Isn’t that it? Forgive me. Forgive me. Please, forgive me.

“Condemn me,” he says instead, and then he’s struck by a burst of anger, hot and unyielding and entirely at odds with the weight of his tongue in his mouth, which is all leaden and unwieldy and clumsy and despicable. “Condemn me or forgive me or what have you!”

He waits, as he always does. One, two, three. He counts on his fingers, an invisible metronome ticking in his mind, mechanical and perfect in rhythm, keeping time for his vigil. Four, five, six. The curtain flutters in a phantom breeze, and for a second he can pretend that he sees a flash of bright in the darkness of the booth, a dancing shade like a glittering iris peering back at him. Seven, eight, nine. He doesn’t care what she says. He doesn’t care about any of it. As long as she says something, it’s fine. Condemn me. Forgive me. He’s not sure which he would prefer at this point.

Ten.

The ghost is silent.

The first time you met Sunday, it was raining. Everything about him was limp in the storm — his clothes, the fabric clinging to his slender frame; his hair, spilling onto his pale brow and trailing down his mannequin-straight back; even his wings, which drooped miserably towards his shoulders, the preened feathers translucent at the edges from dampness.

When he turned to glance at you, you expected his demeanor to shimmer with the famous benevolence of his family. Sunday Oak, the heir, the young lord; certainly there would be a kindness to him, a gentleness permeating throughout the very essence of his being. Certainly he had been born a saint, anointed in the waters of his mother’s womb before he could even draw breath, incapable of humanity’s many shortcomings and fallacies. Certainly these things were true, and that was why it frightened you all the more when, for one singular moment, his impassive mien crumpled into a glare, as baleful as it was captivating.

His eyes were a sharp, canny gold, feline in both shape and shrewdness, framed by lashes clumped together with wet. They were terrible in the way of a dying star, that peculiar brand of horror so beautiful that it was impossible to look away, and indeed you stood transfixed until he cleared his throat and arranged his face into a polite smile.

“I wasn’t aware we had visitors today,” he said. He spoke carefully, perfunctorily, reading from a script he must’ve memorized long ago. You stiffened, for although he had not given you any reason to think it, you were suddenly very certain that you were not supposed to see him like this, his fingers curling over the slick rail of his balcony, his dark abdominal wings folded tightly over his stomach and his halo dull in whatever light struggled through the clouded sky.

“I was just leaving,” you said. “I must have made a wrong turn. I apologize for disturbing you, sir.”

“You needn’t apologize,” he said, and there he was, the man who you had expected: Sunday, the scion of the Oak Family. Gracious Sunday; magnanimous Sunday; Sunday the prince and Sunday the saint. He was so finely constructed it made you wince, his blinding delicacy and keen refinement eerie, preternatural. A baser instinct of yours told you to run, reminding you of a time when those of his kind ruled over humanity with impunity, pleading with you to save yourself before it was too late.

You bit back your fear so hard that blood exploded over your palate, salty and sweet in turn, viscous as you swallowed it back and offered him a smile. He did not return it in full, but the corners of his mouth curled up slightly. That should’ve been soothing, but it only served to worsen the electric anxiety running through your veins.

“I shall call my sister and tell her to fetch you,” he said. “I would hate for you to find the Oaks remiss in our hospitality. I am sincerely sorry that you were not given an escort earlier.”

There were so many things you could say to him. I ran. Does that make me remiss? I’m the one who ran from them. You could reassure him, promise him that you would be alright on your own and there was no need for Robin to come. You could do any of these things, yet you were frozen like an insect in the amber of his stare, and so you did not.

“Thank you,” you said, bowing slightly, lowering your eyes to his leather shoes in a valiant attempt to free yourself, “for your generosity.”

“Do you think it’s possible for people to forgive themselves?” he asks his sister. They’re sitting in the parlor, porcelain teacups in their hands, pinkie fingers raised primly in the air. His sister’s cup is chipped at the base, but every time he tries to throw it away, she pitches a fit, which is so uncharacteristic of her that it renders him speechless. This one is special, she insists. There’s doves painted on it. See?

It isn’t special, there’s countless others exactly like it, but he caves to her whims far too easily, as he always does. He’s prone to it, after all; she wants for things so rarely as it is, which means denying her few requests when she makes them is nigh-impossible. So he allows her to keep the ruined cup, on the condition that in his presence, she holds it in her left hand, for he never wants to see the blemish again.

“I’m not sure,” she says. Her voice is always dreamy, but as of late there’s been a tangible sadness to it. He’s asked her what’s troubling her countless times, but his every attempt is met with a shake of her head and a solemn oath that it’s nothing. “Maybe.”

“I don’t think that it is,” he says. “At least not at first. You can’t forgive yourself before you’re forgiven by anyone else.”

“If you were already so sure of the answer, brother,” she says, cocking her head at him, “then why did you ask?”

“Hm?” he says, furrowing his brow. She takes a sip of her tea, and maybe it’s the angle or maybe it’s a trick of the light, but he swears that that dammed chip is taunting him, smarting like a peeled-off scab.

“It’s a strange practice of yours,” his sister says, batting her eyes at him in a way that makes him feel shrunken and tiny, as if she knows everything and he knows nothing, although by all rights it’s the other way around.

“What do you mean by that?” he presses, voice coming out harsher than he’d like. Cringing, he sets his teacup down and folds his hands in his lap. “My apologies, sister. I — I did not mean to speak to you in that way.”

She raises her drink to her lips, smiling at him over the dove-painted rim, and says nothing more.

Robin Oak was like nightshade, the most beautiful flower you had ever seen and, incidentally, the most poisonous. She was lilac where Sunday was silver and sapphire where he was gold, but although the edges of her halo and her face were rounder than her brother’s, as malleable as he was rigid, she was no softer than he. Perhaps she was even colder for it, all the more deadly, unassuming and quiet, poised to strike with a warbling song and a tittering giggle.

“Hello,” she said, and although the two of you were ostensibly having a normal conversation, she still talked like there was a song in her voice, her cadence lyrical and amused. “We’ve been looking for you for a while.”

“I didn’t go very far,” you said, following after her as she navigated the hallways without hesitation.

“Of course not,” she agreed. “But who would’ve thought you’d end up in Sunday’s room?”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” you said, cheeks heating up at the sly implication. “I sincerely thought I had happened upon some study or restroom where I might recuperate.”

“He does keep his surroundings austere,” she said. “I’ve tried to convince him to hang up paintings or photographs, but he refuses. He’s like that.”

“I see,” you said, as neutrally as possible. Robin must’ve sensed your disinterest, for with a soft, breathy, chuckle, she steered the conversation away from her brother and to another subject entirely.

“Ah, you mentioned recuperation? Do parties tire you, too?” she said, and maybe it was manipulation or maybe it was genuine kindness, but it disarmed you all the same. Bashfully, you nodded, your shoulders hunching in on themselves involuntarily as you continued down the corridor.

“They are exhausting. I can never handle them for more than a few minutes at a time,” you confessed. She wrapped an arm around your torso, a companionable vice of a grip, and although you shouldn’t have been, you were surprised to feel that her skin was blazing to the touch.

“Nor can I,” she said. “There’s a commonality. Let’s be friends.”

It was a command, not a request. You knew better than to believe that Robin Oak would request anything; the world was at her feet, the universe shifting so that her words became truth, so why would she bother with questions and hesitance the way the rest of you did? She was no more human than Sunday. She was even less, only just as good at pretending, at painting on a doll-like mask to disguise her lies.

“Well, then it is a pleasure to be your friend,” you said.

“Don’t talk like that,” she protested.

“Like what?” you said.

“Like I’m somebody important, or like I have a status worthy of only the highest respect,” she said.

“But you do,” you said. She nudged you in the side with some measure of eagerness.

“No, no, forget about that,” she said. “I’m just like you, okay?”

“Okay,” you said, even though that could not be further from the truth, even though she could not be further from you.

“I swear on truth,” he says to the congregation, the beige churchgoers in their beige robes with adoration sparkling in their devoted eyes. “I swear on the calendar. I swear on words. I swear on values. I swear on rules. I swear on meaning. I swear on—”

A chill rushes down his spine, icy fingers grabbing onto the roots of his wings and yanking. He hisses under his breath, prayers of rebuke and protection, nails digging into his palms as he chants furiously, lips moving too fast for the gatherers to understand what he is doing.

Anxious murmurs arise like the songs of a choir the longer and longer he is frozen. Somebody coughs. A child whines audibly. He continues his chanting.

Ena, the Order; Xipe, the Harmony; defend me in this tribulation. Curse this evil, bind its spirit and banish it to whence it came. I swear on truth, I swear on the calendar, I swear on words, I swear on values, I swear on rules, I swear on meaning, I swear on—

The hair by the nape of his neck is ruffled, and then the sensation vanishes and he is left alone once more. He is grateful for only a moment before he mourns her absence with a sudden savagery that takes even himself by surprise. It’s a contradiction, but she is a contradiction, so it’s fitting. He could never understand her before, so why should it be different now?

Clearing his throat and subtly adjusting his lapels, he raises his hands to silence the throngs of worshippers. They do his bidding at once, and he closes his eyes so that he does not have to see their naïveté at this final part, so that he is speaking to himself and the ghost alone — because nobody else matters in the end.

“I swear,” he says, his heart beating faster and faster until it is almost bursting from his chest and pounding in his skull, “on human dignity.”

What do Halovians know of human dignity?

“Nothing,” he says, responding to the unasked question as he turns away from the others, away from their applause and their grins. His wings cover his eyes and his hands cover his ears as he leaves the cavernous hall, the thunder of laudation fading and fading, replaced with nothing but a whistling, lonely emptiness. “They know nothing.”

He pauses, his eyes darting around surreptitiously. Then, when he is sure he is alone, he continues, under his breath so that no one can hear even if they try very hard to.

“I know nothing.”

He is sure of this much, at least.

On Halovians:

They abide by a so-called “divine creed” which they refuse to divulge to outsiders. However, they maintain that if they break these secretive laws, they are punished severely in what amounts to a foreshortened process of decay. Their holiness and altruism is, thus, not a choice but a compulsion; the one sin they are permitted is lying, and many will spin tall tales as a form of indulgence.

They are comparable in ability to the sirens from Lucyke — indeed, many researchers believe the species share a common ancestor and are one of many examples of divergent evolution found throughout the cosmos. They are nonthreatening when approached, capable of rational thought and intelligent speech, and have advanced societies with defined familial structures; hence, they are classified as a Level 0 Intelligent Species.

His halo is cracking. He doesn’t know when it began, or perhaps it’s more accurate to say he doesn’t want to know, but regardless it’s happening. The burnished gold, once a plain, gleaming expanse, is now marred by thin, unmistakeable fissures in the shape of spiderwebs. At first, he can only stare at his reflection in abject horror, but then he’s stuffing his fist in his mouth and screaming.

What will people think? When they see it, they will know what he has done. It’s tainting him. It’s above him and behind him and all around and he can’t escape, he can’t do anything, his halo is cracking and he’s screaming and she’s there again.

“Stop it,” he snaps. “Stop coming back. If you’re only here to torment me, then — then stop it!”

Is she laughing? She must be. She always laughs at him, always finds him so curious. An oddity. A Halovian. He’s not like her, she’s fond of reminding him, he’s different. He’s born for the Harmony and the sky. He’s born for a purpose greater than hers, with black wings and a bright halo and a tongue made to lie.

“Don’t leave,” he says when she begins to withdraw. “Hey. Hey. Don’t leave — don’t leave me — I can’t — don’t!”

Her absence is like a hole carved into his stomach daily anew, and if his wings weren’t losing their feathers so rapidly, he’d fold them over the gaping wound in an attempt to disguise it, to transform it, to hold himself together until he can once again become whole in earnest.

It’s pitiful. He’s pitiful. He longs for a ghost who he despises, a ghost of his own making, a ghost who is pulling apart his halo and his wings and his sanity alike. She is ruining him and he is powerless to stop her; somewhere deep inside of him, he’s not sure if he even wants to. This is what he’s owed. This is what he deserves. No matter how much he begs, she will not forgive him; no matter how much he prays, he will not forgive himself.

This time when he screams, he does not bother with muffling it.

You were certain that, in the pools of her mind, in places unknowable and unreachable, Robin believed that she loved you. She repeated that lie so often that she fooled everyone, even herself — everyone, of course, but you. You knew the truth. You knew that she never had, that she never would, that she never could.

“This is my very best friend in the entire universe,” she’d say, holding your palm against her heart. “I love her.”

She carried it like a trophy or a weapon, that meaningless phrase. I love her. Lilac instead of silver. Sapphire instead of gold. I am not a Halovian. That was what she really wanted to say. That was what you really meant to her. I am human, too. Treat me like I am human. Talk to me like I am human. Love me like I am human.

I am human.

His sister is worrying about him. He wishes he could allay her concerns like he always does, wishes he could promise that it’s nothing, that he’s fine, but whenever he tries, he can’t. It sticks in his throat, and he’s left to stare at her miserably, helplessly.

“If you need anything…” she murmurs, voice trailing off into nothingness as she pretends like she’s not looking at his halo, which is on the verge of collapse, or at his wings, which are approaching a skeletal state. “Maybe you should stay home today. Someone else can pray.”

“No,” he says. He has to do it. If he doesn’t, then he has nothing left — which is the truth, really, but he can’t accept it. Not yet. “No, I—”

He wants to say I can do it, but the words won’t come. She waits, but when he does not finish his sentence, she only sighs and nods.

“If you think that’s what’s best,” she says. If she’s expecting a response, she won’t get one, or at least not one that’ll satisfy them both. He can’t maintain his facade anymore. Those carefully constructed falsehoods which were once his birthright have abandoned him; now, he is left with nothing but the truth in its harshest form, his eyes sewn open to it and his wings tied back so he can no longer cower behind their trembling defense.

Unlike his sister, Sunday never pretended to love you. Indeed, he treated you no differently than he treated everyone else, keeping a polite, reserved distance between the two of you at all times. He was kind when you spoke, though he tended to avoid such occasions, and he took great pains to ensure that he appeared as harmless as possible, pulling his wings close to his body, averting his eyes from yours and shifting so that his halo was always partially obscured.

Robin told you that he was a proud man, so the fact that he shied away before you meant something. I’ve never seen him like this, she would ponder when he would sidle past, his feathers blending in with his pale hair, a coat thrown over his shoulders and his gaze trained directly ahead even when he greeted you. It’s unlike him.

It’s kind. That was all you ever said when she prodded at you for answers. He’s being kind to me.

Unlike her brother, Robin didn’t understand what that meant, so she would only embrace you, deceptively strong despite her frail figure, wings extending to skim along your skin in what she must’ve considered a sign of affection.

I’m glad you’re getting along, she’d say, and then you’d wonder, invariably, what it’d take to break the chords of her speech. Was she capable of producing dissonance? Or was it one of her many blessings, that avoidance of discord, of cacophony? I’m really glad. I hope one day he loves you, too.

She never asked you to love him back. She never dared to even hope for it.

“I can’t recall you ever laughing at me this much when you were alive,” he says, lying on his bed with his limbs splayed out. He’s looking up at the ceiling, which is bare, as are the walls, and the furniture — entirely by design, of course. Periodically, his wings will flap weakly, wracked with nervous tremors as he waits for her to quiet.

He doesn’t reprimand her anymore. The prospect of chasing her away is unbearable, even more unbearable than the sound of her mirth, which is as wrong to his ears as music from an untuned piano. So he ignores it, and when it is particularly agonizing, he speaks to the empty air, saying everything and nothing all at once in an attempt to silence her.

“You would ask me questions,” he remembers, drumming his fingers against the mattress. “But you wouldn’t laugh. I don’t think you found me amusing, unless I tried very hard to appear that way. I was better at it back then. At becoming what people expected of me.”

She’s not laughing anymore, but he knows she hasn’t vanished yet. She’s there in his periphery, poised to disappear as soon as he turns his head but there nonetheless. Taking advantage of the rare silence, he sits up, hugging his knees to his chest and closing his eyes.

“I didn’t pretend quite as much when it was you,” he says. “You know that, right? By the end, I couldn’t bring myself to at all.”

Does she believe him? He can’t tell. If he were her, he wouldn’t believe himself, so likely not. Exhaling heavily, he collapses backwards, tangling himself into a pile of blankets that he pulls over his shoulders.

“I should have lied to you more often,” he says, eyes drifting shut. “Maybe things would be different if I had.”

On Halovians:

Halovians are the only Level 0 Intelligent Species that do not choose long-term mates, although there is evidence to suggest that in the distant past, they remained with the same partner for life. According to legend, this is because they gave up fidelity for falsehood, trading their ability to love eternally for their freedom to lie at will.

Research disagrees with this old story, and many alternate theories have been proposed. The most common and widely-accepted is the claim that the Halovians once faced extinction and thus had to procreate at speed, leading to a permanent shift in their mating habits. The most substantial proof for this, of course, is the otherwise-inexplicable population boom…

You couldn’t say for certain when you began visiting Sunday in his room. It had happened so suddenly and yet so gradually that by the time you realized what you were doing, it was too late for you to stop. He never did anything untoward — you doubted he was capable of it — staying at his desk and scowling at his work while you wandered about, familiarizing yourself with the confines of the space.

“Why don’t you decorate?” you asked him one day.

“Decorations are only needless distractions,” he responded promptly, signing a paper with a flourish that, somehow, represented his name. Sunday Oak. You didn’t know how something so enormous and grand could be summed into two squiggles and a cross, but he seemed confident of it, so who were you to question the method? “I cannot fathom sleeping with such clutter surrounding me.”

“I see,” you said, and that was the end of it.

Your conversations with him typically went as such, endless games of question-and-answer, where you would ask whatever was on your mind and he would respond as truthfully as he was able. You often wondered when he would grow tired of it, of you, but he never did. You asked Robin why it was so, and she only shrugged enigmatically.

“Maybe he’s glad to be the one speaking for once,” she said.

“What do you mean?” you said.

“You ought to ask him,” she said. “He might not tell anyone else, but if it’s you…if it’s you, then he’ll definitely answer.”

His sister’s hands are frigid on his shoulders. She’s warm by anyone else’s standards, but for a Halovian, she’s always been cold. Even when she was born, half the size she should’ve been and with eyes as boundless as the sky, she was freezing, a shivering slip of a baby shoved into his arms by his bleeding mother.

“Your halo is breaking,” she says to him, but she’s angry, her melodic voice wavering as her fingers dig into his muscle, shaking him back and forth. “It’s breaking. Why is it breaking?”

She’s glaring at him, tears welling at her lash-line. He wants to reach out his hand and wipe them away, but more will replace them in an instant, so what is the point? She shakes him again, harder and harder, and he allows her, because he’ll always allow her impulses, and because he’s never seen her like this before.

“Why?” she says. “Why is it breaking? Tell me what you did, brother, tell me what you did!”

She isn’t asking because she wants him to give her the answer. She’s asking because she wants him to deny it, to tell her that she’s wrong, that the conclusion she’s arrived at is incorrect somehow. Once, he could’ve. He could’ve made up some story about tragedy and misfortune, and she would’ve believed him, as she always did.

That was their relationship. He lied and she believed him. She asked and he obliged her. But now that he can not lie and she has nothing to ask for, what is left?

“You know already,” he says. She gasps in the manner of an injured animal, berry-stained lips parting, indubitably to hurl accusations at him.

He doesn’t think he can handle hearing them, not from his sister of all people, so he leaves before he gets the chance.

“Does it feel strange when people touch your wings?” you said. Sunday was in his bed today, afflicted by some illness of the lungs, and you were rummaging through his bookshelf, pulling out volumes at random before putting them back where you had found them.

“Huh? Why do you ask?” he said, raising a porcelain cup to his lips. It was prescription, a medicine reeking of menthol but wearing the guise of peppermint tea — the only way, according to Robin, that he would drink it. A servant had brought it and presented it to him with a bow, walking out of the room with a look thrown at you over their shoulder, concern and envy blending into something razor-thin and cutting.

“I don’t have any,” you explained, taking out a book and tracing your fingers along the gold lettering of the title. “I can’t fathom what it’d be like.”

“Come here,” he said, and although it was mildly done, you obeyed immediately. You could never forget what he was, not completely, no matter how hard he tried to make it so that you did. You would always be human and he would always be Halovian; this fundamental disconnect was insurmountable, and anyways, you had no interest in surmounting it. It’d serve you well to remember these many little differences between yourself and the Oak siblings, between yourself and Sunday in particular.

He extended his hand, the palm facing up, and dipped his chin towards it. You tilted your head in confusion, for the act was all but inexplicable, and at this he smiled. He did not smile very frequently, and it transformed his face when he did, lighting it up, turning it into something close to human — not quite, but close. Closer than he ever was otherwise.

“Here,” he said, setting aside his teacup and using his other hand to place yours against his, wrapping his fingers around your wrist and then waiting. “Does that feel strange?”

“No,” you said.

“It’s the same for me,” he said. “To you, my wings are bizarre and outlandish, but to me and those of my kind, they are simply another body part. No more or less fantastical than an arm or an ankle.”

“Ah,” you said. He settled back against the cushions of his bed, allowing the wings by his ears to stretch out comfortably, closing his eyes and letting out an exhale that shook with the remnants of a cough.

“You want to touch them,” he said. He phrased it as a statement, not a question, and when you paused before answering, his smile grew imperceptibly larger. “I don’t mind it.”

“You don’t?” you said. He shrugged.

“It’s only fair,” he said, pressing down on the point where your veins nearly surfaced, tapping in time with your pulse before drawing his hands back and clasping them together in the cavity below his ribcage. “I wouldn’t have told you you could if I’d hold any resentment for it.”

“Aren’t Halovians known for lying?” you said. He snorted.

“Have you been doing your research?” he said.

“It’s common knowledge,” you said.

“We are,” he said. “But I swear I will always tell you the truth.”

“How can I believe that? What if that’s just another one of your lies?” you said. He cracked one eye open so that he could peek at you, and whatever he saw must’ve proven your seriousness, for he hummed in thought, carefully considering your words.

“I suppose you can’t,” he said. “It’s your prerogative. Do as you’d like, then.”

He closed his eyes again, which you supposed was his version of an invitation. Waiting until his breathing stilled and he was caught in some form of repose — whether he was truly unconscious or not escaped you, but either way he was certainly in some altered state of mind — you extended your arm and brushed your index finger against his feathers.

They were as soft as you had anticipated, cottony and shapeless compared to the firm flight-feathers of the pitch-dark wings jutting out at his sides. The bones were hollow and slight, as if you could break them only by taking them into your fist and squeezing. This was such a contradiction to the appearance he so carefully maintained that your heart softened to him despite your greatest efforts to guard it.

“Those ones are mostly down,” he said, startling you out of your daze. You had assumed he was asleep and had allowed your movements to become casual and complacent. Jerking your hand back as if he had burnt it — which he just as well might have, given the temperature of his body — you held it to your chest and took an involuntary step back while he adjusted himself in his nest of bedding. “In antiquity, back when we still ruled the skies and rarely touched the ground, it was considered a sign of friendship for Halovians to groom one another’s upper-wing feathers.”

“And now?” you said.

“And now it means nothing,” he said. “Fetch me a new cup of tea if you have the time. This one has grown cold, and I am yet unwell.”

The feathers he used to be so proud of are fraying at the edges. He hasn’t cared for them in so long, hasn’t carefully misted them or doused them in diluted soap in ages, and now they have come to this. Scraggly and broken and bent and wrong.

Sticking a finger in his mouth, he rubs it along his teeth and the bitten flesh of his inner cheeks. Decay. This is decay. He’s seen it so many other times, in so many other forms, but never did he think he’d experience it himself. And least of all so quickly! Yet it has come for him, as it comes for everyone in the end.

He finds it’s different this time. It’s different when he’s the one who’s dying.

“They say it haunts us,” Sunday said. His arm was heavy over your waist, his blankets pulled up over your chin and tucked tightly around your shoulders. Your forehead was flush with his collarbones, your eyes fluttering shut as he played with the hem of your shirt while he spoke. “The first time we kill something. It haunts us to death.”

“Is that why you’re vegetarian?” you joked.

“Yes,” he said, and although he sounded grave, you could tell he was joking, too. “Can you imagine being followed around by the ghost of a chicken and then dying while it watches?”

“A horrible way to go,” you said, laughing at the image of Sunday plugging his ears and running from the shadow of a bird as it chased him, his own wings flapping furiously as it squawked at him with no small amount of indignation.

“Indeed,” he said with a laugh of his own. Then, after a pause, he hummed thoughtfully. “You should laugh more often.”

“I’ve been told my laugh is grating,” you said.

“It’s not,” he said. “Not at all.”

“Then I shall endeavor to do as you ask,” you said. “I will laugh until you tell me to stop.”

“I’ll never tell you to stop,” he promised, and you should’ve known better than to trust him, because he was a Halovian and donning that impenetrable mask of his was a part of his nature, yet you couldn’t help yourself. You did, you trusted him more than anything or anyone, and didn’t that make you a fool? A happy, laughing one, maybe — but a fool nonetheless.

He is close to collapse when he drags himself to his bathroom. Leaning over the counter of his sink, he grips the marble edge, noticing in fascination that his knuckles are almost as white as the stone. He almost can’t endure the thought of looking in the mirror, but in a last burst of inspiration, he drags his gaze up to his haggard reflection.

His heart skips a beat when he realizes he’s not alone. Standing there, beside and behind him, is her. The ghost. His ghost.

Her face is placid — she’s not laughing, and neither is she frowning. He doesn’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing, but he can’t change it, so who is he to complain? He waits for her to speak, but she is silent, and he considers calling out for his sister before deciding that this time, this once and never again, he will be selfish.

“It’s you,” he says, reaching out and placing his fingers against the mirror, where the image of her cheek is distorted by imperfections in the silver.

The metal is cold under the involuntary curve of his palm, which tries to follow the contours of her face but finds it to be impossible in the second dimension. Then again, to him, she was always cold, so there’s no difference, except that she is flat where once she was whole, empty where once she was everything.

“I killed you,” he says. It’s the first time he’s spoken it aloud, the first time he’s spit out the words that he’s been dancing around ever since she appeared to him, almost a year ago exactly. Somehow, it feels like a dagger driven into his heart and a weight lifted off of his shoulders simultaneously. If he had the strength, he’d run down the hallways of the mansion and scream it at everyone.

I killed her. I killed her and now I am dying for it. You bowed your heads in reverence to me, and all along I have had this blood on my hands. I killed her! How does it feel to have followed a sinner for so long? How does it feel to know that I am forsaken, and that one day, if you are so lucky, you will be, too?

Sunday’s mouth on yours was hot like a furnace, clumsy and demanding, with a lingering aftertaste like menthol. At first, it alarmed you, the overwhelming sensation, the much of it all, but before you could even pull away, something in the back of your mind twisted, and then you were grasping for anything you could. His hair, his wings, his shirt, it didn’t matter, nothing mattered, you only needed to hold onto him in some way. You could not breathe without him. You could not live without him.

That was your first indication that something was very, very wrong.

On Halovians:

Much like their presumed cousins, the sirens of Lucyke, Halovians are irresistible to their prey. Unlike the sirens, the Halovians no longer hunt; some assume that this must be one of the religious laws they abide by, while others argue that it is mere ecological responsibility.

Simply put, the Halovians were too efficient as hunters. Several lesser species have been driven to extinction by their efforts, and it is only due to the reduction in Halovian numbers, their vows of vegetarianism, and concentrated conservation efforts that the food webs on the Halovians’ native planets have stabilized in recent years.

“Sunday,” you said to him one day, when the sun had not yet risen in the sky. “I think that I will die soon.”

His mouth moved, but no sound came out. No, it seemed he was trying to say. You won’t. His lips formed the words, but they wouldn’t take shape in his throat, wouldn’t bloom into existence, and you watched as he struggled for a while before pressing the heels of his hands to his forehead.

“Yes,” he said.

“It will be your fault when I do,” you said. You weren’t accusing him; you said it simply and plainly. You were dying. It was his fault. He was the curse and the cure, if a mere prolonging of the inevitable could be considered as curing it.

He was quiet for so long that you assumed he had forgotten about the question entirely. You did not begrudge him for it — how would he answer, anyways? There was nothing that he could say which would change it. There was nothing that he could say which would reverse what he had, knowingly or unknowingly, done.

“Yes,” he said when you were halfway to dozing off.

“What?” you mumbled, the contents of the conversation already escaping you.

“Yes,” he said. “It will be my fault.”

The ghost doesn’t say anything, watching him as he turns on the sink and splashes the water onto his face in a futile effort to cool himself off. He’s feverish as he pushes himself back into a semblance of good posture, pacing back and forth along the length of the bathroom. He can only see her in the mirror, and he wonders if he somehow trapped her there or if that’s her way of teasing him; she must find him so absurd, storming away from her visage before crawling back to it like he is starved.

“I didn’t know,” he says. “You must understand that. I didn’t know! Not at first, anyways. I would’ve sent you away. If I had known, I would’ve sent you away…”

He can hear her feet against the tile, copying his own path, but he dares not turn around. What will he see if he does? What emotions will reflect in her eyes? The first time he saw her, it was fear, unadulterated and pure and choking him with its overwhelming intensity. Then, over time, it warmed into something resembling indifference, which in turn became fondness and then, finally, a sick sort of dependence, the former liveliness and curiosity glazed over with vacancy and fixation.

“I did this to you,” he admits. He’s read that accursed book on Halovians and their accursed vestigial organs and accursed archaic hunting methods so many times that he knows this for a fact. He killed her. “But I didn’t — it wasn’t my intention, please, it wasn’t, you must know that. Did you die knowing that?”

When he halts, she halts. When he takes a step forward, she does the same. It’s maddening. He doesn’t want her to echo him. Her steps sound like a prophecy, the drumbeat to a seer’s chant, and they clang in his head, the antithesis to everything he holds precious. Order. Harmony. And then there she is, discord, cacophony, waiting for him at every turn, inescapable and unavoidable.

“It’s the truth!” he snaps. The argument is entirely one-sided; the ghost never speaks to him, after all. She only laughs and sighs in turn, but no matter how hard he tries, he cannot convince her to say anything. “I can’t lie anymore. Although, that’s irrelevant; when it comes to you, I haven’t been able to lie in a long time.”

Ena, the Order; Xipe, the Harmony; defend me in this tribulation. Curse this evil, bind its spirit and banish it to whence it came.

I swear on truth. I swear on the calendar. I swear on words. I swear on values. I swear on rules. I swear on meaning. I swear on human dignity.

He’s murmuring every prayer he can think of. They play in an endless loop, springing to his lips at random, more like nonsensical jumbles of words than anything coherent. A prayer for salvation. A prayer for forgiveness. A prayer for protection. A prayer for order. A prayer for harmony. A prayer to banish her. A prayer to bring her back.

A prayer to bring her back. A prayer to bring her back. Bring her back. Bring her back. Bring her back.

“I won’t come back, you know,” she says. That’s the first time he’s heard her voice in so long, and he’s startled to find that it’s almost foreign, like he’s already begun to forget her, like she’s turned into something entirely beyond his understanding.

“Why not?” he says, his voice cracking as he scrambles for purchase against the wall. “I’ll do anything they ask. Anything you ask.”

“It doesn’t matter what you do or who you beg,” she says with a snicker. “You can’t bring someone back once you’ve killed them. You should’ve regretted it earlier; it’s meaningless now. Well, anyways, I have a question for you.”

He swallows but nods, his back to her, vision blurring out of focus as he squints at the plain wall in front of him.

“If you could meet me again, would you?” she says.

“Yes,” he says without thinking, because of course he would. How could he not?

“Knowing that it would kill me?” she adds, giggling.

Is this what it’s like for those who he interrogates? Now he is the one who cannot hide behind the comfort of fabrication, who must strip himself bare to an unsympathetic audience. He hates it, in truth. He hates it more than anything, but — but he doesn’t hate her, so clenching his jaw, he nods once more.

“Yes,” he says.

“Oh, my,” she says. “How romantic. Careful, or I’ll think you really do love me.”

He whirls around. “I do—!”

There’s nobody there. He wonders if there ever was.

#sunday x reader #sunday x y/n #sunday x you #sunday #sunday hsr #hsr x reader #hsr #honkai star rail #reader insert #canon au #hierophant #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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captain-bubble-wrap · 5 months ago

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Hello, babes. How was practice? I'm Maven, your tumblr hockey mom. Below you'll find a complete masterlist of imagines, series, and OC chapters as well as prompt requests!

One more thing before you go:

- I don't do hockey romance novel-type writings. I play by reality and the way of the sport.

- I won't write the reader as the Taylor Swift of the hockey world where she's in the limelight at every game she attends, caught on camera, noticed by fans, ect. The reader isn't a celebrity~

- I'm more confident with fluff/domestic slice-of-life things, but I'll dabble in the spicy stuff, just not as eagerly or as often as the other.

- Minors, DNI with the you-know-what, or I'll ground you!

Submit your requests with their corresponding order number with any added details you'd like! 🩷

🎀 Fluff prompt starters:

F1-- "Can we just stay in bed?"

F2-- "You're cute when you make that face."

F3-- "Have you had enough to eat today?"

F4-- "Don't get up, I'll do it."

F5-- "You don't get enough sleep."

F6-- "Could you play with my hair?"

F7-- "Are you okay? Your face looks a little red."

F8-- "You're cute when you're half asleep like this."

F9-- "Can we share the blanket?"

F10-- "Just one more hug before I go."

F11-- "Do you want anything while I'm up/out?"

F12-- "Teach me?"

💔 Hurt/Comfort prompt starters:

H/C1-- "How long have you felt like this?"

H/C2-- "I know you're mad at me, but would a kiss make it better?"

H/C3-- "Please don't shut me out right now."

H/C4-- "Shh, it was just a bad dream. Whatever happened wasn't real."

H/C5-- "It's okay to cry."

H/C6-- "You lied to me."

H/C7-- "I didn't know where else to go."

H/C8-- "Let me help you, please."

❤️ Romance prompt starters:

R1-- "I'd feel a lot better if you'd let me take you home."

R2-- "They don't compare to you. No one does."

R3-- "I've always wanted to walk home in the rain."

R4-- "You've never looked so beautiful."

R5-- "Let me tell you how much you mean to me."

R6-- "Will you dance with me?"

R7-- "I'm going to marry you one day."

🫦 Dark Quinn starters: (currently on a hiatus from these atm)

D1-- "Look at me or I'll stop."

D2-- "It kills me to think of you with anyone else but me."

D3-- "You're not leaving dressed like that."

D4-- "Are you trying to make me angry?"

D5-- "If you're on your best behaviour, I'll reward you."

D6-- "I don't care what your friends have planned, you're not leaving this apartment tonight."

D7-- "I crave your affections, but I crave your silence more. Quiet, princess."

Pretty Boy Blues | You notice Quinn dealing with some troublesome skin issues, and you ask to help him. | No content warnings apply

Last Call | You're late getting home from a night out with the girls. Quinn's pacing waiting for you. Where could you be? | Implied alcohol consumption

Sleeping Beauty | Quinn learns of you having fainting spells while he's been away on the road. | Implied depression-induced eating disorders

Post-practice Cuddles | Quinn returns from practice in pain and needs your to help to get his mind off of it. | No content warnings apply

Take Your Pick | You let Quinn pick your outfit for the day. | Suggestive themes; implied sexual interactions

Baby me | Quinn refuses to take his medicine. | No content warnings apply

Plague-bringer | Quinn tests positive for Covid. | No content warnings apply

Leave Me Where I Lie | You get sick in the middle of the night and Quinn comes looking for you. | No content warnings apply

Princess on Board | Quinn and yourself go on a short road-trip and you're well prepared, crown included. | Implied daddy dom/brat aesthetic

Partners in Crime | Quinn insists on helping you make breakfast. | Mild bratty-reader aesthetic

Kitchen Kisses | Quinn and yourself stay in on New Year's Eve and welcome the new year alongside a batch of cookies. | No content warnings apply

Detour | Quinn has other plans before you fly out of Vancouver for the holidays. The ring box in his pocket might be why. | No content warnings apply

From Me: With Love | You finally get to give Quinn his custom gift for Christmas | No content warnings apply

When it Rains it Pours | Your day goes from bad to worse while trying to get the apartment ready for Quinn's return. | Mild reader bodily injury, mentions of blood

A Night In | Quinn picks you up for your birthday but takes you to his apartment instead of a restaurant. | No content warnings apply

Two Lines | Your cycle is late. Are you pregnant? | Anxiety themes

Tease Me | Quinn is week-to-week with his hand injury and is getting bored of not being on the ice. | Mild adult themes

Just Because | Quinn brings you a surprise to apologize for something out of his control. | No content warnings apply

Knock, Knock | You rush to Quinn's apartment following the high-sticking during the Lightning game. | Brief descriptions of bodily injury, blood, and mild adult themes

Cold Sheets | You're struggling with insomnia when Quinn comes looking for you in the middle of the night. | No content warning apply

Broken Glass | Your car gets totaled en route to Rogers Arena. | Graphic descriptions of bodily injury, emotional distress, and reader in pain

Broken Glass Pt 2 | Weeks after your car wreck, Quinn gives you one simple rule to follow. | 18+, dominate partner, emotional manipulation

Coupons | You go grocery shopping with Quinn before he leaves to go back on the road. | Separation anxiety, and mild depressive thoughts

Bang-bang, Kiss-kiss | You break off your relationship with Quinn. | Emotional distress, anxiety, heartbreak, and blame

Damaged Goods | You attend a home game and all hell breaks loose. | Depictions of bodily injury, and blood

Imposter Syndrome | Med school woes weigh heavy on your heart, and Quinn is there to reassure you that everything is fine.

Chapter I | A Chance Meeting

Episode 1 | Season opener: Flames v. Canucks

Episode 2 | Thanksgiving

Chapter I | Red String of Fate

A Second Cup | You have an unfortunate run-in with Jeremy Swayman | No content warnings apply

A Casual Approach to Romance | Connor Bedard waits till the last minute on Valentine's Day.

Seeing Double | When Auston Matthews takes you and your best friend back to his house from a party, there's a decision to be made. [18+ 🫦]

An Honest Excuse | Auston's got to get to practice, but you have other plans. [18+ 🫦]

#quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x oc #quinn hughes one shot #hockey imagine #hockey fic #hockey fanfiction #hockey oneshot

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demie90s · 5 days ago

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Final Whistle, No Mercy

꒰ 🍒 ꒱ Juju Watkins x READER ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

MASTERLIST MORE

⭑ pairing: Juju Watkins x reader (demon-time!fem!reader)

⭑ summary: You’ve been on demon time all season—techs, fouls, and a stat sheet so filthy it’s biblical. Now it’s the final game, UConn vs. USC, and Juju thinks she’s the one to humble you.

⭑ genre: Sports tension, enemies to almost-lovers, peak chaos, certified menace energy

⭑ warnings: Strong language, aggressive basketball behavior, fouling without remorse, unsportsmanlike conduct, flirtatious rivalry

⭑ word count: 0.9k

I’ve been a problem.

Ask any coach in my district, any ref in my state. Hell, ask Juju Watkins. She’s been watching me since senior year—when they still thought she had a shot at being number one.

She didn’t.

No one did.

By the time I hit 18, I had D1 offers flooding my inbox, sneaker reps in my DMs, and NIL deals before I touched a college court. I wasn’t just ranked #1 in the country—I was problems in motion. A walking violation with a vertical so disrespectful it should be illegal. Grown-ass men in the stands would flinch every time I hit the paint like they were watching someone get jumped.

Because they were.

But the crazy part? Off the court? I’m calm. Chill. Say “yes ma’am” and “no sir.” I help carry team gear. I shake hands with little girls in the stands. My GPA’s tight, my teachers love me, and my coach calls me “the sweetest terror he’s ever met.”

“You ever watch her play?”

“No, but I heard.”

“She’s insane.”

“Y’all remember that video where she stepped over that girl like AI?”

“Yup. That was me she stepped over,” some random girl at a camp once admitted. “She said ‘Move.’ And I did.”

I didn’t talk trash. I didn’t need to. My game was a loudspeaker. Elbows out, knees high, fouls intentional. My high school coach used to brag about me in gas stations. One time a recruiter asked if I could tone it down. Coach said, “You want a ballerina or a f***ing champion?”

That was my last game in that district.

⸻

Flash to now—UConn.

Freshman year. Same dog, new leash.

Geno ain’t even try to hide how hype he was when I committed. Said something about me being “what happens when talent gets raised by wolves.” First two games we lost? Wasn’t on me—I hadn’t started yet. Third game, I dropped 32 with a busted lip and three fouls in the first half. After that?

Undefeated.

I’ve been on pure demon time ever since.

30 points per game. 10 boards. 6 assists. 3 steals. 1–2 techs a night depending on the mood. I foul with intent. I fight screens like they owe me money. I dunked on a 6’4 center and smiled at her mom in the stands. Geno yelled, “Calm down!” but then added under his breath, “But don’t stop.”

You ever seen Sue Bird at a freshman game? She came to ours. Wore a hoodie and sunglasses, left before halftime.

Later that night she tweeted:

“#17 on UConn is HIM. And she’s not even trying.”

Jerseys started selling with no name on the back. Just “17” and “Y’all In Trouble.”

⸻

Now it’s USC. Final game of the season. And guess who’s still tryna humble me?

Juju.

She’s been hovering behind me since high school. #2 on the 2023 list. Always good. Always consistent. But I was hell. She knew it then, and she definitely knows it now. Still—she walks onto the court with her chin high like she forgot.

I make sure she remembers.

⸻

Tip-off.

Her eyes are already on me. Mine aren’t on her. I don’t look at people I’m about to violate. I just let the game do the talking.

First play—Juju tries to drive. I cut her off, chest-to-chest. She bounces off me. Ball goes loose. I scoop it. Coast to coast. And-1. Crowd goes feral.

I don’t celebrate. I just look at Geno. He nods. I nod back.

Free throw? Splash.

Next possession? Juju gets the ball again. I press. No space. She elbows. I smile.

“Getting frustrated already?”

“Not even close,” she mutters.

She should be. By the end of the first quarter, I’ve got 14 points, 5 rebounds, 2 assists, and one body. I stepped over a girl after a fast break block, and the cameras caught it in 4K. Twitter already eating it up.

Halfway through the second, Juju finally catches fire. Hits back-to-back threes and stares me down.

“You gone guard me or pose?”

I walk up slow. “You really think this ends with you?”

She tries to answer. I strip the ball. Layup. Back on D before she even finishes turning around.

⸻

Halftime: UConn 41, USC 34.

Locker room is heat and energy. I’m pacing like usual, chest heaving, jersey untucked.

KK’s laughing. “You’re not even tired. That’s the scary part.”

I grin. “Not even warm yet.” Geno comes over. “You doing alright?” I nod. He sighs. “Keep it clean…ish.” I nod again.

⸻

Third quarter’s a war. Juju’s pulling everything out now—spin moves, hesitations, floaters. She’s quick. And she’s pissed.

But I’m inevitable.

Every time she scores, I answer. Three. Block. Jumper. And when she hits the deck trying to draw a foul, I walk right past her and say, “They not saving you tonight.”

⸻

Fourth quarter. One minute left. Game tied.

Ball in Juju’s hands. She’s eyeing me down like I’m the villain. And I am.

She tries to drive again. I step in. She stutter-steps. Fakes. Goes up. I meet her in the air.

Block.

I catch it before it even hits the floor. Crowd loses their f***ing minds. I push it up. No look pass to KK. Layup. Up two. Next USC possession—rushed shot. Miss.

I grab the rebound. Foul. Whistle. I’m at the line. The gym is vibrating. Everybody’s standing.

I hit both. Game. UConn wins. Final score: 82–78.

⸻

I don’t smile. Not until I see Juju.

She’s standing across the court, hands on hips, breathing hard. We lock eyes.

She shakes her head. Walks up. “I swear I’m gonna beat you one day.”

I lean in, smirk low. “No you won’t.”

She looks me up and down. “You’re crazy.”

“I know.”

⸻

That night, I post a single photo.

My jersey hanging in the locker. My shoes under the bench, laces loose like I just finished something holy.

Caption? Nothing.

It hits 80k likes in four hours.

⸻

The next morning, Juju reposts it to her story.

Adds one line: “I still want you though.”

#juju x reader #juju imagine #juju watkins x y/n #juju watkins x oc #uconn basketball #uconn wbb #uconn x reader #women’s basketball #wbb x oc #wbb imagine #wbb x reader #ncaa wbb #wnba x oc #wnba x reader #wnba imagine #wnba fanfic #gxg #we are gay

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byuntrash101 · 1 year ago

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damnation of a saint (teaser)

pairing — nun!reader x sin of lust!seonghwa ft. ateez as the other sins

rating — smut | mdni

wc — ~13k (teaser is 1.2k)

synopsis — life is dull when you are an immortal being such as seonghwa. every day is the same and you live (or rather, merely exist) through the times crushed by the burden of boredom. until something new comes along in the form of a kind, compassionate and righteous newly ordained nun. and so the sin of lust makes it his personal mission to corrupt the purest of souls: yours.

release date — OUT!!! LINK HERE

nsfw tags under the cut

tags — heavy religious/blasphemous themes (don't read if you're uncomfy <3), inclusive writing (reader is not described), also reader is the embodiment of purity and selflessness, 20240127 hwa (will to power d1 in seoul), kinda slow burn kinda vibes, tensionnnnn, sooo much teasing, dom!hwa, also very sly demon!hwa, supernatural sex, corruption kink (obviously), masturbation (f), oral (f), the (un)holy trinity = teasing + begging + mind breaking, some light impact play, breath play, hair pulling, fingering (f), monster cock!hwa, size training, pet names (angel, love, darling, sweetheart), praising, degradation (slut, whore), dumbification, multiple orgasms (f), overstim and more to be revealed in the full version <3

a/n: consider this teaser as the moodboard of the fic <3 also im so excited to be reworking on my fave fic ever. hope you enjoy it too <3

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Seonghwa was bored out of his mind. Like he had been for decades now, even centuries. He couldn’t remember what it was like to feel… well… anything at all really. And after years upon years of vegetating he didn’t care enough to even try anymore. He just laid there, endlessly staring blankly at the emptiness. He tapped his slender finger on his thigh, comfortably set on the bed of dark purple smoke he had materialized out of thin air.

He let out an audible annoyed groan as he was nonchalantly stretching out his long limbs which didn’t fail to catch the attention of the others.

“What’s wrong?” Yeosang asked as he was feasting on some delicious meal he poofed out magically. He didn’t even take a second to look up the bucket full of chicken drumsticks, wrapping his greasy fingers around the bone and eyeing the meat like one would their life long partner. But then again, that wasn’t too far from the truth for Yeosang.

“I’m bored” Seonghwa complained, pushing his long silky black hair back on his forehead and choosing to ignore Yeosang’s lack of interest, dragging out the word on his tongue, transmitting his state of utter apathy to the others.

“Why don’t you go up and play with the Humans?” Mingi suggested while checking himself out in the mirror, readjusting his bangs and sliding his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose before striking a pose to himself, remaining completely self absorbed.

Once again, Seonghwa wasn’t getting much attention from his counterparts but he was somewhat used to it when it came to Mingi.

“What’s the point? They are no fun anyways!” Seonghwa sat up straight and crossed his long elegant legs on the cloud of cotton like smoke.

“Why?” Jongho asked, unlike the others he deigned looking in Seonghwa’s direction with somewhat surprised eyes. “You used to love going around and breaking up happy marriages, luring men and women in with your charms… That was always fun!” He said a little sluggishly, but still with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.

“Yeah… Maybe it was…” Seonghwa replied. “Two millenniums ago…” Another prolonged sigh. “When everything still felt fresh.” He got up from the comfortable cloud of smoke, pacing the endless void as his heels clacked and echoed with each step. “Now I know that Humans are only self centered vile creatures who only claim to have better morals than us because they are scared of the consequences that inevitably ensue from succumbing to their primal desires. When in fact, all they want is to eat, kill, have sex or not do anything at all. They are nothing short of underdeveloped, unevolved, spineless piles of meat”

“Meat? Where?” Yeosang said, finally lifting his head from the bucket of fried chicken to look around, eyes rounded in panic.

Not a single one of them reacted except Mingi who side eyed him with disdain before returning to more important matters at hand such as swapping the aviator sunglasses for narrower, more rectangular ones.

“That’s not entirely false” Jongho concluded, shrugging, easily giving up on the idea of comforting Seonghwa.

“I mean where’s the fun if you can’t break their minds to give in?” Seonghwa placed both hands on Jongho's shoulders, slightly shaking him while the latter lifelessly swayed back and forth. “What is the point if they don’t resist the call of evil? If you can’t erode their will like a rock made smooth by the incessant beating of the waves of the cruel sea.” Seonghwa huffed in a quiet, defeated voice, letting go of Jongho's shoulders to let his arms hang at his side while the other one stared at him blankly.

“Hm… okay” Jongho said before slipping off Seonghwa's reach to take his place on the fluffy bed of purple smoke, crashing head first onto the soft cloud.

A silence settled for what seemed like a long moment, even for them, immutable creatures to whom the very concept of time couldn't grasp at their permanence.

“Well you never tried with that girl…” Wooyoung said, slithering his way to Seonghwa without a sound. He had been watching the scene unfold from afar up until then. “What was her name already?” He snapped his fingers and looked to the side trying to access his memory. He turned to Mingi for help but he was too busy looking through the mirror, slipping on yet another dangling necklace and smirking, satisfied at the results. Wooyoung then tried his luck with Yeosang but he now had his face buried in a huge bowl of chicken broth, the empty bucket of fried chicken abandoned and slurping up a big mouthful of noodles in a rather unpleasant way. “Jongho?” he called, finally settling for the one that looked almost passed out on the bed of smoke, but still this one wielded the most positive result.

“Y/n” Jongho responded without conviction, still laying flat on the cloud of smoke, eyes growing heavier by the second.

“Yeah! That’s right!” Wooyoung exclaimed. “That girl is unbreakable,” he affirmed. Seonghwa scoffed and threw an unconvinced look to his peer.

“No really! I’ve tried to corrupt her but I really couldn’t”. Wooyoung said, raising his brows and talking loudly to support his point. But that did little to persuade Seonghwa, he was convinced that Wooyoung was just not as good as him at breaking the mortals’ souls. So yes, it was possible that Wooyoung had struggled with that girl. But not him, surely not him.

When Wooyoung saw Seonghwa was not budging his face dropped, and he turned to the others. “Please someone back me up on this one”

“Oh yeaaah… I remember her” Yeosang said, voice cut by various sounds of loud lips smacking and open mouth chewing. “Even I tried!”

Now, that was different. Seonghwa was interested. Most people are quick to indulge themselves when it comes to food. It was, so to speak, the easiest sin of the seven to succumb to. The Humans often say “there’s always room for dessert” and innocently eat a generous slice of cake after devouring a full meal. They don’t even notice Yeosang forcing the big spoon full of buttery sugary goodness into their mouths. They don’t even know Yeosang, himself, made this saying.

“She refused to even do as much as taste the delicious meal I made her sister cook her even though she was starving… instead she gave it to the homeless man living not far from her apartment.” Yeosang stated with aberration shaking his head in disappointment before plunging right back in the ramyeon bowl.

“Mhm” Seonghwa scratched his chin, his curiosity for the mysterious righteous girl was piqued.

“One day I tried to make her give in” Jongho chipped in from the dark purple smoke bed, even pushing himself on his elbows to look at the others, to Seonghwa’s surprise. “Made her miss the train and the bus she needed to take to get home after work and conveniently laid a juicy wallet stuffed full of even juicier bills in the gutter. All she had to do was to bend down and get the money to take a taxi to her apartment. But instead she took the money and walked to the police station to report the lost wallet, which was in the opposite direction by the way and then walked back home only to take a shower and leave right after to attend the charity soup kitchen. Anddd… Explaining this made me tired. Please don't talk to me for the next two hundred years, thank you.” Jongho concluded in one single breath before laying back down and turning on his side to nap comfortably.

“Maybe that one can be interesting after all” Seonghwa thought aloud.

a/n: tell me if you wanna be tagged through comments or through asks <3

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